A blog from Billy Bergmann--a musician and very good friend

My experience riding for Cyril this weekend was perhaps on different terrain than that which Cyril has seen for the past several weeks, but none the less in the same spirit I hope. In about four hours we saw only 6 miles of asphalt. The other 30 miles were mostly on the "Birke" trail which starts in Hayward Wisc. and leads 40 miles to the Telemark resort in Cable. This is the same trail that is skied by about 9000 people for The American Birkebeiner, perhaps the largest x-country ski race in the world, ( www.birkie.com ). The trail is also home to Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival, ( www.cheqfattire.com ) , which for 28 years has been the "go to" event for mountain bike racing in the midwest. The latter race has gotten so popular that they had turn away over a third of the applicants this last fall. I was lucky enough to get in and race this year the weekend before Cyril's departure. A couple of my friends did not ride the "Forty" this year and wanted to pre ride the race course in hopes of getting the chance to ride next year. So, we headed from the Twin Cities to the Land of Chequamegon.


We couldn't have picked a better fall day, it topped 70 and the colors, perhaps a week past peak, were still vibrant with yellows and golds. Although beautiful, the Birke trail is a long slog on a mountain bike. The terrain is classic glacial moraine, you descend about 50 to 150 feet and immediately climb back up, only to once again descend. A few of the "roller" sections allow you to gain enough momentum to crest the next hill with little effort, but most of it is one hard short climb after another, and although descending is always fun, the climbs take it out of you in short order. We went out a bit too hard perhaps and by the time we reached the halfway mark we were pretty spent. But with a few energy bars, cliff shots, some fluids and a short rest in the warm fall sun, we were on our way.


The pace slackened as we got off the trail and started out along one of the many miles of forest roads that make up the second half of the route. It was getting too hot for October, the legs were burning, the chatter from our lunch break subsided. To pull out of our sober state a plan was silently established. We started working together as if on a road ride, taking turns pulling a pace line, our tires popping along over the gravel .


It was at this point that I started thinking about just how difficult it is riding solo. There's the whole psychological component of having no one to share, not only the joy of the ride, but almost more importantly, the pain. The unspoken sympathy that it is generated when riding with a group makes it so easy to keep your mind in the ride. Larger still is the physical component. None of those that complete the Tour de France could do so without team members and even fellow competitors sharing the physical work of pulling through the wind, and up the hills, and over the mountains.


A smile came to my face, the misery subsided, I think I even chuckled out loud, realizing that this ride I was on was a piece of cake compared to what Cyril has seen over the past weeks. To go as many miles as he has, solo, with no other rider to share the physical and mental challenges is truly remarkable! (Not to mention that he has about 28- 29 years on me as well). I reached the front of our pace line, it was my turn to pull. My legs came back on now as I now imagined Cyril somewhere in line behind me.


Soon those behind me were chasing me off the open gravel road and we darted into the shaded woods onto my favorite part of single-track, through Martel's pothole and back towards the Birke trail. As we picked up the pace and started thinking of home we missed a cutoff and ended up going the long way around Lake Helene. The few extra miles proved maybe a bit much and faces started to get long again. We stopped and spoke of beer, the hope was restored, we rode on.


Destiny would have it that we botched yet another turn and ended up missing the most challenging section of the ride, up the Fire Tower hill. Most of us were
cooked and wanted only to be home sipping our favorite recovery drink. So, we took the easy way home, on the road, tires humming all the way to the cabin.


What was to be 40 ended up being only 36 miles. A drop in the bucket for you Cyril, but I hope it pulls you along.


Godspeed,


Billy B