Race Report #4: Norba at Brian Head, UT

NORBA National Mountain Bike Series, Brian Head, UT, August 7, 2005

An Ode to Brian Head

Brian Head, O Brian Head!
Praise be to each rooty trail
Whose tree limbs strike
And sharp rocks impale
The racer so tired from riding,
So numb from sitting in the seat
And breathless after climbing--
Thanks for all 11,000 feet.

Spectacular in its diversity of terrain and its technical demands, the NORBA marathon course in Brian Head sent me chattering down dry, rocky single track and navigating around (and through) huge mud bogs that swamped the trail. I had no idea what to expect when we riders began our climb up the long stretch of paved road that inaugurated our 50-mile mountain bike race. On this initial climb, some racers completely spent themselves, while the race leaders (including Gretchen Reeves, who would end up winning the women's category) used this time to break away from the pack early. I myself used this stretch as the most painful warm-up I've ever had.

Unlike the other racers who arrived early to adjust to the altitude and to familiarize themselves with the course, I spent the preceding week driving to Utah from Seattle, which rises to a high point of, say, twenty feet or so above sea-level. The morning of the race, I drove up to the resort at Brian Head, anticipating having enough time to ready myself for the race, but registration bureaucracy cut in to my warm-up time. But thanks to the stellar support of Team Voodoo, I was able to get a little bit of warm up time on the trainer before heading to the starting line.


Once at the line, I was disappointed to see a smaller field of participants (especially among the men's categories) at the line for this event than at other NORBA marathons I'd race before. I imagine that the reduced field might have had something to do with the remote location of the race in the mountainous region of Utah. Oh, well. Since marathon racers usually end up riding alone for at least part of the time, it's always nice to begin with as many other riders as possible.


The starting gun shook off any remaining sleepiness we early risers might have felt. As we started the demanding road climb, right away my lungs began screaming at other parts of my body. They said something like, What the HELL do you think you're doing?!! What do you want from us? Don’t you know that we don't WORK at 10,000 feet? Or above 6,000, for that matter. Despite their protest, I soon settled into a rhythm with a group of riders, trading places with a few who would alternatively burn out and fade away, then surge from behind, as if they made some deal with their lungs to never take them above 6,000 ft again if they could just support them for this one race. Soon, or relatively soon, we crested the ridge and hit sweet, downhill single track. On the descent I passed three racers, one right after another, including another female pro, and moved into 5th place. The single track wonderfully diverse. Imagine sweeping through alpine forest, across grassy meadows, and, occasionally, through some frigid stream crossings. Although the trail was pretty dry during this early part of the race, by midpoint I was fording streams and trying to find traction on muddy and slushy trail. This part of the course meandered for some time at the lowest altitude we would ride during the race. Whereas the first half of the race, or at least the first third, was dry and "flowy" enough to concentrate on forming race strategies to move up in position, this middle part required a rider to focus on more immediate obstacles, like the slick mud pools that sprung up without warning around seemingly innocuous turns. The bogs make me think of the prehistoric tar-pits known to swallow dinosaurs and preserve them for thousands of years for archeologists to excavate and reconstruct in museums for schoolchildren's viewing pleasure. This association came to me after I tried to ride a narrow slip of dirt (it turned out to be soft mud) between two big mud puddles, and failed to do so. Picking myself up out of the mire, I realized that half my body was covered in the muck. It might have engulfed me completely!!! Apparently I decided to preserve the memory of the grimy moment with a glove-ful of liquid mud that refused to drain during the remaining ride. (The glove, much like the rider, would experience a kind of rigor mortis by the end of the day and would end up looking like a mummified hand, a relic from the tar pits.)

During the muddy incident, I was passed by a rider and slipped back to 6th place in the women's pro category, and it took a while before I closed the gap to the riders nearest to me. I passed a couple of men during the last ten or fifteen miles of the race, as the course began to climb in altitude again and my spirited hardtail was able to shake off its coat of mud. After I finished the fire road climb up to the Dark Hollow Trail (which starts at 11,000 ft!), the riding started to get more technical and, thankfully, more dry. When I got to the Dark Hollow ride (a favorite among the locals) the trail lost no time in thrilling me with its rocky terrain and sharp switchbacks. Soon I connected to another section of trail that required tight maneuvering through slick rocks, stumps, and roots. Dark Hollow managed to be sinister and fun at the same time, but since my arms were so tired from holding my body up for hours, I approached this jolting section with some caution.

I passed a male rider two miles before the end, and rolled into the resort to across the finish line in 6th place, quite some time after the winner (Gretchen Reeves finished at a smokin' 3 hours and 56 minutes), but happy about the solid race I'd had. It was definitely the best Norba racecourse of the season and perhaps the best opportunity for me to see how well I could perform just showing up the day of the race. Overall I would describe the day as exhausting, muddy fun. I survived the race, mud bogs and all . . . and that's more than I can say for the dinosaurs.