Thanksgiving, 2009

I had much to be thankful for today. Thankful I still have a job. Thankful my family is healthy. Thankful that I've survived yet another Crescent Challenge. Why is it that the Challenge seems to become more difficult every year ? After doing this for five years running, you'd think I'd have some sort of system in place. I am actually contemplating taking two days off next year, one for prep, and one for recovery. It has come to that. Anyway, here is the recap of the 2009 Crescent Challenge, in all its squalid glory. Webmaster

Backdrop

There was turmoil in the ranks of the Crescent Challenge planning committee this year. Your sponsors finally woke up in time to realize that they had better get sponsoring and drum up a site for the event ASAP. Actually, finding a site is the easy part. It is the date selection that always proves most challenging. Why is that, you might ask ? There are only 3 sponsors, and they all have email, text messaging, cell phones, blackberries etc..., communication surely can't be a problem. That is a logical conclusion , but you fail to grasp the very nature of the Crescent Challenge, which defies all logic, which might explain the final date selected being one that ended up not even working out for one of the very sponsors of the event. Based on recommendations from some of their associates, the sponsors contacted the owners of "Deerfields", a little known 900 acre tract of land near South Mills River. Deerfields is typically a host of music festivals, and counts the East Coast version of Burning Man as one of its most infamous. After repeated attempts to reach the reclusive owners of the property, Andy was told that Acme Motorcycles was hosting an event at Deerfields on our desired weekend, but that an event of the Challenge's size (i.e., small) would have no problem fitting in alongside the dual-sport riders from Acme. Closer to the event, the Deerfields folks made it clear that Acme would be charging $50 at the gate, but that as long we used the secret code word "Crescent Challenge", they would know to let us pass un-molested, as it had been made clear that a mountain-biking group would be sharing the area.

Friday

Reminiscent of last year, the weather for Friday afternoon and night looked horrible. Unlike last year, the Pop Top Lodge was not an option. After last year's septic and well fiasco, the Crescent Challenge crew was not a welcome entourage at the Ceasar's Head Community. The navigator considered offering up his cabin as a refuge for those coming in late, but on second thought, decided he would let the stragglers fend for themselves, as he had enough on his plate already.

After taking a day off to load his SUV and 8x10 trailer, he swung by Andy's house to pick up Andy's motorcycle and they in turn headed to Spinx to meet young Kevin. While munching on a Spinx Chicken biscuit that could feed a family in Ethiopia, the navigator pondered out loud to Andy: "How in the hell can young Kevin be so late ? He has no job, no children, no wife, and the sumbitch is 20 minutes late meeting two elderly family men like us". About that time, Kevin rolls in, a quick conference is held, and they are all off. Kevin and Andy's plan was to stop by Rumbling Bald on the way up the interstate and get in a little climbing. Calhoun elected to head straight to Deerfield's in an effort to scope out the site and establish a camp before the really heavy rain set in.

Calhoun had never been to Deerfield's before, so wasn't sure what to expect. He drove through a massive gated entrance with gargoyles on either brick gate pillar. Continuing down a narrow dirt road in a now driving rain, he soon found himself at the main Deerfields pond, where Acme had a registration table of sorts set up. Now picture the navigator's trailer, presently loaded with two motorcycles. Needless to say, he had a little work to do to convince the Acme folks that no, he really wasn't there for their motorcycle festival, but in fact was leading the charge for the 2009 Crescent Challenge. Fortunately, in the midst of negotiations one of the reclusive Deerfields owners arrived and everything was sorted out. Predictably, Andy and Kevin showed up before too long, all hopes of climbing dashed by the weather, and then soon Jennings and Scott also entered the picture. Frustrated with sitting around in a driving rain, the entire group ended up driving into Brevard to go to the climbing gym, only to be shot down again as it was closed. Well, there's always Pescado's, so the challengers assembled there for some grub, and were soon joined by Ryan Haynes. After eating enough to prepare themselves for the long, dreary night ahead, this elite group drove back to their miserable, sodden campsite. And that is it dear reader. Mother nature had once again decided to deal the Crescent Challenge a miserable hand on the opening night. Only 7 souls were brave enough to endure the conditions. In time honored tradition, they elected to drown their sorrows with loud music, dark beer, and other miscellaneous spirits. They set up for the night under the only nearby roof, a small dock poking out into the Deerfields pond. Picture the scene if you will. A windswept rain, and the silhouettes of the challengers, a couple coolers, and an over-amped jam box outlined against the gloom. Pretty sad you might say. Well dear reader, it was not as sad as the neighboring Mud, Music and Motorcycle festival. Have a look at their flyer and just count the number of bands. Please understand they were running ads for the event on WNCW. Consider those items for a moment, then consider this: The Crescent Challenge dock party drowned out the Mud Music and Motorcycle festival Friday night.

Round about Midnight, the navigator decided it was time to abandon the dock party and get some sleep. When a brutal mountain bike ride is staring you in the face, sometimes it is prudent to skip the 2am partying and get some sleep, so he mused as he trudged through the downpour towards the haven of his tent. Fortunately there was a brief break in the rain whilst getting ready to retire for the night, although the increasing wind was a concern. The ground was absolutely sodden, the wind was whipping, and with his tiny Sierra Designs Nightwatch pitched underneath some swaying trees, the navigator couldn't get that story out of his head about the unfortunate camper that was killed in his sleep by nothing more than a falling tree. After about scratching his cornea trying to get his contacts out, then brushing teeth, and taking a leak he crawled into his tent, looking forward to getting some shuteye. Unrolling his therma-rest, he looked askance at the loaner sleeping bag that had been carelessly tossed into the tent earlier in the day after Andy handed it over to him. He recalled thinking at the time that it seemed surprisingly light, but figured that was simply because it was a high-tech goose-down bag. But now he began to wonder. A pink stuff-sack? Pulling the bag out, his worst fears were realized, and he had a traumatic flashback to his last experience with a loaner sleeping bag, when Challenge sponsor Gaines Huguely had set him up with his daughter's Barbie Bag for a sub-freezing night on top of a granite dome on the rim of Panthertown Valley. Incredulous, the navigator looked at the tiny bag, with a nylon exterior, and flannel lining with outlines of white butterflies silkscreened onto the fabric, and thought to himself: "Surely this must be a joke". Andy's 9 year old daughter's name was found written in Sharpie-black on the care tag of the bag. "Yes, surely Andy will reveal the subzero-rated bag for Saturday night's predicted freezing temperatures", Calhoun thought as he settled in for the night with the entire upper half of his torso totally exposed to the elements. Suffice to say it was a long night. It wasn't that cold, but the wind and rain were relentless. The navigator heard Andy's EZ-UP canopy and/or tent fly literally come apart at the seams at some point overnight, but given the sleeping bag he had been gifted, he was not feeling very charitable and didn't budge from his sheltered position.

Saturday

As it did last year, Saturday morning broke with clear skies and plenty of sun, making the prior night's weather seem like nothing more than a bad dream, until you looked around at the sodden gear, the windblown debris, and the mud. In the midst of making coffee, breakfast, and in general discussing last night's conditions, other challengers gradually began arriving on-site, looking fresh and rested in stark contrast to the group already in place. Calhoun could be overheard interrogating Andy about the sleeping bag fiasco, with Andy claiming that the bag must have been switched by one of his offspring unbeknownst to him, and no, he had no backup bag. Scott could be overheard carrying out an analysis of the upcoming ride and weather conditions, and what sort of technical outerwear would be appropriate. Long sleeve technical? Short sleeve technical? Polypropylene? Wool blend? Gore Tex? Technical fleece? Silk? Soft shell? Ryan could be overheard discussing the merits of sleeping in a windswept downpour in a Volkswagen bus with almost all the comforts of home, and the benefits of vintage motorcross wear. Meanwhile Kent was having a philosophical discussion on the similarities of mental flow states while mountain biking or slack-lining, and all the while packing a small tool-kit for the inevitable mechanical breakdown of his bike. Andy could be overheard explaining why we all had to wear really gay-looking shiny green armbands before we left the confines of Deerfields. Russell Park had just driven in from Greenville, and could be overheard asking everyone where Calhoun was, so he could get some of that orange powder for his water bottle. Russell's last Challenge was a life-changing event, where a half century of skepticism was erased in the space of four hours after he infused his system with a healthy dose of Accelerade and proceeded to put on a climbing clinic for the younger Challengers. Others were discussing just exactly where and what would the day's ride consist of. Originally, the plan was to ride right out of Deerfields, but that plan was dashed when the original ride-leader, Kip Smith, was unable to attend the event. The property owners were not very encouraging, suggesting we'd be hike-a-biking for quite a ways, and also making sure we understood that someone with orienteering skills might be useful.

Surprisingly enough, the Challenge contingent did the logical, and probably intelligent thing, and loaded everyone up in cars and drove a couple miles around the bend to the departure point for Laurel Mountain. Upon disembarking, Jennings announced that he had no riding shoes with which to use his egg-beater pedals. Having given up on his SPD's last year, the navigator dug through his supplies box and produced a pair of shoes and pedals. Unfortunately, Jennings was too weak to get his eggbeaters off, so had to enlist the aid of about 4 other Challengers on the wrench. With that small delay out of the way, the fifteen riders pedaled down the road then shortly took a right and began the long tortuous climb up Laurel Mountain. It really was a beautiful ride. The conditions were not nearly as soggy as one would expect after the rain the prior night, the air was cool and crisp, and the Fall foliage was at peak. Too bad the climb was so brutal. The group strung out, with the usual suspects in front, the usual suspects mid-pack, and Scott Sawyer, Challenge plebe, off the tail end in a big way. The navigator was not exactly tearing it up himself, and while clawing and scrabbling his way around a downed tree with his bike on his shoulder, was trying to envision the level of suffering Scott must be enduring at that moment further down the trail. That lasted about a nanosecond then he re-focused on his own issues and climbed back on his bike, continuing the steady slog. Finally, he arrived at the summit to find the lead riders looking rested and relaxed. Fortunately, Scott was so far behind that everyone had plenty of time to rest up prior to the next leg. There were rumors that Scott had been advised to turn back, but soon enough we all heard him laboring up the trail, and he arrived. Scott redeemed himself on the next leg, which was a very technical downhill, replete with steep, rocky switchbacks and some occasional deadly drop-offs off the right side of the trail.

What would a Pisgah bike ride be without some sort of mechanical failure. If you want to guarantee yourself the opportunity to do some wrenching, just be sure Kent Peggram is included on the ride. The boy seems to have a knack for punctured tubes, thrown chains, mangled deurailleurs and other ills. I looked on with relief this year as Kent had brought along an obviously new loaner bike rather than his original hardtail, thinking for sure that at last a mechanical failure was one more worry we could cross off the list. I should have known better. Of course Kent's bike broke down, leading to a 30 minute delay as a small crew of would-be bike mechanics each had the opportunity to make things worse. Above, witness Russell Park demonstrating how Neanderthal Man might have adapted when presented with the task of fixing a Shimano LX derailleur.

Brain Fade

My memory is not what it used to be. I've been jotting these recollections of what went down at the CC over the last 3 months, starting around Thanksgiving. Most of this writing has been done while sitting at my daughter's weekly basketball practice. Other players' parents keep their distance, figuring I'm some sort of high-level executive, so busy and so driven that I'm always on my laptop, even on a Sunday afternoon. Looks can be deceiving. Anyway, my recollections of the rest of the Challenge are a little fuzzy. Starting with Saturday afternoon, these are some of the things I remember...

I remember that Russell Park bailed on camping Saturday night. I remember Lee Cunningham and Robert Eimer drove up on Saturday afternoon just so they wouldn't miss the night's festivities. I remember Kevin Eaves, who openly boasts of beating 14-yr old girls in trail runs, wussing out on Saturday's mountain bike ride, and going road-riding with his friend Scott Williams instead. I remember that by Saturday night, we had about 20 people camping and enjoying a small bonfire, some slack-lining, and in general having a good time. I remember securing a proper North Face sleeping bag from Ryan Haynes, and reveling in the contrast of that fine piece of gear vs. the barbie-bag I'd slept in the night before. I remember stepping into the porta-john Sunday a.m. in order to take care of some business, and staring in horror at the soiled pants that someone had shed and left on the floor. Hopefully those were from some of the Acme participants. Speaking of Acme, we had a few challengers that ventured over to the Acme party on Saturday night, reportedly staying there until 2:00am, and almost getting into a fracas over some sort of political discussion. I remember Shrimper and Andy, hanging onto Ryan's bumper Sunday morning, trying to help extricate his wildly fish-tailing VW camper from the muddy field. I remember people splitting off on Sunday to engage in their activity of choice. Andy, Kevin Fennington and I went motorcycling. Robert and Lee went climbing at Rumbling Bald. Don Jennette went on a solo ride over at Coffee Pot mountain. Some folks had to go home. The remainder went for another group mountain bike ride. I remember I had a good time.

See you Next Year...

The Webmaster