Dario Fredrick comes off Goldman Trail during the 2010 Tamarancho Dirt Classic (photo: Wil Mathews)
It’s not often we get to race in our own backyard, on trails that we call home. Perhaps less often is the chance to race with legends of the sport, heroes we’ve followed since the beginning of mountain bike racing. Put the two together and voila’ we have the Tamarancho Dirt Classic and Ned Overend.
If you don’t know who Ned Overend is, or know the name but don’t really know how accomplished this incredible athlete is, how about three world championship titles (MTB & XTERRA) and six national MTB XC titles?? And the list just goes on from there. Ned’s approaching 54 and has shown no signs of slowing down, still very competitive with national-class pros especially when the road tilts up. I had the honor and privilege to race with Ned yesterday on my favorite trails of Tamarancho.
I decided to race in the Pro class, since I know the Tamarancho trails well and wanted to start with the front group, avoiding the initial and inevitable traffic that multi-lap courses present. Going into the race, my hopes were to shoot for the best ride I could muster, knowing I would be happy with a top-5 finish. Along with “Deadly” Ned, there were a number of strong local pros, including Brian Astell (Marin), Jim Hewett (Summit Bikes), Roger Bartels (NorCal Bike Sport) and a dozen or so others.
The course provided challenging (brutal, actually) climbing – four times up the 28% Dead Heifer Fire Road – and phenomenal singletrack around the Tamarancho loop. I knew it would be important to be toward the front at the top of the first climb heading into the singletrack to improve my chances of holding a good position in the early part of the race. So my tactic was to get a good start and stay with the strongest guys the first trip up Dead Heifer.
We started fast and I made my way to the front through the initial fire road section into the short connecter to Dead Heifer. We hit the climb and all systems were go. I asked and my body responded. I motored up the steep climb, setting the pace at the front and it gradually became quieter and quieter behind me. I expected Ned or someone else to hammer right by me, but I guess my pace was fast enough to stretch out the elastic of the pack. I assumed they were right behind me, but I did not look back. Instead I went a bit harder to hit the singletrack first and immediately got into the flow.
Down B-17 extension, I rode the smoothest, fastest lines I knew and carried this momentum into B-17, a smooth, fast contouring trail. When I hit the double switchback climbing segment, I realized that I had a 10 second gap to the next few guys. I kept my focus on good technique, knowing that if I had any advantage, it would be my intimate knowledge of the trails.
After B-17 the course descended down a fast fire road back into the center of the camp, nearly back to the start/finish area, then up a gradual climb through the feed zone then up a sharp, rocky kicker at the top. Then it was back onto the singletrack loop all the way until Dead Heifer. I couldn’t ask for a course more tailor-made for me. Down the technical Serpentine Trail, I kept telling myself that “smooth is fast” with the confidence that if I was having fun, I was going fast, and the guys behind were going to have to work to catch me. So rather than “trying” to go fast, I let myself go (fast), relaxing into the flow of the trails I know so well.
Up the next singletrack climb, I looked back to see Ned, Astell and Hewett, all together giving chase. I estimated that I had increased my gap to ~20 seconds. As I continued along the loop, I expected them to catch me at any point, so I maintained an effort I knew I could hold for the whole race. I hit the second of four Heifers and the three behind were out of sight until the double-switchback on B-17, where I could see Astell trying to cross the gap to me. I kept my pace steady, not relenting an inch.
On the third lap, they were nowhere in sight and I was hearing that I had a gap of between a minute and 1:30. People cheered for me all around the course, which was super-motivating. For the first time in the race I thought there was actually a chance of winning. But I reminded myself that it’s not over until you cross the line, so just focus on the task at hand. Smooth is fast, smooth is fast, save a little something for that last trip up Dead Heifer…
I though of the Whole Athlete juniors and how brilliantly they raced earlier in the day (winning every category they raced), and that gave me tremendous courage and strength. When I rode by them, their roaring cheers gave me chills and a burst of energy that I tried to carry the whole lap. I kept the gas on and readied myself for the late-race charge that was bound to come from behind. At the bottom of Broken Dam, I started to feel some light cramping coming on in my leg, and told my body “not now, I still need to get up the Heifer!” I shook out the cramps and hit the final steep climb of the race.
Fatigue began to hit hard and I dug deep, trying to pedal as smoothly as possible with what I had left. As I approached the final segment of the climb, I heard loud cheers behind me, looked back and saw Ned closing in fast. I though it would be awesome to finish second behind the legend, but then I reminded myself that it’s not over yet! I dug deeper and wrung out every last drop of energy I had, knowing that if I could just make it to the singletrack with a gap, I could potentially hold it to the finish.
I looked back and estimated 10 seconds or less, dove into B-17 extension and knew that it was now or never. Riding the fastest B-17 of my life, I emptied the tank. When I hit the fire road descent, I nailed the lines and pushed hard all the way to the finish area, looked back, saw daylight and crossed the line with my arms high and what must have been an ear-to-ear grin. I was blown away with this most welcome, yet unexpected victory. Ned crossed the line about 20 seconds after, rolled up and we shook hands, congratulating one another. What an honor to race with such a gracious champion.
Peace,
Dario
