Mammoth sport downhill course: mostly fine pumice and rocky terrain in the open areas, some actual dirt in the woods, and powdery grey dust everywhere else.
Out of the gate, down a short path, you immediately drop into a twisty trail of 6-inch-deep kitty litter pumice that takes you between tall evergreen trees and around larger loose rocks as the course descends down the mountain. You emmerge into a clearing on a fast descent that dips, then ascends again in sharp incline. Depending on your speed, it will launch you up and over the short tabletop and land you in a sweeping berm, as the trail turns right and ascends a small hill. Shoot straight across the mountain singletrack, trying to catch your breath as the adrenaline of the race mixes with that Red Bull you had before the start, along with what little oxygen your blood can absorb at 10,000 feet. Shaking, you tell yourself to relax, as you begin the little descents through the rocks, remembering that short but brutally nasty climb with rocks so well positioned that there is no clean way through them. Cursing, you jump off and push the bike the last two feet up the hill, then hop on for the descent, and pedal like mad through the tunnel and onto the fire road.
You're heaving for breath again, and wonder if you should kick it into high gear to catch the guy in front of you, or save your energy so you'll have the strength to make a clean run through the woods without washing out in a turn, or carelessly weighting the bike too far forward -- where everything is fine until suddenly your front tire sinks into 6 inches of pumice and you face-plant over the bars. You opt for catching your breath, knowing your energy is limited, and that a crash in the woods will cost a lot of time.
The fire road leads to a quick descent onto a loose, dusty singletrack that curves around the trees in multiple grooves cut deep in the gravelly pumice. Putting your weight far behind the saddle, you all but ski down the course, finding that delicate balance between carving a line and washing out. Over fallen and decaying logs and through small rocky patches, the course winds further down the mountain, and you suspect that some of the drops you hit were at one time breaking bumps that have deteriorated to the point that they are now a foot or more deep.
You realize you can breathe again, just as you round the last corner that leads to the final steep, loose, dusty descent, and to the drop over the log, onto a network of exposed roots. You spot the center of the log where you intend to go, try to focus past the roots, out at the singletrack beyond the final fallen log further down the trail. Once through that descent, it's a clear shot to the finish line, cranking as hard as you can, your lungs burning from sucking pulverized pumice for the last 5 minutes or more.
Yeah! That's what I'm talking about.
Photos:
my race run bobble-over-the-log sequence, where I somehow manage to pull it out and not go down.
-sunny
(Laura from NoBrakes Racing)
Out of the gate, down a short path, you immediately drop into a twisty trail of 6-inch-deep kitty litter pumice that takes you between tall evergreen trees and around larger loose rocks as the course descends down the mountain. You emmerge into a clearing on a fast descent that dips, then ascends again in sharp incline. Depending on your speed, it will launch you up and over the short tabletop and land you in a sweeping berm, as the trail turns right and ascends a small hill. Shoot straight across the mountain singletrack, trying to catch your breath as the adrenaline of the race mixes with that Red Bull you had before the start, along with what little oxygen your blood can absorb at 10,000 feet. Shaking, you tell yourself to relax, as you begin the little descents through the rocks, remembering that short but brutally nasty climb with rocks so well positioned that there is no clean way through them. Cursing, you jump off and push the bike the last two feet up the hill, then hop on for the descent, and pedal like mad through the tunnel and onto the fire road.
You're heaving for breath again, and wonder if you should kick it into high gear to catch the guy in front of you, or save your energy so you'll have the strength to make a clean run through the woods without washing out in a turn, or carelessly weighting the bike too far forward -- where everything is fine until suddenly your front tire sinks into 6 inches of pumice and you face-plant over the bars. You opt for catching your breath, knowing your energy is limited, and that a crash in the woods will cost a lot of time.
The fire road leads to a quick descent onto a loose, dusty singletrack that curves around the trees in multiple grooves cut deep in the gravelly pumice. Putting your weight far behind the saddle, you all but ski down the course, finding that delicate balance between carving a line and washing out. Over fallen and decaying logs and through small rocky patches, the course winds further down the mountain, and you suspect that some of the drops you hit were at one time breaking bumps that have deteriorated to the point that they are now a foot or more deep.
You realize you can breathe again, just as you round the last corner that leads to the final steep, loose, dusty descent, and to the drop over the log, onto a network of exposed roots. You spot the center of the log where you intend to go, try to focus past the roots, out at the singletrack beyond the final fallen log further down the trail. Once through that descent, it's a clear shot to the finish line, cranking as hard as you can, your lungs burning from sucking pulverized pumice for the last 5 minutes or more.
Yeah! That's what I'm talking about.
Photos:
my race run bobble-over-the-log sequence, where I somehow manage to pull it out and not go down.
-sunny
(Laura from NoBrakes Racing)