Race Report: Paul's Dirty Enduro

Another first! No, not first place ... first time trying out another one of the great fall mountain bike events Ontario has to offer. Many of you were kind enough to pledge my 100km singletrack race adventure and let me tell you, your donations went to a great cause, a great race, run by a great bunch of volunteers.

We got to Ganaraska just as the sun was peeking out over the horizon. It was a long day in every sense of the word. At the start, I don't think I was totally awake yet. At "go" I had that "oh yeah, there's a race today" thought that usually means I'd be coaxing heavier-than-usual legs through the first few minutes.

Kind of like the marathon last week, after about 20km, I considered myself "in it". But by then, Queen Heather had already put about 5 minutes into me. Hmmm. I decided that since pacing would obviously be the main challenge of the day I'd just concentrate on holding onto second.

The First 40 Kilometres

... were not my favourite. We were using trails shared by dirt bikes which meant that every climb had basically one line: up the middle of a ditch just a little wider than your pedals. So that meant any slip and you were digging your foot into the side. And slipping was hard to avoid since most of the dirt would be better described as wet sand. With mud puddles. I was glad to put those behind me.

Enter Gavin

Another challenge was riding alone in the woods. With so much terrain, and so few riders, there was very little to keep the mind on track. I was day dreaming non-stop. Musing over the porcupine quills I saw scattered on the trail. Scaring up grouse. Freaking out over the complete carpeting of poison ivy on the forest floor. And then a friendly guy came up behind me and we decided to ride together for both our sakes. All of a sudden a whole hour was down but since we were chatting the whole time, it felt like a few minutes, and our average speed had increased. Awesome. Huge thanks to Gavin, otherwise, I don't know if I would have gone out for the second 60km loop.

The Pit Stop

As you've probably gathered, the course was made up of a 40km loop and a 60km loop. Between the loops, we rode right by the car so I had a chance to make a pit stop, change bottles, take off layers, neutralize poison ivy, eat and then get back on the trail. Of course, my timing was impeccable, and I ended up setting out right behind the racers starting the 60km distance. That meant a huge field was between us and the rest of the 100km riders. Oh no. Gavin and I worked together to pass as many as possible on the open sections, opting to hurt a little now to save a little waiting later in the singletrack. It was going great, we were having a good time and moving at a good clip despite the many "slow-trains" we rode as we worked our way through the field. And then ...

Garmin Fail

... I looked down. And my Garmin was GONE. In a race this long, that little gadget was keeping great company monitoring the passing kilometres and tracking our average speed. Not to mention, I'd only had it returned the night before (thanks Sweet Pete's!) after the LAST time it jumped off my handlebars. That incident resulted in a replacement unit. The one that was now presumably lying in the dirt somewhere. Design flaw? I think so. In a flash decision I told Gavin the fun was over for me, I'd have to turn around. I knew I wouldn't be able to find peace about a [expensive] lost tool unless I'd done all I could to try to find it, so I turned around to ride upstream in a river of riders. Before long, I got to a marshal and stopped to ask her if anyone had turned it in. She said she hadn't had one yet. I was in the middle of making sure it was alright with her to continue into tighter terrain against the grain to try and find it when ...

Garmin Guardian Angel

... a young man, I think from Mountainview Cycling Club (or else a similar blue and white kit) stopped and said, "Are you looking for this?" and pulled my Garmin out of his jersey pocket. Holy shit. The odds are staggering and thank goodness for him!! I made him stop long enough for me to give him a big hug before turning him loose on the singletrack once again. As for the Garmin, I replaced it in my jersey pocket, NOT the stem mount. Huge thank you to you, whoever you are.

Where'd you come from?

After the Garmin incident, things started going downhill -- figuratively speaking. Literally speaking, they were still going very much UPhill. I knew I was losing speed, but I was confident I could keep 'er going enough to hold my position while keeping suffering to a minimum. So at check points, I let myself get off the bike and enjoy some orange wedges and bananas. I chatted with the volunteers and other racers and then moved on. This was great for a couple rest stations, but then seemingly out of nowhere (but actually out of my own lax riding), third place was on my wheel, then cheerily calling a pass and wishing me a good ride. Wha ...?! How did I let this happen?

So I paced her for a bit to get an idea of what kind of effort I'd need to put her behind me before unleashing an Ocup-Style final 30km. This was actually hugely enjoyable (ha -- read "painful") because the second loop was much more flowy than the first, with way better dirt too. Riding fast is always fun, and it was nice to know I had deeper fitness than I'd thought. Mental strength on the other hand ...

Well it was also very nice to see the finish line, let me tell you.

Results

I ended up in second, as planned and took home a neat little pottery plaque and a medicine ball for my efforts. We all enjoyed an awesome chili lunch and a good sit in the grass chatting with riding buddies and new friends we'd met while neutralizing poison ivy with a garden hose.

Huge thanks to the volunteers who put out a massive effort to make such a great event run so smoothly. And heck, they even ordered up good weather. Would I do it again? Hmmm ... ask me when my body stops aching. ;)

$100 for 100km

Paul's Dirty Enduro -- It's officially on my calendar. 100km of singletrack for me, 100 dollars raised for others.

I think it's the 15th time this race has been run, but it's my first time to line up. Here's hoping I can even ride all 100km of singletrack ... in a row.

But if the going gets tough, there are plenty of inspiring things to pull me through. First of all, Paul's story, and the love and support he still inspires today.

Paul was a young man who loved to ride bikes -- mainly in the Ganaraska Forest where this race is being held. According to his friends, he'd gather up fellow-riders and rip the trails all day long. He'd always say, "Let's do 100km!" but they never actually did.

He passed away by taking his own life in 1996. This event is run by his friends and family who come together year after year in his memory. They raise money for the Canadian Mental Health Association, put on a full day of activities and from all accounts, everyone has a good ol' time.

If you want to read more about Paul, his sister wrote a beautiful article in the Globe and Mail you should check out. I posted it below as well.

As for the race, I'm told it's 100km, mainly singletraick, never the same trail twice. I hear there's poison ivy, and its winners are worshipped like royalty. And I'm also looking forward to a promised hot lunch (which will probably be a cold dinner by the time I actually [literally] crawl over the finish line.)

If you want to show your support I'm trying to raise $100 for the event. I gave myself a head start with $20. Link to my fundraising page, follow the directions and be sure to print your tax receipt.

Then wish me luck on the 18th! Oh, and if someone could come and drive me home, that would be awesome ;)
KL

By Mary Lou Archibald

Globe and Mail

Friday, Mar. 12, 2010

My brother’s life is a dirty and exhausting endurance race that never ends, despite the fact he committed suicide 14 years ago today.

Every September since Paul died in 1996 at the age of 34, family, friends, mountain-biking enthusiasts and greenhorns have gathered in the Ganaraska Forest near Peterborough, Ont. We honour Paul’s life, sustain his passion for racing and the Ganaraska trails, and talk about the mystery and heartache of knowing that someone you can’t live without thought you would be better off without them.

On the one hand, Paul Rush was a rough-and-tumble mountain biker who could always be counted on to pull ahead in the home stretch during 24-hour relays with his biking buddies. He was a humble and hard-working cyclist, the strong and often silent type with broad shoulders, solid legs and a heart that could climb the steepest hills without missing a beat.

Paul loved to ride the trails, the more offbeat and rugged the better. His dream was to do a 100-kilometre endurance race, not to prove he was better or stronger or faster than anyone, but because it was a new challenge and adventure. It was inevitable that the Dirty Enduro race that started because of him includes a 100-kilometre trail that winds in one big loop with a new view at each twist and turn, which is exactly the way Paul would have wanted it.

On the other hand, Paul was a real character with an offbeat sense of humour. He had twinkling Irish eyes that reflected his appreciation for a good time with family and friends. Women loved Paul, not just for his charm and good looks but also for his sensitivity and vulnerability.

He had four older sisters who loved to spoil him, and a couple of girlfriends who probably would have married him in a flash if only he had popped the question. Yet he remained the eternal bachelor. I questioned this many times, and he always told me he was afraid of getting married and having kids because he might screw it up. I should have known this was a sign of his insecurities, but he always said it with a chuckle and such casual flair that I thought he was pulling my leg.

Paul was a big tease with everyone, especially kids. Nieces, nephews and friends’ children could not wait for him to shower them with attention. Young ones and even too-cool tweens would sidle up to the friendly giant, knowing that when the moment was right he would scoop them up and twirl them, bench press them with his big “muskles” or cart them around the block on the back of his bike.

His love and affection were unconditional and unencumbered. You could be yourself with Paul, and no matter how shy or quiet you were, you always knew he had no expectations. And he made a mean pizza from scratch, turning the kitchen into a cheesy disaster area, but the results were mouthwatering and the cleanup with Paul always fun.

Unfortunately, Paul was also a man who lived with the “black dog” of depression for years, a dark secret we live to regret.

Paul was raised in an era when boys were taught to deal with their anger or frustration by scrapping, or shutting up. Going to the doctor was for pregnant women and old people. And talking about it was something you were only allowed to do in the church confessional, to ask forgiveness for feeling this way when you should be grateful you have a roof over your head and food on the table.

So when Paul had thoughts of suicide, and even attempted it unsuccessfully, as we later discovered, he sucked it up because that was what real men did. When he told us that stray dogs were chasing him during his solitary bike rides, little did we know the animals that were really haunting him were in his mind.

Paul lost his job, and he told us it was because his boss was a jerk. He probably was, but what we didn’t see was that Paul’s anxiety, in the days before employee mental health was a sincere consideration, led to behaviour that was typically dealt with by pushing the difficult worker out the door.

In the end, it was not the stray dogs or the tough terrain that took Paul’s life, but his own desperate desire to end his pain.

So every year we gather, and what started with a few close family members and friends and a pot of chili 14 years ago has become a big event with hundreds of riders and volunteers, and more than $17,000 in donations. The funds are used to raise awareness about suicide, especially among young people.

The cause has become a potential source of healing instead of pain. Family and friends would much rather see Paul leading the pack in the 100-kilometre race year after year. Instead, we gather annually to watch others continue the race, and it is a bittersweet ride. Whether they participate for the thrill, or to honour someone who suffers from mental illness or tragically took their own life, the participants at Paul’s Dirty Enduro continue his life journey on his behalf.

Mary Lou Archibald lives in Brantford, Ont.