They are working on rescheduling, but no word on that date at this time. Nevada Dave and Stiggity were all cracked out and chomping on the bit at the thought of a run for the border. But the flooded Root River has changed our plans. Instead, we’ll see you on the trails on Sunday.

If the rain holds out.

El Maya hooked us up with a cabin in the woods. A friend of a friend thing, the cabin was twenty minutes from the course and had a private two track to get to it that seemed like it took a half hour to navigate. Great lodging, a pre-race culinary demonstration by chef Tell, (a masterful creation of sardines, avocado, broccoli, pasta, and half a bottle of olive oil) and “the ole 96′er” had El Maya turning in early. We mixed bottles and deliberated on the finer points of endurance nutrition, while our hosts’ eyes glazed over. It was a terrible nights sleep, the loft style arrangement only amplified the snoring that went on all night. We invited Steve, my best riding buddy from Michigan, he brought Thomas, and Josh, a racer from The Motion Initiative. The Motion Initiative is a similar organization to Chicago’s West Town Bikes. They are based in Grand Rapids, Mi and they focus on getting kids who otherwise might not, to ride some trails and learn something new along the way.

In the first lap I decided to go with the lead group for as long as I could. That lasted about 1/4 lap. There’s 95 miles to go what am I doing trying to kill myself like this, so I dialed it back and settled into a rhythm.  Somewhere deep into the rhythm, on the first lap, Brandon Leach caught up to me. We then rode together for the next 30 miles, give or take a few. My first lap was feeling really good, until the first twinges of the cramps began to manifest in my legs. It was an ominous sign of things to come. For the next 70 miles I was to battle cramps that were not supposed to exist until mile 70. Halfway into the second lap, I bid Leach adieu and stopped at the aid station for a brief rest. The aide stations were magnificent, they had everything there short of a tv with the ball game on and an deep dish pizza washed down with a Goose Island IPA, truly and oasis in the sand. During my little break I realized the culprit for the cramps was the caffeine in my energy drink. So I dumped it and switched to the premixed HEED that the aide station supplied. The cramps would not end after that, but not to long after the switch they did begin to subside. Arrgghh…but the damage was done. I had lost a lot of time working out the cramps. My second lap was an exercise in pain. On the flat portions of the course I was able to generate a respectable amount of power. Especially on the long twisty singletrack mind benders. There were a couple of sections on the course of extended flat trail, no real rises, just twisting, flowing singletrack. On these sections, even with my legs falling apart, I was able to distance riders behind me. These flat sections of trail just seemed to last forever, they were a joyful monotony. Sometimes for miles on end, no real elevation gain or loss, then smash, right in the nuts. Here’s a 10 minute climb to bring you back to earth. Jedi mind tricks with must have been thousands of trees. Any of which could have grabbed my bar ends and flipped me into the weeds. The only tree I hit was on a downhill, I washed out on a corner and plowed my front wheel into a downed log. As I went through the pit area after the second lap, the feeling began to rise inside. I knew I was going to finish the race. And that was the most important thing for me. Not a specific time or pace, really, I just wanted to finish. A smile began to well up and I was feeling really good. Then I hit the first maj0r climb of the loop. Close to ten minutes of steady climbing, and then the crescendo, a steep pitch that was ridable on the first lap. Each subsequent lap it laughed at me. It bites you in the face, while your being kicked in the nuts. My smile didn’t fade it was dragged out into the woods kicked in the ribs and left there to find it’s own way home. The halfway aide station seemed to lurk in the distance for hours. I could not get there soon enough, to replenish my bottles and get a snack.

If the second lap was an exercise in pain, the third lap was a smiling haze of full on bonk, with a side order of leg seizures. Time off the bike per lap was climbing faster than I did on some of the climbs. As the lap wore on there were less riders on the course than before. At times it was genuinely lonely. But a little loneliness if far better than riders hunting you down and passing you seemingly effortlessly. The last pass of the day was on the last climb of the day. There was really nothing I could do about it, I saw him coming, tried and had no answer left in my weary body. His pass came at the very crest of the climb immediately following was an extended almost two track descent. He had only one gear, he knew he could only coast down the hill. AHHH!!! I had at least five more gears I could tear into, and I was stuck behind due to some rider traffic on the course. So I held on for the remaining two miles of the course, keeping him in sight. In the previous lap I had scouted out an unused line I could use to get to the finish line if it came down to a sprint. Yeah right, 100 mile mtb race sprint finish. Well, Mr. Onegear up front was pulling away and my chances were falling away. With no remaining options, I summoned all that was left. The line I scouted didn’t work, but jsut thinking in advance what I needed to do to prevail in this situation propelled me forward and I pulled ahead through in the last second for a large, minor victory.

I wanted one thing from the Lumberjack 100…

A patch.

The winners get an axe. The finishers get a patch. Admittedly, it’s not much, but I worked my ass off for that patch. And now I have this cool patch and no where to put it. I might just go out and buy a jean jacket so I have something to pin it on.

We received so much help from our supporters, Alicia, Nevada’s family, Thomas, and the volunteers, I felt like a child. They did everything for us at the pit stops. Unscrew the bottle, fill it with whatever you want. “What would you like to eat? Slim Jim, banana, gel?” They were so awesome, I could not have done it without them. The Bonebell tolls for those who helped us along the way. Your support allowed success in our endeavor, muchos gracias.

Day two and we slept in like a couple of dorks waiting for some cartoons. The smell of trails in the air finally roused us and we hoped in the car this time for a new treat “Nebo Ridge”. The Nebo Ridge trail is about 8 miles away from the state park, and holy @ #$# is it worth the drive, or ride as we should have done in the first place. The plan was to take Nebo, to the Hickory Ridge Trail system (45+miles of multiuse trails), and then back to the car on Nebo. Initially the first couple of minutes on Nebo were a little suspect. Hoof marks and some wet ground made for slow riding. As fast as it started the trail began to get better and better. And we climbed and climbed, for close to 10 minutes. Once we got to the top it was big ring ridge runnin for about six miles. At the southern end of the Nebo Trail, we headed towards the Hickory Ridge Trail section. A little turned around, we asked Larry the cable guy for directions (he really was a cable guy, the name is a guess) turns out the trail was just up ahead and as soon as it started we began to rethink the decision. With no way of knowing what trails are good or better for bikes we hoped on the first one we came across, and it was bombed out and bad. Hoofs everywhere in the mud and crud. The first dirt road we came to we decided to take it to another section of trail so we could get back and break camp. Shortly into the #9 trail, I felt the sudden panic of a stick in a wheel and I put the white knuckle deathlock grip on the brakes. Not before the derailleur was snaped off and thrown into the wheel. None of the tools in my back pack were of any use. The only thing in there worth it’s weight was a can of Bud Light. We promptly drained it’s contents, squashed it, and reinserted the container into the pack. No help for the bike, but man I felt a little bit better with my rig in pieces. Seegs, however, did have the necessary tools all in one handy Park tool that he got on clearance for $15 bucks. It was a great investment, as it respoked a wheel and converted me to singlespeed within a 24hour span. This single speed stuff is no fun when the chain won’t stay put. I’m not convinced it is when the chain does stay put, but the jury is still out on that one. So we limped back to the car took a shower and passed out in the sun with a Heineken in my hand waiting for Seegs to return from one last run on the Brown County System. I

t’s only 4 hours to paradise, I can’t wait to go back. A shout out to DaDoubleG who put a rabid wheelbiting badger hex on our trip. They came out in full force, breaking two spokes, one derailleur hanger, and snacking on an X.O derailleur. He was sad he couldn’t go so he got all unDerka with the badgers, and we suffered for it. Speaking of badgers, why cross the cheddar curtain? There are well over 100miles of singletrack options in the area, and a little beyond the area are even more trails to rail. If you go make sure you get into town before they put the place on lockdown, or you’ll be stuck somewhere between a golden arch and a gas station for dinner. Not sure about the rest of town, but the bar we watched the Hawks game at had last call before midnight. Fine with me, we were not there for the sauce, we were there for the dirt.

The start of the race was very cyclocrossesque. The front row at the race held more than a handful of the  Chi Cross Cup’s fastest. And the chatter on the line waiting for the gun was almost all cross related. As the GOOOOOO was given, we raced hell bent for that first section of singletrack on 150 yards of straight flat grass into a bottleneck, across the gravel road and into the singletrack at full military throttle. It was as fast a start as I can remember…Cross season was a long time ago, and the Barry Roubaix had a 3 mile neutral roll out… The first section of the singletrack was false flat down and twisty, into a real nice sweeping u, to an off camber speed run. And at the bottom another one of those turns that could take a whole summers worth of riding to get just right.

Time out…Come to think of it, every 100ft. there is another ‘turn you could take all summer…’ so I’ll retire that.

This trail is just a twisty mctwist, and with every twist deeper and deeper into the race your mind starts to loose focus and WAM – Tree, or to much brakes and you slideout. The off camber trails were numerous and very tricky, with little undulations that conspired with gravity to throw you off your line into the ravine below. I lost two and a half minutes per lap to the Gatto the eventual winner and two and a quarter to Yuska. In a sensation never really felt before in a race, the only times I really felt right on the pedals was on one of the three climbs on the course. Not the norm for me, but I like to sound of it. My big wheels were a little big for the over abundance of twists on the trail. Fortunately, for my handling sake, a local rider was behind me for a good portion of the race. As the race rolled on and my mind began to fade, his constant remarks about the trail were about the only thing that keep me out of the creek and on the trail. The race drew to a close and I had a few riders approaching from behind on the run in to the biggest climb on the hill. I put all the effort I could into that hill to preserve what little lead I had on a mid pack placing. I was able to hold them off until the flat grass section and then was caught. After the first rider caught me I got on to his wheel and pedaled to the line. With the line approaching I jumped past the rider and crossed the line completely spent. Hooray for 17th place, better than the placing was loosing only 3 minutes per lap to Gatto the eventual winner.

The Peoria area is host to a great selection of trails. With the addition of the Black Partridge Trails the center of the state continues it’s tradition of excellent trail offerings. If you make it down to the area don’t miss these trails.

1. Enjoying a rather tasty section of trail I was startled, to almost falling of the bike when my approaching wheels woke up a local derelict sleeping next to a log. His presence alone was enough to startle in a place where one enters with a slight feeling of solitude. However much one can entertain that notion inside the limits of Cook County.

2. On the way home, getting to the DPRT has me riding past the section of Bensenville that is currently being completely bulldozed to make way for the expansion of O’hare runway expansion. A strange site it is, hundreds of houses at a time being culled by the blade of nonstop bulldozing for more runways. It was along that stretch that I got my first flat tire on the new bike. Spotted while it was to late and no where to go was a pile of hypodermic needles. Like the dirt junky that I am, I plowed right on through, hoping for the best. The best did not happen, and I spent ten minutes fixing my flat replaying the Basketball Diaries, and Pulp Fiction on the movie screen in my head.

3. On a particularly graffitied and teen angst ridden section of the trail I am usually on my toes looking for young ne’er-do-wells. Around the corner I heard a familiar electrical groan, and then saw a flood of light. Voices then filled the woods, my mind raced for a second wondering what weird little trap am I rolling into now? The next thing I saw was a group of people, maybe eight people surrounding a badly beaten bloody teenager. Three guys stopped me as I rolled on the site. Mr. Curious wondered what was going on here, to his possible demise. The group, was the crew, the bloody teen was an actor. A small film crew shooting a movie in the woods about raping and pilaging, according to a crew member. They made a dumb joke about my bike, I made a joke about kicking over their generator, and we left it at that. Good luck with the movie guys.

It’s little adventures like these that may be one of my favorite reasons for pedaling a bicycle.

I chose the monster.

There are those days, and they come only seldom, where the bike is brand new. The maiden voyage on a new bicycle is as close as you will ever get to that feeling we had so long ago, that first ride without the training wheels. Do we even remember it? I feel like I do but who knows what that feeling really is. It’s just a longing to know what that first time really felt like. We want so badly to go back to that day, yet riding with the abilities that we have now we wouldn’t trade for a second. Such is the first ride on that new bike. The grips feel a little funny. The shifters, while they work flawlessly, are unfamiliar in their sound and action. Subtle differences from bikes you have become accustomed to, manifest themselves as ghosts of the bike now a memory. The new bike feels awkward yet grows more at ease with every pedal stroke.

With a small window for riding I set out Sunday morning for ‘the’ ride. Short of my riding buddies not showing up in the morning it was a brilliant ride. Sure enough the awkward first glances were there, I stepped on her feet a couple of times during the first song. Those songs were generally a little slower tempo than usual, I had to see first hand how the dance was going to go. But by the end of the ride I was in tune and the trail began to feel familiar again. The switch to the big wheels is a little confusing at first. Traction is as good as they say it is. But, the Scott Scale 29er is no rickety wagon wheel bike. Short chainstays, a stout front end, and a bottom bracket close to two inches lower than I was used to make this a far more agile bike than I had expected. It’s not superlight, but the bike is noticably lighter than the Implant it replaces. Thanks to Get A Grip, the sizing is feeling right, it’s only one ride in, but so far I love the bike. Level 17 Derka. This is my first “race” bike in almost a decade. Ohhh I can’t wait to toe the line with it.

Now, if only I could get El Maya and Nevada to answer the alarm clock, maybe this video will help.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Beautiful conditions greeted the racers for what was set to be one of the great Midwestern dirt races of the year. Dubbed “the Killer Gravel Road Race’, it is an 80% gravel road race. These roads are littered with short steep climbs to numerous to count, and seemingly no flat ground. It is a killer and it was a flippin’ awesome day on the bike. With around 300 riders last year, this year it more than doubled with just over 700. I hyped this race up all year long, to anyone who would listen. The Bonebell and xXx toed the line with 10 riders in the various categories, both male and female. Most of the crew lodged at the Parker House about 20 minutes from the course. My parents were so excited to host the team that they posted an article from the Grand Rapids Press about the race on the front door. They also brought their camping trailer along so we had the PRO setup that day. A place to get warm, dressed, and fed is a huge help in the race prep. The day was gorgeous, mostly sunny and high of almost 60.   The start was lead out by the local Sheriff’s Posse. It was all 700 riders, most of which seemed unaccustomed to riding in a large group, rolling out in one gigantic peleton that stretched for what must have been half a mile. When we hit the first stretch of dirt road the dust became a smoke screen thick as a west coast fog. It was carnage, the pace was immediately lifted to something that can only be described as self-immolation. The high pace was due to the Elite riders on the front, and the need to cull the field for the approach to Sager Road.

Sager Road is a much dreaded two track littered with rocks, and sand,generally unmaintained by the county. It is the ‘Forest of Arenberg’ for this race. The race is not won there, but a bad line through the sand or a rider going down in front of you can effectively end your shot a getting to the front and being factor in the race. The race was detonated in spectacular fashion when we made the treacherous transition to the sand, rocks and an immediate steep pitch that had riders scrambling for a line through the madness. The terrain and hills took their toll immediately. The field strung out and the elite riders drifted away while the experts were left to fight and claw their way past each other. After Sager, the course and the racers relaxed for a short spell, enough to just catch your breath for a brief spell. Then small groups of 10 and 20, 6 and 3 began to form and work together trying to advance themselves back to the front. With the race starting with so many different categories at once it was impossible to know who you were riding with, Expert, or Elite. It was cloudy as to where the front of the race was, were we it, or was it two minutes in front of us? So we all raced like the winners were in front of us. Working desperately for almost two hours to reel in the leaders. Seegs and I grouped together and worked with a group of about 10 that swelled to 20. The second hardest hill of the day reeked havoc on our group, and we fell off the pace. This left us working desperately to get back onto the group for about five miles.

My fellow dirtbags are great bike riders, but generally we don’t know how to work together in a dedicated group. For Seegs and I, it was like herding cats, constant unwarranted accelerations, gaps growing to separations, rotations not rotating. The group in front, which contained Nevada Dave, and Brandon Leach dangled in front of us for what felt like hours, at just 20 seconds ahead. We knew we had the horsepower to catch, but the group would not, could not cooperate to make the bridge. Finally the bridge was crossed with a final monster pull that I made, only for me to be dropped by the first acceleration the group made. I was crushed, I gave up for a second and was able to open the suitcase and pull out just enough courage to continue. Fortunately, my bridge got Seegs back onto the group and that gave me minor consolation. The group drifted away from me and I began to loose hope, they put what must have been minutes on me in only a few minutes. As we traveled on another group caught my solo attempts to maintain a respectable pace. This lifted my spirits as I now had another cause to pedal for, and our guy Michael Young was in the group too. It was on, and I was able to race again. Rejuvenated by a teammate who was obviously strong and almost bullying the group of 15. The two of us put serious wheel to road and worked together trying to shred the riders we were with. The group that I had lost earlier had fallen apart and we began to pickup other riders as we went along and our group grew. We caught a solo Seegs as we neared the longest climb of the day, a 1.5 mile slog up a thankfully paved road. Michael Young went to the front and lifted the pace to all the way not fun. He was heartbroken at the top when very few of the riders had dropped off the pace, as was I.  Seegs, Young, Nevada, and I now had numbers in the group, we were the largest team in the group and we put the draught horses in the yokes on front and drove the pace all the way to cookoo town. It got to be so much work that I was worried for the three of us and our chance in the finale, about 2 miles away.

With about a mile away, Michael Young jumped as we reentered the State Park where the race finished. His jump, which left a trail on the road similar to Marty and the Delorean traveling through time, was followed almost instantly by me a fraction of a second later. The two of us lit the fuse and the field was shattered for the sprint. The result was a group of seven, including three xXx’ers. Great odds. As we neared the finish line Seegs initiated a jump just to my right and I immediately heard the awful skidding sound of a front tire washing out on pavement. As I looked over to him, time slowed down and it seemed to take ten seconds for him to go down, even though it was over in an instant. He took down another rider in our group. As soon as I saw what had happened I jumped with everything that I had. The finish line was just under a ¼ mile away and I came through the final chicane as two other riders passed me to win the sprint in our small group. I felt awful, my main thought as I charged to the line was honoring my fallen teammate, and I had come up short. He rolled across the line under his own power very shortly afterwards. I felt much better, knowing that he was not seriously hurt. The results were up immediately and my third place sprint was a victory in my age group, followed closely by Michael Young for second place. That put me on the top step and a teammate on second. It was a great feeling from a race that I had targeted since this time last year. There was some fantastic work done by the three of us in the final 5 miles. I could not have made it to the front without them, thanks guys. We rocked!

These and other bikes and parts can be found in our ‘Garage Sale‘ section on our site

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This bike is fast as all hell and super light. I am a dirtbag down to the bone and there is just no room in the shack for these skinny tires anymore. Frame and components have about 4000miles on them. Wheels have less than 500 miles they are basically brand new, fast, and true. Chain and cassette are brand new, and the bar tape is untouched fresh out of the box(picture has old stuff bike has new stuff, believe it). 30mph on the backstretch no problem, big ring jump in the final km you know it, lung bursting hill climbs all day long. Just lead this horse to water and she will drink. No Scratches on the frame, tiny scuff on the rear derailleur and the cranks, otherwise it’s gorgeous. Stiggity@thebonebell.com

$1800

These and other bikes and parts can be found in our ‘Garage Sale‘ section on our site

I am selling my prized Dekerf Implant. Hand built in British Columbia, by Chris DeKerf, out of Reynolds 853 steel. Custom painted by Toxic Harold. The flame colors match the paint chips of famous muscle cars.

I had this bike built when I thought I was Mr. Freeride. There were delusions of grandeur with me jumping off all kinds of crazy stuff. That never happened. Instead I used it as a trailbike, and racer. For the age of the bike there are relatively low hours on it, averaging about 30hours per year. This bike will truly do anything. If you want a dirt jumper the frame can take it all day long, if you want a xc bike grab on and have fun. It’s not light, but man can she run. Before it was built up the insides of the frame were coated in a parafin wax to prevent rust. One dent on the down tube, and some chainslap paint chipping. Rebound adjuster on the fork is not working and neither is the lockout. No leaks. Wheels are three years old with not much more than 50 hours on them. They are smooth and fast. This is a beautiful frame. Stiggity@thebonebell.com

Dekerf Implant 2002
Size 17 in.

Rock Shox Revelation 130mm
Bontrager XLite Wheels (Hubs made by DT Swiss) Tubeless ready 28 spoke each
X.O Rear Derailleur
X.O Shifters
Shimano XT front derailleur
Avid Juicy Brakes
Race Face Turbine crank
Titec Titanium Hellbent riser bar
Chris King Headset
Your Choice of many tires (Maxxis Ranchero, Cross mark, Larsen tubeless and or regular, lets talk)

28.5 lbs. race weight – 29+ with the big meat tires.