The Old New Mexican

Mountain bike racing can humble you one weekend and lift you up the next. At Marathon Nationals, I was leading for three hours and already visualizing victory—until it all unraveled. Blood-soaked with full body cramps, I limped across the line in third place after nearly four hours of suffering. One week later, at XC Nationals in Roanoke, Virginia, I lined up with a simple mission: execute flawlessly. This time, it all came together.

When It All Went Wrong at Marathon Nats

The marathon race was supposed to be mine. I’ve been winning long-distance races all year and felt confident. But confidence doesn’t win races—execution does.

I made a handful of costly mistakes:

• Course knowledge: I barely pre-rode and had no sense of the course. When I crashed into a tree trying to pass 10 minutes into the race, I lost my Garmin. Suddenly I was riding blind—no sense of climbs ahead, distance left, or even where the aid stations were. Not exactly a recipe for smart racing.
• Execution errors: The crash cost me more than my Garmin. I cut my hand, and it bled all over my grip and jersey for nearly four hours. A blood-soaked grip is not an ideal companion on slippery roots and technical singletrack.
• Hydration & electrolytes: My biggest mistake was underestimating what 90°F and 90% humidity would do to my body. I’m used to the desert where hydration is straightforward, but Virginia required another level. By the second half of the race, I was severely dehydrated.
• Cooling: I planned only one bottle hand-off during the entire 40-mile course. With the heat and humidity, I should have arranged ice water dumps at all four aid stations to keep my core temp under control.

By the last 45 minutes, my whole body was cramping and I could barely pedal. The win slipped away, and I crawled in to finish third. Disappointing doesn’t begin to cover it – not because I finished third, but because I did not give my best. My mental mistakes were all preventable and I let myself down.

Recalibrating for XC Nationals

XC Nationals was my priority “A race” of the season. The Olympic-distance format is the crown jewel of cross-country racing, and I wanted that stars-and-stripes jersey badly.

So I adapted. With the help of my coach (my son), I let go of overconfidence and put together a detailed plan:

• More electrolytes in my bottles.
• Ice water dumps on every lap (~20 minutes) to keep my core temp down.
• Multiple pre-rides so I knew every root, corner, and climb like the back of my hand.

And this time, I was absolutely committed to winning the holeshot. At Marathon, I’d sat back early to “test” my competitors, only to crash while trying to pass. Lesson learned.

The Race: Holeshot, One Eye, and Steady Pressure

The race started hot and fast. I sprinted full-gas off the line, determined to hit the singletrack first. Another rider matched me pedal for pedal, but my commitment gave me the edge, and I slipped into the woods first. Mission accomplished.

Then, almost comically, my contact lens dried out on the first downhill. Suddenly I was racing wet, slippery singletrack in Virginia humidity with one functional eye, blinking the other and praying the lens would rehydrate before I hit a tree. It finally did after a sketchy quarter mile, and I settled back into focus.

The rider on my wheel hung tight for half a lap. The turning point came on the steepest uphill, littered with muddy roots. I picked my line, stayed on the bike, and powered through. My shadow slipped, lost momentum, and had to dismount. That was it—I never saw him again.

From there, it was about consistency. My mantra was simple: “always be passing.” As I caught the younger age groups, I made clean, confident passes, communicating clearly so I didn’t lose time. Each lap, I opened the gap by another 45–60 seconds. By the finish, I had built a margin of more than two minutes.

Every lap, my son was there with a cold water dump, and it made all the difference. And extra electrolytes in my bottles kept the cramps away. I rode hard, but never let complacency creep in. This time, I nailed the details.

The Reward

Crossing the finish line and pulling on the stars-and-stripes jersey was one of the most rewarding moments of my racing career. The last time I was in true contention for a national title was nearly 25 years ago, when I lost the national championship hill climb at Mammoth Mountain after posting up too early and getting passed in the final feet. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.

Last year, I won the Pan American Championship. That was big. But this—this was bigger. XC Nationals was my goal from the start of the season, and it’s the highest-profile win of my career.

Lessons Learned

Marathon Nationals reminded me how quickly a race can slip away. XC Nationals reminded me why I love this sport: the chance to learn, adapt, and come back stronger.

My biggest advice? Don’t get overconfident. Execution of the small details wins races—hydration, cooling, course knowledge, clean passing. The stars-and-stripes jersey isn’t just proof that I was the fastest that day—it’s proof that resilience and perseverance matter more than raw fitness.

Huge thanks to my son for being my feed-zone hero and for pushing me to prepare smarter. This was a team win as much as it was an individual one.

At 60 years old, it’s gratifying to know there are still new chapters to write.