Riding with the Big Dogs 

by David Black

I just completed my first year of racing in the Beginner Clydesdale class where every entrant drags his 200 plus pound ass around a mountain bike course for about an hour or so. It is an strange group because cycling generally favors small, lightweight people. Even equipment is made for the smaller riders...just look at the shock inflation guide for the RockShox SID that doesn't list settings for riders over 180 pounds. Despite the odds, these big riders did not treat this season with anything but admirable 
competitiveness. 

This started for me 5 years ago when ESPN aired the Leadville 100 for the first and last time in 1999. After watching this, I lifted my 245 pound ass out of the sofa and declared to my wife that I was going to resurrect my interest in mountain biking, get into shape, and complete the next Leadville 100...yah right. Despite obvious delusions, I bought a sweet XC bike. The first few exhausting rides on flat Texas singletrack pretty much crushed my aspirations of completing the Leadville in a year...actually, I 
pretty much crushed my aspirations of ever being able to do anything like it. 

Flash back 15 years and you would find me dropping roadies and hucking off stairs at my college in central Missouri on a lime green, full rigid Rockhopper complete with Shimano BioPace rings and a virtually non-functional u-brake under the lower chainstay. Granted, I was 70 pounds lighter and had been riding BMX since I was 8. I guess 10 years of computer work, beer drinking and a general lack of motion destroyed all of my fitness. 

While slowly getting back into mountain biking, I bumped into lots of lean, lycra- wearing weenies who I initially assumed were just roadies risking their scrawny legs on some singletrack but when I tried to show off my off-road-former-BMS prowess, they 
just spanked me like I was standing still. Once again, I was crushed. 

Now that my Leadville dream was gone, I started a biannual ritual of seeking out the country's sweetest singletrack with my college riding buddy Steve. This became the one thing that motivated me because each subsequent ride would get bigger, longer and 
more extreme. Steve had always been a much better rider than me so I would frantically start riding on the weekends for a few months before these trips just to keep up with him. So when we returned from a 3 day trip through North Georgia, Tsali, Pisgah and DuPont State Forest, I realized that I was getting pretty tough...I had lost 15 pounds and could clean sections that seemed impossible the year before. So what's one to do when you are feeling like a bad-ass and need some humility?...Race!!! 

Thank goodness for the Beginner Clydesdale class because the delusional optimist inside me made me feel certain that I would smoke most of these guys...after all, I (sarc) wasn't a beginner. The reality was that I got smoked bad. How bad? Well lets just say I was in last place within the first 5 minutes of the race and at the end of the race, I was the only one left on the course. They had unplugged the microphone and were folding up the scoring table when I came in 10 minutes behind the rider in front of me. 
Everyone except some first-time juniors had passed me including all the girls. When my legs went into a full-seize cramp during the drive home, I swore I would never race again. 

That night, I got an email from the racer who finished one place in front of me expressing a desire to train together and go to the next race. I was reluctant but I agreed to do it. After all, he was a first timer too and we both sucked...it wouldn't be so bad with him around. The next race's start was a sickening experience but I did much better this time actually passing a couple guys and keeping up with some others who smoked me in the first race...I was hooked. 

For the 2003 season, I started a basic 2 day / week training regimen and diet which led to me to better results in each subsequent race. At the Twilight in Conyers, I came across the finish with no sense of how I did...the rider behind me (who I passed earlier) told me that I was 5th wow...I actually won a prize! Of course I thought this was a fluke of unpredictable fitness peaking but I did it again in Helen with a 4th place finish. My big surprise was at the next race when I passed the series leader and realized I had the 
lead. Pedaling through massive cramps up the final hill, I rolled across the finish line in 1st place and fell over from exhaustion and experienced a delayed muscle soreness that prevented me from walking two days later. 

In my opinion, racing, regardless of the sport, has some drug-like qualities and I had just gotten a taste of the "really good stuff". Some refer to this as "tasting blood" which typically makes a person want more. My competitive spirit became "dark" as 
I put my good friends in the cross-hairs like mortal enemies on the course. Some Sun Tzu fans will say that this is a great motivator, but it felt sort of sick to exert this type of effort to win a Beginner Clydesdale race that wouldn't enhance my career or family 
life. I had to keep things in check because I never intended on even doing well at racing. The competitive, "win" feeling began to make me forget that I was even mountain biking. On one hand, I felt guilty for caring so much about something that's supposed 
to be recreational; on the other hand, I would feel like a big loser for not taking it seriously. I probably drove my racing friends crazy because one minute I would say I didn't care about doing well, the next minute I would tell them about my pre-race diet 
regimen and lightweight tires. What I probably meant was that I care a lot about doing the best I possibly can with tools I've been given...not the end results. 

A good story would be that I busted my ass, trained hard and won the finals. Well, I trained hard, got a good start and was feeling strong despite nursing a cold. I kept the leaders in view for the first lap with the intention of "kickin' it" towards the end with a 
monster effort. I had the reserves and was feeling good...then, at the top of a climb, I looked down and saw my chain coming apart...it was over. By the time I fixed my chain, the leaders were already finished but I went ahead and tapped my reserves 
to hammer the last lap to the point of cramping...this effort was the only thing I could be proud of in this race. The season was over. 

Being a first-year racer was great because I learned so much about myself. But what was truly amazing was discovering the true "spirit of competition". I got to see great examples of commitment, goal-setting, training and shared victories by guys who don't fit the mold of the typical competitive cyclist. There were almost 20 riders at every race despite the weather conditions or distance. At least 15 "regulars" seemed to be at almost every race. Goals were set by most and were worked towards with visible results. 
In the end, 7 different riders took 1st place this season instead of a couple "ringers" sweeping the series. Countless combinations of people shared the podium and got a small taste of victory. This probably contributed to a deep camaraderie that was formed 
amongst most of this people in this group. During many races, I got encouraging words and the occasional pat on the back when being passed by my colleagues. I have no idea how riders behave in other classes but this group of big riders had awfully big hearts and I will cherish this season.

David Black and his prized ride