There's nothing like a Sunday morning hangover from the jarring experience of a long trail ride on a steel rigid singlespeed bike. Throw in tequillia at the start line and a keg of Cherokee Red Ale at the finish, and you have bike racing at its best. The grass roots nature and its 8-year history make this one an east Tennessee classic.
I had just moved to Knoxville and missed last years 12 hours of the Hill of Truth. This year I was fine with missing it again. The weather was not looking good. We had at least 24 hours of rain within the couple of days leading up to the race and many of the trails at Haw Ridge can be nightmare in the mud. Not wanting to trash my bike, the week before the SWANK 65, I was fine with sitting the mudfest out.
On a wet and rainy Friday night before the race, we stopped by Union Jacks for a pub dog, and stuck our heads in the bikeshop on the way. This was the turning point for me and the Hill of Truth. It was the spur of the moment that I decided to buy a steel rigid singlespeed 29er. I was up for the challenge of a rigid bike, and I knew it would hurt.
After hanging out Friday night, it was a scramble to make it to the starting line by 11:00, but I pulled it together and took a tequillia shot at the line with the Harper's crew. The cannon fired and a mass of riders headed off into the woods. On the first lap I felt good, and found a pace that I could go the distance with.
The initial impression of the rigid bike reminded me of a giant BMX bike. It felt great in corners, climbed well and once you got it up to speed the 29" wheels rolled well. By the second lap, I was letting air out of the tires in large amounts. My wrist were absorbing every bump, and it became a struggle to hold onto the bars.
The pain became brutal but I wasn't ready to quit. I managed to continue to power out laps, stopping only for a few brief moments. By mid day, the sun and wind had dried most the trails except for a few sections made up of "axle-deep mud or "bubble gum" mud.
Through it all, the mud and the pain, I continued and I felt like I had longevity if I could just figure how to make my wrist stop hurting so bad.
It had become a true fall day, with colors, sounds and temperatures that illustrate the best of Tennessee. By laps 4 and 5 my thoughts had begun to drift, and the true nature of "life" had revealed itself to me in many ways. The struggle to the top of the hill of truth became a vision quest. I was able to push through the wall for 6 consecutive laps and I completed the 6th just as it became dark.
I stopped to put my lights on and get some food. I rode over to the gathering by the bon fire and got a burger, and it tasted like the best thing ever. After eating I realized how bad that I felt, and I decided to throw in the towel because of the excruciating pain from my wrist. I spent the rest of the night nursing my wounds with the medication of Cherokee Red Ale. It was an awesome day.
Its Sunday morning and I'm stiff and sore, but its a feeling I often associate with accomplishment. This was a big one for me, I made the step to give up gears and suspension on this enduro adventure. I won't say it was a smart move, but I will say I think I'm better for having done it, or at least I will be once the pain subsides.
