Shenandoah Mountain 100 “Race” Report: Racing No One But Myself

TJ Mayotte
Sep 5, 2018 · 15 min read

Context

Chris Eatough is my neighbor, and I am both overconfident and very dumb, all of which is a recipe to bite off as much as I can possibly chew. I can’t say I was peer pressured into anything, but a seed was planted nigh on two years ago I nurtured into fruition. Also, this was the 20th anniversary of SM100, and I remembered…

Equipment

My bike was sendier than most I saw out there. I ride a Santa Cruz Hightower that has 135 mm of travel out back and 150 up front. Thanks to a water bottle-related snafu a few weeks before the race, I had a brand new front triangle.[1] Many thanks to Julien at Race Pace Bicycles for getting my bike in working order in time for the last weeks of training. Still, mine is a trail bike and I really like it. Tires are Maxxis Ardent out back and High Roller up front. A bit knobby, but given how course conditions turned out I regretted nothing.

Training

If Chris Eatough is your neighbor, you use Chris Eatough’s training plan…or you try to. I think I kept to about 75–80% of the plan. My worst training moment was during 6 Hours of Woodstock, during which I had hoped to complete 50 miles but I had to drop out of after just over 30 due to severe cramping. (Like can’t walk, can’t stand cramping.) My best training moment was two weeks before the race during my family’s annual pilgrimage home to New Hampshire. On a Monday, I rode 30 miles over 8 hours of sweet, technical single track in Kingdom Trails, Vermont, and on the following Wednesday I rode 75 road miles around Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire. At the end of both rides, I felt great and like I had more in the tank. The long technical descents in Kingdom Trails made the long descents in Virginia seem easy. (Or as easy as possible when your body is shattered.) I credit my no major crashes to VT ride.

Race Prep

Chris included course tips with the training plan, which I read (pored over) occasionally, with frequency of re-reading increasing as the race got closer. I made a lot of packing lists: one for aid stations, one for race day, one for day before race day, etc. I also searched for, and read, several online race recaps like this one.

I drove down and stayed with my friends Ian and James in a rented RV,[2] a setup I highly recommend. The RV, that is, not necessarily Ian and James.[3]

The Race

Mindset: Finish. Just finish. Start slow and build. Don’t blow out. Stay on top of hydration and nutrition. STAY POSITIVE. Make friends.[4] As things got worse, I just kept thinking “keep moving forward.” So I did.

Nutrition: I trained with Clif Shot Blocks, Clif nut butter bars, and Honey Stinger waffles, so that’s what I kept. I also used a small bottle of Infinit and an Osprey pack for water. I tried to keep to one sleeve of blocks per hour, one Clif bar every two hours, and a few squirts of Infinit whenever the mood hit. I only ended up eating one waffle, plus a PB&J at two aid stations and a cup of M&Ms at another. I also drank some Gatorade at 3 aid stations, drank Coke at 2 and ate French fries at Aid 6. I EGREGIOUSLY overpacked my drop bags, which were at waiting at Aid Stations 3 and 5. My carefully thought out nutrition planning ended with me stuffing my jersey pockets with everything I could grab and mostly carrying that crap for 100 miles.

Start to Aid 1 (0–10): I knew I would end up in a conga line after the Narrowback climb, so I let people pass me to keep it in an easy spin. And pass they did. Old people. Young people. Big guys on small bikes and little guys on big bikes. Some were huffing and puffing only to end up a few people ahead of me once we hit the single track, so I felt pretty good about my plan and execution. After the fire road climb, the single track was eminently rideable, but one person up ahead dabs and the ripple effects quickly led to a lot of walking. My single serving friend here was a kid who didn’t look a day over sixteen and had done little to no race prep. I told him what I knew.[5] My biggest regret was missing the opportunity to ride a small rock drop where a photog was posted, as the person directly in front of me came to a dead stop and walked it. I thought about clipping back in and going for it, but backing up would have meant pushing dozens of people back too…so I walked like a chump. The Narrowback descent was AMAZING but about ridden at about 75% speed because of the long train ahead. I compensated by trying to get air off every kicker and whooping like a moron each time. Stay positive.

As planned, I rolled through Aid Station 1. I did spot Chris Scott and yelled out “Chris Scott! You’re famous!” He looked more surprised than anything.

Aid 1 to Aid 2 (10–31) I had been prepped that the Wolf Ridge climb would be mostly hike-a-bike, which it was. Again, even stuff I could ride was made near impossible by the jam of people. I spent most of this hike being a Chatty Cathy with the guy in front of me[6] and it passed quickly. The descent was…AWESOME. Rocky, lots of fun curves, this may have been the most fun I had all day. The fun was soon to end.

Wolf ended with Aid Station 2, which I rolled through in 3 minutes. Refilled the water bottle and my pack while my chain was lubed[7], and I was gone.

Aid 2 to Aid 3 (31- 45) From here it was a road climb that led to Hankey’s dirt road climb, and it’s where my day took a turn for the worse. It was hot. Too hot. My biggest fear had been a hot, humid day, and while it could have been worse (mid-eighties, ~70% humidity) it was enough. Hankey’s is where it got me. I started to get tunnel vision, sure sign of a bonk. Worse, I was getting for-real cramps in both calves and quads. This was bad. Real bad. We were around mile 30 and for the first (and only) time that day I seriously considered a DNF. I thought about telling Ian and James I had failed. I thought about telling Chris, and my wife (who had solo parenting duty while I galivanted around the woods). I thought about the other hard things I had done. And I kept going. I pounded Endurolytes, Clif blocks, Infint, and water. I never stopped moving forward, even when it was slow. When Hankey’s turned to a double/singletrack climb, I walked up a few especially steep pitches. I just kept moving forward and prayed for the descent and coming Aid Station.

The descent was…fine? It was mostly point and pray for me. I have zero recollection of it.

Aid Station 3 wasn’t shaded enough for my taste, but I made the most of it. While I had committed to short stops, this was probably ten minutes. I changed my socks and bandanna[8], drank Gatorade and ate a PB&J. I did not apply the A&D I had packed, which caused me no issues the day of the race but led to some painful showers the next few days.

Aid 3 to Aid 4 (31–57) I moved onto the road to head out to Braley’s Pond loop. It was an easy 4 miles, and a single serving friend came up from behind and asked to work together. We traded off pulls for a few miles until, rather suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore.

I had ridden Braley’s that spring, and thought my experience would help. I was mostly wrong. A volunteer was stationed to tell us “everyone walked the stream” at the initial crossing. For good reason- the water was knee deep or more and swift. After walking up rock stairs that were longer than I remembered, we settled into a climb that was pretty much what I remembered. What I hadn’t anticipated was being so worn that every obstacle/rock garden would blow me out. In the interests of keeping my heart rate down, I walked anything remotely challenging, as did basically everyone around me. I passed a few riders on the climb; I think they would ride faster than me, but I could keep a steadier and faster hike-a-bike pace. (Which paid dividends as I flirted with the cutoff time.)

The descent went well, a theme for the day. On both the Wolf descent and especially the Hankey’s descent, I passed people who generally got to the side when they heard my hub buzzing.[9] Braley’s was the only time I was passed- I just couldn’t focus enough to open up. It was also the first time I encountered a man and woman duo I would see several times. The man wasn’t registered, but a several time SM100 finisher, and there to escort the woman to a finish. She was complaining of cramps at the top of Braley’s and blew up going over a rooty section on the descent.

I had mentally penciled in the single and double track out of Braley’s back to Aid Station 4 as “easy”. [Narrator Voice]: It was not easy. The rain had turned this section of trail, generally swampy, into a peanut buttery mess. Puddles and muck galore. Running water down the “trail”. It was a slogfest and I was not cool with it.

Aid Station 4 I went for Gatorade, but the station was running short. Instead, a woman gave me a Dixie cup half-filled with powder, into which I mixed water to create a Gatorade slurry. It was delicious. I was happy to be out of the mud, but the mud would have the last laugh.

Aid 4 to Aid 5 (57–75) Then came the long climb up to Aid Station 5. I had in mind the famous “Death Climb,” which made the initial gravel road section feel not bad, just endless. I had a moment at Mile 61 though- there was a relatively quick and punchy steep climb up the gravel road, at the top of which was a small cheering/drinking section. I knew it was Mile 61 because I yelled[10] out “What mile is this?” and they told me. A mustachioed young man gave me a strong push up the final feet of the climb, like I was in the Tour de France, and a woman looked right at me and said “You are strong. You will do this.” The road got a little dusty at that point.

Not long after my verklempt moment, a thunderstorm rolled through. And not a quick one-and-done thunderstorm. For most of that climb, I was getting pelted with rain as thunder rolled through the valley. I was mostly worried they would pull us off the course at Aid Station 5 because of the lightening.[11] One benefit, though: the rain absolutely lowered my core temp and lessened the humidity considerably.

As we turned right onto the Death Climb proper, my latest single serving friend[12] told me the climb was a mile and half. This knowledge kept me from freaking out and gave me a good, short goal to concentrate on. I passed several people and was passed several times; everyone seemed to have their heads down, focused on one pedal stroke at a time. The jokes and conversation of a few hours ago had long since passed. I had packed headphones specifically for this stretch, but the thought of stopping and messing with what was sure to be recalcitrant technology was too daunting to even contemplate. I set a goal to stay on the bike until Aid 5, and I did.

My second drop bag was at Aid 5, and had to have lights to leave. It was shortly before reaching the aid station that I looked down and realized my bar light mount, which I had put on the night before, was…gone. Lost to the wild descents of Shenandoah, I’m sure. I couldn’t leave (let alone ride when it got dark) without that light, so I went up to the mechanic and asked for help. A rag and some duct tape later, the light was mounted. Its relative position would come into play later. I also put on my helmet mount but put the light in my pack so I wouldn’t have to ride with it during daylight like a goober. I was pretty hasty putting the helmet mount on, though, another thing that would come back around. I eschewed the proffered pizza, going with Coke, Endurolytes, and half a Clif bar. I also changed socks and bandanna. I was soaked after the rain, so a little dry didn’t hurt. The rain had put the final nail in my cramps, thankfully, I was only typical riding sore[13] thereafter. (Except my butt, which was just terribly sore.) The volunteers were mostly concentrating on closing up shop as the riders petered out. I heard one tell another the cutoff was 30 minutes away, which gave me motivation to keep moving. I also saw my only DNF of the day at Aid 5. I tall, athletic gent walked up to volunteer and spoke to her quietly. She turned and screamed his race number at the tally taker, “TWO FIVE FOUR DNF!” Don’t be that guy, I thought as I rolled away.

Aid 5 to Aid 6 (75–88) This was described to me by Chris E. as “the high meadows” and he just said “they will test you.” Rolling jeep trail over Chestnut Ridge also called “13 Meadows”, it seemed each meadow deserved its own climb. Thanks to Chris’s race prep, the terrain didn’t surprise or intimidate me. What did surprise me were the trail conditions. Mud, mud, mud, and more mud. So much mud. Thick peanut buttery mud. Slick greasy mud. White mud, which I didn’t know could be a thing. Grassy mud. Rocky mud. Mud that stuck to your tires and sucked out your soul. Mud. Keep ahead of that 30 minutes left to cutoff mud. Just stay calm and keep moving forward is all I kept repeating to myself.

The downhill, which honestly arrived sooner than I expected, was mud, slick mud mostly. I walked a rock drop I could have ridden but was sketched out by. The guy behind me also stopped and I apologized for messing up his flow, but he said “As soon as I saw you walking I knew I wasn’t riding it.” We were looking to get down, not send anything. I hadn’t realized the “descent” included a lot of mini-climbs, several of which were quite steep and got me off the bike. I passed a salty guy who had the same sentiment. “I thought we were supposed to be going down,” he grumbled as we pushed our bikes up a pitch.

I splashed through a stream and pumped up to Aid Station 6. A woman immediately came over. “Fries?” They were hot, and crispy, and salty, and incredible. I also asked for a chain lube, if I still had a chain. The crew laughed and said they would look for it. My poor FRANKENTOWER was looking pretty rough. As I ate, I asked the Most Handsome Volunteer Ever for a course brief and he walked me through what I could expect in a really great, understandable way. The best news he gave me was “it’s not a true hundred miler” and I was closer to ten miles from the end than the expected twelve. However, he told me it would take an hour and forty-five minutes to cover the distance. This was a pretty close estimate.[14] I also asked a VERY UNDERSTANDING volunteer to open up my pack, pull out my light, and slide it onto my helmet mount. Given the state of both the pack and the helmet, this was an act of extreme heroism that deserves every volunteer award possible. I rolled out feeling shredded but determined. So close.

Aid 6 to Finish (88–98) Thanks to my very handsome course brief, I knew the final climb was a repeat from earlier in the day. The very same climb that had almost finished me around mile 30. My only mantra was keep moving forward. I tried to keep a steady pace, wanting to put as much distance behind me before the dark. In the end, I completed the climb in the last vestiges of daylight, just reaching the beginning of the single track as true darkness hit. And man, it was dark. I switched on my lights and realized the helmet mount was pointed too far down and the bar mount was pointed too far up. I couldn’t really adjust either and decided to roll with what I had. Which was deeply limited visibility. Down a strange trail. After 13 hours of riding. In the pitch black. Alone.[15]

At this point, barring a mechanical, I was pretty sure I would finish, but that final descent was absolutely terrifying. I wasn’t sure where I was, where I was going, or if either was the right way. Each yellow course marker was like a faint glimmer of hope. Keep going, trust, and this will come to an end.[16]

“Faithless is he who quits when the road darkens.” -fortune cookie I got a few days before the race

I recognized the last section of fire road descent from my previous visits to Stokesville by the small pine trees, but my mind was playing a lot of tricks and I wasn’t sure of myself. Finally, though, I saw lights through the trees and came across people. People screaming. “Keep going! You look great!” I thought for sure someone yelled “Go right!” and I nearly missed the turn into the final finish chute. “Which way? Which way?” I was screaming back. I mean, remember it was pitch black pierced by blinding camp lights and I barely knew my name. I quickly got straightened out, hit the final grass rollers, and pedaled through the finish.

Right after I crossed, I saw Ian, looking quite fresh in his Team Granite sweatshirt. He took my bike and I took a knee to feel the moment.[17]

As we walked away, I asked Ian to call Jill on his phone for me. I knew that I had said I would try to text during the race[18] and I knew it was very late and I knew she would be worried. “I did it,” I told her. Because I had.

TL;DR I am extremely glad I did this very hard event. It was a test, for sure, and the setup and support was unmatched. If you have a thought about doing this race, you should do it. Commit. I’m firmly in the “if I can do it, anyone can” camp, so no excuses. It was also huge to travel down and stay with two friends. That support system made everything a lot easier. So go grab a friend and ride your bike. Keep moving forward.

[1] A quick aside about that snafu and my bike generally- my water bottle, which barely fit beneath the rear suspension, rubbed a hole in the carbon downtube. Yes, I should have noticed (bike shop: “This didn’t happen overnight”) but I mean, carbon can’t stand up to a plastic water bottle?!? Anyway, I applied for a warranty replacement from Santa Cruz. I ended up having to pay a sharply reduced price, but the biggest kick in the teeth was my matte black frame was no longer available. I had to settle for a mango and orange front triangle mated to my matte black rear and front fork, both with orange and mint trim. However, on the advice of the shop and with the help of my steady-handed wife, I added mint decals to my new downtube and, I must say, FRANKENTOWER looks pretty sharp.

[2] Rented from the saltiest man imaginable

[3] Joke. If not for them I may not have finished.

[4] I made several single serving friends, riding along for a period before one or the other moved ahead. I wish I knew if the woman with the cramping or the guy who fell 20 feet down Braley’s Pond climb made it.

[5] Not much, but more than him.

[6] And who I would later find and pull off the trailside on Braley’s Pond. He had a severely gashed knee. I caught up with him again at Aid Station 4 where he as getting medical attention, but have no idea if he finished.

[7] A volunteer grabbed my bike and said “Lube? I’ll have this right back to you.” And he did. Actually, a young girl (maybe 12?) was holding my bike for me when I finished with fill-up. The volunteers were amazing.

[8] Changing bandannas was CLUTCH.

[9] I think people around me were generally faster climbers but more cautious descenders.

[10] More like wailed.

[11] They didn’t. Caveat emptor, I suppose.

[12] An older gent in a Marine Corps jersey.

[13] VERY SORE

[14] Ended up being about 1.5 hours.

[15] Two guys had passed me towards the bottom of the climb, but from that point to the finish I didn’t see another soul.

[16] Or, as I thought at the time, “Get me off this fucking mountain.”

[17] Incidentally, I think Ian may have been a bit shocked at my reaction. I am not known as an emotive guy.

[18] Impossible due to technology, time limits, and general brain melting.

    TJ Mayotte

    Written by

    Expatriate New Hampshireman in the HoCo. I was born for a storm and a calm does not suit me.

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