Last year, I posted A (very) slow rider’s Downieville XC report here. In response to the generous encouragement I received, I promised I would come back. A promise is a promise is a promise. I did. So here I am again to report back.

This paragraph is for the impatient as well as the time-crunched people: I improved, from last year’s 4:48:53 (10th out of 10) to this year’s 3:25:38 (2nd out of 7 per Sunday afternoon’s result postings). I was more than proud of myself.  However, despite the possibility that I could have been the only rider wearing a (tennis) skirt in the race and the fact that I made multiple attempts during the four hours before the award ceremony to correct the result after seeing the wrong report, I remained mis-categorized in a men’s class (obviously they made a mistake while putting my information into the computer system after my on-site registration) until Sunday. Which should have been my first ever podium moment never came. I was a bit disappointed. But the fact that my husband Erik (strom here) surprised himself by placing 1st (2:56:06) in his class and stood proud on the podium made up for it. 

Okay, now I will write for the me in 10 years who will not be able to remember anything about this event more than what’s written in these words as well as for those of you who feel at loss when you have to close up your laptop at midnight because you have run out of posts to read on MTBR. I’ll try my best to be wordy.

I guess nobody can argue with me that I was very slow last year. Nope. I did not have any mechanical problems, nor did I cramp or crash. I was just a bit mudwormy. Being a total novice to mountain biking, I was very happy and proud to have survived a course that everyone talked about with great fear or admiration. So, after the race, I happily pushed my bike to the back of the storage and busied myself with other activities.

As I learned, forgetting about something does not really make it go away. In late March this year, our good friend Derek called and gently informed us, “Uh, Downieville is coming up and you are going. Do not break our tradition.”  (Mental note to myself: I need to look up the word tradition in a dictionary.)  When I heard the message, I went pale — “Downieville is coming up in less than four months and I am more of a novice now than in last July because I have not touched my bike since. Help!!!”   

God must have heard me because he made my LBS restart their weekly group rides to Water Dog, a Belmont City park, for the season, and I was happy to find out about it because the park was only a couple of miles from work. From March 19, when I did my first ride with the group, to the day of the race, I have visited Water Dog thirty-six times. Besides the group rides, I did short rides twice a week during lunch breaks with a colleague. The small park is surprisingly rich in technical singletracks. One particular trail is called Finch Trail, aka 13 Switchbacks. In the beginning, I could only ride one or two switchbacks on the way down and five switchbacks on the way up, and gradually, I found myself riding more and more of those. One day I found myself humming a song quietly while cruising down at ease. Little progresses like this kept me motivated and excited. Suddenly, mountain biking is no longer associated with fear; it is fun!

Erik was not available to ride with during the week, so I reached out to other people. I found a group of dirt divas, all good riders, fun and supportive, to ride with at Arastradero once a week. But on some weekends, when Erik and I did not go rock climbing, we would seek out long rides to do such as those we did at Henry Coe. When my birthday came in late June, Erik proposed we spend three days at Downieville. Sounded good. I remembered admiring the beauty of the mountains when I was on the course last year, so I would like to visit the place again. We rode the DH course the first day and the full XC course with variations (such as 2nd divide and a failed attempt to look for Big Boulder Trail) the next two days. I was more than happy to find that I was no longer scared on the technical sections. Don’t get me wrong — I was still not fast, but I was not pushing my bike as much as I did last year. I could not have dreamed in my wildest dream last year that some day I would clear the baby heads! But I did!  I had so much fun that weekend that I said to Erik on our drive back, “Let’s come back next weekend.” So, we did. Again, we did DH with variations (Big Boulder) the first day. On Sunday, I convinced Erik that he should not wait for me at every intersection because I knew the course so well that I could ride it blindfolded. We should just ride it like in a race and time ourselves. I pushed myself hard (or I thought I did) and finished the XC course in 3:34. Erik got a flat and pushed his bike for 20 minutes until I caught up and handed him my kit (he hadn’t had flats for years and got a bit delusional). We both improved our times over last year’s. I thought now that we knew our times, we didn’t have to enter the race. Derek did not buy that logic.

Anticipating being forced off or slowed down on the climb due to the conga line and not believing myself being able to go any faster on the downhill, I thought I would post a slower time in the race. Having adjusted for his lost time due to flat, Erik expected to finish the course in 3:15. We both beat our own expectations.

Studying my lap times of the preride (using my gps) and the race (using my watch), I was able to find out how I have trimmed nine minutes off. On the climb, I was never forced off by anybody, although I was often forced to go slower than I had liked because I didn’t have the technical skills to pass people on less than optimal lines. That was as expected, so I just took the opportunities to regulate my breathing and conserve engergy, which enabled me to push hard on the last fire road climb before Packer Saddle. I shaved 42 seconds off of the preride. Then, the next lap — the Sunrise Trail and the rolling fireroad leading to the start of “baby heads” — was where my conserved energy earlier came to use because I shaved four and half minutes off.

My third lap included Pauley and Butcher Ranch, the most technical stretch on the entire course.  I never crashed on my prerides. But during the race, I crashed at least four times and went OTB once.  The technical downhill was at my limit and I was going as fast as I could. Still people kept closing in on me. As soon as I heard a rider behind me, I started thinking, “Oh, where can I pull over? Here? No, too narrow? There? No, too rugged and I will have a hard time to restart which will only stall the next rider coming up to me. OMG, where can I pull over?…”  Tackling the constant bobbing ups and downs and in the mean time, seeking an ideal place to pull over turned out to be too much for my brain to process, and I started making mistakes. A few times, I pulled over in such a hurry or at such an awkward spot that I would either lose my balance or fail to unclip and tip over.  Not wanting to be closed in too soon by the next rider, I would push myself to a point that I stopped looking for the best line and that was when I endoed. Finally, I had a chit-chat with myself. “Look, it is not your fault that people are slower than you up to this point, so stop being overpowered by the guilt that you were in front of them, which only messes up your head. It does nobody any good when you crash.  Now, focus on the trail and stop making mistakes. You pull over when you feel ready.”  I calmed down a bit after that.  Of course, by that time, it also helped that Butcher was almost over.  It really surprised me when I found out that I actually shaved off one minute and twenty three seconds on this lap despite my frequent crashes. I guess the pressure did help push me a bit harder.

The fourth lap (3rd Divide and the fireroad after) went as I pre-rode it. Only twenty five seconds of improvement. But I shaved one minute and twenty five seconds on the whole of 1st Divide. When I got back to the paved road, I was feeling strong and passed a couple of people. I wished the uphill section had been longer, like 5 miles longer, because I believe that’s when my endurance would shine. But, I was also happy when I stood at the finish line because I saw a time I could almost not believe. I grinned ear to ear. 

Things got even better when I saw on the preliminary result that I had a chance to podium! Wow, that had never happened to me before. Did I ever mention that I grew up a bookworm? I had my fingers crossed though because that was after I first found my name in a men’s category and compared my time with others in my own category. I reported the mistake right away. To make sure it was addressed, I approached the person in charge twice to get a confirmation that the mistake had been corrected and both times I was brushed off with an unconvincing assurance. It was an utter disappointment when the girls behind me got called onto the podium while I was completely skipped. After the ceremony, I was lectured by the person in charge that people make mistakes sometimes. I guess in my case, four mistakes (registration, reporting, checking, and re-checking) stacked up against me. Oh well, it is history now. No big deal. Nobody can take away my time, of which I’m most proud. Would I have won the most-improved award if there were one?   

I still have a lot to say — about the real nice and fun people I met on this trip, the encouraging words I heard during the race, the good times we had hanging out with our friends Derek and Jeff, and so on. But it’s past my bedtime now. So, thank you very much for reading and hope you had a great time at Downieville too if you were there.

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What is a trip report without the most important part, the people, in it?

Well, actually I don’t know most of these people. On the course, I kept hearing encouraging words from strangers. Many from my fellow female racers such as “Yeah, you go, the skirted.” The course volunteers were encouraging as well. On Pauley, one guy shouted out both to his companion and to me, “At least, she’s riding it!” (A couple of guys were pushing on the side of a very rocky section.) I wouldn’t dwell on that “at least” part. Remember the guy I told you about last year who walked across to our campsite to share with us his painful experience of pre-riding the XC course? On Friday, when Erik and I were setting up our tent, a truck pulled into the drive way across the road. A guy stepped out and I almost screamed in disbelief. I whispered to Erik, “See that guy there? Remember him from last year? Man, he looks ripped! Oh, I bet he is doing the XC race this year!” Sure enough, it was Mr. Crash (Mike). For someone who backed out of the XC race last year, he did amazingly well this time pulling a 3:14 finish time and he did the DH race next day. Good job, Mike!

And then there was NoBalance (Kris). Last year, he, a total stranger to me, made a comment to me while passing, “I saw your website. Nice job!” Since then, we’ve had a few PM exchanges. I knew having suffered massive cramps last time and finishing only 9 minutes ahead of me, he was determined to improve his time this year. And he did by a big margin , but I improved even more. So, when we met in person on this trip, after some friendly chit-chat, he parted ways saying, “Next year, I’ll beat you.” Kris, I’ve never liked the pressure of a competition, but if that’s what motivates you, bring it on! I have no doubt that you will do better next year.

On the long climb up, I traded positions with some people. Then on the rolling fireroad after Sunrise, it became obvious that I was crisscrossing with one big guy. Everytime there was a dip, he would bomb down by me even though we both were coasting and the momentum would carry him up ways. But then I would catch up and pass him pedaling up hill. After a couple of repeats, it became comical. I would whisper to him when I rode by, “Here I am again.” And he would laugh out loud, “There she goes again.” He disappeared as soon as we got on the downhill leading to the start of “baby heads.” But after the race, he came up to me by the river jump. It took me a second to recognize him. Scott from LA. We had a good laugh about our encounters on the course.

The evening after the race, we hang out at Derek and Jeff’s connected deck outside of their cabins. We ate dinner, drank wine, had brownies, and watched bike porn. No, just kidding. We watched a Hans Rey DVD. Down from us was the creek through Sierra City, and above was a half moon peacefully hanging in the sky.

Good times.

The ride was good although we both felt a little rusty and awkward on Sunrise (the very first trail). I attributed that to lack of warm up. This time, after the baby heads section, we veered off to Big Boulder, a trail for which we got lost searching last weekend. The approach was a narly climb just like everyone had warned us, but the downhill seciton after the summit was quite interesting — steep and loose at times, but fun for the most part. … good.

Afterward, we hung out with Richard and his Irish friends, a bunch of funny and strong guys. Both Richard and Kevin did the downhill run in 59 minutes. Wow! It was fun to chat with them. … good.

On Sunday, we set out to do the new 2008 Downiville Class XC course. We had decided to time ourselves on this ride like in a race. 10am sharp, we left the start of Sierra Buttes Road in Sierra City. The climb began right away. I stayed right behind Mud for one third of the way and passed him at a relatively smooth section of the fireroad. I was feeling good. On the rest of the climb, I passed two other riders pushing their bikes, but they pulled aside as soon as they heard me coming. So I pretty much had the optimal line to myself on the entire climb up, which is never the case in a race. After the sharp right turn at the vista point where a couple groups were resting, I ran out of juice at the next steep technical climb. Last time I was able to clear that whole thing, but this time I had to step off and catch my breath. Considering that was the second time I had to push my bike, I wasn’t too disappointment. Mud caught and passed me at the flat fireroad, but I passed him back on the very last climb right before the summit. 1:24:20 was the time when I got to Packer Saddle. I was very excited about it. Mud went on riding down while I took a very short break re-fueling before I headed down Sunrise Trail. I was overall pleased with myself going downhill — I cleared more stuff than ever. There was a minor annoyance. I somehow got intertwined with two separate groups — all faster downhillers than me. They would come up behind me and I pulled over to let them by only to pass them again at their next regrouping point. They regrouped very often, so I had to pull over many times. But I assume that only simulateed what would happen in the race since most people are faster than me going downhill. I was surprised to see Mud on Third Divide pushing his bike — he got a flat and only had a tube but no pump with him. He had been pushing for 20 minutes by then. I handed him my kit and continued on. By the time I got to the stop sign in Downieville (end of the course), I had 3:34 on my watch. That was one hour and 15 minute faster than my last year’s time even though this year’s course was slightly longer. I could hardly believe that result, but I knew I worked hard at it and glad to see that my practice paid off. … very good.

Here is where the weekend turned bad. After sitting around the Downieville Visitor Center for 50 minutes when Mud hitched a ride to Sierra City to fetch our car, I realized that I left my $130 sunglasses in the public restroom and they were of course gone when I went back in to check. I was very bummed because they were the only pair I found comfortable wearing and they were expensive. … bad.

Then it got worse. I realized that I no longer had my wedding ring on my finger! Not remembering ever taking it off, the only explanation I could come up with was it came off when I took my bicycling gloves off. By that time, Richard and his Irish friends were gathering there for post-ride relaxation. We all spent 20 minutes combing through the grass around the area where I took my gloves off after the ride. Mud and I later drove back to Sierra City (almost an hour extra) to look for it near the start of our ride. We did not find it. … very bad.

So, let’s see what I did this weekend: forgot my shorts and had to buy an expensive pair that don’t fit, lost my expensive sunglasses, and lost my precious wedding ring. Depite all these supid mistakes I made, all Mud said was, with a smile, “You are gonna get spanked tonight.” Of course he would never do that; he was only saying that to make me laugh — he was trying to make me feel better! I knew if our roles had been switched, I would have gotten disappointed and angry and would have gone off scolding him “how could you…” and “I told you not to…” I had done that before — even though I knew my critisisms would not help the matter at all, I would do that just hoping to make the mistake sound so painful that hopefully it would not be repeated again. Of course, that’s not how things work, and it only makes the person already feeling guilty of wrong-doing feel even worse. It strikes me hard this time how differently Mud and I handle things, and now with me being the wrong-doer, I much preferred his composure, acceptance, and forgiveness even though I was beating myself up inside. I promised myself on the spot that I would learn from my dear husband and be understanding and forgiving next time he makes a mistake. This awakening experience made me feel good — It will help me become a better person. Suddenly, the weekend did not look so bad any more. As a matter of fact, it was downright … good!

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Then, it got even better. On the long drive home, it suddenly dawned on me that I took the ring off and hung it on my harness when I was in the climbing gym on Thursday morning. I completely forgot about it as well as the rare gym session. So I didn’t loose my ring after all!!! I laughed and chuckled for a while when Mud shook his head next to me again with a smile on his face. Oh, what a great weekend!

We took a three o’clock shuttle to Packer Saddle and did a DH run: Sunrise, Butcher Ranch, 2nd Divide. Sunrise is a very flowy single track. There is almost no obstacles. Butcher Ranch has some technical sections. You can see in this youtube video how the rock garden topples many racers. After that, don’t forget to check out how Mark Weir styles it like it’s nothing.

Mudworm gets ready for the thrill. She puts her elbow and knee pads on first.
Going off trail is not recommended.

Mud looking tall.

One of the few rocky sections on 2nd Divide Trail. A few people we talked to say they will avoid 2nd Divide because it’s exposed. For the most part, it’s a sweet single track. There are a few very short hike-a-bike sections, but it’s not that bad.

Saturday:

We planned on doing the Downieville Classic Cross Country Course, which involves 8-10 miles of climb with 4000 feet plus of elevation gain followed by a 5000 feet plus descent. Also, the course includes the notorious baby heads. I walked at least half of that section last year, so, when I cleared the whole section, I was quite excited about it.  Never fast, I was able to pick my line through the littered rocks. When we got back to Downieville, Erik hitched a ride to Sierra City, 12 miles up the road, to fetch our car. And then we made two mountain bikers happy by giving them and their bikes a ride all the way back to the camp. We were all impressed how we all squeezed into my small SUV, a Honda CR-V. We crashed at the MTBR gathering site, and we attended the evening event, a raffle with a lot of weird contests. They gave out good prizes including frames and forks. Some people took the contests very seriously.

The breathtaking view on the climb up.
Our rare together shot on this trip.

Rock Garden (some sections on the “baby heads” have loose rocks bigger than these)

Some interesting looking tree.

Four bikes and four riders, all inside the CR-V.

Various drinking contests, boys’ and girls’.

And then there was this contest.

Sunday:

Initially, we were going to drive to Downieville, get a shuttle, and only ride the downhill, but when we drove through Sierra City, we couldn’t resist the calling of the Sierra City Public Restroom because it marks the start of the cross country course. So we geared up and started our ride uphill. This time, we did not stop to take pictures and just kept riding pretending we were in a race. Half way, Mud dropped me by maybe a few hundred feet, but near the end I caught up with him. We topped out at Packer Saddle one hour and thirty seven minutes after we started. I got off my bike twice to push through some loose sections, which was a improvement over yesterday. We then took Sunrise Trail down, and then a fire road led us to the “baby heads” — we did not want to miss any excitement. After that, we were planning on riding Big Boulder Trail, but we ended up doing an out and back on a jeep road that didn’t really lead anywhere. There was a group of four that got lost with us. When we finally were assured by two dirt bikers that we were on a wrong part of the country and turned around, we’ve lost more than two hours and were running low on water. Big Boulder will have to wait. So we followed the cross country course back. When we got back to town, it had been almost seven hours after we left our car and we were starving, so the two of us finished an entire 12-slice pizza.

Mud waiting for his GPS to sync up with the satellites.
Mud must have been tired after that climb because he just lay almost in the middle of the road while eating his bar.

Although three guys were looking at the map, we all still ended up on a wrong road. To be fair though, the map sucks.

Even Mud had to come off and push at one of the many creek crossings.

At that point, I no longer care that my shoes would be soaked.

That jeep road was a narly climb, which means the way back was a sweet downhill ride.

We finally see the sign for Big Boulder Trail, but it came too late. They didn’t put the sign up at the turn off of the main fire road.

The mountain is very green there.

Our proof of accomplishment.

For all the pictures from Downieville, please visit our gallery.

But then we got lost on a wrong jeep road while searching for Big Boulder Trail. The way out was a narly climb — loose with a lot of creek crossings. The fact that there were another group of four on the same road searching for the same trail did not help us realize that we were lost. As a matter of fact, I believe we two groups re-assured each other on the wrong path, all thinking there was no way we were all lost.  We didn’t find out until we waved down two dirt bikers. By the time we got back to the XC course, we’d lost 2+ hours.

But one nice thing about this failed adventure was we converged back with the divas’ path, and we pretty much rode out together. Erik was very impressed with all the divas, from the one who chased him down and passed him on 3rd Divide (Sherri) to the one who did the whole thing on a hardtail (Lesley).

(From front to back and left to right:  Sam, Lesley, Jeanine, Mei, Sherri, Teshia, Jill 2, DH Jill, Heather)

But we were most impressed with the little diva, Lulu, who ran both Saturday’s Pinoneer Trail and Sunday’s D’ville DH barefooted. And she is such a sweet little dog.

In the end, Erik enjoyed a ride with some divas on the way back to Sierra City to fetch our car. It was so much fun hanging out with you all, and thanks for the ride.

I will be writing a long version of my ride report to show people who have never been there what Downieville is about. Here is just a sneak preview.

The breathtaking view on the climb.

I can see the finish now. A few hard pedals, I’m there! I probably have let out a scream or two in excitement. The support staff tears off the bottom portion of my bib. It is a great feeling. Always a bookworm growing up, I had never participated in any sports meets or races at school. I remember watching enviously the athletic kids run and jump on the tracks and in the fields. Oh, everyone looked great (back then, I didn’t know the word “sexy”) with that white bib on his/her chest. Now, I can’t believe that I’m actually wearing one (on my bike) with a number that is assigned to ME!

It’s bright day light. The Downieville town is full of energy with people everywhere and bikes everywhere. I don’t really know where to go, but I don’t care. I have just done a 28+ mile ride on my mountain bike with a 4,413′ ascent followed by a 5,692′ descent. What a joy ride!

Then I see Strom, Derek (Delbomber), Jeff (Kamikaze), and Jeff’s wife Sharron sitting (Well, Derek is lying flat) on the side walk in the shade of a building. That means Strom, Derek, and Jeff all have returned from the race safely. I let out a few more screams out of joy and joined the happy group. Strom tells me he has started to get a little worried about me while waiting. Well I don’t blame him. Five hours earlier I went on the ride thinking that I might die. Well, I don’t think you will blame me for being so dramatic if you know what I have gone through these months.

See, when I signed up for the Downieville Cross Country (XC) race in April, I had just started riding a little bit and had no idea what any part of that title meant. Downieville? Cross Country? It’s just that Derek, Jeff, and Strom were all in, so I didn’t want to be left out. Of course, I signed up for the Beginner Senior Women (19-34) class. I took the word “Beginner” literally. Only later when I did some research on what Downieville XC was about, I came to realize that it was NOT for beginners. The more I read or heard about it, the more I got worried. I think for a while, I drove Strom nuts by just telling him yet another horror story I have just read or heard. Following are just a few highlights of what I learned about the ride:

• The ride starts with 8+ miles of climbing and you gain 4000+ feet during the climb. The climb is fully exposed to the sun.
• Then there is a 20 mile down hill interrupted only by a few hundred yards of steep climb in the middle. Even people who loved downhills feel it is too much on this course.
• There are one to two miles of baby heads and rock garden — basically a trail littered with rocks of various sizes with the majority in the size of …eh… a baby’s head.
• People have cramped left and right on this ride.
• There are stretches of the downhill ride on a steep hill side and at some places, there is a cliff above on one side and a cliff below on the other side.
• People say on MTBR that you need 2.5″ Weirwolf tires for Downieville’s loose stuff, but I have been running 2.1″ only. I couldn’t even find a 2.5″ tire in the local shops! One mechanic at a shop I visited told me riding a 2.1″ tire at Downieville is like riding without a helmet (did he mean suicidal?).
• The night before our trip, I read one trip report on MTBR by a guy who did the race last year where he had four flats and two endos.
• The morning of the race, one nice young fellow came over to our camp site and told us that he had decided to skip the XC race after he pre-rode most of the course the day before. This is how he put it “I’m only loosing sixty five bucks. If I could have paid someone sixty five dollars to take away the pain I experienced pushing my bike uphill miles on end, I would have done that.” I honestly appreciated that he kindly and openly shared his experience with us even though it did not help settle the butterflies in my stomach.

Well, none of these might have sounded scary to an average mountain biker, but I’m no average — I’m a total beginner! I have been biking only for a few months. Only three months ago, I was still crashing right in front of our neighbor’s little son every time I saw him just because I couldn’t unclip (talk about embarrassing). I then had a bad crash on a perfectly flat fire road and had the first set of stitches in my life. I can’t do a single wheelie. I am always scared of speed. I can’t do a track stand. Actually, I can’t do anything technical. I have a new set of brakes and wheels that are only one week old and still need to be broken in. I have a brand new rear tire I have never ridden before. I could go on and on. The bottom line is on the race day, I was no where ready for Downieville! But being a miser, I was not willing to easily give up my sixty five dollar registration fee either. I set a few goals for myself before the race:

• Come back alive
• Come back in one piece
• Come back before dark because I did not pack a headlamp

Did you notice that I didn’t even mention the word “finish”? I wanted to post my goals on the forum but I was so paranoid that spelling them out might jinx it, so I kept them to myself. I even thought about writing down all our bank and insurance information for Strom just in case anything happens to me. That’s how scared I was.

But boy, am I happy that I did it! Not only that, I had fun too! Here is why:

• While waiting behind the starting line, I chatted with this guy from Marin. His name is Noah and it later turned out he won his class in the race. One piece of advice he gave me was take it easy at the start because the climb only gets steeper and steeper. Having taken that advice to heart, I felt great on the climb. There were a few sections I pushed either because of the difficulties or the crowd on the trail, but it was never painful. Plus, the view along the climb was very scenery.
• Strom convinced me to stick to what I had on my bike: a 2.3″ tire in the front and a 2.1″ in the back. His reason is I’m light and I don’t ride aggressively. It worked great. I’m happy that I didn’t have to haul two fat and heavy tires up the mountain. Guess sometimes, you just need to give your husband that trust he always deserves.
• While going down hill, I rode very conservatively. I never hesitated to get off my bike. For that reason, it was never that scary. I enjoyed both the riding part, which was still challenging and fun, as well as the hiking part because I knew I was protecting myself from potential injuries and my bike from potential mechanical problems. I did pass a few people fixing flats on the side of the trail.
• I have had a habit of wearing a black skirt outside of my black tights. And today, anticipating a warm weather, I wore a red tank top (not the professionally looking jersey that everyone else was wearing) with a bandanna tied to the front for wiping sweat and possibly tears. At one aid station, one guy yelled out to me, “you win the title for being the most fashionable rider!”
• There was one short steep section on the uphill that many people pushed when I arrived there. Seeing that it was not very technical, I charged and managed to ride up it. This guy squadding by the fire road taking pictures yelled out to me “I like your kerchief. And you scored too!”
• My brand new rear brake started rubbing really bad shortly after the climb started. It got especially bad when I got off bike to push. Usually in those sections, every one was having a hard time and got frustrated easily. I saw some guy 50 feet in front of me turning around with a disgusted look searching for the source of the high-pitched screeching sound. But some people took it well. One kid said to me “you saved me the trouble of bringing my iPod.” Another guy I passed asked “are you carrying a giant mosquito?” to which I answered “yep, my pet mosquito.”
• Somewhere downhill, I was riding at a leisurely pace when a guy rode by. He turned and looked at me for a second and my bike for a second, and then said, “I saw your website.” I started laughing thinking it was really funny to hear such a comment totally unexpectedly. When he pulled away, he said, “nice job!” That left me wondering “did he mean nice job on my website, or did he mean nice job on getting to where I was on the ride?” Hey, that stranger, if you see this post, holler up. I need you to solve my mystery.
• I probably have pulled over two dozen times to let the fast descenders go by. I believe in karma. A few people I let pass earlier made way for me too later when I passed them on the uphill section after the Third Devide (the third bridge?). I was quite proud of myself that I cleared that climb. Of course, many of them passed me back later on the downhill part further down.
• There is a beautiful meadow on top that is filled with purple wild flowers.

It took me one hour and forty minutes to do the climb and three hours to do the downhill. I know, I was berry berry slow , but I had fun on the entire course. What can beat that?!

P.S The guy who was taking pictures on the trail and cheered me turned out to be Photo John. Following picture of me was taken by him: