Cycling backroads in the land of Deliverance (the movie)

It's 5:15 p.m. on a brilliantly sunny, bordering-on-humid afternoon about ten kilometers away from the Appalachian Trail. A small ice chest with an assortment of North Carolinian IPAs, two canvas grocery bags with potluck dishes, and three collapsible chairs rest in the Nissan's trunk, on top of a folded-up rollator. It's only a short drive down the hill, around the golf course, to the meeting place of the first "fling" of the year--the neighborhood get-together that brings out a fair number of Mill Creek's denizens. At age 63 I am easily 15 years shy of the average crowd age, more like 20 it seems. Other differences: I don't use hearing aids, don't know a thing about golf carts, and have just returned from a tough 41-mile bike ride in the Blue Ridge Mountains surrounding Franklin, NC. The neatly parked assembly of golf carts (the preferred method of locomoting at Mill Creek) reminds me of photos taken at the Pebble Beach Concours d'Elegance. They look damn fancy. I'm introduced to gently smiling ladies and gentlemen, and when I place our potluck dishes on the tables set up in the garage of the host I can't help but notice the American bunting and the Trump / Pence 2016 signs. Welcome to the world where my friends Judy and Miles live.

Fling-time at Mill Creek

With no more races on the immediate horizon and two weeks to kill before leaving for Europe I had decided about a month ago that it was high time to pay another visit to Lubbock's one-and-only Pain Clinic doctor and his wife. Thinking back how long ago it was that Miles lived in Lubbock would make us appear even older than we are, so let's not dwell on that. The more important part is that over all those years we've always stayed in contact. We both married Judys, he "his Judy" and I "my Judy," as we always distinguished them in conversation back then and still do. I had been to Franklin back in 2012 for a short visit, and Miles had come to Lubbock once in the interim. High time, indeed.

Miles' and Judy's humble abode in Franklin

Miles at the grill

Rural South Carolina--five days of riding bliss

Another good reason for this trip was that I finally wanted to take my new Ritchey Outback on a trip that involved flying. It's one thing to put a bike on a car rack and spend some time in the Hill Country, but packing and flying with it is a different affair. I have to say that packing and unpacking and then re-packing this travel bike was just as easy, even if a little more involved, as packing the road Ritchey. (Since the gravel bike has disc brakes I take a few extra steps to prevent bent rotors and other issues. And for the tech geeks out there, I am using mechanical and not hydraulic disc brakes since I have to split the rear brake cable for transport.)

I flew into Greenville/Spartanburg, SC (GSP) and picked up my rental car to drive the two hours to Franklin, which is located in the south-west corner of North Carolina. Thanks to an accident,  Miles is no longer able to do the killer rides that he used to embark on (I don't know how many full Ironman distance triathlons he has under the belt), and since Judy hadn't been much on the bike in the past few months either we all decided that it would be better if I went on solo rides.

Pre-ride selfie with Judy (right) and her friend Jane 

Post-ride refreshment

Franklin doesn't have any flat riding. It's either up, or it's down, but flat ground can be found only on some very short stretches along some of the rivers. Of course, I knew that beforehand, and the low gearing that I have on the Outback was another reason for my preferring it over the road Ritchey. Also, on every ride (except the one on the Blue Ridge Parkway on Sunday) I was able to ride some gravel passages, adding to the sense of adventure that comes with riding in these parts of the world.

Riding along the Little Tennessee River was one of the highlights of the trip--simply incredible

To plan my rides, which were all right around 40 miles long, I used my Locus map app. That program is just amazing! I can plan out routes, preview the profile, and make adjustments on the fly, to add an extra few miles or to shorten a too-ambitious excursion. I can't recommend Locus highly enough. I also sought input from Miles and Judy, and while two of my rides were proper loop courses that started and ended at their lovely home, the other rides were point-to-home or point-to-point rides thanks to a car shuttle. (Judy and her friend/neighbor Jane would do a much shorter ride from a location that they'd drive to, and I would simply start my ride there and then end up at the house hours later.)

Thanks to this arrangement I was able to cover a lot of ground around Franklin. My rides took me through parts of the Nantahala National Forest, and I was in the Smoky Mountains. On quiet roads with very little traffic I'd ride along beautiful streams such as the Little Tennessee River, cross quaint valleys, and top out on ridges overlooking the vast greenery. I had ample opportunity to see how the locals flaunt their wealth: surround your shack with all the cars that you have ever owned, place at least one refrigerator and one washer on your dilapidating porch, and show off your non-existent teeth when you smile. OK, so that last point is not based on empirical data since Deliverance was still too fresh in my mind and I didn't want to approach the natives too closely.

I breathed in the sweet, sweet smell of honeysuckle, which out here is more of a treelike weed than the ornamental bush we know in Lubbock. Oh, that fragrance! Car drivers were extremely courteous and patient when they came up on me, slowly slogging up yet another steep hill. Miles and Judy corroborated that motorists in North Carolina have a different attitude toward cyclists than those in Texas, making for an extremely pleasant experience. Just like Arkansas or West Virginia, North Carolina is the butt of uncountable jokes thanks to the sightings of an above-average number of FLKs (Funny Looking Kids), but in all reality I found it more pleasant, scenic, and friendly than many other states.

On my last full day, we went by car to the Blue Ridge Parkway. I was dropped off at the highest point of the road, and the plan was to meet back up, about 40 miles later, in Cherokee. My two hosts and their friends were going to go for a much shorter ride somewhere in between. Thankfully, I had researched the route via Locus maps the night before, after Miles had claimed that I wouldn't face anything but one continuous downhill. Sure enough, thrown into the mix were an eight-mile and a four-mile uninterrupted climb, reducing my speed to not much more than walking pace. When it started to thunderstorm on me and I got soaked I fleetingly doubted my sanity—did I really need to do this at age 63? But soon the sun peeked out again, and I finished the day with the best views of the entire trip.

Jane, Judy, and Dave practicing their martini glass lifting skills

Altogether I rode about 200 miles in those five days, climbing more than 20,000 feet or close to 7,000 meters. If it hadn't been for numerous excursions to the local breweries and the "it's-gotta-be-five-o'clock-somewhere" ritual that Miles and Judy have down pat, I would have gained more than just a modicum of fitness. But how much fun would that have been, right? I can't wait for my next visit!

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My spring officiating season has finally come to an end

The Wasatch mountains in Utah

It's been a fun four months of officiating, starting with the high school races that began back in February, and ending last weekend with the 2019 USA Cycling Mountain Bike Marathon National Championships in Palo Duro Canyon, close to Amarillo. 

Squeezed in between the finals of our high school series at the end of April and Nats was a one-week trip out to Utah. Just like in the past two years I had been assigned to the Soldier Hollow Bike Festival, which has grown from its original humble roots as a one-day race to a four-day UCI S1 stage race. Soldier Hollow was the site of the Nordic events of the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City, and just a month or two back a biathlon World Cup had taken place at this fabulous venue. That meant that a lot of the infrastructure for parking and spectating was still in place, although almost all of the snow was gone. (There were a few dirty patches next to the trail, but that was all.)

Soldier Hollow, site of the nordic events at the 2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics

Just like in 2017 and 2018 I was the Vice Chief who helped the UCI-appointed PCP (in this case, Jim Crompton from the US) and was responsible for the amateur portion of this complex event. The race organizer, MJ Turner, and his helpers put on an impressive race, and I had more fun than headaches, even if there were some timing issues that required a bit of extra work. But just being out at Soldier Hollow, walking some of the trails, looking at the gorgeous Heber valley and the Wasatch mountains, and seeing old friends more than make up for some of the hiccups.

Speaking of old friends: After the conclusion of the event on Sunday, Park City denizen Rick Morris picked me up for dinner with him and his wife, Mel, at their cozy place. I couldn't believe the amount of snow that was still piled up behind their house--the last snowstorm had moved through just about 10 days earlier. As always, it was great to catch up with Rick, whom I've known since his time as a mountain bike racer when he still lived in Texas.

My buddy Rick

My return to Lubbock took a little longer than planned thanks to various airplane maintenance and then weather issues. Instead of flying home through Phoenix I was rerouted through Dallas, where I had to spend Monday night in a hotel (paid for by AA since the maintenance issue preceded the weather) so that I didn't make it back to Lubbock until well after noon on Tuesday as more maintenance problems delayed our DFW departure. Oh well, might as well get it all out of the way in one fell swoop.

The three days in Lubbock blew by like a spring storm--dental appointment, laundry, a couple of bike rides, catching up with mail and bills, and hosting Alan on Thursday night on his way to the Panhandle to see his family for Mother's Day. And Friday morning I was in the Beemer to drive up to Palo Duro.

When I had received the appointment as Chief Referee to this national championship I had expected a hot, sunny weekend in a dry environment where racers would suffer from heat exhaustion--and probably everybody else had thought along those lines, too. Nobody would have imagined that riders would have to don jackets and that the start would have to be delayed by two hours because of rain! The canyon was greener than I have ever seen it, and when the sun finally poked through on Saturday afternoon the entire place exploded into rich colors that wowed even the locals.

One of the last finishers (surviving the time cut)

The race attracted about 350 racers from more than 25 states, in all age categories. The local organizers, Karie Mueller and Keevin Sharpe, had prepared a double loop course through the US's second largest canyon system that was truly championship worthy. Not one racer complained that it was too easy! While the Pros finished the course in a little more than three hours, many amateurs took five hours or more, and some could not make the time cut. Tough indeed.

On Friday night, our crew of four USAC officials was treated to something rather special: We were picked up at our hotel in Amarillo by a limousine and whisked away to the Big Texan Steak Ranch, home of the world famous 72 oz steak dinner. What, you've never heard of it? You must be kidding! All along I-40 there are billboards inviting you to a FREE 72 ounce steak dinner (that's a little more than two kilograms!), as long as you eat that huge chunk of meat plus the salad plus the loaded potato plus the cobbler in an hour or less--and keep it all down for another 10 minutes or so before you're finally free to puke it all up, when you're off stage (where you're placed so everyone can watch you eat yourself sick). Yep, that's Texas for you. Apparently about half of the people who give it a try manage to complete the task (and feel like crap, I am sure); the other half fail miserably, feel like crap, and have to pay for the dinner! The fastest that someone has eaten the entire shebang is a little under 5 MINUTES!!! And some female professional eater managed to eat TWO dinners in less than an hour (and earned a fat paycheck by doing so). Well, we decided to go for humbler portions, enjoyed the somewhat hokey western decor, had a few good drinks, and then were limoed back to the hotel. Thanks to the owner of the restaurant for treating the officials!

And thus ended my spring campaign working races. My next appointment is going to be the mid-July Elite Mountain Bike National Championships in Winter Park, Colorado, where I'll be once again chief referee. I also have some anti-doping assignments in the late summer, but until then, I'll continue to travel and play privately, because sitting at home becomes boring after a while. Stay tuned!

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