I had some amount of trouble getting to sleep, generally I sleep great in the GoFast camper, and tonight was like so many nights I’ve camped. But the difference this time is tomorrow was the race. I did finally sleep, but was jarred awake at 5:00am by the stadium-style lights for racers coming in to park. I could hear the discussion of the traffic direction crew and the dull glow of those orange stick things they wave. Yeah, things were going to get nuts, time to get up.

lights

Getting here was a bit of a stretch to say the least. I don’t mean driving here — Reveille Peak Ranch, where the race is located, is just an hour away from my house. What I mean is physically and mentally getting myself to race a mountain bike race again. It’s been at what seems like 20 years since I did Downieville, and if you know, it’s mostly a downhill. Sorta.

But for this race I was coming off a bit of a transition — working toward being a much better and fitter rider, losing weight and riding much more. Really just doubling down on what I love. I just didn’t actually work out that it would lead me here — to the Rattler, a fucking hard mountain bike race. I think this is Boots and Brett’s fault. At our Marg Shack one night they said I could “probably do it.” I’ll be honest, the “probably” part pissed me off. Ok, challenge accepted.

I got up and got my coffee, food, filled my water pack with carbs and electrolytes (more on that later), got my shoes on, decided not to take my camera (sorry, no pics of the actual race from me!) and went over the mental checklist 22 times. I was ready, time to go meet the guys at the start line. I was regretting accepting the challenge. I wasn’t just nervous, I was scared.

start

Start lines are funny things. There are the overconfident, the underrated, the obvious winner, the people who probably shouldn’t be there, and I was feeling in that last camp. I know I have the skills to ride this course — that’s not the problem, I’ve been riding for 30 years. It’s the fitness. There’s something about this course, this place, the rocks, the climbs, I don’t know. It’s like 30% harder than other rides with the same numbers. And I was about to do it at race pace.

If you remember — I pre-rode the race. I won’t say it was a disaster because I did finish, but it was NOT race pace. I walked more than I wanted and I knew at the end I needed to be in better shape on race day or I was doomed. My goal was to finish yes, but please god not DFL.

We started to pack into the start/finish area. I moved back of the pack (a decision I would later regret). I gauged folks around me, faster? slower? In-N-Out or Whole Foods?

3, 2, 1 GO!

And we are off. I knew the pace was going to be stupid fast. Folks who haven’t ridden here read the numbers and make assumptions. Road bikers see 20 miles and want to sprint, you know the story. Typical race stuff, and it’s here too. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a dicky peloton or whatever. This is MTB, everyone is super cool, everyone is a little nervous, and we all just want to finish and have fun. Some of us want to win, that’s clear now.

route

My strategy was simple — the first 5–8 miles is punchy, it’s going to make a lot of people second-guess if they should be doing this — me included. Many will walk these first few climbs, it will be crowded, busy, traffic. At mile 8 though, it starts to become a steady climb. Less punch, very technical, steep, but consistent pain. This is where I will shine. Survive the early chaos and find my rhythm.

At mile 12 or so you start to top out by the cross on the hill. You can feel the summit and know the big climb is over. Just don’t blow up Kenny, steady dude. For me that’s rocking my granny gear — 30t front, 51 rear. Do the gear inch math on that — it’s insanely low, insanely steep, just grinding. It’s not smooth either, this is rocky stuff, Moab, Arizona, Mars. It’s steep then steeper, then steep again. I see the cross, some guys are winded. I know I am about 1/2 done with the effort. Dear god, just finish.

gate

The big thing I learned this year is — I need gas. I mean fuel in the tank. Boots quipped what a fucking idiot I was for not having carbs in my water on the pre-ride. He was right. My training since has been focused on ensuring I replenish around 50% of the calories I output in the effort during the effort.

Guys, I weigh 245 right now and am 6’2”. This means I will expend almost 3000 calories during this race, and I will need to eat 1500 or so during the race to not bonk out. So that’s a GU every 30 minutes and constant sipping of carb-water (Skratch Labs, thank you) from my 3L USWE pack (amazing packs).

At halfway I smile. The training is working, my body feels ok, I am fed, I can tell. I am no longer scared. It’s time to rip.

One thing I don’t lack is skills on the rocks downhill. Moab in my 20s a lot, Downieville, the parks each year, Yeti Tribe — I can turn up the wick. I am no park rat but on technical descents, well, that’s my sweet spot. I intend to use it.

The 150BR feels exactly how I hoped it would. Supportive on the climbs, still compliant now that it’s getting rough — the suspension feels alive, tracking perfectly, soaking up chunk but not wallowing. It’s doing exactly what I built it to do.

mid

The next couple miles is technical down mixed with flowing undulations. The 150BR helps me pick up a few places on the down, then I get into a good rhythm for the flowy part. The leaders on the second lap start coming through now — holy crap that dude is both fast as fuck and skinny. Damn, some day maybe.

Time to focus. This is the rest before the push at the end. I keep a lid on my output, pace steady and get ready for the last 5 miles.

The last 5 miles of this race are a bit of a blur. The trail itself is fantastic, steep up, steep down, rocks, moon, trails marked with arrows on the rock so you know where the route is, crazy views (not that I looked around). I push during this part, it’s starting to hurt. I don’t know how deep my gas tank is, and how quickly it will dry up. I guess that will come with more experience. Right now, it’s mental pain, physical pain. Keep going dude, you are probably going to finish. don’t jinx it I think.

curve

More passes, more progress, as I come to the remaining hill. I’m pretty gassed. I push on then get held up and have to get off. I walk/run/ a bit and get back on. It’s busy now a mix of my group (slow-ish) and the leaders coming through. We are on 8” wide singletrack, you get the picture. It’s rowdy. A faster rider says “on your left” and there is no where for him to go, I say “go right” and he does. We don’t say any more words and he’s gone. Yeah, that makes you feel slow for sure.

Coming around the lake I see a bottle neck ahead on some roots, I know I can clean that, and get some more passes in, and then I can hear the band at the pavillion. I’m close, let’s empty the tank. I add a couple gears and go steady, not sprinting, just max power, I get some more places , round the bend and get one more as we are yards from the finish.

They say my name. Kenny Gorman from Austin, 20 mile race. Did that just happen? I completely space getting my finisher medal and the lady has to chase me down. Brett is there and he’s smiling. I am too. I think that just happened.

20 miles, 95th of 133 place, not DFL.

line

Turns out Brett had a great race, then broke a chain. The kindness of MTB community shined when folks stopped their race to help him repair it and get going (with 2 gears). Now we know he can enter the singlespeed class next year. Boots did all 60 miles, that’s 3 laps, what a god damn monster. Hero status.

Great day, great effort. On the ride home I call my wife and she says ‘well it’s like you read the book and it’s over, now what’? I guess I need to write another chapter…

finish

I owe a lot to my friends — Boots and Brett for believing I could do this, and to the rest of our riding clan (missed you, Mark). You guys make this more than just bikes and trails.

Huge thanks to the Austin Rattler staff, volunteers, and the crowd along the course. Incredible event.