PPIHC - Thursday - The Big Girl Back in Business

The third day in a row, up at 02:30 and up the mountain to ride bikes before dawn. We were on the top section for official practice... the scene of the of the Big Red Duck shitting herself less than 48 hours before. We setup on the road. Head-torches on, Ant and Travis go through everything on the bike again. Checking all bolts and fasteners. The electronic settings: traction control on low, ABS off, suspension as before, heated grips... "Error". Ooops. Ah, Travis replaced those fat, stodgy grips with slim, grippier race items. A compromise.

  

The dream team prep the Duck...

Roll-call. Briefing. Prayers. We wait for the pre-sunrise glow below us. 05:10 we get the signal for the sighting run. Braaaaaap! Braaaaaap! That big, torquey vee-twin feels like an old pair of slippers. They're in my blood. We get to the summit with no fuss. Engine pulling as well as it can at over two miles above sea level. No flat spots as we had two days ago. 

  

Thanks Ant for some awesome pics!

The top section has seven fast, blind, mostly off-camber left-handers. They all look kinda the same... a steep  rocky incline coming down to the tar on then left and just blue sky on the right - looks like you're about to ride off a cliff. The challenge is remembering which one is which and how fast you can take them. Near the top, just before the last two switchbacks from the muddy, potholed summit is one of these challenging turns. Travis lost his good friend and road race mentor here last year: Carl Sorenson. Unofficially known as Carl's, I treat it with caution.

I only know Carl by association, but as with the TT course, when I pass a place where a racer I have known has fallen, I crack them a nod and whisper 'Godspeed' under my breath. Godspeed Carl.

  

Travis and Carl, PPIHC 2014

 Pic by Sam Christmas.

Pics by Jamie Price.

Another 'challenge' on the top section is the wildlife. Last year there were mountain goats. I didn't see any on Thursday morning, but there were loads of marmots. 'Whistle-pigs' in local speak. These cat-sized critters mooch about sun-bathing on the course and rocks. They're either lazy, not bothered about approaching bikes, or play 'dare' with their mates. If you're cranked over at full lean and hit one of those fat greasy bastards, they'd probably smear down the track and you'd be off. Take care lad.

 

 

Sticker wars! Spot the Newbold's Motorbike Shop sticker on teh Squadra Alpina gear...

It's bleak, dim, cold and windy up top. I'm glad to be following the bike ahead back down to the temporary paddock at Devil's Playground in the twilight. Debrief with Travis and Ant. Warmers and jacket on. I try get my head around which turn is which. The onboard footage I have been studying for the last six months were all shot with wide-angle, go-pro like lenses. The track looks wider and the turns look a lot further apart and open on screen than they are in reality. I talk through the combinations with Travis. Where to be careful, where to ride the track as it looks and give it some beans.

 

 

Soon, the tyres are up to temp and I'm out for my first run. I treat it as a fast Sunday blat on my local roads... always looking for gravel, critters and other challenges on the course.

Back down... second run. I push a bit harder, setting up turns and carving wider, faster arcs. Just after Carl's is the second-last switchback - Cog-Cut. So named because the cog railway from Manitou Springs in the valley below (where our cottage is) to the summit, passes just meters from the edge of the track. The TT course has tramlines at the Bungalow, Pikes Peak has a cog railway.

 

 

The approach to Cog-Cut is bumpy as hell with patches of new tar and repairs everywhere. The extreme weather conditions up there cause severe frost heave and road distortion. You're also carrying a lot of speed from the fast Carl's. I push my braking further down the track than before...

The front tyre ploughs into the valleys and skids with little birdie chirps over the hills on the approach. The back end bouncing from side to side. "Oh shit." I'm getting in a bit hot. I don't want to risk a silly lowside by turning her in on the brakes on cool tyres up there... so I point the big girl uphill just past the edge of the armco and hang onto those anchors. "Whoooah there girl". She's very overweight for a racer... and takes some stopping.

I have enough road in front of me... just get her stopped then turn her on the edge of the road and get going again. Simples. I get up to the white line at the edge of the road... but the verge I expected over the line isn't there. It's been eroded away by a gully... flowing with water. 

In slow-motion, I slide the front wheel off the tar onto gravel and into the gully. Clunk! Crap! I get her into neutral and try rock her backwards. She's not budging. There is a fist-sized rock wedged behind my back wheel. Forwards. She's just too big and heavy. Fuck. I need help.

 

The view back from Cog-Cut...

Fortunately, there is a marshal on the inside of the corner. He radios the paddock then comes reluctantly across to help out while other bikes come skipping and squealing with a similar back-end dance into the turn. Glad it's not only me having difficulty with this braking zone.

 

 

The exit of Carl's and the whooped-out run to Cog-Cut... with a fat whistle-pig watching the games...

 ... handy to have a shitter right there. It was locked... wtf is the point of that?

Made a decent bike-stand though.

We get the BRD loose and park her against a locked portaloo until the session is finished. I amble back down with the group. I get back to looks of relief and concern from Ant and Travis. The marshal had radio'd that #40 is off... sorry guys :-( technically, I was off... but in reality I was standing on the bike at the edge of the track, annoyed at the silliness I was in, my boots filling with freezing water.

 

This wee mascot from Isle of Man keeps me safe...

We manage to get another 2 runs in. Bike going well... us going faster. On the last run, my Squadra Alpina coach, Carlin Dunne follows me. His advice is to turn in later on those tricky left-handers. They're blind, the track curves left on the entry and you just see sky on the right... the comparitive safety of the rock-strewn inside is the lesser. It's the known known. Too tempting and you start drifting toward it before turning in. They goad you in like Sirens. Resist. Resist....

Carlin Dunne checking my crap lines...

We only get 5 runs... this is like going to Brands Hatch for the first time and riding around for 5 minutes in sub-zero temperatures before tackling twenty-odd turns with no run-off at race pace. That is all the practice and learning you get around here.

I'm still way off finding the right line and speed. I'm a slow learner. Shit. Oh well. 5 runs is better than none... and the bike didn't blow-up . We're back in business!

We load up and head down the mountain and to Uncle Sam's Pancake House to meet Cowboy for some super-unhealthy breakfast. Cowboy is one of Travis' long-term sponsors. A larger than life,  Kansas born and bred, Vietnam Vet, stand-up guy and is so into Triumphs he's a got a shop full of them: Tommy's Triumph Shop.

We debfief, make plans for the next 24 hours share bike stories and laughs. Back to the cottage for a midday siesta. Prep the Duck for the last practice on Friday then fill the rest of the afternoon with chores like grocery shopping, a 'buzz-cut' at the local 'Randy's Olde tyme Barber Shoppe' and do the laundry.

 

 

Sippin' Sasparilla - never knew what it was before this... now I know. Tastes like Deep Heat muscle rub! Wierdly not too bad...

 Randy's Olde Tyme Barber Shoppe

 

Good 'ole boys in the Shoppe.

The laundromat was amusing... stereotypical... just like in the movies. The instructions for the machines are so ling-winded, they're like a manual printed in 10 size font on posters. So I ask the guy working there how they work."Heck I dunno. I only work here." He drawls. As this foreigner bungles through the process, I get his stock answer three times. I stop short asking him something else just to take the piss... the old guy really didn't know shit from shaiola... he just worked there!

 

 Heck I dunno. I only work here.

Although it was Thursday Mushroomy Monday was still open!

 

Been looking for Mexican wrestling masks for a while now...

 

 Fancy a tat too?

Manitou Springs is an eclectic hippy-cowboy place.

On our first 'restful' evening (not driving the three to four hour round-trip to Denver), we go into Manitou Springs downtown to meet Cowboy, have a wander around and find some great steaks at the Keg. A good day on the Hill!