ORAMM 2009

The 10th installment of the Off-Road Assault on Mt. Mitchell (ORAMM) was my second edition. Last year, curiosity led me to sit in the sweltering rear seat of a Mazda MPV for 14 hours to experience my first. So why not do it again? Only this time, jam two more people and gear into said MPV for a total of 5 intrepid souls.

Last year I clocked 7:27:58, slotting into 103rd place out of 315 finishers. This year I hoped to take some time off and avoid paralyzing cramps over the last several miles. The keystone of my plan was to consistently ride-- not stop for minutes at a time at the aid stations eating. I was more than a little worried about bonking hard last year, and I would almost hazard a guess that I ate too much. I also was not a fan of Heed and relied solely on water for drinking. I came to this realization at the final rest stop where the Endurolytes I consumed were far little too late, as I would soon find out. Ultimately, enduro racing (for me) is a balance of going fast enough to not be on course forever versus not going so fast as to burst into flames.

This year I decided to be a little more aggressive on the road ascent that led to the base of Kitsuma Peak, the first singletrack climb. I don't descend particularly well relative to actual mountain riders, so I was previously concerned about plugging up the track during the first looooooong and technical descent, since that's probably the only fun part of an enduro race. This year, the sentiment was, "whatever...they'll find a way by me."

I think I must have hit the trail in the top 30 places which left enough daylight to ride up most of the initial technical climbs. Last year saw me walk/run/scramble up the slopes in pretty heavy traffic. Immediate improvement! I kept the ascent controlled, ran switchbacks where I had to (most people had to, in my defense!), and generally maintained my position. When it came to the descent I was willing to let the bike run a lot more than last year and actually had very few guys track me. In fact, I caught two riders on the descent, whose gingerly navigation was half the reason riders from behind could close the gaps to me. And unlike road cyclists, the guys passing me were actually awesome, patient, and thankful when I gave them room to squeeze by.

Following the Kitsuma section, there are a few miles of road riding until the first aid station and the next ascent up Star Gap. I spotted Vanya at the rest stop, taking in some early food. I quickly grabbed a banana, a handful of cashews, and a full bottle, spending not more than a minute in the process. I was feeling good.

Star gap is a series of rideable and nigh impossible switchbacks that one ascends early and descends late in the race. More than obviously built to be ridden DOWN. Thus, it's pretty technical but not all that taxing if you stay relaxed and roll with the frequent on/off the bike transitions.

About halfway up, I heard Vanya from many feet below, on a lower section of trail. A couple of minutes later, he had rejoined and passed me, erasing any advantage I had gained via my "efficient" food stop. I tried to stay with him on the descents that followed, but erred on the side of safety when a tight switchback reminded me of my usual descending hesitance. He can go ahead without me! I figured I would see him at the base of the descent, and the start of the monstrous Curtis Creek climb, just like last year.

Following the technical descending are some punchy rollers and swooping gravel descents. With knowledge of the long descent ahead, I felt obliged to pin my effort on the small climbs ahead. In only a short time I caught and re-passed Vanya (probably much to his surprise). As we hit the gravel double track, I had daylight in front and behind. The enduro is a lonely race...

I floored the descent, making the most of my largest gears and whatever handling skills I possess. A small grass track in the center allowed judicious two-wheel slides through the gravel before the grass kept you tracked through the remainder of the turn. It was awesome-- easily my favorite (read: easiest) descent. Much to my surprise, I think I actually gained time on Vanya in this section- my gap at the bottom seemed larger than what I had at the top. Another super quick aid station cleared, I was on my way to the base of Curtis Creek.

Curtis Creek is easily the most harrowing feature on the course profile, gaining roughly 3000 vertical feet over the course of 9-10 miles. If it were paved, it would be a HC climb in the Tour de France. But it's not paved...it's rocky dirt. Stand at the your own risk. Or at least, "stand and look really uncomfortable with your ass way back so you don't spin your rear."

I don't have an elapsed time for the climb, but Cameron did it in 52(?) minutes, I believe. So that's pretty long. I wasn't in the business of riding for the win, so I kept the pace reasonable and sustainable. Cameron's pace was more than likely unreasonable and unsustainable for all but very few. Over the hour+ of riding, I think I picked up maybe half a dozen guys. FAR less than last year. At this point, I began to wonder where I sat in the race standings. The herd was pretty thin up there.

The course provides an all too brief rest/descent before sending you up ANOTHER mountain, to meet the Blue Ridge Parkway at just around 5000'. Mentally it's a good landmark. When you reach the top, you know you are just about 3/4 through the race and practically done with the significant climbing. And for me, it's about the point where you can begin to think about how far back you will slip from there to the finish.

After a mile or two on the parkway, there's an annoyingly lengthy hike-a-bike section that brings you to the top of the aptly named Heartbreak Ridge. Look at the profile. That's a lot of elevation drop in not so much trail. The trail itself resembles more of a hiking trail than anything I'm used to riding in Shindagin or elsewhere. Outside of being exhausted and on a 26" hardtail, it's a hell of a good time. The kind of good time that makes you appreciate that your bike was (hopefully) constructed by a competent welder (carbon mountain bikes aside). On more than a few occasions I found myself wondering how the bike and fork can take such a sustained beating (and just how hot my brake rotors were). Point your bike and proceed accordingly.

At the bottom of Heartbreak Ridge, you find yourself at the top of Star Gap again. This time you take the switchbacks DOWN. Word of advice- no front brakes allowed. I learned my lesson last year as I endo'd down more turns than I'd like to admit. This year the plan was- practically stop before the turn, remove my left hand from the front brake lever, ass back off the seat (or straddle the top tube), lock up the rear, and hope to slide around. This worked for all but the steepest drops. For those, I adopted the two step process of riding straight to the apex and following this with a tap dance 180 turn. Stupid but effective.

Once at the bottom of Star Gap, all that remains is another bitchy dirt road climb up Mill Creek Road followed by a final ascent/descent of Kitsuma. Last year, this section was the death of me, so I was quite mindful of the cramping potential on the steep climbs that awaited. Luckily my race plan went off without a hitch, and the Heed came through big time. I lost a couple spots to a couple podium-bound Masters racers on the descent, but it was otherwise unremarkable. This was about as good as an enduro race gets.

I ended up in 31st place with a time of 6:13:48, just about 1'15" faster than last year. Ultimately, I think going under 6 hours was totally possible and is my goal for next year. I never felt taxed on the ascents, so I think I could definitely afford to lose some time there. And maybe (1 year to go!), I'll learn to descend well enough to not hemorrhage so much time anytime the trail goes down.