Since returning home from Scotland in early August, I’ve spent nearly as much time in West Virginia as I have at home in Virginia–and I’m not complaining!

Less than 48 hours after arriving in Roanoke post-World Championships, I headed up to Slatyfork, West Virginia for the Slatyfork Enduro, an epic event on the backcountry trails in the Tea Creek Area of the Monongahela National Forest. The course covers approximately 22 miles of trails, and was perhaps the perfect enduro course for a cross-country marathon racer–rowdy, but primarily backcountry chunk, with plenty of endurance required! Not only did I manage to win the pro women’s category, I got to ride with friends new and old, and fell ever more in love with the party-up, race-down mentality of enduro racing.

After a quick trip to Colorado for a sports data summit (and some riding with friends!), I started digging in for the build up to the Snowshoe World Cup week. Between weekend trips to pre-ride the XCM course at Snowshoe and weekday training rides, I was putting in a LOT of hours on the bike, and getting increasingly familiar with the backcountry trails at Snowshoe.

Though the XCM World Cup at Snowshoe was my focus, I still felt like I needed to be present at the USA Cycling XCM National Championship in Auburn, Alabama the weekend just before Snowshoe.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that my 2023 XCM National Championships trip started with the explosion of my rear wheel during my first course pre-ride–and on trails that felt incredibly tame in comparison with the techy West Virginia backcountry trails I’d been riding all month. Historically, I’ve struggled at XCM Nationals—first being completely overwhelmed by the technicality of the Watershed in 2021, then being so overwhelmingly fatigued / overtrained coming into my race in 2022 that it stands out as easily my worst race ever. On Friday before the race, I just felt discombobulated physically and mentally, and knew that if I had any chance of racing well on Saturday, I needed to get my head right.

A few things I’ve found help in that:

• Go in curious & stay curious
• I only need to do one thing: ride my bike

I’m not normally a pre-race music person, but threw my headphones on Friday evening and Saturday morning, and took my place on the start line ready to ride my bike and see what might come of it. Despite some start-lap confusion, I paced my two laps consistently, had good handling throughout, and even managed to have fun on a course that is very different from anything I currently ride. I finished in 6th place, the closest I’ve been to an elite National Championship podium, and a result I’m happy with.

The next morning, I drove back to Roanoke, did a quick load of laundry, a grocery run, and made a stop at Cardinal Bicycle for a bike-check before driving to Snowshoe for World Cup week.

My goal for the two days leading up to the XCM World Cup were simply to re-ride a few trails to dial in my handling and then to relax. I was confident that I knew the backcountry trails at Snowshoe as well as anyone, and that regardless of weather conditions, I was capable of riding them smoothly (my last full pre-ride of the draft XCM course was 7 hours of pouring rain–it couldn’t be worse than that!). I was a bit disappointed to learn that all of the most technical trails were removed from the course due to safety concerns, as I felt that those trails were where my strengths most shined, but was at least able to find humor (and an increased sense of confidence in being at home on these trails) in the seeming panic of some of the European riders at the pre-race meeting.

At the start of the World Cup XCM, it was foggy and wet, with little hope that conditions would improve. The trails were as wet and muddy as I’d ever seen them, but I was ready for it. After a short start loop at the top of the mountain, we descended Dirt Beaver, a downhill park/flow trail where I passed one rider on an inside line, then caught two more. In typical fashion, I was then dropped on the climb back up to the top, where I settled in for the long haul. As we entered the backcountry singletrack, I couldn’t help but grin as I let my tires slip across the wet roots. This is what I was here for!

Despite being a marathon event, with little opportunity for spectators, I had several friends on-course cheering and heckling, plus the cheers of various volunteer course marshalls who were also friends. It really is a special thing to come around a corner and hear people cheering you on–even way out in the middle of nowhere! I also absolutely loved having the Cardinal Bicycle and Rocky Mountain Bikes support crews at the feed/tech zones to support me–there were definitely points where I looked down at my Garmin and calculated the number of miles remaining until I saw “my people.”

The first ~30 miles of the course were mostly singletrack, with two short gravel “breaks” in between, and I loved every bit of it. It was muddier than I’d ever ridden it, and sticky to the point of needing to pedal on some of the downhill bits just to maintain any semblance of momentum, but still incredibly fun riding. At about the half-way point, the sun peeked through, revealing stunning views of the mountains surrounding the Cheat Mountain and Mower Basin areas. The return to Snowshoe was nearly 30 miles of gravel, all at a slight uphill grade, and a bit soul-sucking. It is a beautiful area, but in a race, the gravel sections are where I tend to lose time rather than gain it…and its just not as fun to me. Through a muddy double-track pull with about 10 miles to go, I broke a spoke…and started to hit the wall physically. I got about one swallow of a Red Bull at the last feed zone, then turned up a brutal ski hill climb, wondering if I was even capable of pedaling up it. I made it, but it wasn’t pretty. I pushed through the last five miles or so, finishing in 7th place at my first-ever XCM World Cup.

Two races done, I had just one event left, the XCO World Cup on Sunday.

On Thursday, the day following the XCM World Cup, I opted not to pre-ride the XCO course, and instead went on a backcountry ride with some friends. It was my first ride on the Rocky Mountain Altitude and I was absolutely amazed. Honestly, I had been a little afraid that I wouldn’t like a “big” bike, that it would feel too heavy, be slow on the climbs, or just be hard for me to handle. None of those things were true. The bike felt incredibly natural, even coming straight from my XC bike–the only thing that felt even a little bit weird was the additional 30mm of handlebar width through the narrow backcountry trails. Enduro, here I come!

I did, however, take a hard fall on Thursday, smashing my chest into my stem and denting my helmet. The WVU medical team checked me out, and thought I was concussion-free, though when I got a headache immediately at the start of my course pre-ride on Friday, I panicked a bit. I rode the full XCO course just once, finding that nothing except for the “Trail P” section even challenged me technically. In comparison to last year, the rock garden felt easy, and the ski hill descent, though it had the potential to make a mistake and crash, also felt tame—either my skills have improved, or the course got easier (or both)! I came into P confident from last year and from riding it once over the summer, but slid out on a root and realized that the trail had been changed slightly, rendering the lines I knew useless. With a headache and the fear of a concussion, I called it and spent the rest of the day relaxing and doing homework at the condo.

On Saturday, I again headed out to the XCO course, planning on sessioning P until I was comfortable with a line. I rode the full course once through again, then started working down P. In the process, I bobbled a bit coming into the rock drop at the end, and took yet another hard crash, barely missing a tree, and cracking my glasses. I got back up and immediately tried again, but dabbed again in nearly the same spot and scared myself with the potential of crashing again. Fortunately, a friend was standing nearby and offered the mental/emotional support I needed to gather my very tired and emotional self and try again. Rather than starting from the top, I got on midway through, rode the bottom half successfully (where I had crashed), and called it quits.

Saturday afternoon, some of my friends were again heading out for a backcountry ride, and though I was incredibly tired, I felt like I needed to spin my legs a bit (considering my pre-ride that morning was less than 4 miles of riding), so with promise of a shuttle up the mountain, decided to join. When I slid out on a wet root and crashed for the fifth time since Wednesday, I nearly cried. I wasn’t hurt. Just tired…and tired of crashing. It was at some point Saturday that I realized that I hadn’t slept well in a week and that more than physically, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. When we finished our ride, I went back to the condo, showered, ate, and went to bed in hopes of a miraculous recovery before Sunday’s race.

When I woke up Sunday, I had finally slept through the night, and felt better from a fatigue standpoint, but my whole body hurt. During my warm-up, I very quickly realized that my legs had nothing to give me. I’ve been tired and overtrained before, but very rarely have I felt this level of having nothing left. I determined that for this race, starting would be a win, and that my secondary goal would be to ride all the descents cleanly.

When we lined up, I got emotional again. Though I couldn’t get to my phone to take a picture (and perhaps that would be inappropriate anyway), the image of seeing the giant UCI start banner with the countdown lights superimposed on the Snowshoe backdrop with hundreds of friends (and other people) cheering is emblazoned on my mind. I know that I raced the XCO World Cup last year as well, but maybe I was more focused, or stressed, or something–but I don’t remember that feeling of “this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done” like I felt this year.

The race started, and I gave it everything I had to attempt to get into the pack through the start loop, but unfortunately got caught up behind a crash right at the start. Sprinting uphill in your highest gear, stopping, then having to start again is hard enough when you have any kind of energy. I had nothing to be able to come back from that, but managed to catch the back of the pack coming into M&O, where everyone was bottle-necked and walking. Still, with the accordion effect, by time the back of the group was up and riding, I was quickly losing ground on the climb back up. I pushed hard through the rest of the start loop and back around to the P descent, where I absolutely NAILED my lines the whole way. I got to the bottom of P and mentally did a double fist pump, then sat up.

I’ve never just sat up in a race before, but in this case, I knew that I if I absolutely buried myself, I might get one more lap–or I could sit up now and get pulled at the end of this lap. My finish position was irrelevant either way, and I had accomplished every goal I had for this race. I started as well as I could and nailed the descents even better than I could have hoped for. I finished out the lap reveling in the feeling of hearing my name screamed, easy-pedaled to the 80% mark to be pulled, and was completely happy with how I rode.

Afterwards, a photographer on course remarked that he thought I had more fans than any other rider on course, and another friend watching from home said that he could hear people cheering for me on the GCN life feed–and I believe them. The experience of being a local rider at a race like the XCO World Cup is one I won’t forget. Thank you to everyone who was out on course cheering me on—I heard you and it meant so, so much!

Racing in West Virginia this week was truly Wild & Wonderful… and I just hope I get the chance to do it all again someday!

When I got home Sunday evening, I slept for close to 11 hours…and did the same Monday night. Maybe soon I’ll be recovered enough to make another trip to West Virginia. Word is there’s an enduro race there in a couple of weeks! 😉