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Notes -
I recently completed a gravel cycling race in Hot Springs, NC. For the uninitiated, the appeal of these sorts of programs is that you have an excuse to grace the middle of nowhere with your presence and wallet. Many of the spots where great gravel routes exist are towns you don't even see from the interstate, but are beautiful and remote.
The distance wasn't anything special, but 7,000 vertical feet in a day is.... non-trivial. This was essentially a climbing race. My performance was abysmal. A number of factors contributed to it - work has killed my training regimen and maybe I'm just not as tough as I thought. But I also lost my electrolyte water bottles just before the race, leading to inordinate cramping, and took a wrong turn that cost me critical minutes. The end result was I lost to competitors I really shouldn't have as a mid-30s male.
It does make me consider the role of races in my personal enjoyment of the hobby. I rented a cabin on the river and brought my family, and in an alternate universe I would be waking up in the morning with a coffee, enjoying the beautiful views at the top of each mountain, having actually delicious food/drink packed on the bike (for those evaluating electrolyte drinks, Neversecond was what the organizers provided, and holy fuck it tasted awful), and face no pressure to break any bones on gnarly descents (at least one racer had to be pulled off a mountain via ambulance). Instead I paid $80 for a water bottle and a timer to come in the bottom half of the pack.
I've visited the areas hit by Helene a couple of times at this point. There's been something indefinably different - traumatized - among the locals that I interact with. Of course not everyone loves cyclists, but oftentimes I'm not dressed as one. I think some of that small town charm that people would expect has dissipated and will take more years to return. The physical scars aren't even healed yet, and you can still see 100 year old oaks tossed to the ground like children's toys in many places. I still love being there, and it is funny that the stereotypical Appalachian mountain man still does exist in spades. You can go talk with him right now over a beer.
@FiveHourMarathon Did you ever end up tackling your 100-miler?
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