Monstercross 2020

I figure if I'm gonna declare that 2020 is gonna be about that gravel, I'd be a fool to miss the first and most established gravel race of the season. So with no rides in 2020 reaching anywhere near the 3-hour mark, and with a heap of corporate travel over the past few weeks, I signed up at the last possible moment and took on this humdinger of a beast.

Monstercross is, without a doubt, the single hardest race event I've ever undertaken. This was my 3rd time. The first time, in 2016, was the first race I ever abandoned--a fact that remained true for almost 4 years. The next year I made it to the end and swore I'd never do it again. I literally couldn't get off the bike after it was done.

Somehow I forgot all that. Time, apparently, really does heal all wounds.

Monstercross is a 2 lap, 50 mile assault on the fireroads of Pocahontas State Park. Each lap features about 3 miles of pavement, a mile or so of what could probably be considered "trails", and the rest is all gravel. A few brutal walls, some long gradual climbs, 2 creek-crossings that can be ridden, and one that pretty much must be portaged. Total elevation for the whole race is just about 2700', so not the steepest race in the world, but there is plenty of pain to dish out.

This year, with temps forecasted to reach the low 50's, registration reached almost 700. In 2017, I burned a LOT of matches in the first 10 miles moving up through pockets of riders. My goal this year was to grid up closer to the front and conserve energy.

But I am incapable of following even the simplest of plans, and of course I started near the back again.

All along the road for the first mile or so, "road captains" helpfully volunteered that everyone should keep it calm and slow. That's fine if you're on a 4+ hour plan, but I had places to go. Fortunately, where the course left the pavement and crossed the narrowest of bumps on to the fireroads, a huge traffic jam brought over 100 riders to a complete stop.

I saw another opening and led a small vanguard through, and just like that the race was on. Instead of fighting for 250th, I had space to work, and work and work and work. I moved patiently but quickly, and by mile 5 I had caught my only real bunny: G. Costa. I settled into the group and we worked pretty well, holding together for about 15 miles to the 2nd creek crossing.

I had told the group to stay right for skinny tires, but one guy behind me ended up going over the bars. And just like that, the group was shredded. I made the split and came through start/finish with a group of 7, but I did not feel fresh.

My fueling strategy was built on hope and wishes. I'd worn a skinsuit with no pockets, had a full Camel-bak, and a bottle of Gatorade. Two energy gels were crammed up the legs of my skinsuit, but there was no real way to grab them without stopping. So I choked down as much Gatorade as I could whenever I started feeling weak, which was happening with increasing frequency.

I set my sights on holding with the group to mile 30. Then mile 33. Then 35. 38. 40. By mile 42, the jig was up. I was only holding on because they were slowing down. The group would fracture and rejoin, but on the first trail section, one guy basically stopped right in front of me on a steep pitch and upset my momentum. And that was it. I'd made it with them almost to mile 43, but the fight was gone.

We put together a small chase and held the group to about 15 seconds for another mile or so, but once we hit that 2nd creek crossing again I just switched it off and slow-rolled. I was only 5 miles from the end and had no desire to end the day with an injury, and G. Costa was well behind me. Just a gentle roll to the finish: nothing dramatic.

At mile 47 my left thigh seized. At 47.3 my right calf followed. At 47.8 my right thigh joined the party. I slowed almost to a stop, finally fished out a gel (I KNOW) and pressed on. Another rider caught me and I held his wheel almost to the Swift Creek trail hub, then bombed solo to the 2nd trail.

And there, at 48.8 miles, my legs both seized again. I could not physically turn the pedals. So I got off and discovered that I also could not walk. Neat. So I waddled, rode down to the final creek crossing, and then just stood there for a minute or so, trying to figure out how to make my legs do something that wouldn't result in me ending up with my face in the water.

That, in turn, led to me walking the bike up every remaining climb, then riding down the other sides, all the way back to the final bridge, where I made it my mission in life to ride up that boat ramp to the finish line.

I crossed the line at 3:13 (Garmin time - 3:18 chip time) and fell off the bike. Seems I'd solved the problem from the end of the 2017 race of how to dismount.

In my walk-a-bike disgrace, G. Costa caught and passed me, but TBH as hard as the whole thing was, I kind of enjoyed it. The post-race food was great, and it was great to catch up with my racing buds so early in the season. Maybe most importantly, I haven't lost the gravel bug. My bike sounds like a Walmart special and my body is forrealz messed up, but I have a great handle on my fitness level and I'm super pumped about the 2020 racing season. Can't wait to get out there and keep rockin' with my FSR peeps!