Vince Gest 2009 Race Reports
Bonelli SoCal State Rd #1
Keyesville Classic
Southridge SoCal State Rd #2
Cholla Challenge
The Cholla Challenge Mountain Bike race in Hurricane, Utah was great! We were a little concerned about the weather as we headed out of town. It rained from Las Vegas all the way up to Southern Utah. The winds were crazy too. We arrived in Saint George Friday afternoon and it was friggin’ cold and rainy. We had to drive up into the mountains for another 25 minutes to reach the cabin we were staying at and it dumped 4-5" of snow that night. Unreal.
The next morning brought sunshine and frigid temperatures. We drove an hour to the race venue where it was a chilly 40 degrees and sunny, but the trails were tacky and fast from the previous rain. By the time we lined up at the start line at noon, it was about 55-60 degrees: perfect for racing.
I usually pace myself the first lap and then go for broke the second lap. This time I decided to just throttle it off the start line. I lined up with about 25 other racers in our class; some of them serious sandbaggers that should be in the next category up. But what are you gonna do?
I shot out of the gait like a greyhound and raced after the 15 riders in front of me. The course started out with some fast rollers with deep G-outs. Everyone jockeyed for position before the first hairpin turn that took us to a narrow doubletrack trail. A paceline of riders formed and it seemed like we were doomed to sit in this order for a while.
Being familiar with the course, I knew we were heading towards a rocky, steep climb through classic Utah slickrock. I wasn't too keen on following a bunch of roadies walking their mountain bikes up technical climbs, so I popped my drivetrain up to the big ring, got out of the saddle and sprinted along the side of the trail past 5 riders. I must have been doing something right because two of them yelled out “sh**!" as I went by.
We rounded the next corner and pointed our front wheels skyward. The slickrock was anything but smooth. It was steep and rocky with off-camber steps and ledges; downright punishing. I lurched my bike up and over multiple steps, yanked the front wheel around various rock outcroppings, and hammered the pedals until they whimpered from the strain. Spectators were scattered all around the rocks taking photos, cheering on their friends, and yelling out encouragement to those who chose to scale the rocks on foot while pushing their bikes.
In no time we were over the crest and heading down the other side to the desert floor below. A thin ribbon of red Utah clay led us down a series of natural steps and drop-offs and around a multitude of boulders. I feathered my brakes to safely navigate through the rocks to a sandy, dry creek bed below. It was here that I found my “rabbit”; the rider I would chase throughout the race.
He was a stocky fellow with tree stump thighs and a broad back, not the average build for a cross-country racer. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for in sheer brute strength. He mashed on the pedals in a big gear like a steam engine. I couldn’t match his speed on the flat sections but I made small gains on him during the climbs.
Going into the last downhill, I could see the “rabbit” about 50 yards ahead. I hit the rocky section as fast as I was willing to risk and prepared for a sharp left hand turn that led into a short, steep climb. I watched the rabbit power over the top of the climb as I leaned into the turn. I should have kept my eyes on the trail. I went down in a cloud of dust when my front wheel washed out in the turn. I jumped back up and scrambled up the climb. When I reached the summit, my jaw dropped as I saw how far down the trail the rabbit had scurried. Man, he was moving.
I snapped my drivetrain into the big ring and put the power to the pedals. The next few miles seemed like an eternity as a strong headwind slowly sapped the energy from my legs. The rabbit was able to put some more distance between us while we sped across the flat desert towards the Start/Finish transition area. We had one more lap to go and things weren’t looking too good.
Once I reached the transition area, I pulled a small Gu gel out of my jersey for some much needed nourishment. I juggled it for a moment and let it slip through my fingers to the ground. “CRAP!” Well there was nothing I could do about it, so I just hammered on the pedals to try and close the distance on the rabbit.
I settled into a steady rhythm and considered my options. I could conserve my energy and try for a late attack on the last half of the course. The only problem was the last half of the course was fairly flat and favored the rabbit’s big gear strength. I wouldn’t stand a chance.
I had to make my move early and hope to put enough distance between us that he couldn’t catch me in the home stretch. That meant I’d have to be faster on the climbs than he was on the descents and flats…right.
I set my eyes square on my prey. I pedaled furiously on every climb and slowly reeled him in. I gripped the bars tightly on the descents to keep my fingers away from the brakes, recklessly careening through boulder fields. I mashed the big gears in the sandy washes to keep him from pulling away. I was getting closer.
We were about 100 yards away from the last series of climbs when I quietly closed on the rear wheel of the rabbit. He sensed my presence and kindly asked, “Do you need to pass?” I decided to wait for the right time and responded, “No, I’m good.”
As the base of the climb approached I asked, “How ya’ feeling?” “Tired” he said. “You gonna hammer this climb?” “No,” he chuckled, “I’m going to sit and spin.” That’s when I dropped the hammer.
I snapped my derailleur up two gears, rose out of the saddle, and charged up the hill. My heart rate jumped to it’s maximum and my breath became ragged. I could hear the rabbit close behind me as the trail momentarily dipped low and then climbed skyward again. I churned the pedals with my legs, driving them like pistons. I was red lining my body, betting all I had on this last climb. Up, up, over the top and down the other side. Flying through the boulder sections like a hungry coyote, I decided to hazard a glance behind me and was shocked to see the rabbit transform before my very eyes into the wolf. He was right on my tail! AHK!!
Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I realized he had played me on the last climb. My bike skittered off rock steps, between car-sized boulders, barely missing low-lying cacti. The sharp left turn that I had fallen on during the first lap was quickly approaching. This transitioned to a very short but steep climb and would lead us out into the long stretch back to the finish line. I carved the inside line on the sharp left and almost rear-ended a female rider who was just starting the climb. I reined in my speed, snapped the front derailleur down to the middle ring and started the climb.
The rider in front of me yelled out, “You want to pass? The trail is going to get narrow!” “Not yet,” I replied. A moment later she offered again, “Are you sure you don’t want to pass?” “Not yet…” It was then that I heard the wolf come around the corner below and start grunting up the climb behind us. My arms and legs twitched like a nervous gazelle on the Serengeti, sensing a predator crouching somewhere out of sight. Timing was going to be everything. I waited until the last possible moment and then yelled to the rider in front of me, “NOW!” I skirted around her and sprinted up the hill as the trail narrowed down to a thin line, closing the door on the wolf.
As my rear wheel rolled over the summit, I snapped the front derailleur into the big ring and quickly reached my maximum speed. I knew somewhere behind me the wolf had the power to overtake me before I reached the finish line. In my mind, it came down to one question: who was willing to endure more pain? I firmly decided that person was me.
I ignored the protests from my legs, the taste of nickels in my mouth, the wheezing from my lungs. I maintained the highest possible cadence that I could muster in the driving headwind. I estimated the finish line in the distance was about a mile away when I heard the “freight train” passing me on the left. I almost steered off the trail when the blur of three Pro riders in green jerseys cruised by at an inhuman pace. I quickly pulled in behind them to take advantage of their draft, only to be spit out the back like a forgotten tumbleweed.
Warily, I glanced back to see if the wolf was there. Nothing. In disbelief, I took the time to search the desert behind me. Nothing. He was nowhere in sight. The thrill of victory rekindled my energy and drove me ever faster to the finish line. I rolled across the line with a toothy smile caked in red dirt. About a minute later the mythical beast rolled through and gave me a nod. I responded with a thumbs up, acknowledging the worthy battle.
Sagebrush Safari SoCal State Rd #3
Santa Ynez SoCal State Rd #4
Big Bear SO#1 SoCal State Rd #5
Santa Barbara Bike Fest SoCal State Rd #6
Rim Nordic SoCal State Rd #7
Big Bear SO#2 SoCal State Rd #8