First and foremost, thank you for all the positive feedback and inquiries regarding Ride With Cox. The Facebook page has recieved a lot of likes and shares with our month of #RideWithCox which has been incredible. Keep posting, sharing, and liking! It’s a pleasure and honor to have the support of Cox Motors of New Richmond, Osceola Auto Sales in Osceola, WI, and 1:16 Digital Media in Stillwater, MN.
For those that read Mt. Borah Epic and subsequently made this face:
I would like to explain what this event is. It is an annual mountain bike race that takes place between Cable and Hayward, WI. It’s a beat down, it’s rough, and it’s long. 34 miles to be exact. 34 miles of rocks, roots, climbing, descending, and negotiating.
I have a problem. I constantly think I’m in better shape than I am. I still have the mentality that I race with the elite women and have lungs with never ending power (I did, not that long ago…) The reality is I’m a mom with less time to train than ever, who is still carrying around some pesky pregnancy weight that just refuses to vacate the premises. And yet I still click “submit” on these race registrations and think my base fitness will see me through. It does, which is always a pleasant surprise. But it is ALWAYS BRUTAL, which isn’t so pleasant. But alas, back to Mt. Borah…
I had the opportunity to drive a Ford Focus for race weekend. Can I just say, holy gas mileage, Batman. Over 40 mpg! I definitely recommend one of those bad boys if fuel economy is your forte.
The race started in downtown Cable, WI. Following a 2 mile rollout, the remainder of the course was all singletrack. 32 miles of this stuff:
2 miles in, right when we transitioned to singletrack, I went down hard. I heard a crunch and saw my front wheel being crushed by another wheel. It was wheel on wheel action, and it wasn’t very pretty. Ended up having a taco’d wheel. Think taco. Now think bike wheel. I heard a couple fellow racers say that my wheel was toast and my race was done. And for 11 seconds, I thought they were right. Suddenly, the mosquitos parted and along came the bike patrol.
Bike patrol folks make sure you don’t die out on course. They helped get me an ambulance once when I hit my head hard enough that I forgot who was president. They are top notch advocates for the sport.
Friendly bike patrol man and his counterpart, a young spirited woman drenched in sweat, offered to help true my wheel (unbend it) as best they could and gave me “a shot” at finishing. They warned me that the wheel could blow apart on any descent and gave me strict orders to avoid weight on the front wheel, to avoid steep drop offs, jumps, and basically avoid anything fun. And for 32 miles and five hours, I heeded their instruction. I wanted to finish. And I did. Because I am stubborn.