Secret Squirrel MTB Race

 Racer-X:

Time to Pony Up

Many many moons ago a fellow by the name of David Alden-St. Pierre reached out to me and asked if I had wanted to be a part of Racer-X. It was described to me as "bikes, bikers, biking PLUS sarcasm, beer, and tomfoolery." Naturally, I was all in. 

 Looking back at all those years I could argue that accepting this invitation was the best and worst decision of my life. Much like choosing to work in healthcare, but that is another post for another time. I've thoroughly enjoyed our trips, regional charity rides, and local rips.  This journey took me from twenty-six through twenty-nine, from hardtails to full suspension, to fat and then mid-fat only to end up back on twenty-nine where I shall stay. I've pedalled some real epics in California, Arizona, Nevada, Utah and Colorado. Despite all of these adventures, there still was one major box that was left unchecked.

How could I have been a part of Racer-X for all these years and not have raced a single event?! An imposter perhaps? Hell, I even wore the Racer-X merch with pride, despite looking like a sausage in a meat skin. All the excuses, lies, and deception would finally come to an end. I took the plunge and registered for the Secret Squirrel MTB Race at Massasoit State Park in Taunton, Massachusetts. 

Truth be told, I was late to the game and the only category open was the Novice Men 45 plus. Likely story right? David, in a delicate kinda way, called me a sandbagger. I'll take that as a compliment buddy. It was to be one lap at approximately 6.5 miles of what looked to be fast, flowy, undulating terrain. My weapon of choice was my recently acquired BMC Two-Stroke aluminum hardtail. My only reservation was the entry-ish level Rock-Shox Judy fork, but the rest of the build would do just fine.

 Upon arrival at the campground, I saw this dude on his bike which was on some type of mount and rollers. He looked like he was preparing to make a name for himself. Minute by minute the lycra started to flood the area. Everyone dressed the part looking like they were destined for the podium. 

It was almost go time and I realized that I had done nothing to prepare. No course pre-ride (I like surprises), no stretching, and no carb-loading the night before. I also clicked off a ten-mile fastish paced ride with my Prep Team the evening prior. A total recipe for success!

I positioned myself in the top third of the pack. The whistle blew and off we went rocketing up this short paved section before quickly dropping into singletrack. Maybe one minute into it, my legs were revolting and my mouth was like a giant cotton ball. My higher self kept yelling "You can't suck, don't f****n suck!" After maybe five or six additional riders passed me, I had snapped out of it. I focused on my breathing and started putting some power down. 

I realize what I am about to describe makes it sound like I was some type of dynamo at the UCI Championships. Yes, it was the Secret Squirrel, but role with it. Once I settled in I found myself behind three racers who appeared to be going at a medium pace. Channeling my inner Nino Schurter I went to work. Calling out "on your left" made quick work of them. I also passed a dude running my bike up this unclimbable steep section. The poor bastard looked like he had a one-way ticket on the struggle bus. Side note: I need to work on the whole mounting/dismounting thing. 

After a quick sandy flat segment, I was now twisting and turning on some very tight singletrack and right on this guy's rear tire. Perhaps a half a mile in and he still wouldn't let me pass. I called him out, in a very non-woke kinda way, and took the next opening to barely squeeze by him. For the next maybe ten minutes I was flying solo until I barely caught a glimpse of the next racer ahead of me. And then came a number of short, steep rooty climbs. It was here that I started picking off racers one by one. See Dave, all of your abuse in those early years paid off.

It was back on some double-track for a mile or so. I locked out my fork and stepped on the gas. The breathing was heavy, and the nifkin inflamed, but come hell or high water I was going to finish top ten. The course turned swoopy and flowy and now I was starting to have a crap ton of fun! I passed three more racers and continued to fly through more root gardens that contoured a lake. Very scenic. 

Around the forty-minute mark, just up ahead by the beach, I could see the finish. I was feeling it, baby! One more racer fell victim to my late heroics and I crossed the finish in front of a small crowd. I vaguely recall a random woman clapping for me. Once I collected myself, I was greeted by a giant food truck serving pizza in a giant waffle cone. But I respectfully declined and went to the men's room instead.

The NEYC had set up the course the day before.

 

Now back at the car I had a few minutes to reflect before heading home. I remember this one point where I was bombing this downhill section and smiling ear to ear. The speed, the turns, and the climbs were all a smashing good time! I might have to fancy myself another one of these races and proudly represent the Racer-X name. 

Oh, about the results. I ended up taking 6th place out of 29. Not too shabby for this former imposter. Until next time my fellow Racer-X'ers...

 Keep it Classy and Keep it Real,

Jason (J-Bone) Fitzgerald

 

 

 

 

The Call of the Squirrel

My Foray into Cyclocross 

WARNING: The quality of my photos is equivalent to my racing abilities.

    Between friends and Prep mountain bike team members, I am surrounded by passionate cyclocross racers. When you get talking to them it becomes evident that this discipline of racing has a cult-like following. I fondly remember a fellow Racer-X'er referencing a mullet when he said, "It's all business in the front and a party in the back." I had preconceived notions, which were later validated, of tattoos, bushy beards, IPAs, and all things grunge. I wasn't sure if I would jive well with this crowd, but I quickly remembered that I have facial hair, occasionally enjoy a 16 oz Cloud Candy, and rock out to Nirvana with my Spotify. 

     As it turns out, same as my first official mountain bike race, I was to start my illustrious, aka shit show of a cyclocross career at the Secret Squirrel in Raynham, Massachusetts. I learned that this course was more mountain bike friendly which was perfect seeing as I did not own a cross bike. The forecast looked cold and windy so it was time to don the lycra and man-tights.

    A quick shout-out to Evan Bermann, father of two racers on my team Tyler and Reese, for orienting me to all of the race logistics. The one thing that I tried to lock into my brain was listening for this supposed bell to signify I was on my last lap. More to come on that later. After an abbreviated pre-ride and verbal spanking from one of the race coordinators, it was finally time to throw down on this Squirrel. 

    As expected, I was called to the back of the line where I immediately felt at home with the other noobs. I suddenly heard this distinct voice from atop a purple Stigmata. Fellow Racer-X'er, Jeff "Tito" Soderman, had apparently signed up for the race, but oddly was placed in the same heat as me. Side note, he was not wearing Racer-X swag so I issued him an immediate yellow card. 

    The siren sounded and we, in the back, were off like a herd of turtles. As expected, there was immediate constipation at the first turn and climb but I refused to dismount and busted out my best track-stand. Once the obstruction cleared a bit, I put some power down and quickly passed a bunch of heavy breathers. After the first few root-littered twists and turns, I thanked the BMC and the 100mm SID fork for allowing me to mob with no f***s given. The downed trees were no sweat, sandy corners a breeze, and Heckler Hill was no match for my Maxxis Icons. 

    So here is how it all went down and downhill fast. Lap one was basically me trying to stay upright, passing racers when I could, and quickly learning the rules of engagement. Lap two I picked up some speed and confidence as I was feeling some semblance of flow. I am not going to lie, I enjoyed watching a few poor souls eat s**t on the tech features while the crowd "ooooo'd" and "ooohh'd".

I forged on to lap three where the lactic acid production was rapidly increasing. Once I reached the sandy hike-a-bike again, I hit it with the fervor of a Sloth on Barbituates. I regained composure on the downs and passed through the finish line without the bell ringing. On to lap four.

    This is where disaster struck. I was coming into a climb pretty hot and found myself rapidly shifting to accommodate the steep grade. Then that awful sound came. I had made a rookie mistake and murdered my chain due to poor shift timing. Time to dismount and run my ass, and bike, through the remainder of the lap!  I am a regular runner so not a problem...until it was a problem. I distinctly recall a moment where I was running up a short hill and a pack of riders were rapidly approaching my six. As Tito was passing me, he graciously offered up some words of encouragement... "Move it you FAT ASS!" Once I told him I had no chain, he fake apologized and left me in the dust. 

    I coasted down the last descent until the finish line where yet again I heard no frighan bell. Looks like this A-HOLE is running another lap! I was all alone, laughing at myself, cursing over the fatal error I had made. BUT, I was still having fun. Lessons learned baby. The leaders of the next race started to lap me as I was coasting on the final approach. Still didn't hear that damn bell, but I called it quits anyways. 

    After watching Tyler and Reese's race I decided I was cold enough and walked back to my car. I bumped into Tito and his lovely family. I told him the inevitable had happened that I had come in last place. He told me I had not leaving me quite perplexed. I was riding the train to Suck Central on that last lap, so how the hell did I beat anyone?! 

    While sitting in classic South Shore bumper-to-bumper traffic, I took a gander at the results and quickly realized why I was not last. "Wait, why did they only count four of my l...? Then it hit me like a punch in the face from bozo the clown himself. Because those ladies didn't ring that f****n bell, I ended up running a gratuitous lap for the amusement of all. Thanks, Ladies!!

I still laughed though, I mean what else was I going to do. I messed up in a major way and STILL managed to place 75th out of 85. Boom!!!

    Final thoughts on the Secret Squirrel. Did I have fun?... Hell yes. Was it hard?... You bet it was. Will I race cyclocross again?... Most definitely! Am I going to buy a cyclocross bike now?... Nope, I will continue to be a "loser" as Evan called me, and represent the X on a front-suspended 29'er hardtail. What did my first cyclocross race teach me?... Sometimes you gotta embrace the suck, smile, and ride, or run like you're some kind of hero. 

    

    Until then my fellow Racer-X'ers...

    Keep it Classy and Keep it Real,

    Jason "J-Bone" Fitzgerald