Petra is the Latin term for rock. Oleum is oil (typically olive oil, the oleum which built the empire.) So, “petroleum” is Rock Oil. Good pun. And now you can’t say you never learned anything from me.
This event is hosted by the Roughneck Gravel Roubaix / Oil Valley Eundurance in and around their home territory of Titusville, PA. The Tidioute and Tionesta forest areas are known for being the “birthplace” of the oil industry, which of course has since packed its ungrateful bags and moved on, leaving something akin to our own local Rust Belt. The PA Oil Belt, perhaps? In any case, the Frenzy is ridden untimed, as a poker run with 5 cards (40 miles) or 7 (60 miles) and is scheduled for “peak foliage.” Being the party-pace animal that I am, I decided to head out there with a doobie and a few cans of beer in my saddle bag, prepared for rowdy tourism.
Some of the historical markers around the area are pointedly sardonic, like this one that I saw near the second card stop in a place puzzlingly named “Pithole City.”
Population Zero to Fifteen Thousand and back to Zero in just 3 years.
Pithole, indeed.
I’m not exactly unfamiliar with the area, having ridden the Pine Creek Trail on many bike-packing occasions. Also, part of my family used just an hour south of the forest area. On my way in, as the sun crept over the foothills, I had a chance to reflect on times past, spend in an old mining town with Pa White and my sister- creek jumping, exploring fenced off abandoned mining areas and generally being wild children. Boy do I ever miss that crusty old bastard. He was sober but always kept one beer in the fridge for me to have after the drive in. Here’s to you, Pa… you were one of a kind.
It takes just about 2 hours to get to Titusville from HQ and most of it is unremarkable I-80, but once you get off at Rt 8, it’s clear that THIS was the weekend for leaferism.
Kickstands up at 9am from the Titusville Ironworks, temperature about 30 degrees. Not bad! The Ironworks is it’s own thing completely. The locals tried to give me the rundown of how the place came to be, and I forgot most of it, but it’s stuffed with all manner of oddities. Honestly, as far as brew holes with taco stands in them, it might be worth it’s own trip out.
OK. So. Gravel started pretty quickly. I’d say the course is a good 80% gravel with some actually difficult hills despite how well groomed the roads were. No fast downhill hairpins (not my favourite on an old, clunky singlespeed anyways) & nothing rutted out so badly that I wished I had front suspension on The Ghost. Mega bonus points for mouthwatering views all along the way! The temperature changes throughout the ride made me extra glad for my rack and saddle bags (I knew it was a good move installing that shit!) Between the 30 degree start and the 75 degree finish I removed 3 layers. I thought the 40 mile route was challenging enough for me, given my spotty medical condition this season, but part of me would still like to see the rest of the route. Maybe next year.
It’s important to mention people, because riding a bike is better with friends. I glanced over the signup list before leaving HQ and didn’t recognise any names, so I said a prayer to the ancestors, asking them to bless the souls of the 60-odd poor bastards who were about to encounter me for the first time, cranked up on morning espresso and foamy at the mouth to see all the things.
I even made a new friend! John caught up with me just as I was stopping to peel off a sweater in what I thought was a very scenic location around mile 20. It was so pretty where I stopped, I decided to crack open a beer. When he came riding up I shouted “Hey homie! You want a brewski?!” That is how you make friends on the trail! We rode the rest of the way together, chatting about the local history of the area (mostly me firing question after question) and John graciously stopping with me every time I screamed PHOTO OPPORTUNITY!
“Hey Brozuki! Smile!”
John, just outside of card stop #4
For cereal, the local riders out of T’ville were some of the sweetest people I’ve had a chance to hang out with this season. Organisers Adam and Daniel are total sweethearts who run a tight ship, on time with great course markings and easy to find way stations. My fellow participants were friendly- better than tolerant of my extra-enthusiasm-ness and even the staff at the pub seemed genuinely interested in hearing about the big adventure when we all started to return. Everyone got a teeshirt (actually a long sleeved hooded shirt which is very soft and they had even had a small for me, though I signed up on the last day of registration!) Although I must have missed it in the registration description, we got tickets for lunch! So even though I had a pretty bullshit poker hand (pair of 2’s ace high) I left with a taco-full belly. I knew the day was great when Hillbilly Mike texted to check in on me at 2:30 saying, “Thought I might catch you driving home. Hope the event went really well and you had fun.” I wrote back, “i’m having a riot, i’m still at the bar!” He replied, “Best text I could get from you. Rock on!”
So yeah, I give this event 3 out of 3 claps and a Rick Flair.
Oh, shit. Did you hear about the bear? You came here to hear about the bear? Well…
The scene: a few miles from card stop #2, on some dirt road. There’s a bit of a hill with a few cabins along the way and then a plateau.
I pass the houses and kick up my cadence when the road flattens out. I hear some rustling in the woods to my right. Like, big rustling- not a chippie or even a groundhog- and I think “oh shit, someone’s dog is chasing me,” and I immediately start to think which pocket my dog spray is in. I look to the right to assess the situation and it’s not a dog. It’s a fucking bear.
I don’t even register it’s a bear right away because it’s literally the closest I’ve ever been to a bear, but it’s body is roughly the size of a big blue rain barrel and, yep, it’s running it’s lousy ass off. I mean, this guy is absolutely hauling the mail. My brain processes it’s brown snoot and overall size (300 lbs?) and I take my hand off the dog spray. That shit ain’t gonna help me in this situation.
I look down to check my Garmin and I’m doing over 15 mph. The bear is fast. I have two choices- speed up and try to get away or lock it up and hope the bear keeps going. I’m pedaled out on this gearing at about 16.5 so I grab both brakes and pucker my asshole up, while unclipping and hoping not to tuck the front end. When I screech to a stop, the bear makes a hard right into the woods, disturbing all manner of dirt and fallen leaves on it’s way and it takes me about 3 seconds to realise I’ve not been attacked, not crashed and (miraculously) not shat my pants. In that order.
A lady comes by in an suv and asks if I’m okay, and I start screaming about bear this and bear that and asking her why it’s out at (check watch) A QUARTER TILL 11 IN THE MORNING WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. Anyway, she calmed me down and we both laughed for a few minutes and off I went on my merry way… slightly more aware and paranoid of every little rustle coming from the side of the road for the rest of my ride.
There’s an instagram highlight reel on the Team Mandalore profile.
Till next time, over and out.
-Rae Rides