Tag Archives: Adventures

Journal

Adventure is Driving Me

[This is the second part of “The Biggest Bike Week of My Life” previous blog entry. I was left on my mission alone; riding in the dark in a forest area of almost two million acres.]

My headlamp cast shadows, fixed silhouettes like pop-up books. Smoky grey and browns and charcoal black: the new colors of the night world. It was spooky. Trepidation, the fear of the unknown; the dark place in the mind creates much worse things than the real places where darkness dwells.

That having been said, the silhouette of a pit bull charging toward me in the dark was something really to be scared of! Because my lights only pointed forward, I could just get a couple glimpses of the muscled white dog getting into position. My hair stood on end. Out of the corner of my eye, I could only see teeth barking at me from 7 o’clock. I burst to full speed and could hear its nails on the pavement. “Scratch, scratch, scratch,” from each paw searching for traction. I could hear the tires ” vrrrrip, vrrrip, vrrrip” and I drove the pedals full gas on the slight uphill.

As the dog sounds’ faded into the distance, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. ‘That was not cool,’ I muttered.

(Days after my adventure, my wife overheard me telling this story to a friend. She exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me about that? You should carry a gun so you can shoot at things you can’t see in the dark! Especially in Africa!” Not a great idea, on second thought.)

My hands and arms were raw and tired and my back hurt under the strain of rock moves, log jumping, portages and hike-a-bike sections.

Entering Douthat State Park was a nice respite from the evil backcountry trails whose rocks, ravines and tree-strewn trails threatened to swallow me whole. I was now on a mountain bike roller coaster around slender bench-cut singletrack. Delightful ribboning switchbacks are the legacy of the Civilian Conservation Corps.

I finally hit my first real stop 11 hours into my ride. At the end of the Park road, I pedaled toward the lone gas station, stomach growling and legs weak. I was hoping it was open at 2 a.m., since there was nothing else there. My pedals turned slowly. I tempered my excitement, thinking if it’s closed, I guess I’d just take a nap in the wet grass.

Welcome to Vegas! I rounded the corner to see the lights on that said “OPEN!” WOO HOO! As I entered the store, it was sensory overload like a casino floor of sweets and junk food and salty heaven! All the shiny wrappers and glowing signs blinded me and stole my night vision.

I bought giant bag of trail mix, had a “white-trash mocha” (equal parts gas station coffee and machine-dispensed cappuccino) a Snickers, a doughnut, some mini chocolates and cheeseburger.

The bloodshot-eyed attendant asked in a southern draw, “You need a bag?”

“No thanks.” I ate it all on the spot. I had to get caught up with calories since my poor planning had me without food for the last two hours on the trail.

Recharged and feeling solid, powered by a 2,000-calorie snack, I got back in the groove and finally started north. As I climbed, I exited the groomed State Park and it was evident I was again in the backcountry!

While riding the damp sapling-hell of tangled low trees, at times I could only see three feet ahead of me. I thought how easy it would be for a bear to get surprised by my unexpected appearance and attack. (The night lets thoughts creep in which normally don’t pop up in the day.)

On Little Mare Mountain I had a couple scares. Portaging my bike over a down log, I smashed my shin sharply into the pedal and almost collapsed from the pain. I thought, ‘I might be stranded out here.’ Luckily the pain subsided. No major injury, I carried-on. Trying to ride a rock garden, I crashed which had me putting my ankles between two rocks as I fell. This one could have been BAD! I managed to go the rest of the route without too much trouble; not an easy task when I couldn’t even see below the knee-deep brush. I pushed on.

It was 3 a.m. I finally got a call through to my emergency pit stop crew and coordinated a drop. I navigated the strange new trail in awe that I had never ridden Brushy Mountain and its sick side-benched goat path before. Was I 100 feet up? 2,000 feet up? Since it was dark, I was not sure, but didn’t plan to fall down and find out.

After riding for hours with not even a flicker of light from a house a car or anything, I crossed the swinging bridge over the Cowpasture River. Ahead I spied a car headlight. I heard some kids shouting? As I got closer, I heard “MUNGA! MUNGA! MUNGA!”

It was the boys! I was ecstatic to see my friends Danny Gibney and Dan Wolfe who surprised me out here at 3:30 in the morning. I had some cold pizza and shared some stories over a few Cokes. It was sweet after the jungle track I had just survived.

Elliots Sun Rise
My next section was twenty miles of road and dirt road. This however brought faster speeds, and as the temperature dropped, my knees were freezing cold and causing quite a bit of pain. I pushed hard, as I have found the endorphins block pain.

The darkest hour before twilight – the witching hour – was approaching. I matched my longest bike ride ever during this hour. Elliotts Knob – the biggest climb to the highest point – was ahead. I was dreading the hour and a half of climbing with steep leg-saping pitches, hike-a-bikes, rock gardens and impenetrable briars wet with dew would make it the biggest test of the ride. I pushed through, talking myself into thinking if this is only one of the three big pre-Munga tests, then its worth at least $20,000 to be under 20-hours (my time goal for the ride).

I was rewarded at the top by the golden orb burning thru the mist.

The most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen; like a giant tangerine wrapped in downy rose petals against antennas at the top of the 4,500-foot peak. Hello, sunshine!

Wave after wave of clouds filled the valley floor below. It was like being on an island!
The descent off Elliotts Knob was indescribable; high-speed sidehill singletrack interspersed with rock gardens, switchbacks and small trees in full autumn foliage as I descended into the clouds!

Then Crawford Knob’s “four walls” nearly stopped me in my tracks. These hike-a-bike sections were hell. I could barely push the bike without my feet sliding backwards. Like walking up a ski slope, I was starting to hurt again but in new ways; feet and hamstrings ached. I felt like a fly on flypaper.

I eventually toped out on Crawford Knob. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel!
One more trail to go! Half an hour climb up Hanky Mountain and then I’ll be able to sail back to the Stokesville Lodge. But first, I had the best descent of the whole ride: bench-cut side-hill single track at 30+ mph with carve-alicious turns and switchbacks. I had Cinderella’s shoes on, powered by sunshine again! I knew, despite my excitement, that my sleepiness could have me wrapped around a tree, broken and bleeding in no time, so I checked my excitement.

At the bottom of the descent, I saw two ribbons hanging from a tree with reflective tape marking a drop box the guys had stashed for me. I dreamed of pepperoni pizza. I could taste bacon, egg and cheese on a buttery croissant in and all its salty glory.

Inside the box were just some gels, energy bars and a Coke, but I guess it was all sugar I needed to keep on going. I made a quick pit, decided upon sitting down for two minutes. I was only training, so it was okay.

I pushed hard at the final climb, finding a new energy and motivation and the hope that the harder I went up to climb, the faster I’d get back. I was amazed that I was actually starting to feel good again! The sun warmed me. The shivers and bad dreams of the night seemed days ago. I was in flight, hammering! WOW!

Post by Jeremiah Bishop.

Reflection on how it felt
20,000-feet of climbing! 19.5 hours and 165 miles with darkness, hike-a-bikes, thorn caves and stream crossings, steep-ass trails with loose rocks, glowing animal eyes, and riding through brush traps all paled in comparison to the mental beast. I had overcome thorny doubt, cold despair and crystalline fear. With an escort by Chris Scott through the final mile of trails, I was fired up. It felt better than winning an XC national! I had done something no one has done before and something I thought I might not be capable of doing!

I have just opened the door on this game, but have a newfound respect for ultra-endurance cyclist. The dull ache of the legs, the raw skin-breaking pain of a saddle wearing your skin, and then there’s the pain of mental fatigue: the drain, the sinking feeling. Much like waves crashing up against the beach with different pulses of intensity and duration, but always the farther it recedes and the better you feel. You know it’s going to come back strong again just when?

Over coming these obstacles is a huge thrill. Honing your mental game is to sharpen an ax, doubling its effect at cutting anything you should choose to go after.

I was surprised how many times I smiled on this ride. I did actually have a blast. It wasn’t the hell I thought it would be. During the trip, I was under a magic spell. The feeling of riding at night with no one else around, the stars twinkling, the animals howling and hooting under the moon, just the silence of my bike moving in the woods. The mission kept the pain away and in this case, the thrill was well more than the cost.

I thought how extremely lucky I am to be able to do this ride: living a dream. I felt with this big test behind me, I was definitely capable of going the distance in The Munga.

Then like a bombshell, I read the headlines, “The MUNGA is postponed until 2015.”

Oh NO!

After the initial shock subsided, I got to thinking a bit.
Munga training made a man out of me and helped me find a new side to riding! Adventure, new friends and the inspiration to try what I thought was impossible.

Now I know I can do it. In 2015, when The Munga takes place, I will be ready.

Amazing thing is: I really enjoyed the epic training and the SDS expedition, and I will do it again next spring as an invitational event. To be in the forest covered by canopy and propelled by dreams is something you have to experience to truly understand. The Munga may be why I set out on this, but it is clear that the adventure is what is driving me to new heights.

As one door closes for a time, another door opens. I am very excited to have found a new home with a great team. I’m excited to break the details of this news very soon.

In the mean time, I will look forward to the rest of this season and perhaps a more relaxing December after all.
– Jeremiah

Hit the play button for a playback of my first ever non-stop through ride of this route.

Here’s a video from Shenandoah Mountain Touring about Stokesville Douthat Stokesville, in case you’re thinking of planning your own adventure.

Journal

Racing the Shenandoah 100-Plus

The darkness of a moonless sky was both creepy and exciting as I rolled away from Harrisonburg. Out to test my fitness and nutrition skills, I was riding the 20 miles from my house to the start of my “hometown” National Ultra Endurance race: the Shenandoah Mountain 100. I planned to race the event, and see how many more miles I could add on after the finish.

This “Shenandoah 100+” was my plan to recreate the aid station skills necessary for The Munga and chew off a big challenge—one that I could possibly fail. At The Munga there will be no outside support. Who knows what they will have at the aid stations? Some zebra stew and some bush berry candy?

The top races at the NUE hundred-milers usually shuttle drop-bags to the aid stations: we self-prepare all our regular and reliable food choices and they’re waiting for us on course. My idea at the Shenandoah 100 was to forego the drop-bags and instead come screaming into the aid station, scan the options, grab something quick but carefully, and set off. I’d see how odd drink and food choices treated me.

Bike entry 2

During the race, I was crafty and used the group on the dirt roads for some drafting and to cut down on Cameron Cogburn’s balls-out breakaway in the first half of the race. I had Keck “The Butcher” Baker and hardman Sam Koerber to work with on the major road section. Then on the rocky, technical Bridge Hollow trail, I launched a counter offensive and got into the lead.

A sixty-mile time trial was not my plan, but with a three-minute lead after Braley’s Trail, I said, “I am NOT giving this time back; they have to come get it.” Nose to the stem, I hammered and held strong to the last climb. At that point, the heat was oppressive and baking like an open oven door against the yellow, stony dirt road. I was fading from the intensity of the effort.

Just hang on!

My hands were tingling and my head was spinning from the bonk that was coming. I ate the last gel I had, and figured that even with no water it would give me a few minutes with a clear head.

I made it. I passed through the finish and hoisted my Cannondale Scalpel high in the air. “YES!” It felt so sweet to make it to the finish line and see my wife Erin and my kids Conrad and Bea.

Finish line entry 2

I’d completed the first two parts of my challenge: I rode to the race and threw down a fast 100-miler. I even won in a record time of 7:08—about four minutes faster than last year’s time set by team Garmin-Sharp pro roadie Ben King.

Now my focus turned to Munga. The SM100 finish venue spread was like a Munga rest station and full of heavier foods. I was feeling shattered, legs aching with fatigue, but I grabbed a cheeseburger and wrapped it in foil, chugged a Coke and pint of water. I filled my bottles and then (using a Chris Eatough trick) filled three cups: one with pasta salad, one with baked beans and the third with fruit.

Setting out for the extra three-plus hours didn’t even seem possible at first, but I just said to myself, “I’ll see if I can ride some more.”

I realized most of the racers were still just approaching the Death Climb, and they could be hurting more than me, so I headed out on a mission.

Misery loves company, and indeed the highlight of my day was slumming hard with guys like Joe of Joe’s Bike Shop—one of my first sponsors—and Bryan Parr who I wrenched with at Princeton Sports way back in the day. It was awesome. There were folks walking to shake out cramps and a couple on a tandem bobbing their way in unison up the climb.

Eventually I deviated from the course and dropped down one of my favorite descents called Buck Mountain. It’s an epic descent through one of the largest roadless areas on the east coast.

I felt like a mountain man, dropping away from the company of others into a raw wilderness of rock gardens, small bald ridges and lots of bear poop.

My rotors were hissing in the light rain. My smile grew from the butt-on-the-rear-wheel, hair-raising single track turns. As I got off my bike to climb over one of the forty downed trees on the trail, I put my foot down right next to a huge charcoal colored rattlesnake. “YIKES” I yelled as my foot sprang skyward like a rocket. I gotta be careful out here, I’m on my own I realized quickly.

sp_timberrattlesnake005

Then I forgot if I was in the first hour or the twelfth hour of my ride: my legs were back!

Returning to the growing party at the finish line, I’d clocked about twelve and a half hours moving time and 169 miles, including some very nasty back-country conditions carrying the bike over downed trees and through riverbed rock portages.

The “training” that started in the dark as prep for The Munga shed new light on my riding and what it means to go big and enjoy the ride.

— Jeremiah

Journal

Searching for My Twin in Toughness

I was pumped to see my training buddy Ben King get the most aggressive rider jersey at the Pro Cycling Challenge in Colorado. He is country-tough and known as a hard man of the pro road peloton. I nearly had to pry him off the phone when we last talked about the Munga, his voice revved with curiosity and excitement at the prospect of days in the bleaching desert doing something outside the norm.

Unfortunately just got news back that the Garmin-Sharp team coaching staff think Munga is too much, even for Ben!

No worries, I thought, I’ll just catch up with plan-B: the real-life Indiana Jones, Kurt Refsnider, geology professor by day and mountain bike steamroller by night. He holds the records on both the Arizona Trail 750 and 300.

But then there was another surprise, like a scorpion in my cycling shoe!

Kurt Refsnider has decided to team up with Jay Petervary, another legend of ultra-endurance toughness. Jay is a mental juggernaut and has the record in the Iditabike—I read accounts of him making the 60-hour journey with no sleep for two nights.

Dang. What took me a few months of scouting has me back to the drawing board.

At least my training is going great. I have been pounding some serious tough-man miles; some of the hardest of my life. Like the six-hour ride the other week deep into the mountains of West Virginia followed by jogging squats and lunges until I was ready to collapse. I have also been doubling-up with some of my wicked-fast coaching clients, training in the afternoons. The work is paying off and I feel tougher than I ever have in my life.

The plan for this past weekend’s Shenandoah 100 was to ride from my house at 4 a.m. to the race, try to win, then practice my quick 4-minute Munga-style pit stop and go out for an additional 60 miles for a total of 180-200 miles for the day. Am I nervous? Yep. Excited? Hell yeah!

File-1-photo-1-585x585

Despite the fact that my training is going great right now, in The Munga you’re only as good as your weakest link. So, in Munga terms, right now I am “stuffed,” as they say in South Africa.

So, to find my Munga teammate, I have devised a plan to make two of my hardest training tests into “Mini Mungas;” that way the mountain can sort out the umpteen, emails, tweets and FB messages I have received from people who think they would be the prefect partner.  Mini Munga #1 will be in a few weeks. Stay tuned right here for details and updates. It’s going to be like American Idol with a touch more destruction and beat down.

Don’t get me wrong, I am in it to win it and the fact is: winning a race like Munga is all about persistence, persistence, persistence.  So I will train hard and keep looking for my twin.

— Jeremiah

[Editor’s Note: Dirt Rag Magazine will be running Bishop’s personal diary as he prepares to conquer The Munga. As of yet he has no teammate.]

Journal

Epic Training Pays Off

It’s like golf (or so I hear); the more you practice, the better you get until a limiting point. Then, it’s about making breakthrough sessions. (Guess I’ll have to ask Wells.)

After an on-the-ropes spring, I was fired up to get the fighting form back. I was angry. The race at Sea Otter wasn’t bad, but a lost chain made it frustrating to lose the top-5 and I’d badly wanted to hit pay dirt for Team Sho-Air/Cannondale

Since I stepped off the plane from Sea Otter, I decided to put all the chips IN! The past four weeks have been soldier training and things finally started to click.

Though there haven’t been many races since my win at the Cohutta 100,

I have been feeding the beast with a win at the Middle Mountain Momma and knocking down Strava segment like dominos.

It’s been a blast smashing it with the road pros Joe Dombroski (Kky) and Ben King (Garmin) as well as my protégés Cameron Cogburn (Cool Stop/Mountain Kakis) and Dave Flaten (US Armed Forces) on the big days. I took some awful beatings and then started handing out some beatings. My form has gone from decent to killer-2013 levels in 4 weeks! Of course there have been some epic soul dirt rides to near-uncharted regions and the tune-up at Catalina Island Gran Fondo was a great low-pressure chance to drive the pace and have some fun.

My energy level has been awesome lately, and I’ll find myself going for a spin only to find my thumb dropping five gears to attack a hill.

It feels good to fly! More time in the thin air of my altitude tent is paying off with some awesome VO2 max performances in the 7w/k range, and I am able to crack out big diesel endurance power like the 290w np for four hours yesterday on the Tomahawk Loop; and logged 74,000 feet of climbing in the last month.

The best part of being back is the good feeling that some pay off for Team Sho-Air/Cannondale is ahead; I have already reaped the rewards of some epic training. Stay tuned, but don’t blink cause I’ll be a flash of green and black and red.

Trans-Sylvania Epic is the next target and I’m coming at it like an un-caged gorilla.

I am in yellow after three rocky tough stages: Day one was a fast and furious prologue; I gave it everything and punched it hard. Stage two was long and hot; Lots of super technical rocks and deep dark forest that are the graveyard of bikes!

My trusty scalpel was amazing and my Kenda tires withstood a beating, Kona set a hard pace but as the final climb approached, I knew I had more in the tank and attacked for another win and GC lead of 4:30

It’s good timing too; TSE is perfect springboard for the national championships in July and the meaty part of the season.

Whatever happens this week I will give it my best and enjoy this good form and campground atmosphere here at the Trans-Sylvania Epic; the start of good things!

I owe a big thanks to Scott Tedro and the rest of Team Sho-Air/Cannondale for the support to make the magic happen!

Jeremiah

Journal

Fire in Ice

Today I came to several groundbreaking realizations:

1. If you are wearing a down coat, no one suspects you could be shirtless underneath. This feels very sneaky and fun.
2. A cornered possum does not have that much it can do to defend itself from predators.
3. If you have not raced in several months, it’s tough to tell how you will do in your first race despite hard days on the bike.

angry possum

 

Perhaps these things don’t have much in common; such are thoughts as they cascade on a cold winter day.

Yesterday’s jaunt in the snow was (I hope) one of my last nasty winter rides for the year. Next week I line up with the rest of the probably-more-tan-than-me pros at Mellow Johnny’s Pro XCT for a test of who’s done their homework.

The sky today was in conflict: snow one minute, and the curiously warm rays of the golden afternoon sun the next. I was content just to get anything in today – the last week has been miserable. Two days of trainer rides; a cold windy motor-pace day; and today seemed to have me in pajama-mode not wanting to ride bikes. I found motivation in that I will be in sunny Texas soon and the winter is nearing an end here in Virginia – the warmer conditions to come are the rewards for the hard winters days.

I was SO glad I made it out to the mountains because it was beautiful. There was some exploration to be had and I even got in some tempo climbing on one of my remote go-to training grounds. The sky swirled one minute with snow curtains and ink colored clouds. Then as if by script I ascended a south-facing climb of shale and long gold grass and the heat was twice what I expected – my own personal desert. The fire in the sky has come back and it was not to be denied.

gold grass

I enjoyed the rest of the ride; the rain sprinkles, a new logging track I have never seen before, and the general feeling of working outdoors is invigorating especially given how busy the coming month will be. After the ride, I changed out of my clothes and realized I’d forgot a shirt. So, jeans and a parka it was. As I went in to pick up some spicy Indian carryout, I smiled knowingly.

The pre-season has been a good one; with a lot of tough training, good times with friends and family over the holidays, and camps in Cali and SC.

It is always better out there than you think it will be and you’ll be glad to be outside feeling alive. So, when in doubt: get out!

Perhaps no one else knows what’s under the parka, but I do and it’s a lot of bike rides and some solid good times outside.

JB