Orr ES-88 Carbon Wheel System Review

My Ridley Cheetah, sporting a dashing brace of ORRs ES-88s

In years past, carbon materials have been one of the loudest distinguishing features that separate competitors and completitors in the cycling universe, the latter existing as a class of aspiring racers who wind up as cannon fodder during criteriums and road races.  At triathlons, they're the ones who struggle through transition halfway through the wave that followed them into the water, and who, if they're lucky, get to see the pros or elite amateurs screaming back into T2 while they frantically try to clip in and raise a humble tempo.  And those elites who by now are halfway through the run?  "Carbon," the age-grouper mutters to himself.  "They've got carbon..."

In my few years at the grindstone of multisport, I've never witnessed any of the the serious performers at triathlon without deep section carbon rims.  (The truly badass - or the truly wealthy - roll on rear discs.)  In recent years, though, carbon fiber materials have become more and more readily available to the age-group athlete, as different vendors attempt to tap the market keg of middling-level age-groupers looking to pick up some affordable speed.  Companies like Williams, Flo, and Oval are all in the business to address the desire for increasingly-affordable technology amongst the hobbyist triathlete.  Through such vendors, you can now obtain a pair of reliable wheels at a fraction of the cost demanded by such industry giants as Zipp and HED.  ORR Cycling is one of the newcomers who've explicitly taken aim at the gap between exorbitantly-priced equipment and opened fire.

I first learned of ORR cycling through their advertising in the SetupEvents Maryland Triathlon Series.  But while I was intrigued by the idea of affordable carbon wheels, I also assumed that "affordable" was a marketing gimmick.  I preferred at that time to focus on improvement in other, more cost-effective areas of my training.  Sure, it would be cool to have a sweet TT rig, replete with stealth-looking matte-black implications of speed and power; but I couldn't justify dropping what I was sure would be at least 2k on a set of wheels when I could much more profitably improve performance simply through consistent training - which itself was difficult.  (At that time, I was in shift work and had very little time or motivation to train after pulling, say, an unforeseen double due to last-minute staffing shortages.  The year before, I'd sprung for a set of used Zipps for the road bike, so I was familiar with the advantages of CF wheels.)  The money for a new set of wheels versus screwing my discipline to the sticking place?  The answer was obvious.  Besides,  I think secretly I feared dropping more money into a sport than I could reasonably extract from it in terms of performance.  I stuck with my alloys on the TT bike, gritted my teeth and prayed to escape crashes during crits and circuits while I rode the Zipps, and pressed on.

But having since come out of shift work, I've been able to devote significantly greater amounts of time to my training, and I'm at the point now where my performance has begun to increase to the point where I could realize a return on investment in better equipment.  I had this in mind when I attended the Savageman 70.  There, after the race, I met Jason Williamson, one of the proprietors at ORR.  I was looking enviously at the deep profile of the 88 display which they'd sent out to the race, imagining what I might be able to do with that aero configuration on my TT bike.  I felt a bit self-conscious talking to Jason, since I was holding onto a Madone with Zipp 404s.  If he noticed, Jason didn't let on, and he had enough to say about the Zipps' to make me think he'd done his homework.

I recall him blasting the dimpled surface of the Firecrests and saying that "Tony Martin couldn't feel the difference between those dimples and a smooth finish."  He was certainly confident, and something about that was winning: the conviction he had in the quality of his product, the ability to talk specs that took me outside my range of technical knowledge, and the willingness to correspond with potential customers all gave me a positive feeling that this would be the place to start when I was ready to realize a fully-conceived TT bike.  I took Jason's card but waited a few months.

In the weeks between Savageman and Christmas (the time at which I determined to buy from ORR), I'd been watching several vendors (see the links above), eBay, craigslist, and some local shops for deals, hoping the end-of-year inventory purge would work its magic.  I'd decided on a set of deep section rims to reap the benefits of the aerodynamic efficiency on longer rides, in which the marginal gains from such equipment could total, at least in theory, several minutes.  (Despite realizing perceived gains on the set of Zipps I have, I was still a skeptic.)

I decided to take the plunge and purchase a set of wheels specifically for my triathlon and TT events, but I'd found a decent clearance price on an older model from Williams Cycling, a model '13 year, 85mm rim.  The pair weighed roughly 60 grams more than the ES-88s, but it came with an 11speed compatible hub right off the shelf.  I'd checked at ORR's website, and their ES-88s came with a 10speed hub rather than the 11 I needed.  It was a Sunday afternoon; I'd just emerged from the trails on a training run with Lydia.  I emailed Jason and told him about the quandary I was in: I was looking at the ES-88s as opposed to the FX-88s (which were 20 grams heavier, came with the 11speed hub, but were $450.00 more than the ESs), but I wanted the 11speed hub.  Could he match the price on the ES-88s and supply an 11speed hub?  If so, I'd post my order right away.

Twenty minutes later - remember this is a Sunday afternoon - I had my answer.  Twenty minutes later, Jason emailed me back saying they'd swap the 10speed out for the 11speed and keep the sale price of $849.  Twenty minutes after my initial inquiry, a great customer service exchange took place.  Twenty-five minutes after my initial inquiry, I got an email saying that I could expect my wheels in roughly a week.  Interestingly enough, I just checked ORR's website, and they don't seem to have the ES-88s up any longer.  It may be that their own sale price - which is scheduled to expire on 12/31/14 - has depleted their stock.  Who knows?

But already, before those wheels even arrived, I was thrilled to have had such quick response to my questions.  It argues for the high premium the folks at ORR place on customer service and satisfaction that they're as prompt, accommodating, and thorough as they are in their business dealings.  This is the way to grow a brand.

The thrill of becoming an owner of some serious speed machinery wasn't enough to prevent me from being very suspicious.  As I mentioned in passing above, I'd never conducted legitimate tests to determine the actual benefits (beyond the perceived advantages I felt) of having the Zipps.  I resolved to conduct as close to a controlled and empirical test as I could to compare the enhancements the 88s would provide.

The greatest problems I found while attempting such a test were the unreliability of the weather in the winter months, the lack of a HR or power monitor, and even - as an unfortunate accident - the lack of such simple cycle computer functions as a speedometer.  Mine crapped out five miles into the run.  Of course, using a speedometer wouldn't have given a great comparison anyway, as I would have relied on perceived effort to maintain a set speed across the course.  As it was, I determined to use a Rate of Perceived Effort/Exertion (RPE) scaled 1-5.  This is, of course, based on entirely subjective impressions of my own sensations, and keyed to my HR zones.

I conducted the baseline test on 12/15 on the Hunting Creek Time Trial and was pleasantly surprised with the performance here alone.  I hadn't done this segment in a while, and the last time I had it was on the Madone with clip on aero bars - not the most appropriate hardware for a TT effort aimed at marginal gains.  But despite the lack of frequent effort, the course itself represents one of the best local stretches of road for a focused, replicable effort in which variables can be limited, or at least noted, discussed, and analyzed.  The Strava ride data for the baseline test is here; the data for the ES-88s is here.  The ride profiles indicate a parity between both rides and suggests the usefulness - if not scientific objectivity - of the RPE scale as a training tool and pacing guide.

I chose the Hunting Creek Time Trial as the primary test ground because of its relatively low-traffic and mostly sheltered corridor.  Thus, it would be unlikely to have major disturbances from autos and wind variations.  It was a calm day for the most part, though windy during the morning; by 4pm conditions had settled and it was about 45 degrees out - warm enough to ride without gloves at first; I threw on a long-sleeved Under Armour base layer under my 7-11 team jersey for the test and later regretted not having the gloves throughout.  I wore the aero helmet and shoe covers just to maximize comfort so I could focus on the task at hand - which was to maintain a stable effort throughout the ride.

I used the Cox Rd climb as a warmup and completed it in roughly 2.49 before settling into a smooth rhythm to arrive as fresh and recovered as possible at the start of Hunting Creek Rd.  (The recovery period was approximately 4.50 seconds from the end of the climb.)  Traffic was light, so I experienced no stoppages from Huntingtown to Hunting Creek and rolled smoothly into the segment, beginning my effort seamlessly.  I invoked the RPE scale and tried to hover near 3.5 out of 5.

During the effort itself, I was mindful of the calm winds until I approached a stretch of road that opened up on the right to an expansive field.  There are several “openings” in the corridor which the trees form along the road: the first just before HC & Matthew Dr, opening left and right; the second at JC & Alameda Dr, opening left and right; the third at HC & Bowie Shop Rd, opening predominantly left; the fourth at HC & Deep Landing, opening left; the fifth and final just before HC & Fresh Meadows Ln, opening left and right for a considerable expanse.

But it was only on the third opening that I noted perceptible changes in wind direction and its influence on the bike.  The breeze was in an Easterly direction and came across my right shoulder as I crossed into the open space here.  The opening fields form a great tract that runs East-West, and it creates conditions for buffeting on especially windy days, as the wind sweeps over the Patuxent River.  On this day, there was enough wind to require a slight adjustment by leaning right in order to correct the new input.  Apart from this, I observed no adverse weather conditions at all.  I was careful to note precisely the moments at which I rose from the saddle: just south of Leesburg Dr, and just north of Deep Landing Rd.  During each spell out of the saddle, I adjusted only to maintain the same cadence after shifting to a lower gear, and was careful to remain standing for only so long as I needed to crest the hill.  This ended up being about four seconds.

With these observations, I covered the 3.9 mile course in 9.52, setting a personal record on the course before using Lowery Rd to return to Huntingtown & Cox by doubling back via Hunting creek.  My effort on Cox Rd to Mexico was similarly promising, but for the purposes of the test invalidated by the excessive tailwind and notable assistance which a series of tractor trailers rendered.  For this effort, I recovered from Bowie Shop Rd to Cox & Huntingtown at Rt 4.  As with the turn onto HC, I rolled smoothly into the segment and began my effort.  I stood up to do a light sprint from Cox Rd roughly halfway along the parking lot running adjacent to Rt 4, or approximately 150 ft.  I settled into my rhythm and pressed southwards before hitting the first rise just past Lorrin’s Dr before the Methodist Church.  I got some assistance over this hump from three trucks that passed in quick succession, and then I felt myself transferring power for acceleration down to Bowie Shop Rd, where Rt 4 kicks upward about 20 ft before plummeting to Mexico Restaurant.  On this segment, my maximum speed was 36.5 mph, which brought me into second place on the course.

Encouraging, to be sure, but ultimately invalid as a comparison for gauging differences in performance on the wheels.  The variance between this effort with the perceptible advantages of the tailwind were evident after my second run on Christmas Day.  And though my effort was unplanned, I think it’s an accurate representation of similar output under similar conditions.

The run with the 88s ran virtually identically to that with the standard alloy rims I used ten days prior.  As with the morning of the 15th, the day dawned chilly and windy.  The rising temperatures contributed to the wind until calming at around 3pm.  It was noticeably colder when I started this ride at 436pm, so I threw on some running gloves just to ensure comfort; this change aside, I had the same kit: shoe covers, aero helmet, cold gear base layer beneath the cycling jersey.  My pace fell within 7 seconds of my warmup ride on Cox Rd towards Huntingtown, which I completed in 2.56, only slightly slower than my earlier effort.  My recovery from the end of the climb to the start of the HC TT was approximately 5 minutes, a moment longer than the same recovery from the 15th owing to a stop at the traffic light at Cox & 4.  The effort began smoothly, as it had done on the baseline effort, and I began my run without incident.  Similar to the first attempt, I aimed for a RPE of 3.5 out of 5.  I stood for 4 seconds only at the small humps of Leesburg and Deep Landing.  

The only difference in perceived experience during this effort involved awareness of the wind and the smoothness of acceleration.  I felt the wind much more acutely than I had before.  When I emerged from the corridor at Bowie Shop Rd, I noticed that the wind came as before across my right shoulder.  But whereas on the alloy wheels the wind engaged me mostly across my upper body, this time I felt the lateral motion primarily through the front wheel.  I was in the aero bars, so I corrected, as before, with a slight lean and minor steering correction.  But once I made this correction and trimmed it out to compensate for the new input, the wheels seemed to stabilize themselves.  I could still feel the wind acting on my upper body and at the wheel, but they weren't buffeted about as much as I’d expected with a deep section rim.  Certainly things could have gotten hairy if there’d been gusts, but with relatively consistent conditions, the wheels were very manageable.

The second aspect which stood out was the sensation of power transfer and smoothness.  I noted the wheels were responsive in a way that I hadn’t expected of a system at this price point.  They were on par with the Zipp 404s in terms of transfer and retained speed.  It felt like I needed less effort to reach cruising speed and less effort to maintain it.  I even found myself holding back as I approached the threshold of my Zone 3 during a slight descent: after cresting a minor rise which didn’t require standing, I noticed my cadence increasing rapidly and approaching the 110s.  I dialed it down a bit without shifting to a bigger gear and noted the sensation of coming off the pace.  I don’t know how to describe it, unless it’s to say that the wheels rewarded power input with corresponding velocity output.  I imagine the responsiveness comes from the stiffness of the hoop, but the ease of maintaining speed must arise from the aerodynamic profile of the wheel.  The wheels muted the road noise perceptibly as well, which I was pleasantly surprised to observe.  There are some heavy segments of cracked and patched pavement on the HC TT course, but running over them at speed didn’t translate to the jarring frame I experienced atop alloy wheels.  I recalled this from my earlier effort on the course and braced for the effects: a rhythm-sapping, speed dampening shudder that transferred the dirty road straight up into my arms and shoulders.  But it was noticeably less than on the alloys.

The best part of the whole experiment was the final figures afterwards.  On the same course, with the same RPE but with the carbon wheels, I posted a time 11 seconds faster over 3.9 miles.  With all else being equal, this represents approximately 78.4 minutes in savings over the Iron distance bike leg.  And with savings like that, I think you'd be hard pressed to improve your performance in any way except by addressing issues above the saddle.

If we want to get creative and think of our budgeting like the government does - that is, by determining savings based on spending the "not most" for a given product (as opposed to not spending at all) - the savings between a set of big box brand CF wheels and ORRs is simply dumbfounding.  Zipp's 808 clinchers - the closest comparable model to ORRs ES-88s - are 82mm deep and weigh in at 1840 grams (approximately 4lbs), while the Orr ES-88s weigh in at 1770 grams (approximately 3.9 lbs). The weight savings isn't immediately significant, since it won't be apparent how much these wheels differ in terms of gain over time until they've been ridden in similar conditions over longer-than-average distances of 25-40 miles.  My test only establishes the ES-88s as superior to a standard alloy rim and not the Zipp 808.

Zipp’s 404 clinchers, on the other hand, are 58mm deep and max out at 1620 grams per set (approximately 3.5 lbs), making this a lightweight yet aero-enough profile that a rider will certainly feel the performance benefits in any general session, let alone racing.  I have a set of these, which are on Lydia’s bike at the moment, and I have to say there is something to the hype about this particular wheel.  Now, I’m not sure that it’s the best wheel in its profile class (55-65mm depth), but it’s definitely a way to buy speed, if not the best way to afford speed.  The first time I rode with these, my average speed boosted 2 miles per hour without any extension of perceived effort.  But then, I had even less structured environments to compare on than those of my most recent test.  What I initially perceived as phenomenal performance was the aerodynamic benefits of the deeper section compared to the alloys at roughly half the depth.  I averaged 20 mph to Solomon’s Island and back on a windy day back in the summer, and it was amazing the way the wheels responded to acceleration and held speed at that pace.

Hearing this, you might think that the Zipp 404s are the wheels to be had for the aspiring racer attempting to marshall resources needed for top performance.  And you could be forgiven until you realized the price of a set of Zipps.  The 404s retail at $3550.00 per set, the 808s at a humbler $2975.00 per set.  By contrast, Orr’s ES-88s retail at $1299.00, and their 404 equivalents, the FST6 (60mms deep, and tipping the scales at 1680 grams per set) come in at $1249.00.  Unless there’s a massive difference in workmanship and quality of the carbon weave, the massive differences in price are simply paying for the brand’s cache - which, let’s not forget, is considerable amongst cyclists.

So the savings over the regular 11 speed model from Orr (1499-1299) comes to $200.00, but after the discount to match Williams’s model, and including their sale price, (1299-849) comes to $450.00!  Compare that to the comparable Zipp model for ≈80mm wheels (2975-849) comes to 2126!

These figures are simply amazing!  I’ve done some snooping around online and discovered that Orr’s wheels are all over elite amateur triathletes up and down the eastern seaboard.  They’ve reached the midwest and even adorn the competition bike belonging to Lindsey Torgerson, a fine ITU circuit triathlete!  If this doesn't garner credibility for the crew at ORR, I'm not sure anything else can.

The bottom line is this: for the price point, these wheels are an absolute steal for the amateur on a budget.  They bring significant advantage in savings over distance without changes in power inputs, as my test established - not that I'd recommend trying to podium with your wallet.  But if you're currently trying to put your event together for a competitive finish - perhaps an age group award or top 20 overall, these wheels are a fantastic place to start a program for improving the total system of your game.

Two Years of Druid Hill, Part I: Thoughts on Completing Versus Competing

By the time I was ready to participate in a legitimate triathlon, I'd been running and cycling for roughly a year.  But my exertions were far from the top tier of athletics people so often associate with Triathlon.  The hype, the energy, the speed, the endurance - all of the glorious associations which lay people associate with the visible, marketable side of triathlon - was as beyond my reach as a slam dunk is to a Hobbit.  I was serviceably athletic, which is to say that I could do just about anything so long as it didn't require specialized skill or strength or endurance.  It wasn't until I passed through the harrowing and addictive flush of completion that I caught the itch for competitive drive in earnest and began to pursue seriously an athletic lifestyle.  For me, the story of Druid Hill is the story of how I came to live in my own head as an amateur triathlete after surviving the crucible of a First Triathlon.

When I registered for Druid Hill, I barely qualified as an amateur athlete at all.  My only competitive endeavor in the preceding year had been a single bicycle race in the early Spring of 2013, in which I made a terrible showing after blowing up in the first 10 minutes of a 30 minute circuit race.  I was unceremoniously dropped and swallowed up by the field as they lapped me with two to go.  And while it didn't jive with my ideal self understanding of the competitor in me, the trouncing I got in this bike race didn't inspire me to make a lifestyle change that would change the defects.  I rode the bike a lot, but I didn't do it thinking about going faster or hitting performance benchmarks.  I rode first like I ran first: to get into shape.  (I'd ballooned up to a whopping 220 lbs over the course of a two year Master's program; but when I started transitioning out of academics I started looking for ways to recover a modest level of fitness.)  I was running regularly, but never more than 3 miles at a time, and I can remember when that was the upper limit of my range on foot.   

Shortly after my ignominious induction to bike racing, a cousin of mine (with whom I have a bombastic, competitive relationship) dared me to complete the Columbia Triathlon with her.  At that time I had a poor understanding of the sport and it's various distances, but a quick Google session later and I learned of the half iron and Olympic distances, despaired for a moment before discovering that one didn't have to sprint the whole way during a sprint triathlon.  A second Google search - something good and pedestrian like "sprint triathlons MD" - led us to something called Druid Hill. We settled on this event as preparation for Columbia, and I started the way I always do: by reading. The next week saw me devour everything the internet could offer for free on how to train for your first triathlon. I learned the principles of transition and bike racking on YouTube, brick workouts and slipping out of your shoes early from triathlon forums online. (Later I would engage more deeply with functional strength training and intervals.)  All the resources I consulted didn't automatically produce a rigid training regimen.  I set about training in that haphazard way of the almost initiate who knows the lesser passwords of the arcane lexis of a lifestyle much greater than he realizes. 

I arrived on the day completely alone and only  a little terrified.  My cousin had never registered,  despite assuring me that she would as late as a week out.  By then I'd abandoned hope that I would have a competitor-friend in the field and steeled myself to have a go.  My training had proceeded well, though with significant bias for the bike leg. (Cycling remains my preferred and favorite discipline.)  I wound up significantly underestimating my swim time and got held up behind some one-off triathletes. (Druid Hill starts individually in staggered intervals in a pool.)  One-off triathletes are the participants who sign up for a Triathlon but who do little to no real training and are checking it off the bucket list - or have some other, non-lifestyle pretext for participating. 

I was a one-offer, and I slammed into a four-person traffic jam at the end of lane three and discovered I was at least two strokes short of an efficient endurance pace.  The jam didn't clear itself, and I had to make an impromptu scuba trip to get going again. I exited the pool and huffed over to transition coursing with adrenaline, so of course nothing went to plan.  My neatly organized belongings didn't streamline the process nearly so much as YouTube had implied.  But I remembered: the helmet first - if nothing else, I'd told myself, I would avoid a penalty or possible disqualification simply by putting on my helmet first!  Once I latched my helmet, I stuffed about three gels (which was three gels more than anyone would ever need during a Sprint) into my jersey pocket, jockeyed my bike off the rack, and somehow managed to run my bike (I'd not practiced this maneuver prior) to the mount line.  I'd seen videos of the pros running barefoot and sleek with their aero helmets secured and their cycling shoes snapped into place in their pedals, so of course I determined that I should do likewise.

It was nearly fatal.

In all the flurry of activity and the heat of the moment and the not practicing this feat I hadn't done before, I neglected to account for the frustrating way my shoes would swing like a pendulum if I didn't band them to the frame.  It was probably half the most excellent maneuver I ever attempted and half the nearest thing to lunacy I actually attempted: in full sprint, I swung my leg over the bike and planted my foot squarely on the underside of my cycling shoe.  It was too late to turn back, so I did the next foolish thing I didn't think of and I tried to slip my other foot directly into the other cycling shoe.  The result was a predictable loss of momentum, a precarious and accidental moment of suspense that resembled a pathetic bastard track stand, and then - finally, blessedly! - forward propulsion.  I'd managed to right the wayward shoe and insert most of my toes into the other, so I had some purchase against the pedals.  Eventually I strapped in and let muscle memory take over.  I even entered something of a groove during this leg, since I'd become comfortable and at home in the saddle.  I began to overtake other competitors, and in my mind's eye this meant I was doing at least 30 mph.  I later discovered my average speed to have been approximately 18 mph, a much humbler figure and one which a first timer could honestly be proud of - but which I owed heavily to the steep descent on a portion of the bike course.  I finished the 8 mile bike course in roughly 25 minutes, and transition 2 came off brilliantly, which is to say I found my rack, tossed my helmet, and managed to put both shoes on the correct feet on the first try; I sped out of transition moments later and onto the run course to complete my first ever competitive 5k.

Having survived the bike and entered into my first real footrace, I noticed that systems were not all operating at peak performance.  Even after a year of "training," I'd not mastered - in truth I'd not even begun to improve - the art of breathing and the essentials of efficient form.  (Two years on at the time of this writing, and I'm only now beginning to witness measurable and quantifiable, specific improvements apart from subjective, perceived advancements.)  I struggled with the heat as it reflected up from the pavement; I toiled to regulate breathing while still holding pace; I failed miserably to collect water from the aid stations and slurp it down.  In all the things I'd learned from the internet, I'd not even noticed the age-old trick of pouching the cup.  This is the practice of folding the rim of a paper cup onto itself to form a slot; you then press it to your mouth and slurp the fluid through the opening left between the forefinger and thumb.  This allows you to take on water without inhaling too much of it while also experiencing the sensation of drinking from an envelope.

As I rounded the course to complete the first lap, I had a pleasant shock and a boost in morale.  I discovered that my parents had decided to watch me complete the race and had taken up positions on the run course.  Mom had gotten a few photos of me exiting T2, and she would snap another quick one of me powering home under the buoyancy of my second wind.

Here I am sailing home under the colors of Old Glory, whom I didn't even see in my state of excitement but whose endorsement I appreciate deeply.  I completed the race in 1.01.37 and had the distinct pleasure of knowing no one with whom to share my achievement.  Mom and Dad were very proud in the way parents are, and their presence was a great uplift.  I gorged myself on pizza and other carbs that went like a fire sale at the finish line.  I even saw and waved to a few people I'd met while waiting for the swim to start.  But it wasn't the same as having a teammate or a competitive rival, someone with whom I could compare notes, swap exaggerated tales of suffering, and generally cement my newfound affection for the sport.

In hindsight, I think this may have been a good thing overall.  Without the companionship I saw others enjoying, my mind turned to reflecting on how I much I enjoyed the day for itself, devoid of potentially negative self-worship that often comes with athletic success defined solely in competition with others.  I completed the race and my First Triathlon, but my competition was myself only.  My nascent athletic ability, which had lain fallow in the months of unconscious training I'd accomplished since my embarrassing debacle on the racing circuit, germinated under wholesome influences: desire for self-improvement, discipline, fitness, community.  Over and above the thrill of competition, whose influence no one can deny on the day, these were what attracted me to the sport when I started and finished my First Race alone.

The Druid Hill Sprint has an amazing energy to it that I've observed in the consecutive years of my participation.  It's simply amazing.  Located on the grounds of Druid Hill Park in Baltimore, MD, the race is short and punchy, with enough ease to entice the beginner triathlete while offering enough of a challenge to the veteran and elite.  (In fact, while my finishing time of just over an hour was wholly respectable and predictable, given the shot-in-the-dark and trial-by-error training methods I'd employed, the overall winner in 2013 completed the course before I even started the swim.)

The park gets high volumes of pedestrian and cycling traffic, and it's directly adjacent to the Baltimore Zoo.  You could say it was crowded on the day of the event.  And no wonder: it's basically an oasis for the foliage desert that so many cities often are.  The run course is a two lap circuit around a reservoir, and on that circuit were cyclist, non-competitive joggers, in-line skaters, and people walking their dogs.  This on top of the roughly 300 participants makes for a densely-packed park on the day of competition.  But the numbers lead to synergy rather than malaise.  The finishers' zone was simply packed and effused camaraderie.  A palpable sense of satisfaction, happiness, and accomplishment suffused the air.  It was joy.

I vowed the next year I would bring friends.

My finishing time brought me home in the top quarter of the field.  And while that field wasn't intensely competitive (recall the one-offers!), this finishing position affirmed in my mind that perhaps I really could get good enough to compete, rather than merely complete.  I would entertain this notion the following year to slightly more impressive results.

Savageman Revisited

Triathlon |trīˈaTHlən, -ˌlän| 

nounan athletic contest consisting of three different events, typically swimming, cycling, and long-distance running.DERIVATIVES triathlete |-ˌlēt| nounORIGIN 1970s: from tri-‘three,’ on the pattern of decathlon.
The image above is my finisher's medal for the 2014 Savageman Triathlon in Deep Creek, Maryland.  Raced on September 19, 2014, it was my first middle-distance triathlon and remains the longest race I've completed to date, and the hardest.  (This includes the marathon I've done.)  I entered the race with only two goals: beat the Wall at Westernport, and complete the race - no matter how long it took.And it's a good thing I had these two humble goals, because this race is insane.  Several online sources include it in their lists of the toughest triathlons in the world.  (For instance, here, and here, and here.)  I registered for it without fully realizing what it was; I just knew that I wanted to progress from the Olympic distance to the half iron distance in preparation for Ironman MD.  In fact, I can recall visiting the SetupEvents website to search for half iron distance races and thinking that this was probably a backwoods event trying to pass itself off as more intense than it was.  It was not.I don't think Savageman is technically a half iron distance, though.  It only comes in at 70 miles total, but with preparations, cycling to and from the transition area, and (in my and my fiancée's case) decamping from Deep Creek State Park, we definitely logged over the 70.3 distance on the day.  And I still wear the 70.3 badge on my RoadID, too.  I don't think anybody who's completed the race will begrudge this.  Simply to finish is an accomplishment.And my first experience was brutal - and that was before race day dawned.  Lydia and I had just begun experimenting with a new diet which I'd thought would help with endurance fueling, so my nutrition plan was totally insufficient to the task.  I had a boat load of quinoa and guacamole the night before and the morning of the race.  My mid-race fuel supplement was a medley of fatty nuts: almonds, cashews, pecans.  (Interestingly enough, they don't chew and swallow too well in a dry throat just about to slog through a 13.1.  Who'd have thought?)  Apart from this rudimentary plan, I didn't consume much during the actual race.  We were stupidly unprepared for the weather in the mountains: we decided to camp in order to save money, which was dumb because it dropped to 40 degrees F the night before the race; we left the house in Southern Maryland, a 4.5 hour drive, without our tent and didn't realize it until we hit Cumberland.  This meant we had to get a new one from a local Walmart and set it up in the dark, before I went and drove the course.  And as we were driving the course, Lydia developed a migraine, and the car seemed nearly to fail several times on the steeper hills.  When we go to the Westernport Wall, I couldn't even see the top of it - the lights dimmed under the strain of hauling us up to it.  This did not make for a very encouraging night ahead.  But on the bright side, my doubts all froze, almost as solidly as my toes did, in those frigid temperatures!For all the pre-race nerves and logistical stress, once it got under way things started to loosen up, and I settled into a mental groove that saw me out of the water after 43 minutes.  The transition to the bike was lengthy, totaling 5 minutes, as I wanted to be sure to towel off completely.  The air was colder than the lake by about 20 degrees by the time we finished the swim, and I didn't want that to bite me in the butt when I started the descents on the bike.  And it's a good thing, because after two short (by Savageman standards) climbs, the bike descends for roughly 18 miles to the town of Newport.  I saw several people who weren't elite level competitors and who hadn't taken the time to dry completely or apply an extra layer, and they looked like they suffered quite a bit from the cold.  I thought I might have saved time by skimping on the extra layer if I pushed my pace a bit, but it was a risk I didn't want to take given my two main goals.  You never want to push too hard too early and then risk a DNF, especially in a race that's so much longer than your usual distances.  I settled in for the swift descents and started gathering my energies for the Wall.Now, in the time since I've completed the race and advertised it to fellow triathletes looking to make the jump to middle-distance events, I note that whenever I refer to Savageman the first thing people mention is the Wall.  It has its own aura that isolates it from the rest of the race in both unhelpful ways and ways that make it a fantastic marketing tool.  The Wall itself is the steepest section of the bike course.  At an average grade of 12% and a maximum grade of 32% in the last 100 feet or so, it's one of the most challenging things an amateur athlete can conquer.  And there's basically a block party for the entire day for the spectators, who ride a bus the 18 miles from the start line to watch their athletes attempt the climb.Just to give you a sense of how challenging it is, here's a pretty good video that includes a fine montage of people attempting - with varying degrees of success - the assault on the Wall:

The plaintive guitar, the misty morning shots of the lake, and the race director's unsympathetic "If you don't know what you're getting yourself into, it's your own fault - this is Savageman" mix together here to create an appropriate aura to the race.  And then the mischievous swingband-esque song "The Devil's brew" admirably translates the degree to which this challenge seduces aspiring triathletes.  The Wall itself has a bailout detour which athletes can follow if, for whatever reason, they don't want to take the Wall after all.It takes a strong cyclist to make it up the wall in decent time, and the best way is to ramp up the pace and follow the smoothest path up the right-hand side.  But this doesn't always happen, as this video attests.  It can be a real crap shoot if you find yourself at the bottom of the climb with five to ten cyclists in front of you all clambering up the Wall, willy-nilly.  The problem it presents is twofold: first, how can I make it up without overtaking and risking a collision with someone weaving so erratically as they try simply to keep their wheels down?  Second: with all this traffic, should I even attempt the Wall if I can't take a clean line up the right side?  I lucked out by arriving at the wall with only one other cyclist at the top of the Wall as I reached the bottom.The town of Westernport resembles an old mining town built into the side of the mountains of western Maryland.  There's a chemical plant or factory that makes up the bulk of the town's infrastructure, or at least this is what it seems like to the cyclist approaching the town.  The course runs along the vein of the  North Branch Potomac River until it cuts left into a cluster of homes built on a hill in three "shelves" after a short, sharp incline onto Rock Street via Front Street.  At each of the three "steps" (starting at Rock & Hammond, then at Rock &Walnut, then again at Roc & Spruce) levels off slightly at the intersection formed by these cross streets.  With a clear road ahead, the rider can pace himself up these shelves and then choose an appropriate gear based on spatial availability and energy reserves for the climb.But this is if everything goes to plan - if even there is a plan.  I hadn't considered this as a possibility before reaching the Wall, and so it was very fortunate that the road was mostly clear ahead.  The cyclist I saw at the top of the climb must have reached it before I hit the last shelf before the Wall, 'cause when I hit the Gremlin the way ahead was totally empty.

The fellow following depicted in this image, I later learned, was taken down by the lead rider, who veered to the left when he lost his momentum and caused the crash shown below.

The pair have crossed all the way to the other side of the road, and all that way from trying to stay upright!  I was lucky not to have to deal with this problem at all, as the right hand line was entirely free of traffic.  I even got a few memorable pieces of encouragement from the crowd along the right line side.  I didn't see faces or catch names, but a woman at the bottom of the climb saw my race number and shouted her support.  A volunteer (wearing yellow) walked alongside me for a second or two and said, "You're good to go - all clear ahead.  You've got this!"  I was in a 25x39 gearing combination at the last shelf, and I was making clear progress up the hill.  But about halfway up the last shelf I felt myself slowing, so I dropped into the smallest of a triple ring.  This brought me to a 25x39 ratio, which is quite an easy gear, and I stood up as I neared the final five meters.  At this point, I couldn't have been moving very fast at all, because I heard a woman's voice in my ear say, "That's right - stand up.  You're almost there!"I don't know why, but these interactions stood out very clearly at the time, and I drew a lot of motivation from them.  Even though I didn't know these people, their words gave me a sense that this challenge was totally within my grasp.  It was as if it was a mere formality that it hadn't happened yet.  And their encouragement was invaluable because, while I was very focused, I tried to spy Lydia amongst the crowd.  But the press was so great that it was hopeless to pick out a single face.  She later showed me these photos of myself as I crested the peak:

I beat the wall on my first attempt, and it was a great encouragement.  Although, I'd have been very embarrassed not to have taken the climb with a triple crank, I'm certainly not ashamed to say that I used one.  I'd read so much in the week before the race about proper gearing for the large climbs that I panicked and brought my Madone rather that the Triathlon bike.  The relative comfort - I won't say ease! - that I felt while climbing the Wall makes me think I can take it in a standard with a 28x39 combination.  Next year, I might attempt it in an actual TT bike.
In any event, cresting the hill provides all of about 30 seconds of satisfaction before leaving competitors staring down another, longer, tougher climb.  After rounding the bend on Rock Street once you've crowned the hill, there appears the aid station and garment drop station.  I pulled off and ditched my Under Armour base layer in a pre-marked bag, which the race volunteers collected and returned to the start area.  I was in all, about 30 seconds disrobing and taking on an extra water bottle before setting off again.  But this time, the going was much slower, much more cardio-dependent than the Wall had been, and much more demoralizing in its intensity and protraction over time.  As the elevation profile below indicates, the Wall is only the beginning - albeit a bitter beginning - of a much longer and trying segment.

All told, the Wall amounts to about 238 feet of climbing over the course of 0.3 miles.  Big Savage Mountain winds up being around 1,950 feet of climbing over 7 miles.  On average it's much less steep than the steepest portion of the Wall, but the entire climb taken together means that the hardest part of the whole affair leaves riders with roughly 88% of an incredibly difficult climb to complete.  And once that's complete, there's still almost exactly half of the bike leg left!But despite the enormity (at the time) of my perceived effort and the remaining half of the bike split to complete, things slowed down and energized at the same time.  With the first of my two main goals accomplished, I set myself in for the long 27 miles homeward and the half marathon at a steady, entirely manageable pace.  After the Big Savage Mountain, even the descents remaining seemed slower, since in my mind the rest of my are hinged on completing the 13.1 miles at the end.  I'd never done that distance after such an exertion on the bike before, and my pace reflected my prejudice against speed in favor of sustained energies across the remaining discipline.I allowed myself to appreciate the scenery of the course, and I discovered that this is a race that places a contest requiring more endurance and discipline than most competitors have ever summoned before in a region of tremendous natural beauty.  The long remainder of the Big Savage Mountain, the Elk Lick, leading to McAndrews Hill, all pass through shaded portions of mountain roads, valley passes that let you see far into the distance, and expose you to the sounds of nature.  By this point, the air warms considerably, such that the toil up the climbs doesn't cost cyclists overmuch in sweat.  The aid stations are situated to provide sport top bottles of water at manageable distances across the course.  I found myself actually enjoying the ride, despite a lowest sustained speed of approximately 7 mph up the long inclines.  I saw and laughed at the various signage - all very tongue-in-cheek - questioning our sanity.  There were such tokens as "How's that aero gear treating you now?" at the steepest part of the BSM climb, and "Ironman?  Big deal!  This is SAVAGEMAN!"The last remaining hurdle was the Killer Miller.  It wasn't so bad of itself compared to other portions of the course, but coming as it does at the tail end of significant amounts of climbing, and its average of 22% grade tries the legs and the soul.  A playful sign warns riders not to look left across the small valley from which the Miller snakes up and out, and the course seems designed to taunt competitors with a last taste of free speed on the descent before the last sharp incline.  Roughly partway up this hill, I saw a group of what looked like college kids passing out water bottles.  I had enough energy to joke with them, asking for a tow rope before I snatched up the last bottle I'd take on board.There remained a few climbs left, but they were minor in comparison to the earlier ones and the late appearance of the Miller.  But they weren't without cost.  They drove me into the dangerous gray space in which you can feel yourself accessing reserves.  It became harder for me to maintain a constant speed, and as the hills began to roll I noted my computer register slower and slower speeds, until it was a relief to see the display showing 15mph.  I found that I couldn't generate power and sustain it.  My breaths came in shorter gasps and felt frail compared to my earlier, steady, long, and reassuring respiratory cadence.  I was hitting the wall.But thankfully, I was within 6 miles of the transition area, and I told myself it was entirely manageable.  I'd bonked before on long training rides of more than 100 miles, so I was familiar with the sensation and could settle once more with adequate mental energy devoted to the task.  I slowed to what felt like a crawl before reaching the gentle slope back into Deep Creek State Park and coasting home.Once off the bike, though, things started to get hairy.  I'd never done a brick to combine sensations of fatigue with training performance before (this was a trick I'd learn later, in which you pair two disciplines to adapt the body to the stresses of moving from one endurance activity to the other).  My performance suffered as a result.  I made the transition and once again failed to see Lydia, who snapped a few pictures as I rolled in to rack my bike.  A few short moments and I was out on the trail to complete one of the hardest runs I've endured to date!Just out of the gate, I realized that I needed to stop and tend to an old bother.  An old injury to my left foot big toe leaves the digit susceptible to pressure while in cycling shoes and which requires some little adjustment before I can regain comfortable use of my foot for running.  I slipped off my shoe, cracked my big toe using my hand, and laced up once more.  Just before joining the trail, I figured I'd better stop off and use the portable, just to ensure a comfortable run.  I was out for perhaps 30 seconds of relief before rejoining the course.The run went.  That's about all I can say for it in terms of my performance.  I'd hoped to come home with something like a 10 minute mile average over the 13.1, but that was rather faster than I was able to maintain after the exertions on the bike.  I clocked a 2.18 half marathon, which equates roughly to 10.40 minute mile.  I was intrigued to note, however disappointed, to experience such fatigue during the run, especially given how conservative I'd been on the inbound loop of the bike leg.  There were two segments in which I resolved to walk and recover.  And given that I hadn't paid great attention during the pre-race meeting about the elevation profile on the run, this was a last-minute plan I developed on the fly to deal with the fringale I experienced late in the event.The elevation profile looks like this:

The run passes through parts of the campgrounds of Deep Creek State Park, and although Lydia and I hadn't planned this, our campsite was right on the run course.  This made for an interesting crisis of the will during the second lap, as I found myself fantasizing about taking a break, resting, and rehydrating when I passed through it on the first lap.  I managed to get out of my head and force the pace up that incline, which is comparable to Tower Hill without the terrible implications of the name.  I made it through the first 4.5 miles in decent form and chanting my mantra, "just finish," to myself, before hitting the top of Tower Hill and resolving to walk up it the next time I reached the foot.  It was so energy-sapping that I couldn't even think about the second lap without feeling an overwhelming urge simply to walk, to recover.  I gave that up and focused on the second lap after I descended from the Tower.  When I reached the campgrounds, I decided to walk up the ascent.  I hadn't studied the elevation maps of the run, so I thought I was just bonking harder than I had ever done before when I made my second pass of the campsite.  I learned later that it's in fact higher than the Tower.There was a fellow at one of the loops in the campgrounds shouting all sorts of encouraging hyperboles to the runners as they passed at their various speeds.  The most memorable comment I heard him reiterate was along these lines: "Here's another Savageman [or woman; he was gender-conscious]!  You're doing an awesome thing!  Look at you go!  If a hurricane stood in your way, you'd blast right through it!"  And so on.  A little less intense than the block party at the Wall, but oddly personalized comments that helped dissolve the negative mental energy that I had accumulated around mile 8.By this time, I hadn't seen Lydia since leaving her at the campsite that morning, and I was beginning to wonder where she'd gotten to.  Although she'd been at each transition, I hadn't seen her at all and couldn't know she'd been supporting me incredibly vocally.  But waiting for 5 or more hours for your boyfriend to complete a race in which you're only intermittently involved can be tedious.  And so Lydia solved this problem by lacing up and pounding the run course on her own.  She even managed an attack of Tower Hill during an impromptu 7 mile jaunt!  (I'd passed her going in the opposite direction at mile 6, and I told her I was on lap 2.)  The next time I saw her again, she was coming towards me as I closed in on mile 13.  We paced the last mile together, but then I got my second wind and dropped the proverbial hammer.  Of course, after so long at play, my top end speed was considerably reduced.  I wouldn't be surprised if my top speed as I neared the finishing chute was around a 9 minute mile.  

To put it in perspective, at this point, my top cruising speed was around 9.15.  I felt like I was seriously on the rivet at this point, but Lydia still managed to kick past me in her attempt to grab a photo of my crossing the line.  She managed to snap these photos before pulling out and around:
I finished in 6.45.16 and found the nearest spot of unoccupied turf, where I promptly fell out and started moaning and complaining and making all the appearances of having suffered inordinately.  I groaned about my hamstrings, which were tighter than I'd ever experienced before.  I wailed about the blisters I'd developed.  I wept over the state of my nutrition.  And generally, anything I could identify as a factor in limiting my performance and thus excluding me from the ranks of the elite, I identified.  I channeled Team Sky and began a complex yet precise analysis of the garbled, jargon-ridden performance metrics and "shit [only] triathletes say."  My long-suffering girlfriend patiently listened and never let on that I sounded ridiculous, as I rationalized everything in sight, and most of what was out of sight as well.  But before people get the wrong idea about this confession, I should mention that this is a hallowed tradition amongst triathletes.  It's almost a rite of passage.  The competitors who piss and moan to each other in this vein are probably the furthest things from sore losers or whiners who could have done better "if only" - if only that headwind didn't kick up exactly when it did; if only I'd had carbon wheels; if only I hadn't had that respiratory infection!This is the lingua franca of the multisport world, and the degree of enjoyment athletes experience is directly proportional to the degree of exaggeration in each claim.  Apart from the actual competition, these are the greatest expressions of joy triathletes can make to each other.  (Though nothing reaches the sublime ecstasy of a podium finish - even if it's just an age group award.)  "If my old hamstring injury hadn't flared up on that last ascent, I'd definitely have been laying down a sub-6 mile for the last 5k" translates to "I couldn't even feel my legs during that last climb, and if I weren't thoroughly average I'd be doing better than my 12 minute mile pace."  It's a way of expressing the desire to belong: we can talk the talk, even if we can't post a 4.39.38 Savageman result (the 2014 overall victor's finish time).So I'll wrap up by reiterating my initial claim: this race is insane.  There's no way around the brutality of the event and the psychopathy of the course architect.  No way around; you just have to muscle through it.  If I could give any advice for the first time participant, it's this:1) Arrive early, fuel properly; the race starts with your meal the night before.2) Enjoy the swim; it's the easiest it'll be all day.3) Buy a triple crank (unless you're a cat 2 or higher cyclist); you'll thank me and yourself on the Miller.4) Have your own mental strategy in place for the run; you can fall into a dark headspace on the run if you haven't trained with bike-run workouts.5) Don't forget to enjoy yourself; this is some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen, and it's a great privilege to do what we love in such a lovely place.  Appreciate it.6) Finally, THANK A VOLUNTEER!  There are so many great people who come out to help this event come off: from the people picking you up off the Wall, to the kids passing out salt tablets and Heed, this fantastic sporting event thrives because of these workers behind the course.
Thanks everyone at Savageman and SetupEvents.  We'll see you guys again next year!