Three State, 3-Mountain summary

written and submitted by Rob Robins

This was not my finest moment as a cyclist. I gripped the brakes as much as I dared, just short of locking them up. My bike did not slow down at all like I expected. Like it had so many times before. It was as though it had become a willful beast that had elected this moment -- of all moments -- in which to ignore my commands. Through the downpour I could make out the shape of the bend in the road ahead, but of its particular pitch and surface I could determine nothing. And the wisdom I had felt so sure of while putting on my sunglasses just before my plummet down this mountain was beginning to unravel as well. Sure, the rain was no longer stinging my eyes – but if anything my vision was further impaired. A mile or so more down the mountain and the little trembles that were building somewhere deep in my back and limbs would realize full metamorphosis in the form of head-to-toe body shakes, uncontrollable shivers, and the all too familiar involuntary chattering of teeth. These were the initial warning signs of hypothermia.

This was my introduction to the 3 State, 3 Mountain Century in Chattanooga, TN. Six Cycle-Logic riders and their friends made the trek this year largely at the invitation of team member Tal Mincey, who really rolled out the red carpet for his pals. We set up in a great cabin not far from Chattanooga and made ready for a great weekend of biking.

Mother nature had other plans of course – plans that she made clear in advance in the memos we read with big, bright, blotchy, moving paintings we like to call radar, but cyclists being an absurdly headstrong breed we mushed forward undeterred, hubris and misplaced confidence tucked securely in our hip pockets like so many water bottles and spare tubes. Among us were grizzled veterans of Six Gap, the sub-four hour Swampman Century and the various race categories of Florida Cycling. We could handle anything! The challenge laid before us this morning was a mere 100 mile leisure ride – “Pish Posh!” – One and all exclaimed and we sallied forth. Little did we know that by 11 am, our once proud ranks would be reduced to drunkards in spandex and the publicly nude and indecent.

With temperatures lingering in the high 50’s, the first drops fell moments before the 8 am start. And while they were few, these were big, fat, glossy rain drops, unmistakable as harbingers of a day-long-deluge, not just any old hit and run sprinkling.

Having agreed to do this ride not for time, but for companionship and sight-seeing, we felt no urge to line up at the front. This of course violated several core principles of the riders in our group, most significantly the one that goes something like “To thine own self be true.” Immediately we began racing toward the front. Through the squirrels, around the slip-and-slide and dump-oneself-on-the-train-tracks-for-no-reason-riders and a host of others we proceeded. Reaching the base of the first climb we began to tap out a steady rhythm.

Here I began a fun game of cat and mouse with Tal. The longer it went on, the more riders we passed and the more it became clear to me that Tal was a very lithe and agile mouse and I a listless and much-coddled house cat. Nevertheless I made it to the top with Tal by shamelessly sitting his wheel for a goodly portion of the climb.

It was at this juncture that we were forcefully served the terms of the memo we had chosen to ignore. The icy deluge began. We waited for our teammates as agreed upon but it soon became hard to make out the riders as they passed. Down the mountain I went shortly after Tal, Mike Robinson, and Jayson O’Mahoney. Deft and fearless descenders all, I knew I would not see them again until the bottom.

My ride down, as previously characterized, was also to include such ignominious happenings as getting passed by people approximately twice my age and by a lot of them. I confess that I thought of home and I thought of what it might feel like to slide off the mountain and wrap my body around a tree.

Near the bottom I came upon Jayson, who normally descends like a turd dropped by a bird flying over a car wash – fast, right on target, and sure to ruin your day. But his carbon rims were in a dispute with his brake pads and Jayson was desperately trying to arbitrate the disagreement with language like “Bollocks!” and “Bloody Hell!” All to no avail.

At the bottom the huddled masses immediately got serious about huddling and being a mass. With each passing moment rider upon rider joined the confused and trembling flock at the first sag stop. By the time I found the wits to go inside a gas station convenience store for warmer air and hot drink, my estimate of the crowd outside was of 150- 250 disheartened souls. Crowded as they were together, milling about in little concentric staccato movements, it was as though the deep Antarctic night unfolded before my eyes and The March of the Penguins was on display before me in Chattanooga, TN. Then again, another hallmark of hypothermia is delirium.

As still more riders came down the mountain and dismounted, those with the greatest resolve bedraggledly began to head back over the way we had come. In the end, I have no idea how many abandoned the century, but we joined their ranks and rode back to Chattanooga.

Jayson, Mike and I got a guided escort from some real class acts, local riders in Krystal Burger kits who were as thoughtful as they were fun to ride with. Vern, James, Tal, and his pal Paul took their own route, one that apparently required a stop at a bar for some mid-morning shots. Upon being presented with their drunken parking lot tomfoolery the three amigos responded in the only way appropriate, that being of course a synchronized triple-moon. We hesitated but for a quick check for police and school children before dropping our road-grime-coated bibs in unison.

In the end, this was not a great day for team Cycle Logic’s racing pedigree. But we’ve always been a somewhat muttly bunch, not overly concerned about results on the road as much as we are about riding hard and safe. Let the results come as they may. I for one harbor no regret about 3 State 2009 and am thankful for the companionship of my friends and for the good times in spite of the lousy conditions. Here’s to 3 state in 2010!