Well, that didn't go as planned

Ok, here’s the full Ore to Shore Mountain Bike Epic race report: The race was “only” 10 miles, but please don’t think that means easy. There was still 500 feet of climbing and the only reason I could do it was because they added an e-bike category. Without it, I would have suffered a migraine. With it, I got the chance to destroy my soul.

First let me set this up: We were going to have fun, ride it as a tour, and do it together - my son, Nelson, and I. We weren’t going to podium - Nelson had done no real training and I was on my e-bike, which wasn’t eligible.

We used to ride this race when he was younger, so it was a return of sorts - to my total delight! Now, at age 21, he races motocross instead of mountain bikes… and this would literally be his second bike ride in about 5 years.

But he had suggested that we revisit O2S with his love of train chasing built in: It would be a lark to catch the train during the race! We had decided that if we saw the train, we would stop and get a pic. THAT was our attitude going in.

Instead, we both ended up in a battle for our lives.

Pre-race: We ate and drank whatever we pleased. This would eventually prove to be Nelson’s Achilles’ heel.

Mine? For the first time in my racing days, I had no nerves - thanks to my e-bike. I would NOT have to find a porta-john at the start line and I was delighted.

Until.

I was standing in the starting chute and that old familiar wave hit me… a bathroom break would be ideal about then… but I was surrounded by spandex, tires and aluminum caging just minutes from the sound of the gun.

As we took our helmets off for the national anthem, I gave myself a firm talking to. I decided an hour was NOTHING. We’d be back in no time. I’d be biking the whole time and my survival instincts would do the work. I tried to soak up the moment. Nelson and I were doing this - I was happy!!!

From the waist up.

The gun sounded and we took off. And we went hard. The Tour was underway at a rather heated pace. I let Nelson set the pace and used my e-bike to moderate my heart rate and therefore spare my head. We were doing great and I almost (almost) forgot that I was on a strict timeline to get this done in an hour.

Then - at 20 minutes in - we came to the railroad tracks - and heard the train horn in the distance. The crossing guard volunteer was starting to hurry bikes across and eventually stop the race for its passing.

Nelson and I had decided we’d stop and get a pic - so we did, adhering to our Tour guidelines. Which were established prior to my guidelines set in the starting chute.

And I SOON realized that our looong stop (that train was farther out than we expected) had violated the agreement.

BUT. Where to go? We started pedaling again. I looked desperately for the formerly refused porta-john along the way, while also working out the specifics of how much spandex shorts can hold - when suddenly Nelson stopped at the top of a hill.

We had been going hard to make up for our train break - and now - he was hunched over his handlebars.

“My stomach doesn’t feel… the best.” He gulped a little.

I’d been around plenty of puking bikers and paddlers, and I knew it was best to just get it done with. With authority, I sent him into the woods. One rider going by called out, “Are you guys ok?” and I lied yes! with equal authority.

Nelson returned looking better.

“What was that about,” he asked, wiping his brow.

“Your decision not to train?” I said.

We laughed and I loved it - now THIS was racing! Good stories and bad ideas. And seeing him overcome a good sufferfest was making me proud.

Hid crisis had made me forget my own - briefly.

We weren’t two pedals up the next hill when I flagged him down.

“Bad news,” I said.

Nelson raised his eyebrows.

“It’s number...” I mouthed the final count: two.

He recoiled.

“Please, I have no choice!”

I could see he was struggling with the whole concept. At 21, I would have been, too. But at 51? Facts are facts.

“Go ahead, I’ll use my boost to catch you,” I said. “Save yourself.”

“Tell me nothing more,” he said, and was gone into the stream of riders.

I rolled my bike casually, oh so casually, at a breakneck speed into the woods. I laid it down out of sight in the ferns. I did NOT want someone checking on me. Then, my hike began. I would need to be out of sight, respectfully miles away from the trail, at a lower elevation, preferably in a hole, and surrounded by useful foliage. I prayed it was a false alarm.

It was not a false alarm.

Back at the trail, I found my bike and rolled out of the woods. I met no one’s eye and I cursed wearing that bright pink MiGirl jersey for the first time.

The chase to catch Nelson began. I was passing people whenever I could, laughing the whole way in disbelief. WHAT had just happened to the both of us?

When I finally caught him - he asked NO questions (and has yet to). I simply reintroduced myself with: “THAT was a first.”

He grunted.

By the time we crossed the finish line, we were victorious. We were alive, mostly, and back to modern plumbing. And we had survived whatever the hell that was.

In the end, my watch showed 20 minutes of not moving… and, like any good racer, I immediately sliced 20 minutes off our official time and - checking against the results - found that we could have podiumed - without that pic and without all that “fun”! But then we wouldn’t have a good story now, would we? 😂😅