Welcome to our new segment - Race Reports, A Year in Review - written by our tallest apprentice, Linus Owens! Over the next few weeks, we will regularly post a new story, a look back to Linus’s races from the 2021 season. We will include photos where we have them.
We welcome community contribution! If you have a race report, ride story, or photos you would like to share with us, we would love to post here on our blog and share it with our mailing list.
A look back on a year returning to racing and the privilege
that comes with sharing in the passion of bikes
Sweetwater Whiskey Rebellion
I ride bikes.
My chosen discipline is the road race, whether paved, dirt, or gravel. I’ll be the first to admit that this a strange sport; long, arduous roads climbing up over mountains for so long I feel I’ve entered some surrealist unending up, an eternity of up; only to go plummeting down the other side, speeding around twists and turns, at once thrilled and frightened, controlling my own roller coaster; roads that disappear into the horizon, slowly pulling distant objects towards me until what was once a speck far off is a mountain that towers above me. There is something amazing about setting out on a road that I cannot see the end of, not knowing what it will take to get there. Sometimes, not knowing if I will have the drive to finish it, but getting to the wonderful things in life is not about what we know awaits us, but accepting that the surprises and struggles will come and face them on our feet with our heads held high.
At twenty-eight years old, I did ten races back in 2019 and mark that as my rookie season. I had done a few across 2017 and 2018 which were little more than dipping my toe in the water, but 2019 had me really getting the rubber on the road with races in Maryland, Virginia, New York, out to Colorado and Idaho. I had a blast on pavement and gravel, and got my butt kicked far more than I managed to be the one doing the kicking. Before it ended, I was looking forward to 2020 and my sophomore season. However, I think you all know where this is going. A year of making plans, crossing fingers, and then cancelling them, so when 2021 rolled out and things were happening again, I got as giddy as a boy could be. As well, I was proud to be a new member of our shop sponsored team, Team BBC. Soon to be BBW Racing. A fantastic group of folks that aim to get riders of all kinds on bikes.
I’d like to take you back through my season, if I may. This is something I find immense passion in, immense feelings of fulfillment and accomplishment that can only be found after trials of doubt and struggle. It would be nice to provide some entertainment with my wacky adventures, or maybe just give you a glimpse into the strange world of us weird dorks that do endurance racing. Though truly, I hope in sharing from my own passion that I may ignite some fire in you to set out upon a road of your own, two wheels or not, to journey towards some place unseen over that horizon, to vanquish the unknowns that would stop you, and to celebrate in the love that pushes you onward. My name is Linus Owens, and I ride bikes.
My first race of the season back in May, Sweetwater Whiskey Rebellion covered some of western Pennsylvania's finest hills, and sketchiest gravel. It was seventy-five rough miles. For the first time in a long time, I was at a race for real, the excitement, the anticipation. And boy, did folks come to play. Eighty-one riders took the start. Out of the gate, we rolled down some gentle paved roads before hitting the first dirt of the day. I felt good sticking with the lead pack of twenty at first. Though as the first small rolling hills came, I found myself already pushing hard to stay with the pack going up, but it was on the going down that I got distanced. The dirt menu had two options: Loose, or Chunky. What truly separated the field was madness. Absolute mad lads and lasses plummeted down the descents. I decided to do the skin on my butt a favor and take it easy.
Leaving the lead group, I settled into my solo rhythm and thought that would be my day. At this point, my day didn't look too hot. I could already feel pretty crummy and that the day would stretch out for eternity. Then, backup arrived. About mile seventeen, I glanced back at the top of a hill and found a pack of five closing in on me. I joined and we made it a party. I should say the course profile, the rise and fall of elevation, basically looks like this: /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\. Over the seventy-five miles, we had maybe seven miles of kinda flat. It was little more than up and down all day. The best part of riding in the group was getting to gripe about how awful the descents were. There is no comradery quite as sweet as sharing common complaints. My hands were rattled numb on a couple real chunky sections. My heart dropped many times thinking I waited too late to brake, but the rubber side stayed down.
One of the group took off up the road pretty early, never to be seen again. The group stretched out a bit, but regrouped at the midway aid station. More of the same would follow. We had a great time, kept the mood high, laughs and jokes, great time. I kept eating at the front of my mind all day. At midday the sun began to peak out more and the heat picked up, so I got to chugging all my water. We hit the last aid station at twenty-two miles to go and another of the group decided to get the rest on her own. A staple of the Mid-Atlantic bike racing community, the premier voice for cyclocross in the tri-state area, Christina Hosenfeld would go on to win the women’s division.
I shoved some more food in my face and topped off my water and the four of us remaining left together. Though, that wouldn't last too long. As things went uphill again, two of the group fell back and it was just me and one of the gang left, but about mile 60 I found myself as the next bird to fly the nest. I left my last companion behind on probably the steepest hill of the day. My back tire was having trouble gripping the loose gravel, but it was so steep and my gear so low, I was terrified I'd pop a wheelie and buck myself off my bike. I rode up that wall of a road with my chest pressed against my handlebars, muttering a mixture of prayers and obscenities to myself. I do a lot of talking to myself while riding. It helps.
This part of the day surprised me. I didn't just feel not dead. I felt amazing. Aside from the pain in my feet and pain in my hands and pain in all of my body of course, my mood was sky high. Every climb left, I hit right on my pace, dialed it in. I was in The Zone. Finally getting down from the hills, the final two and half miles was as flat as the day got and a return to pavement, sweet, buttery smooth pavement. After over seventy miles of hellish Pennsylvania hills and dirt, I had matches left to burn and no reason to take them home. I curled myself in as aerodynamic as I could and put down a time trial titled, Ass on Fire.
A fantastic race made even better by getting to spend most of it with some great riders. I caught up with some of the folks I rode with afterward for a chat and beer. They had a great party going on, good food, good beer, a raffle (I won a headband!). They put on a wonderful event. I’m already signed up for next year.
I finished in 5:24:59, about an hour seven minutes behind the winner, 26th overall, 17th in the men under 40 division. Lotta old guys beat me, but that just means I have years left to get better, right?
Next race to come, G.R.U.S.K.
Ride well,
Linus Owens
