I really wish I’d had a handlebar bell when we kicked off the 2010 Fears, Tears and Beers race in Ely, Nevada with a 43-strong group ride through the town’s casinos. And a random department store. With wet, dirty mountain bike tires. Not that we needed any more attention drawn to ourselves, it just seemed like it would’ve fit in perfectly with the ringing of the slot machines and the gaudy, gold-painted decor. Before I’d stopped laughing and taking pics on the fly though, we were back outside in the drizzling, 45º rain, and heading for the mountains.
The park staging area for the race start and finish.
Betsy shralping through the casino.
Heading out of town, full of energy and stoke - Betsy and Josh.
Fears, Tears and Beers is a unique event in the world of mountain bike racing: it’s an enduro format, which has a number of timed, mostly downhill sections similar to a Super D. The catch? You have to pedal to the top of each timed section. So it’s more or less like a fun, relaxed ride with your buddies with a few downhill-ish races mixed in. Add up the times of all the courses, and the lowest time wins. Good fun.
Off to the mountains...
The first climb rose 1,850 feet to the high point of the course. The first few miles ticked off with a nice gradual grade and perfect, tacky dirt. The rain was merely a nuisance. Around 1,000 feet into the climb though, enough water was on the ground to turn the dirt into wet, sticky clay. The stuff that adds 50 pounds to your bike with one turn of your wheel. And then that wheel doesn’t turn anymore. Stubbornly, maybe stupidly, we battled on against the mud. Pushed, shoved, cleaned out derailleur pulleys with sticks, whatever it took. And eventually, some of us were able to pedal again. But that was mostly because of the snow.
The first sign of real trouble.
Snain!
Out of the frying pan, into the snow.
It started as sleet, then “snain,” then just big fat white flakes that accumulated faster than I would’ve ever thought on June 12. The heinous trail surface was soon white, and with it, my tires shed their pounds of mud and actually began to roll free again.
Muddy, wet, tired, greasy... pretty much says it all.
At the top, two course volunteers huddled under a tarp, outfitted with all the essential race-support supplies: wine, a case of Hamm’s beer, and a flask of whiskey. I partook of the whiskey after I’d descended 1,000 feet, raced the first timed section on the backside sport loop, and climbed back up to the top again—exhausted, soaked, and cold. But not out, like most of the field by that point. The three timed sections down the frontside of the mountain went quickly from snow to mud to epic, bermed hero dirt. It almost made the previous suffering worth it.
This dude was beyond stoked with the last few runs - super fun hero dirt and amazing trails. My camera was too covered in mud and water by this point to take many photos.
In the end, the tally went something like:
- Beginner: 1850’ vert, 17 miles
- Sport: 3500’ vert, 26 miles
- Expert (only two racers completed this crushfest): 5400’ vert, 33 miles
- 43 racers started; 14 finished.
- Drivetrains destroyed: 43
Fears, Tears and Beers represents all that is great about grassroots racing, and the enduro format is simply a blast. I’ll definitely be back next year. (And yes, there was beer at the end!)
Legs.
Off to buy a completely new drivetrain back home in Salt Lake.
