PMBAR (formerly know as the Death March)
For people who do not understand what the Pisgah Mountain Bike Adventure Race is let me explain. The main objective at PMBAR is for you and your teammate to ride to at least four check points (of seven possible) in the Pisgah National Forest. Every checkpoint you get beyond the minimum of four is worth a whopping five hour bonus (each), but you have to cross the finish line before the fourteen hour cut-off. Eric (PMBAR Honcho) Wever also makes the call on determining some roads and trails off-limits for reasons of safety, poach-proofing, and genuine, painful, inconvenience. You are required to carry everything you need for the entire day, whether you're going four-and-out or all the way.
In the past I've been on the party train. My partner and I would go for the minimal number of checkpoints so we could get back as fast as possible in order to drink a maximal amount of free beer. This year I decided I wanted more. Mark "Elk" Elsasser had hit me up in 2007 to be my partner, but I was already in a committed relationship with The Wonderboy. I decided to team up with Elk this year, and we also decided that we were going for all seven checkpoints up front. There was going to be no pussy-footing around. We were going to carry an assload of food and water, plenty of gear, and REAL lights (not silly lightweight commuter LED's) in case we were out after dark.
It never seems to matter how ready I think I am before the start. I'm either re-checking the out of bounds map, deciding what to carry and what to put back in the car, or trying to un-Loctite my partner's brake. This year was no different, but when Eric announced the start at 8:00am and we were free to open our passports I was prepared as I've ever been.
Some folks who know Pisgah pretty well take off right at the start. I always glance at all the checkpoints and come up with a plan before I leave. For the first time ever I identified (sorta) all the CP's, came up with a general route, and had us turning the pedals over in just a few minutes. Elk set a fast pace up the intial climb that had me slightly concerned, but I went with it anyways. PMBAR is a race of attrition that rarely rewards haste or speed. I figured within the first couple hours he would see how everybody starts fanning out, and it just becomes you, your partner, and the sound of your heart beating in your head for hours on end.
We chose the typical route down into the Turkey Pen area (east side of the forest) first. Over the last two years I saved this for last to increase the suffering, but this year we had an agenda. As always the first checkpoint takes a long time to get to from the start, but after two hours effort I could smell the stamp ink getting closer. As we were coming in some folks were already coming out, but trying to ascertain if they would finish in front of you is already pointless. They might do less checkpoints, get horribly lost, have a race ending mechanical, or just simply quit. You usually never know how you're really doing until a few hours after you finish and all the bonuses have been tallied.
On our way to the second checkpoint it was more of the same. We saw people coming back from where we were going, and this time I saw a few folks that I woulda guessed were behind us?? Our second CP was unmanned, so I stamped the passport, jotted down our next destination, and described our condition as "better than everybody else". I also took note of where the other teams were headed, and it seemed like we were going along with the other contenders, yet some others were going God knows where and coming from BFE for whatever reason. Sweet PMBAR befuddlement.
I told Elk we were in good company. Several past PMBAR success stories were on the same path including Sam Koerber (local haunch and 2007 PMBAR champ) and Brad Kee (local psycho and winner of The Most Horrible Thing Ever). I was pretty chuffed to know I had selected a route that folks who don't need a map to get around would take, but at the third checkpoint I messed us up with a poor route selection. I saw a way to the fourth checkpoint that was longer, but maybe easier. When we came back to the proper route we pulled in behind Captain Morgan's team, and they had been behind us till now. Doh.
At least we had a chance now to strategize with some other folks and brainstorm the possible routes. Once we hit the fourth checkpoint we discovered we were not on the same page as to how to hit the three western checkpoints. Elk and I were once again on our own, and things were now getting chilly and moist. We stopped to put on our GoreTex, and as we did Capt Morgan's squad blasted by. A little while later we rolled by them as they were trying to decide between a longer road route and a shorter trail route to the next CP. I knew the trail well enough to know it was best for us, so we continued on to Cove Creek.
When Elk and I rolled onto the Daniel's Ridge Loop to head out to our fifth check point we stopped for a picnic and to peel off the Gore. As we spread out the contents of our packs along came Capt Morgan's platoon, and eventually we all made our way to the next CP together. Upon leaving the fifth CP I was convinced the only way to get to the top of Farlow Gap was to push up it. Eric had deemed the only route to the top (known to me) off limits, so we we're going to do the thing that no one ever wants to really do, push up about 1,200 feet in three technical miles. At the base of the climb Captain Morgan asked me if I was riding all the way to the top. "Of course" I said. "No dabs" I added right before I fell over trying to get clipped in. Sweet PMBAR irony.
As we were pushing up we came across some folks who seemed to be the kinda riders we shoulda been in front of. For the life of me I couldn't figure out how they were headed down Farlow, unless they went outta bounds. They assured me they had gotten there legally, and my brain started to reel. Was there a way to the top without pushing? If there was surely the smarter teams were going that way, and we were losing time and expending huge amounts of energy pushing up.
My fears were validated as I saw Sam and Brad descending down Farlow. Sam asked me "Why are you always pushing up the good downhills?" as he passed, and I knew we had been beat. We arrived at the top of Farlow with Capt Morgan's brigade, and then the maps came out and more strategy was discussed. The seventh CP was going to put us as far from the finish as possible. Elk and I were okay with that, but Capt Morgan's regiment only had commuter lights, and a push to a seventh CP could very well push them into a dark descent off Black Mountain which is a predicament that no one would ever want to be in. They headed back with their heads down regretting thier lack of illumination that would have allowed them to forge on.
Elk and I decided that we would hit the seventh CP and then take the route the smarter teams used in reverse. Whether or not it made sense didn't matter, as neither one of us felt like descending off the back of Farlow to have to push back up to the top and then face the nastiest descent in Pisgah. We reached the seventh checkpoint in a very anticlimactic manner. It felt good to have them all under our belt, but it felt awful knowing that we were at the furthest point from the finish possible. I was very unfamiliar with this part of the forest, so stopping to navigate our way out from time to time was mandatory.
I know topo lines are put on a map for a reason, but I tend to ignore them. Sometimes it bites me in the ass, and sometimes I am pleasantly surprised. Our new route was more of the latter, and less of the former. I thought we would be slowly ascending to Gloucester Gap, but amazingly enough it was mostly a descent. From there it was another road descent to the Cove Creek campground where we would hit our second to last trail of the day. It was just before 6:00pm when we headed up Cove Creek, and we were looking like we just might make it in before dark.
Gravel to pavement to gravel. Climbing and descending with no intermediate goals between us and the finish to spur us on. Occasionally we would pass another team, and I would scratch my head wondering where they were going and what they were doing now. We forged on at a moderate pace on the most logical, albeit still painful, route to the finish, and came to our final turn just before 8:00pm. It was looking like we would make it in before dark, as we only had a hike-a-bike climb and a tasty descent between us and the finish.
As we rolled down the final trail it was just getting to the point where we had to squint to keep our focus in the dwindling light that filtered through the forest canopy. We tumbled outta the woods like two sacks of potatos, and rolled into the finish at 8:14pm. We were told we took second place, and I was overwhelmed with joy (enough so that the fact that the kegs were floating already didn't make me cry). I never expected to do that well at this event ever. Being beaten by Brad and Sam was like being beaten by Lance at the Tour. You expect it, so second place felt oh so good. I thanked Elk over and over for being the guy who helped me get to a place I never thought I'd be in at an event that I hold near and dear to my heart.
Looking at the results this morning I see that Brad and Sam clocked over a hundred miles. Since Elk and I chose (poorly) a different route I guess we went over a hundred plus three more for good measure. A hundred miles plus in Pisgah is no joke. Elk said to me after the race "I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn't think it would be this hard."
PMBAR. Harder than you think, give or take a couple miles.
(of course tomorrow I will rehash my rehashing)
In the past I've been on the party train. My partner and I would go for the minimal number of checkpoints so we could get back as fast as possible in order to drink a maximal amount of free beer. This year I decided I wanted more. Mark "Elk" Elsasser had hit me up in 2007 to be my partner, but I was already in a committed relationship with The Wonderboy. I decided to team up with Elk this year, and we also decided that we were going for all seven checkpoints up front. There was going to be no pussy-footing around. We were going to carry an assload of food and water, plenty of gear, and REAL lights (not silly lightweight commuter LED's) in case we were out after dark.
It never seems to matter how ready I think I am before the start. I'm either re-checking the out of bounds map, deciding what to carry and what to put back in the car, or trying to un-Loctite my partner's brake. This year was no different, but when Eric announced the start at 8:00am and we were free to open our passports I was prepared as I've ever been.
Some folks who know Pisgah pretty well take off right at the start. I always glance at all the checkpoints and come up with a plan before I leave. For the first time ever I identified (sorta) all the CP's, came up with a general route, and had us turning the pedals over in just a few minutes. Elk set a fast pace up the intial climb that had me slightly concerned, but I went with it anyways. PMBAR is a race of attrition that rarely rewards haste or speed. I figured within the first couple hours he would see how everybody starts fanning out, and it just becomes you, your partner, and the sound of your heart beating in your head for hours on end.
We chose the typical route down into the Turkey Pen area (east side of the forest) first. Over the last two years I saved this for last to increase the suffering, but this year we had an agenda. As always the first checkpoint takes a long time to get to from the start, but after two hours effort I could smell the stamp ink getting closer. As we were coming in some folks were already coming out, but trying to ascertain if they would finish in front of you is already pointless. They might do less checkpoints, get horribly lost, have a race ending mechanical, or just simply quit. You usually never know how you're really doing until a few hours after you finish and all the bonuses have been tallied.
On our way to the second checkpoint it was more of the same. We saw people coming back from where we were going, and this time I saw a few folks that I woulda guessed were behind us?? Our second CP was unmanned, so I stamped the passport, jotted down our next destination, and described our condition as "better than everybody else". I also took note of where the other teams were headed, and it seemed like we were going along with the other contenders, yet some others were going God knows where and coming from BFE for whatever reason. Sweet PMBAR befuddlement.
I told Elk we were in good company. Several past PMBAR success stories were on the same path including Sam Koerber (local haunch and 2007 PMBAR champ) and Brad Kee (local psycho and winner of The Most Horrible Thing Ever). I was pretty chuffed to know I had selected a route that folks who don't need a map to get around would take, but at the third checkpoint I messed us up with a poor route selection. I saw a way to the fourth checkpoint that was longer, but maybe easier. When we came back to the proper route we pulled in behind Captain Morgan's team, and they had been behind us till now. Doh.
At least we had a chance now to strategize with some other folks and brainstorm the possible routes. Once we hit the fourth checkpoint we discovered we were not on the same page as to how to hit the three western checkpoints. Elk and I were once again on our own, and things were now getting chilly and moist. We stopped to put on our GoreTex, and as we did Capt Morgan's squad blasted by. A little while later we rolled by them as they were trying to decide between a longer road route and a shorter trail route to the next CP. I knew the trail well enough to know it was best for us, so we continued on to Cove Creek.
When Elk and I rolled onto the Daniel's Ridge Loop to head out to our fifth check point we stopped for a picnic and to peel off the Gore. As we spread out the contents of our packs along came Capt Morgan's platoon, and eventually we all made our way to the next CP together. Upon leaving the fifth CP I was convinced the only way to get to the top of Farlow Gap was to push up it. Eric had deemed the only route to the top (known to me) off limits, so we we're going to do the thing that no one ever wants to really do, push up about 1,200 feet in three technical miles. At the base of the climb Captain Morgan asked me if I was riding all the way to the top. "Of course" I said. "No dabs" I added right before I fell over trying to get clipped in. Sweet PMBAR irony.
As we were pushing up we came across some folks who seemed to be the kinda riders we shoulda been in front of. For the life of me I couldn't figure out how they were headed down Farlow, unless they went outta bounds. They assured me they had gotten there legally, and my brain started to reel. Was there a way to the top without pushing? If there was surely the smarter teams were going that way, and we were losing time and expending huge amounts of energy pushing up.
My fears were validated as I saw Sam and Brad descending down Farlow. Sam asked me "Why are you always pushing up the good downhills?" as he passed, and I knew we had been beat. We arrived at the top of Farlow with Capt Morgan's brigade, and then the maps came out and more strategy was discussed. The seventh CP was going to put us as far from the finish as possible. Elk and I were okay with that, but Capt Morgan's regiment only had commuter lights, and a push to a seventh CP could very well push them into a dark descent off Black Mountain which is a predicament that no one would ever want to be in. They headed back with their heads down regretting thier lack of illumination that would have allowed them to forge on.
Elk and I decided that we would hit the seventh CP and then take the route the smarter teams used in reverse. Whether or not it made sense didn't matter, as neither one of us felt like descending off the back of Farlow to have to push back up to the top and then face the nastiest descent in Pisgah. We reached the seventh checkpoint in a very anticlimactic manner. It felt good to have them all under our belt, but it felt awful knowing that we were at the furthest point from the finish possible. I was very unfamiliar with this part of the forest, so stopping to navigate our way out from time to time was mandatory.
I know topo lines are put on a map for a reason, but I tend to ignore them. Sometimes it bites me in the ass, and sometimes I am pleasantly surprised. Our new route was more of the latter, and less of the former. I thought we would be slowly ascending to Gloucester Gap, but amazingly enough it was mostly a descent. From there it was another road descent to the Cove Creek campground where we would hit our second to last trail of the day. It was just before 6:00pm when we headed up Cove Creek, and we were looking like we just might make it in before dark.
Gravel to pavement to gravel. Climbing and descending with no intermediate goals between us and the finish to spur us on. Occasionally we would pass another team, and I would scratch my head wondering where they were going and what they were doing now. We forged on at a moderate pace on the most logical, albeit still painful, route to the finish, and came to our final turn just before 8:00pm. It was looking like we would make it in before dark, as we only had a hike-a-bike climb and a tasty descent between us and the finish.
As we rolled down the final trail it was just getting to the point where we had to squint to keep our focus in the dwindling light that filtered through the forest canopy. We tumbled outta the woods like two sacks of potatos, and rolled into the finish at 8:14pm. We were told we took second place, and I was overwhelmed with joy (enough so that the fact that the kegs were floating already didn't make me cry). I never expected to do that well at this event ever. Being beaten by Brad and Sam was like being beaten by Lance at the Tour. You expect it, so second place felt oh so good. I thanked Elk over and over for being the guy who helped me get to a place I never thought I'd be in at an event that I hold near and dear to my heart.
Looking at the results this morning I see that Brad and Sam clocked over a hundred miles. Since Elk and I chose (poorly) a different route I guess we went over a hundred plus three more for good measure. A hundred miles plus in Pisgah is no joke. Elk said to me after the race "I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn't think it would be this hard."
PMBAR. Harder than you think, give or take a couple miles.
(of course tomorrow I will rehash my rehashing)
-brado (Comment this)
Allan (Comment this)
www.intermontanechallenge.com
gotta get away from the winter- transandes...
I'm trying to find out if there is a solo category. (Comment this)