This past weekend I made a trip over to the Olympia area to ride in the first ever Capital Forest 50/100. That is the official title of the event and it turned out prophetic.
Having jumbled thoughts on this ride, please excuse the bullet points in place of the extraneous commentary that usually comes along with my ride reports.
- For a first time event, things were reasonably well organized, but could have been better. I have confidence the race organizer, who seemed like a very nice guy, will make the event better next year, so keep an eye out for it.
- The course is a 50-mile loop, done once or twice.
- The course is hard. It is fairly technical, fairly muddy in places even though it was considered "dry" by some locals, has a lot of vertical (about 5,900 ft each loop), and it is also hard. Oh, I mentioned that, didn't I?
- Course marking was very good except at a few key points where there was two way traffic, which included both aid stations out on the course, which resembled a figure 8 except that you stayed on the "outside" of it (does that make sense?).
- The volunteers could not have been friendlier or more helpful. No really, they couldn't have been.
- The ride time was billed at 6.30 am start with 8 pm close to the course. In the days before the event, they moved the start time up to 6.10 am. In reality, there wasn't enough daylight to start until 6.45 am and they had to close the course by 7.30 pm because there wasn't enough light to see after that.
- This is relevant for me because I wasn't riding fast enough to feel confident about riding the whole 100 miles, my intended distance, in the shortened time. My pace would have kept me inside 14 hours, but not confidently in 12.5 hours. Bummer for me.
- Crashing hard also took some spirit out of me. I had a stupid crash exiting a very slippery bridge after which there was an immediate rise to the left. I accelerated (I know it was stupid) with 5' of bridge left and managed to push my tire right out from under me. Hard hit on left side.
- My next crash (oh yeah, more than one) involved an upturned tree root grabbing my right arm and shoulder as I passed it too closely and ripping me off my bike in a painful twisting motion. As I rode away from this one, I could feel my shoulders, trunk and pelvis all pointing directions other than forward.
- My other crashes (yes, a few) were much more simple, but involved various tree roots and sticker bushes.
- Even though I rode whole thing with arm warmers and knickers, my arms and legs still have numerous scratches, small abrasions and I have a few king-sized bruises which are still surfacing two days later.
- The course, in addition to be hard and technical, was also beautiful. The Olympic Forest has 160 miles of single-track and the Friends of the Olympic Forest apparently volunteer to do most of the maintenance, so hats off to them. That much growth and greenery and mud must make it challenging to maintain.
- I recently read about a helmet mounted camera that is on my holiday gift list. I wish I had had it with me as this course was really beautiful in a "you have to see it believe it" way. Even the water/waterfall crossing where I thought I was going to die.
- While I am a long way from being an expert mountain biker, I was gratified to have guys who were experts talking about some sketchy areas or difficulties. It makes my assessment seem more reasonable.
- Did I mention that my rear hub failed? That didn't help. It would intermittently seize so that my chain was sucked into the wheel. When it was less bad, it barked at me like a loud, angry duck every other second. When it was bad, I literally could not coast for a single foot, having to keep tension on the chain continuously, which meant I had to brake downhill and had much less opportunity to move, stand or shift positions. When you can't, you get the idea of how regularly you stop pedaling on a mountain bike, even if for just a second or two.
- When I pulled into the start/finish area after my 50 miles, I was bummed that I made the decision to quit there instead of going for the second lap. I could have ridden more but with the 100% likelihood that I would have been pulled from the course at a later aid station, but there was a diminishing to non-existent return to this idea.
- Almost lastly, PW and I started out to ride this together; recognizing that PW would have to wait at the top of hills, and also at the bottom of hills, and also after technical sections, and probably some other times. He was a good sport about it, but it became apparent after less than auspicious start for me and then having a mechanic look at the rear hub (and suggested that I stop riding) that I was not on a schedule to do 100 miles, but PW still had a chance to do it if he took off on his own. I suggested we go with the Top Gear Rule - loosely translated as the failure of one to proceed shouldn't hold up the others - and wished him well.
- Remember when I said that the course marking was mostly good? PW got bad directions at the first aid station on his second loop, sent the wrong way and ended up at the Start/Finish area after 70 miles and a bit over 8 hours of riding. They wouldn't let him go back out since he couldn't finish another 50 miles and there wasn't a good loop for him to do another 30.
- Lastly, I spent the whole day feeling off my game, even before crashes and mechanicals. I thought that I would show up on the results list just before the DNF and DNS group and maybe a few other unfortunate types. I was therefore pleased to have finished in the top 2/3 of 50 milers and a full 30 places ahead of PW (no, that doesn't really make sense). To be fair, I averaged a meager 7 1/2 mph and PW was over 8 1/2 mph; still, that makes for a long, slow day.
In conclusion, I feel a bit better after having seen the results and realizing that there were people out there taking longer than me to ride the course. That's sad, in a way, isn't it, but it's also true. Final analysis - It was a hard day on a hard course. I'm ready to rest for a while.
Showing posts with label Race report. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Race report. Show all posts
Monday, September 13, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
2010 Leadville 100 - Part 5
The final part of the Leadville 100 Race Report. No, I can't believe it was this long either. But then again, the race was really damn long too.
Twin Lakes Inbound Aid Station and Unremarkable Portion of the Course, again. So, next stop is the Twin Lakes "inbound" aid station, which is the 40 mile aid station but on the way back it is at 60 miles. My plan was to make it back here by the 7 hour mark. I stopped to see my wife and boys again, get re-supplied and planned to make it another sub-5 minute stop. My NASCAR quality support crew made it happen even with posing for a picture and my feet hit the pedals right at 7 hours on the nose. So, only 43 miles to go and 5 hours. Let's see, that means an average of 8.6 mph would get me home with a belt buckle. I actually did that calculation in my head at the time. I didn't take the time to consider that the prior 7 hours and 60 miles had been done in 8.6 mph average. At least I didn't have another Columbine climb ahead of me, right?
No, but I did have the dreaded and awful Powerline climb. First, I had to get there however. This meant back-tracking to the Pipeline "inbound" station. Again, lots of up and down and back up the new singletrack which meant just following the line of riders back up. I got to the Pipeline inbound station at 8 hours, 16 minutes (relatively proving that I would not have made it in 1 hour exactly in 2007 - maybe quitting was the right decision; maybe). This put me at about 75 miles covered and 28 miles to go. A quick calculator process indicates that I had bumped up my average speed to 9.1 mph. I had 3 and 3/4 hours to go 28 miles, or an average of 7.5 mph to get my buckle. I was worried, but not overly so. I knew I had two climbs plus the Boulevard, but one of the climbs was primarily pavement and I had been focused literally all day on eating well, not digging too deep at any one point and saving energy to finish well. I was about to put that to the test. As a point of interest, I had moved up again to 777th overall at this point. I had lost places on the downhill from Columbine (I am a "cautious" descender - maybe some would say a 'fraidy cat, but pish-posh, even Ken Chlouber said at the revival meeting that there was an inverse relationship between your descending speed and your mortgage, and I have a healthy mortgage), but I had continued passing people at this point in the race.
So, let's recap. Almost 3/4's done; feeling decent; on track for a belt buckle. What could go wrong?
Powerline, or rather, POWER LINE.
Well, I can't say it went "wrong". It doesn't go right or wrong; it just goes UP. Straight up. G-damned f___ing straight up and just about the time that you have nothing left in the tank, nothing left in the legs, nothing positive left between your ears. Really, completely, almost, nothing left.
The important word in that paragraph - almost. Because I did have some determination left. Maybe not much to back it up, but what the hell else was I going to do except just start pushing my bike up the fucker and hope I saw the top someday. A couple of quick statistics - Powerline is 2.7 miles, 10.9% average grade with sections at 25%. Could you go back and read that again? Seriously. Almost 3 miles at almost 11%?!? Seriously? What sick bastard would do that to you at 80 miles into a brutal and long day?
I had read and been told that Powerline had numerous false summits and that you could not let it get to you too much by falling for it when there was more to climb. I KNEW that . . . and yet. You just can't understand how long it takes to get to the place you start descending. The "climb" is measured under 3 miles, but it is actually a total of 4 miles before you get to coast downhill for more than 15 seconds. It is a rotten, mean, horrible m-f'er of a hill. And honestly, it takes everything out of you to get over the top. I have tried to describe this to a certain degree, but the only people who will really and totally "get" what this involves are people who have done this ride.
Last year when Lance Armstrong and Dave Wiens were approaching the bottom of Powerline, LA asked DW if he usually rode Powerline or walked it. Dave said that every year he walked the first section. Keep in mind that this is the same Dave Weins that had WON the race the prior 6 years, including defeating Floyd Landis and Lance Armstrong, among many others. Lance responded by saying "let's ride what we can." Lance and Dave went on to ride the whole thing, but that means that they were the first two people to ride this climb in the 15 year history of the race. It makes me feel not so bad about walking, but at the same time, I gotta tell you that it was a really long, slow, miserable walk. And that was even with passing a few people up this climb.
After Powerline . . . No, sorry. I can't leave it yet. It took too long and was too hard. I mean it was really, really hard. Also, it took me a full hour to cover this 4 miles. Yes, 4 mph average for a full g-damned hour. So, I crested Powerline just a couple of ticks past 9 hours on the bike. I still had 3 hours to get my buckle, but also still had about 23 miles to go and another major climb plus the Boulevard to cover. What had I done to myself? This meant 7.7 mph hour average and I had just covered 4 miles in the prior hour. It was at this point that I started to doubt my ability to get a buckle. The most surprising thing? I didn't care. I really, honestly didn't care. I knew there were 3 more hours to go and my calculation was that I would take about 3 hours and 10 minutes to cover the remaining distance, but I was okay with that. I knew that I had done what I could and that just might be the best I could do that day, and I knew that I was going to roll across the finish line barring an injury or major mechanical. And I was okay with it. I didn't, however, stop to contemplate it. I kept riding.
Sugarloaf and back up St. Kevins. From the top of Powerline, you descend Sugarloaf for about 5 miles. The road gets progressively better and finishes with a bit of paved descent. At this point, I knew I had about a 3-4 mile climb to get back up to the top of St. Kevins. I knew that most of it was paved. My plan had been to be conservative with my energy and I believed that I could get up this paved climb in good shape. At some point early on I passed a race official who said that it was 2 1/2 miles to the turn-off, meaning that it was that much pavement. I thought something like "hey, only 2 1/2 miles; not too bad". And yes, I do think with semi-colons.
The problem was that my mind had spent all day thinking this was going to be a decent spot for me, but I guess I forgot to tell my legs. This was not the middle-chain-ring-make-up-some-ground climb I had envisioned. Instead it was an oh-my-god-I-have-nothing-left-in-my-legs climb. I was quickly in my 2-3 smallest gears, using the granny gear in front and just slowly, ever so slowly, pushing the pedals over the top to try to do the same thing again. That 2.5 miles was excruciatingly slow. It never seemed to end. It just went on and on and on and on. In reality, my Garmin data tells me that it took about 30 minutes on the pavement and another 15 minutes of climbing on the dirt, but I would have guessed that those two segments took twice as long. BTW, St. Kevins inbound is reported as being 2.7 - 3.3 miles and 4.1 - 6.3% grade, depending on where you measure it. I would measure it from the mouth of Hell, where it seemed to start.
At this point, this blog entry is nearly as long as the race itself and I don't really expect anyone to be reading this paragraph except my wife and maybe my Dad. I may not even have the energy to proof-read it so I won't even get this far again. Let's just say that the fatigue you feel from this blog really can't compare to what I felt at that point in the day. That's fair, don't you think?
Getting back and the Boulevard. As I crested the high point of St. Kevins, I was 10 hours and 52 minutes into the race. I had 1 hour and 8 minutes before the shot-gun blast that said "NO MORE BELT BUCKLES TODAY!" I had over 12 miles to ride. My average pace had dropped to just over 8.3 mph for the day. I knew I had a descent, but then I also had to climb a number of miles back into town and I had to ride up the "Boulevard", which I had never seen and I could no longer remember how long it was supposed to be or how steep. I just knew that I was very unlikely to be able to ride the final 12 miles in an hour. And yet, I was still okay with that. I really was at peace with the idea that it was going to take me 5-15 minutes too long to get a buckle. Maybe if that is how it really turned out, I wouldn't have been, but I had a lot of time on the bike to think about it; really 2-3 hours when I was reasonably sure I was going to be just off the mark and it didn't bother me even one minute of that time. Maybe I was just too tired to care at that point, but I didn't.
As I descended St. Kevins the late afternoon/early evening light left the trail dappled so that it was hard to see the texture of the road. I knew that my only chance of buckling was to hit that descent as fast as I could, but I really didn't go down very fast at all. I was passed by a few people, but I just wasn't comfortable picking up the pace much. This seemed to be validated just after the switchback that marks the change from steeper to less step because someone who had passed me was picking up his bike from a crash. He was remounting and looked fine and in fact passed me just a few moments later, but it made me comfortable with my pace. As the road leveled out to a gentle slope and smoother road, I thought to myself, "this is the only and best chance to make up some ground." I picked it up the best I could and while my computer was not set to show speed, I felt confident that I had ramped up to about 20 mph for a couple of gentle miles and then 17-18 for another mile or two of pavement that was rolling to down. My Garmin confirmed that I did between 16.8 - 22.6 mph for 3 miles. In fact, at 99.07 miles I was doing 22.4 mph. The problem came at the foot of the Boulevard, where at 100.12 miles I was doing 2.5 mph.
Oh yes, the final kick to the balls known as the Boulevard. Shouldn't something called a "Boulevard" be grassy and a bit swank? Instead, this Boulevard is a river rock strewn slap in the face. You come down what appears to be a rocky alley and make a left turn to look right up this wall of crap. The steep portion is probably only .3-.5 miles long but it takes the wind out of your sails so completely that it is stunning. I went from "oh my gosh I might make it!" to "oh hell what kind of sadists are these people!"
I hit the bottom of this section just behind someone I had been drafting and who looked too young and fit to be as far back as I was and just a few feet ahead of someone with an english or australian accent. We all dismounted about the same time and I said to these two, "How long is this climb?" The fit young guy said, "I don't know" and remounted his bike and started riding. The english bloke, who I have to confess I never turned my head to see, said something more like, "Bloody hell I have no idea!" I started walking as fast I could muster and I was pleased to be moving ahead of the english bloke and not falling too far behind fit dude riding his bike. At the top of the pitch, I remounted on a decent gravel road and started up as fast as I could muster. At first it wasn't too bad, however, I could tell immediately that there wasn't a lot left.
Minor or Major Miracles. And Finishing. At this point I had about 2 miles to go and about 20-22 minutes. My mind kind-of told me that it was okay. I only had to do a tenth of a mile per minute and I would get there, assuming that 1) I really only had about 2 miles to go - something my Garmin said, but who knows about the relative accuracy at that point; and 2) that my clock matched up with Ken's at the finish line. I watched the first couple of tenths tick off in less than a minute each, but then I started to shift down gears to find something I could keep turning over.
Then one of three great things happened. First, someone from Spokane who was injured and couldn't race and his S. O. pulled up in a vehicle next to me an offered to take my camelback. It was dead weight at that point and I had considered throwing in the bushes a number of times over the prior miles, so I was thrilled to hand it over, so thank you to DR and H for this morale booster. That helped me get through at least a tenth of a mile with a smile. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough of a weight difference or psychic lift to help my legs as much as I needed. The dirt road was still going up and seemed to just go on endlessly. My speed continued to drop and my gears kept getting smaller. As I finally approached the end of this dirt road, someone gave me encouraging numbers about how far and how much time, but I think I was still on my absolutely smallest gear as crossed from dirt to pavement. It must have been interesting for DR and H to watch as my speed dropped and dropped and dropped.
Then, a second nice thing happened. At this point there was one more crest about three blocks long (?) and then a downhill and the final couple of blocks to the finish line. Rationally I "knew" I had the time, but that was assuming I kept moving and didn't come to a crawl. Just about then a guy who was walking with two kids yelled, "You've only got a mile and you have 11 minutes! You can do it. It's just over this crest and then you can almost coast the finish!" I appreciated hearing that; I really did, but I think I was just staring at my headset and probably didn't acknowledge it much, because then he did the best possible thing he could have done. He turned around, ran behind me, grabbed my seat and pushed me for about 40-50 feet of the last 100-150 feet of hill I had left. It was so, so nice to get that boost. It makes me happy just typing these words. It was a huge emotional gift. I wish I could kiss that guy right now. And the best thing about his words is that they were exactly right. I pedaled the last yards and started coasting downhill, down a nice loooonnnngggg hill. I geared up and pushed with everything I had left to get up the most speed possible so that I could coast as far as I could up the remaining slope. It turned out I had to pedal again, but not much. At that point I must have had a cosmic Red Bull because I had wings again. Then the third nice thing happened. I started hearing people cheering. It was started by my wife and two boys, helped on by PW and family, PK and DD and family, DR and H who were at the finish line and supported by lots of people who were just happy that one more poor bastard was about to cross the finish line with just a few moments ahead of the shot-gun blast. I raised one arm in triumph and may have expressed more joy than any one of the top 100 finishers. I was really, really, quietly, deeply and fully happy.
I also can't really imagine what my family and friends were thinking as the clock ticked by. As the minutes passed and it got closer and closer to 6.30 pm, it must have been approaching painful to stand there and wonder if they would see me humping over that last hill in time to break the 12 hour mark. And while I can't really imagine how much relief they felt, I can tell you I was very happy to be able to be there, to justify their belief that I could make it and to finally finish the race.
Conclusion. I once read that people who win silver medals in the Olympics are not happy with their experience (because they were so close to the gold generally), but that bronze medal winners were really happy with their experience. They realized the joy of being on the podium and ahead of everyone who didn't make it. I was that bronze medal winner. I knew there were lots of people ahead of me. Hell, I was behind every single person I knew there that day, but it didn't matter to me one little bit. I was so happy to have accomplished the very difficult goal of finishing the Leadville 100 in under 12 hours and earning a finisher's medal, belt buckle and sweatshirt with the time ironed onto the sleeve. Someone said to me that I might have been the heaviest guy to finish or at least on the top 1% of size to finishing time. However you look at it, I finished the damn thing in under 12 hours. While I was typing this up, it occurred to me that I might be able to figure out whether the guy who was behind me on the Boulevard was British or Aussie. I am chagrined and amazed to see that 22 spots behind me, and about 7 1/2 minutes behind me, a guy from Great Britain finished in 12 hours, 0 minutes and 50 seconds. I not only feel bad for this guy (oh, and the one who finished in 12 hours, 0 minutes and 1.9 seconds) but it makes me feel justified in my paranoia about my ability to keep going at the bottom of the Boulevard. I really can't believe that I was right next to a guy about 2 1/2 miles out - one of us made it and one didn't.
Here are all the numbers. Total registrants - 1,552 riders. Total starters - 1,338. Finishers in less than 9 hours - 136. Finishers in less than 12 hours - 908. Additional finishers 12 - 13 hours - 114, or 1022 total. Less than 10% finished in under 9 hours and 68.4% of the starters went home with belt buckles, which means 31.6% of the starters didn't. Yea, I'm happy to be on the 68% side of that equation.
So there is my story of Leadville. From the fruition of idea 3 1/2 years ago to conclusion just a couple of weeks ago. For anyone who stayed with the blog from beginning to end, thank you for taking the time. Thanks to DR, H and the unknown dude just before the crest of the last hill for the support in the last miles when it meant a lot. Thanks for PW for making the trip twice, even though I diss'd your "finish" the first time when you deserved credit for making it around course and getting a finisher's medal. Thanks to DD for the support and the training rides, and also to Rider 1 for the many rides, coaching, support and the day-of Leadville post. I did learn a lot of things. Thanks to Two Wheel Transit for the support and the Superfly. And, of course, thanks very much to my wife and two sons who put up with the training, obsession and endless discussions prior to race day, the support at the race itself and the abiding belief that I was going to roll across the line in 12 hours combined with it not mattering to them at all if I did.
Now, what's next? Any ideas?
Twin Lakes Inbound Aid Station and Unremarkable Portion of the Course, again. So, next stop is the Twin Lakes "inbound" aid station, which is the 40 mile aid station but on the way back it is at 60 miles. My plan was to make it back here by the 7 hour mark. I stopped to see my wife and boys again, get re-supplied and planned to make it another sub-5 minute stop. My NASCAR quality support crew made it happen even with posing for a picture and my feet hit the pedals right at 7 hours on the nose. So, only 43 miles to go and 5 hours. Let's see, that means an average of 8.6 mph would get me home with a belt buckle. I actually did that calculation in my head at the time. I didn't take the time to consider that the prior 7 hours and 60 miles had been done in 8.6 mph average. At least I didn't have another Columbine climb ahead of me, right?
No, but I did have the dreaded and awful Powerline climb. First, I had to get there however. This meant back-tracking to the Pipeline "inbound" station. Again, lots of up and down and back up the new singletrack which meant just following the line of riders back up. I got to the Pipeline inbound station at 8 hours, 16 minutes (relatively proving that I would not have made it in 1 hour exactly in 2007 - maybe quitting was the right decision; maybe). This put me at about 75 miles covered and 28 miles to go. A quick calculator process indicates that I had bumped up my average speed to 9.1 mph. I had 3 and 3/4 hours to go 28 miles, or an average of 7.5 mph to get my buckle. I was worried, but not overly so. I knew I had two climbs plus the Boulevard, but one of the climbs was primarily pavement and I had been focused literally all day on eating well, not digging too deep at any one point and saving energy to finish well. I was about to put that to the test. As a point of interest, I had moved up again to 777th overall at this point. I had lost places on the downhill from Columbine (I am a "cautious" descender - maybe some would say a 'fraidy cat, but pish-posh, even Ken Chlouber said at the revival meeting that there was an inverse relationship between your descending speed and your mortgage, and I have a healthy mortgage), but I had continued passing people at this point in the race.
So, let's recap. Almost 3/4's done; feeling decent; on track for a belt buckle. What could go wrong?
Powerline, or rather, POWER LINE.
Well, I can't say it went "wrong". It doesn't go right or wrong; it just goes UP. Straight up. G-damned f___ing straight up and just about the time that you have nothing left in the tank, nothing left in the legs, nothing positive left between your ears. Really, completely, almost, nothing left.
The important word in that paragraph - almost. Because I did have some determination left. Maybe not much to back it up, but what the hell else was I going to do except just start pushing my bike up the fucker and hope I saw the top someday. A couple of quick statistics - Powerline is 2.7 miles, 10.9% average grade with sections at 25%. Could you go back and read that again? Seriously. Almost 3 miles at almost 11%?!? Seriously? What sick bastard would do that to you at 80 miles into a brutal and long day?
I had read and been told that Powerline had numerous false summits and that you could not let it get to you too much by falling for it when there was more to climb. I KNEW that . . . and yet. You just can't understand how long it takes to get to the place you start descending. The "climb" is measured under 3 miles, but it is actually a total of 4 miles before you get to coast downhill for more than 15 seconds. It is a rotten, mean, horrible m-f'er of a hill. And honestly, it takes everything out of you to get over the top. I have tried to describe this to a certain degree, but the only people who will really and totally "get" what this involves are people who have done this ride.
Last year when Lance Armstrong and Dave Wiens were approaching the bottom of Powerline, LA asked DW if he usually rode Powerline or walked it. Dave said that every year he walked the first section. Keep in mind that this is the same Dave Weins that had WON the race the prior 6 years, including defeating Floyd Landis and Lance Armstrong, among many others. Lance responded by saying "let's ride what we can." Lance and Dave went on to ride the whole thing, but that means that they were the first two people to ride this climb in the 15 year history of the race. It makes me feel not so bad about walking, but at the same time, I gotta tell you that it was a really long, slow, miserable walk. And that was even with passing a few people up this climb.
After Powerline . . . No, sorry. I can't leave it yet. It took too long and was too hard. I mean it was really, really hard. Also, it took me a full hour to cover this 4 miles. Yes, 4 mph average for a full g-damned hour. So, I crested Powerline just a couple of ticks past 9 hours on the bike. I still had 3 hours to get my buckle, but also still had about 23 miles to go and another major climb plus the Boulevard to cover. What had I done to myself? This meant 7.7 mph hour average and I had just covered 4 miles in the prior hour. It was at this point that I started to doubt my ability to get a buckle. The most surprising thing? I didn't care. I really, honestly didn't care. I knew there were 3 more hours to go and my calculation was that I would take about 3 hours and 10 minutes to cover the remaining distance, but I was okay with that. I knew that I had done what I could and that just might be the best I could do that day, and I knew that I was going to roll across the finish line barring an injury or major mechanical. And I was okay with it. I didn't, however, stop to contemplate it. I kept riding.
Sugarloaf and back up St. Kevins. From the top of Powerline, you descend Sugarloaf for about 5 miles. The road gets progressively better and finishes with a bit of paved descent. At this point, I knew I had about a 3-4 mile climb to get back up to the top of St. Kevins. I knew that most of it was paved. My plan had been to be conservative with my energy and I believed that I could get up this paved climb in good shape. At some point early on I passed a race official who said that it was 2 1/2 miles to the turn-off, meaning that it was that much pavement. I thought something like "hey, only 2 1/2 miles; not too bad". And yes, I do think with semi-colons.
The problem was that my mind had spent all day thinking this was going to be a decent spot for me, but I guess I forgot to tell my legs. This was not the middle-chain-ring-make-up-some-ground climb I had envisioned. Instead it was an oh-my-god-I-have-nothing-left-in-my-legs climb. I was quickly in my 2-3 smallest gears, using the granny gear in front and just slowly, ever so slowly, pushing the pedals over the top to try to do the same thing again. That 2.5 miles was excruciatingly slow. It never seemed to end. It just went on and on and on and on. In reality, my Garmin data tells me that it took about 30 minutes on the pavement and another 15 minutes of climbing on the dirt, but I would have guessed that those two segments took twice as long. BTW, St. Kevins inbound is reported as being 2.7 - 3.3 miles and 4.1 - 6.3% grade, depending on where you measure it. I would measure it from the mouth of Hell, where it seemed to start.
At this point, this blog entry is nearly as long as the race itself and I don't really expect anyone to be reading this paragraph except my wife and maybe my Dad. I may not even have the energy to proof-read it so I won't even get this far again. Let's just say that the fatigue you feel from this blog really can't compare to what I felt at that point in the day. That's fair, don't you think?
Getting back and the Boulevard. As I crested the high point of St. Kevins, I was 10 hours and 52 minutes into the race. I had 1 hour and 8 minutes before the shot-gun blast that said "NO MORE BELT BUCKLES TODAY!" I had over 12 miles to ride. My average pace had dropped to just over 8.3 mph for the day. I knew I had a descent, but then I also had to climb a number of miles back into town and I had to ride up the "Boulevard", which I had never seen and I could no longer remember how long it was supposed to be or how steep. I just knew that I was very unlikely to be able to ride the final 12 miles in an hour. And yet, I was still okay with that. I really was at peace with the idea that it was going to take me 5-15 minutes too long to get a buckle. Maybe if that is how it really turned out, I wouldn't have been, but I had a lot of time on the bike to think about it; really 2-3 hours when I was reasonably sure I was going to be just off the mark and it didn't bother me even one minute of that time. Maybe I was just too tired to care at that point, but I didn't.
As I descended St. Kevins the late afternoon/early evening light left the trail dappled so that it was hard to see the texture of the road. I knew that my only chance of buckling was to hit that descent as fast as I could, but I really didn't go down very fast at all. I was passed by a few people, but I just wasn't comfortable picking up the pace much. This seemed to be validated just after the switchback that marks the change from steeper to less step because someone who had passed me was picking up his bike from a crash. He was remounting and looked fine and in fact passed me just a few moments later, but it made me comfortable with my pace. As the road leveled out to a gentle slope and smoother road, I thought to myself, "this is the only and best chance to make up some ground." I picked it up the best I could and while my computer was not set to show speed, I felt confident that I had ramped up to about 20 mph for a couple of gentle miles and then 17-18 for another mile or two of pavement that was rolling to down. My Garmin confirmed that I did between 16.8 - 22.6 mph for 3 miles. In fact, at 99.07 miles I was doing 22.4 mph. The problem came at the foot of the Boulevard, where at 100.12 miles I was doing 2.5 mph.
Oh yes, the final kick to the balls known as the Boulevard. Shouldn't something called a "Boulevard" be grassy and a bit swank? Instead, this Boulevard is a river rock strewn slap in the face. You come down what appears to be a rocky alley and make a left turn to look right up this wall of crap. The steep portion is probably only .3-.5 miles long but it takes the wind out of your sails so completely that it is stunning. I went from "oh my gosh I might make it!" to "oh hell what kind of sadists are these people!"
I hit the bottom of this section just behind someone I had been drafting and who looked too young and fit to be as far back as I was and just a few feet ahead of someone with an english or australian accent. We all dismounted about the same time and I said to these two, "How long is this climb?" The fit young guy said, "I don't know" and remounted his bike and started riding. The english bloke, who I have to confess I never turned my head to see, said something more like, "Bloody hell I have no idea!" I started walking as fast I could muster and I was pleased to be moving ahead of the english bloke and not falling too far behind fit dude riding his bike. At the top of the pitch, I remounted on a decent gravel road and started up as fast as I could muster. At first it wasn't too bad, however, I could tell immediately that there wasn't a lot left.
Minor or Major Miracles. And Finishing. At this point I had about 2 miles to go and about 20-22 minutes. My mind kind-of told me that it was okay. I only had to do a tenth of a mile per minute and I would get there, assuming that 1) I really only had about 2 miles to go - something my Garmin said, but who knows about the relative accuracy at that point; and 2) that my clock matched up with Ken's at the finish line. I watched the first couple of tenths tick off in less than a minute each, but then I started to shift down gears to find something I could keep turning over.
Then one of three great things happened. First, someone from Spokane who was injured and couldn't race and his S. O. pulled up in a vehicle next to me an offered to take my camelback. It was dead weight at that point and I had considered throwing in the bushes a number of times over the prior miles, so I was thrilled to hand it over, so thank you to DR and H for this morale booster. That helped me get through at least a tenth of a mile with a smile. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough of a weight difference or psychic lift to help my legs as much as I needed. The dirt road was still going up and seemed to just go on endlessly. My speed continued to drop and my gears kept getting smaller. As I finally approached the end of this dirt road, someone gave me encouraging numbers about how far and how much time, but I think I was still on my absolutely smallest gear as crossed from dirt to pavement. It must have been interesting for DR and H to watch as my speed dropped and dropped and dropped.
Then, a second nice thing happened. At this point there was one more crest about three blocks long (?) and then a downhill and the final couple of blocks to the finish line. Rationally I "knew" I had the time, but that was assuming I kept moving and didn't come to a crawl. Just about then a guy who was walking with two kids yelled, "You've only got a mile and you have 11 minutes! You can do it. It's just over this crest and then you can almost coast the finish!" I appreciated hearing that; I really did, but I think I was just staring at my headset and probably didn't acknowledge it much, because then he did the best possible thing he could have done. He turned around, ran behind me, grabbed my seat and pushed me for about 40-50 feet of the last 100-150 feet of hill I had left. It was so, so nice to get that boost. It makes me happy just typing these words. It was a huge emotional gift. I wish I could kiss that guy right now. And the best thing about his words is that they were exactly right. I pedaled the last yards and started coasting downhill, down a nice loooonnnngggg hill. I geared up and pushed with everything I had left to get up the most speed possible so that I could coast as far as I could up the remaining slope. It turned out I had to pedal again, but not much. At that point I must have had a cosmic Red Bull because I had wings again. Then the third nice thing happened. I started hearing people cheering. It was started by my wife and two boys, helped on by PW and family, PK and DD and family, DR and H who were at the finish line and supported by lots of people who were just happy that one more poor bastard was about to cross the finish line with just a few moments ahead of the shot-gun blast. I raised one arm in triumph and may have expressed more joy than any one of the top 100 finishers. I was really, really, quietly, deeply and fully happy.
I also can't really imagine what my family and friends were thinking as the clock ticked by. As the minutes passed and it got closer and closer to 6.30 pm, it must have been approaching painful to stand there and wonder if they would see me humping over that last hill in time to break the 12 hour mark. And while I can't really imagine how much relief they felt, I can tell you I was very happy to be able to be there, to justify their belief that I could make it and to finally finish the race.
Conclusion. I once read that people who win silver medals in the Olympics are not happy with their experience (because they were so close to the gold generally), but that bronze medal winners were really happy with their experience. They realized the joy of being on the podium and ahead of everyone who didn't make it. I was that bronze medal winner. I knew there were lots of people ahead of me. Hell, I was behind every single person I knew there that day, but it didn't matter to me one little bit. I was so happy to have accomplished the very difficult goal of finishing the Leadville 100 in under 12 hours and earning a finisher's medal, belt buckle and sweatshirt with the time ironed onto the sleeve. Someone said to me that I might have been the heaviest guy to finish or at least on the top 1% of size to finishing time. However you look at it, I finished the damn thing in under 12 hours. While I was typing this up, it occurred to me that I might be able to figure out whether the guy who was behind me on the Boulevard was British or Aussie. I am chagrined and amazed to see that 22 spots behind me, and about 7 1/2 minutes behind me, a guy from Great Britain finished in 12 hours, 0 minutes and 50 seconds. I not only feel bad for this guy (oh, and the one who finished in 12 hours, 0 minutes and 1.9 seconds) but it makes me feel justified in my paranoia about my ability to keep going at the bottom of the Boulevard. I really can't believe that I was right next to a guy about 2 1/2 miles out - one of us made it and one didn't.
Here are all the numbers. Total registrants - 1,552 riders. Total starters - 1,338. Finishers in less than 9 hours - 136. Finishers in less than 12 hours - 908. Additional finishers 12 - 13 hours - 114, or 1022 total. Less than 10% finished in under 9 hours and 68.4% of the starters went home with belt buckles, which means 31.6% of the starters didn't. Yea, I'm happy to be on the 68% side of that equation.
So there is my story of Leadville. From the fruition of idea 3 1/2 years ago to conclusion just a couple of weeks ago. For anyone who stayed with the blog from beginning to end, thank you for taking the time. Thanks to DR, H and the unknown dude just before the crest of the last hill for the support in the last miles when it meant a lot. Thanks for PW for making the trip twice, even though I diss'd your "finish" the first time when you deserved credit for making it around course and getting a finisher's medal. Thanks to DD for the support and the training rides, and also to Rider 1 for the many rides, coaching, support and the day-of Leadville post. I did learn a lot of things. Thanks to Two Wheel Transit for the support and the Superfly. And, of course, thanks very much to my wife and two sons who put up with the training, obsession and endless discussions prior to race day, the support at the race itself and the abiding belief that I was going to roll across the line in 12 hours combined with it not mattering to them at all if I did.
Now, what's next? Any ideas?
Thursday, August 26, 2010
2010 Leadville 100 - Part 4
Pre-Race. The morning of Saturday, August 14 came early. We got up around 4 am to eat breakfast, get dressed and drive the 45 minutes from Vail to Leadville. We got there a bit later than ideal and accidentally found a super wonderful secret place to park right next to a couple of empty public bathrooms. The group of porta-potties a couple of blocks away had a long, long line, so this was a nice find.
We made final adjustments, picked the clothes to get us through the 45 degree cool morning start and rolled up to the back of the 1400+ riders. We worked our way through the crowd but were still a block and half behind the start line.
Start. The shotgun blast went off exactly at 6.30 am and the leaders raced off immediately. It took us a few minutes to reach the actual start line but at the time it was hard to see how 3-4 minutes would really have an impact on 12 hours of riding.
After crossing the start line there is a block or two descent, followed by a few block rise as you head out of town. There are lots of pictures taken of this roll-out so you may have seen it. From this point, you roll down hill for about 3 miles of paved road, giving you plenty of chance to get cold and stiff, and then about 3 miles of gently inclined smooth dirt roads. At this point, you are at the bottom of St. Kevins (pronounced Keevins). St. Kevins is the the smallest climb in the first 100 miles of the race. Unfortunately, it hits you upside the head when you are cold, stiff and adrenaline soaked. Also unfortunately, there isn't anything that has separated the crowds of riders and everyone hits the bottom of the climb feeling as good as they are going to feel all day. This doesn't mean that everyone is strong, just as good as it is going to be all day and there hasn't been any sorting out, so this is where the sorting takes place.
St. Kevins. St. Kevins would be a good way to start the race if there were a bit more separation of riders and there was a bit of warm-up prior to the climb. The climb itself is a total of 4.2 miles, averages 5.4% with pitches of 18%. The toughest mile of the climb averages 8.7%, so don't think it is a cream puff, but it isn’t a bad climb and on a ride with a few guys on a random afternoon it would be one of those climbs where you huff and puff your way through, re-group at the top and say something snarky like, “wow, I thought we were going to be climbing today, why did we start out with that bump?” On race day if you have enough oxygen in your brain, you might formulate a thought more like, “wow, I didn’t know mountain bikers could replicate the boarding of a Japanese commuter train by cramming 1,400 people onto a few yards of nearly vertical soil . . . I thought that was supposed to be the easy climb of the day, why am I coughing up a portion of lung with every pedal stroke and is it bad form to just ride OVER someone when they stop in front of me?” One way or the other, however, Imade it up St. Kevins and I was very happy to feel good all the way up. I was also glad to be able to clearly recall how different I felt on this trip up than I did three years earlier. I took it as a good sign. You start descending from this climb almost right at the 10 mile mark.
After St. Kevins there is a long asphalt descent. Actually, I would not have described it as “long” on the way out. It only seemed to take a couple of minutes, literally. I hit the highest speed of the day on this descent, 42.4 mph, and it was over almost as soon as it began. My educated guess would have been that it was about a mile long. On the way back, it turns out that it was 14 or 15 miles long. Not really, but it was a brutal four miles on the way back up. More on that later.
Sugarloaf. As you hit the bottom of the descent the pavement heads back up for a short bit before you catch the dirt road that is the lower portion of the next climb. On the way out the climb is known as Sugarloaf. The backside of this climb has a different name - PURE EVIL! No, actually it is called Powerline on the way down, but first, here is the story of the trip up. This climb is approximately 4.8 miles long, has an average grade of 4.7% and pitches of 25%. The lower portion is a wide decent dirt road, but it becomes narrower and rockier as the climb goes on. It is reasonably climbable, even for a big guy like me, almost all of the way to the top, and it is only the last bit that has some stiffer pitches or semi-technical stuff. This climb does top 11,000 and it about 300 feet higher than St. Kevins, which gives you the first bit over the tree-line. Still odd to me to think about riding my bike ABOVE the level where the air will sustain the life of a tree. Does that make sense?
In 2007 when I did this climb, I was riding with a smaller and smaller group of people which definitely was spelling trouble for me. I did manage to pass a guy with one leg, however. No, really. In 2007 there was a Jamican dude who had one leg that borrowed a mountain bike to do Leadville. He was a minor celebrity at the event and got a starting position with the first 100. It took me until Sugarloaf to catch and pass him. Yes, another sign of trouble from 2007. In 2010, however, I made my way up this climb in reasonable order; passing a few people along the way, not being passed by too many people and not feeling too bad. At this point, I was 19 miles into the race and just shy of 2 hours as I crested this climb. While I was not feeling sparky, I was gratified that I felt okay and had two major climbs out of the way so soon in the day. This is, by the way, a bit deceptive. Kind of like saying that you have already been punched in the head twice and only have eight more punches to go. It might be that I was discounting the cumulative effect of the punches.
Powerline Descent. Coming down the other side of this pass or mountain, as I alluded to above, is the “Powerline” descent which is a vicious and horrible climb on the way back. On the way down, it is a reasonably technical and gullied descent. Many more than one person got on an unsustainable line and had a problem negotiating the rut onto another ride-able line, resulting in a crash or at least coming to a halt. I passed one person near the top who was clearly quite injured and there were multiple people around the downed rider. I would find out later that this person suffered head and neck injuries and was still hospitalized a week after the event, but hopefully looking at a full recovery. My mother is sure that I am facing likely death or severe injury every time I do a ride like this, so I didn’t tell her about this. Thankfully she doesn’t read this blog. For some reason my absurdly detailed navel-gazing biking blog doesn’t appeal to a person who has been quoted as saying “sweat kills.” Anyway, I was glad to make my way down this steep descent in good shape. There is a water crossing at the bottom of this descent that always engenders lots of discussion about the wisdom of riding through it versus waiting in line for the 1” x 10” “bridge” to the side of the main path. In 2007 I rode through the shallower water that year, but later heard about a number of people who slipped on the rocks and crashed. I decided caution was in order this year and waited my turn for the bridge.
Unremarkable Part of the Course. The next part of the course is not generally remarked upon, as it is somewhat unremarkable. It is up and down and includes the only single track of the course. This single track was added a couple of years ago to eliminate what was called Clavicle Hill or Ambulance Hill. I remember in 2007 making a sharp right hand turn and riding down the side of a cliff, at the bottom of which was a helicopter picking up a person who I later learned had broken a femur. It didn't bother me to trade in that experience for the meandering single track. At about the 26 mile mark you pass through the first rest area/aid station. In 2007 this is where I was spent and uttered the "I am completely f____ed" line. I am pleased to report that this year, I simply rode through this area and not feeling bad at all. I had been riding conservatively and was saving my "matches" for later in the day. The official timing says that I was in 915th place at this point and at 2 hours, 39 minutes. I was, interestingly, 1 hour and 5 minutes behind the leaders. Okay, I am not fast, but part of that had to be waiting to cross the start line and congestion at St. Kevins. I'm just sayin'.
Twin Lakes Outbound Aid Station. The next section is similar to the last and really just gets you to the base of the Columbine Mine Climb. There is another aid station at the 40 mile mark which is the literal low point of the course at about 9,200 feet. I reached this point at the end of the range I told my wife that I could and still be on track to finish in 12 hours, pulling in 3 hour, 45 minutes into the day. The official timing also say that I moved backwards to 984th place, although I don't know how I could have lost 70 places in this time. In any case, that was the farthest back in the field I would be all day. I stopped for about 5 minutes to refill my camelbak, shed arm and knee warmers and smile at my family. That all went according to plan and I was off shortly thereafter. Just as I was getting on my bike, the two leaders, JHK and Levi, went by, which meant that I was 40 miles in and they were 60 miles in. Hmm. That means they were faster than I was, doesn't it?
Columbine Mine Climb. From this aid station, the next 1.5 miles climbs over some lumpy rocks up a few hundred feet and then gives you about a mile respite that is level or downhill. From there, it is 8.5 miles UP. It climbs about 3,300 feet over the total distance for an average of around 7%, but with pitches of 23%. By the way, you can find many different measurements of how long these climbs are depending on where people measure them. I have seen distances ranging from 8.45 miles to 11 miles, obviously dependent on where you start. In any case, it is a long way to go up almost without any respite.
From 2007 I had the idea that the lower portion of Columbine was not too bad and that it really was the part out of the treeline that was tough. I was wrong. This was the only part of the day where my memory worked against me as I kept thinking that it would level out a bit and get easier. It did not. It just kept climbing and climbing and climbing up at a steep and relentless grade. I'm sure it was fatigue and fuel, but for most of an hour the only two words that went through my head were "f__ing relentless". Oh, once in a while I added, "this hill is . . .", but it became a mantra of suffering. I said it over and over and over in my head, even while I was telling myself that it wasn't very helpful, useful or necessary.
I climbed and climbed and climbed. In all, I was going uphill from the aid station at the base for about 2 hours and 20 minutes until the aid station at the turn-around. Just by way of comparison, climbing Mt. Spokane from Bear Creek Lodge to the very top is about 7 1/2 miles at 7.1%. I did this in training on my road bike in just a touch over an hour. So Columbine Mine added 1 mile and about an hour and 15-20 minutes. The other thing that Columbine Mine adds is the feeling you get from exertion at over 12,000 feet elevation. For me, that is a bit of light-headedness or dizziness, along with an unsettled stomach. It is also very much worth noting that after you get out of the tree-line (Remember? Too high to sustain the life of a tree?! What I am doing riding my bike there?), there is a steep pitch that I have not witnessed anyone riding. I'm sure the top guys ride it, but at my spot everyone is walking for a major part of the last couple of miles. This is exhausting, a bit demoralizing although also a needed break, and it slows your ascent from a slow riding pace to a pushing-a-bike pace. That certainly adds some time. It is also worth noting that two people set up a free hot-dog and PBR station on this first steep pitch. I was not tempted, but they did apparently give away hot dogs and beer to some riders on the way up and the way down. Maybe every bike race needs a hot-dog and beer station; something to consider.
When I finally got to the turn-around spot (Note: Rather than the "top" it is the turn-around, because the aid station is a quick drop from the high point, which means, yes, the first thing you do after leaving the aid station is to climb your way back out. It is only a few minutes of climbing, but still . . .), I got some water in the empty bottle I had and stuffed some food in my mouth to digest on the long trip mostly downhill trip back to the 60-mile aid station. It is worth noting that my 12-hour plan suggest that I needed to hit the turn-around at 6 hours. I stopped at 6 hours and 5 minutes. I knew that I had passed a lot of people on the way up to Columbine Mine, but it is very note-worthy that I moved up from 984th place all the way to 830th place. Maybe that isn't accurate for some reason, but I like the idea of passing 154 people on a 10 mile climb. I told people afterward that I thought I had passed at least 50 people, which brought looks of incredulity, but it turns out the numbers say it was three times that. Maybe training is a good idea? It may have worked for me.
Tomorrow, the final installment of this saga.
We made final adjustments, picked the clothes to get us through the 45 degree cool morning start and rolled up to the back of the 1400+ riders. We worked our way through the crowd but were still a block and half behind the start line.
Start. The shotgun blast went off exactly at 6.30 am and the leaders raced off immediately. It took us a few minutes to reach the actual start line but at the time it was hard to see how 3-4 minutes would really have an impact on 12 hours of riding.
After crossing the start line there is a block or two descent, followed by a few block rise as you head out of town. There are lots of pictures taken of this roll-out so you may have seen it. From this point, you roll down hill for about 3 miles of paved road, giving you plenty of chance to get cold and stiff, and then about 3 miles of gently inclined smooth dirt roads. At this point, you are at the bottom of St. Kevins (pronounced Keevins). St. Kevins is the the smallest climb in the first 100 miles of the race. Unfortunately, it hits you upside the head when you are cold, stiff and adrenaline soaked. Also unfortunately, there isn't anything that has separated the crowds of riders and everyone hits the bottom of the climb feeling as good as they are going to feel all day. This doesn't mean that everyone is strong, just as good as it is going to be all day and there hasn't been any sorting out, so this is where the sorting takes place.
St. Kevins. St. Kevins would be a good way to start the race if there were a bit more separation of riders and there was a bit of warm-up prior to the climb. The climb itself is a total of 4.2 miles, averages 5.4% with pitches of 18%. The toughest mile of the climb averages 8.7%, so don't think it is a cream puff, but it isn’t a bad climb and on a ride with a few guys on a random afternoon it would be one of those climbs where you huff and puff your way through, re-group at the top and say something snarky like, “wow, I thought we were going to be climbing today, why did we start out with that bump?” On race day if you have enough oxygen in your brain, you might formulate a thought more like, “wow, I didn’t know mountain bikers could replicate the boarding of a Japanese commuter train by cramming 1,400 people onto a few yards of nearly vertical soil . . . I thought that was supposed to be the easy climb of the day, why am I coughing up a portion of lung with every pedal stroke and is it bad form to just ride OVER someone when they stop in front of me?” One way or the other, however, Imade it up St. Kevins and I was very happy to feel good all the way up. I was also glad to be able to clearly recall how different I felt on this trip up than I did three years earlier. I took it as a good sign. You start descending from this climb almost right at the 10 mile mark.
After St. Kevins there is a long asphalt descent. Actually, I would not have described it as “long” on the way out. It only seemed to take a couple of minutes, literally. I hit the highest speed of the day on this descent, 42.4 mph, and it was over almost as soon as it began. My educated guess would have been that it was about a mile long. On the way back, it turns out that it was 14 or 15 miles long. Not really, but it was a brutal four miles on the way back up. More on that later.
Sugarloaf. As you hit the bottom of the descent the pavement heads back up for a short bit before you catch the dirt road that is the lower portion of the next climb. On the way out the climb is known as Sugarloaf. The backside of this climb has a different name - PURE EVIL! No, actually it is called Powerline on the way down, but first, here is the story of the trip up. This climb is approximately 4.8 miles long, has an average grade of 4.7% and pitches of 25%. The lower portion is a wide decent dirt road, but it becomes narrower and rockier as the climb goes on. It is reasonably climbable, even for a big guy like me, almost all of the way to the top, and it is only the last bit that has some stiffer pitches or semi-technical stuff. This climb does top 11,000 and it about 300 feet higher than St. Kevins, which gives you the first bit over the tree-line. Still odd to me to think about riding my bike ABOVE the level where the air will sustain the life of a tree. Does that make sense?
In 2007 when I did this climb, I was riding with a smaller and smaller group of people which definitely was spelling trouble for me. I did manage to pass a guy with one leg, however. No, really. In 2007 there was a Jamican dude who had one leg that borrowed a mountain bike to do Leadville. He was a minor celebrity at the event and got a starting position with the first 100. It took me until Sugarloaf to catch and pass him. Yes, another sign of trouble from 2007. In 2010, however, I made my way up this climb in reasonable order; passing a few people along the way, not being passed by too many people and not feeling too bad. At this point, I was 19 miles into the race and just shy of 2 hours as I crested this climb. While I was not feeling sparky, I was gratified that I felt okay and had two major climbs out of the way so soon in the day. This is, by the way, a bit deceptive. Kind of like saying that you have already been punched in the head twice and only have eight more punches to go. It might be that I was discounting the cumulative effect of the punches.
Powerline Descent. Coming down the other side of this pass or mountain, as I alluded to above, is the “Powerline” descent which is a vicious and horrible climb on the way back. On the way down, it is a reasonably technical and gullied descent. Many more than one person got on an unsustainable line and had a problem negotiating the rut onto another ride-able line, resulting in a crash or at least coming to a halt. I passed one person near the top who was clearly quite injured and there were multiple people around the downed rider. I would find out later that this person suffered head and neck injuries and was still hospitalized a week after the event, but hopefully looking at a full recovery. My mother is sure that I am facing likely death or severe injury every time I do a ride like this, so I didn’t tell her about this. Thankfully she doesn’t read this blog. For some reason my absurdly detailed navel-gazing biking blog doesn’t appeal to a person who has been quoted as saying “sweat kills.” Anyway, I was glad to make my way down this steep descent in good shape. There is a water crossing at the bottom of this descent that always engenders lots of discussion about the wisdom of riding through it versus waiting in line for the 1” x 10” “bridge” to the side of the main path. In 2007 I rode through the shallower water that year, but later heard about a number of people who slipped on the rocks and crashed. I decided caution was in order this year and waited my turn for the bridge.
Unremarkable Part of the Course. The next part of the course is not generally remarked upon, as it is somewhat unremarkable. It is up and down and includes the only single track of the course. This single track was added a couple of years ago to eliminate what was called Clavicle Hill or Ambulance Hill. I remember in 2007 making a sharp right hand turn and riding down the side of a cliff, at the bottom of which was a helicopter picking up a person who I later learned had broken a femur. It didn't bother me to trade in that experience for the meandering single track. At about the 26 mile mark you pass through the first rest area/aid station. In 2007 this is where I was spent and uttered the "I am completely f____ed" line. I am pleased to report that this year, I simply rode through this area and not feeling bad at all. I had been riding conservatively and was saving my "matches" for later in the day. The official timing says that I was in 915th place at this point and at 2 hours, 39 minutes. I was, interestingly, 1 hour and 5 minutes behind the leaders. Okay, I am not fast, but part of that had to be waiting to cross the start line and congestion at St. Kevins. I'm just sayin'.
Twin Lakes Outbound Aid Station. The next section is similar to the last and really just gets you to the base of the Columbine Mine Climb. There is another aid station at the 40 mile mark which is the literal low point of the course at about 9,200 feet. I reached this point at the end of the range I told my wife that I could and still be on track to finish in 12 hours, pulling in 3 hour, 45 minutes into the day. The official timing also say that I moved backwards to 984th place, although I don't know how I could have lost 70 places in this time. In any case, that was the farthest back in the field I would be all day. I stopped for about 5 minutes to refill my camelbak, shed arm and knee warmers and smile at my family. That all went according to plan and I was off shortly thereafter. Just as I was getting on my bike, the two leaders, JHK and Levi, went by, which meant that I was 40 miles in and they were 60 miles in. Hmm. That means they were faster than I was, doesn't it?
Columbine Mine Climb. From this aid station, the next 1.5 miles climbs over some lumpy rocks up a few hundred feet and then gives you about a mile respite that is level or downhill. From there, it is 8.5 miles UP. It climbs about 3,300 feet over the total distance for an average of around 7%, but with pitches of 23%. By the way, you can find many different measurements of how long these climbs are depending on where people measure them. I have seen distances ranging from 8.45 miles to 11 miles, obviously dependent on where you start. In any case, it is a long way to go up almost without any respite.
From 2007 I had the idea that the lower portion of Columbine was not too bad and that it really was the part out of the treeline that was tough. I was wrong. This was the only part of the day where my memory worked against me as I kept thinking that it would level out a bit and get easier. It did not. It just kept climbing and climbing and climbing up at a steep and relentless grade. I'm sure it was fatigue and fuel, but for most of an hour the only two words that went through my head were "f__ing relentless". Oh, once in a while I added, "this hill is . . .", but it became a mantra of suffering. I said it over and over and over in my head, even while I was telling myself that it wasn't very helpful, useful or necessary.
I climbed and climbed and climbed. In all, I was going uphill from the aid station at the base for about 2 hours and 20 minutes until the aid station at the turn-around. Just by way of comparison, climbing Mt. Spokane from Bear Creek Lodge to the very top is about 7 1/2 miles at 7.1%. I did this in training on my road bike in just a touch over an hour. So Columbine Mine added 1 mile and about an hour and 15-20 minutes. The other thing that Columbine Mine adds is the feeling you get from exertion at over 12,000 feet elevation. For me, that is a bit of light-headedness or dizziness, along with an unsettled stomach. It is also very much worth noting that after you get out of the tree-line (Remember? Too high to sustain the life of a tree?! What I am doing riding my bike there?), there is a steep pitch that I have not witnessed anyone riding. I'm sure the top guys ride it, but at my spot everyone is walking for a major part of the last couple of miles. This is exhausting, a bit demoralizing although also a needed break, and it slows your ascent from a slow riding pace to a pushing-a-bike pace. That certainly adds some time. It is also worth noting that two people set up a free hot-dog and PBR station on this first steep pitch. I was not tempted, but they did apparently give away hot dogs and beer to some riders on the way up and the way down. Maybe every bike race needs a hot-dog and beer station; something to consider.
When I finally got to the turn-around spot (Note: Rather than the "top" it is the turn-around, because the aid station is a quick drop from the high point, which means, yes, the first thing you do after leaving the aid station is to climb your way back out. It is only a few minutes of climbing, but still . . .), I got some water in the empty bottle I had and stuffed some food in my mouth to digest on the long trip mostly downhill trip back to the 60-mile aid station. It is worth noting that my 12-hour plan suggest that I needed to hit the turn-around at 6 hours. I stopped at 6 hours and 5 minutes. I knew that I had passed a lot of people on the way up to Columbine Mine, but it is very note-worthy that I moved up from 984th place all the way to 830th place. Maybe that isn't accurate for some reason, but I like the idea of passing 154 people on a 10 mile climb. I told people afterward that I thought I had passed at least 50 people, which brought looks of incredulity, but it turns out the numbers say it was three times that. Maybe training is a good idea? It may have worked for me.
Tomorrow, the final installment of this saga.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
2010 Leadville 100 - Part 3
Gentle readers, we have now journeyed through the lead-up to and the prior experience with Leadville. What is left is the real reason for our gathering together here today. The actual riding of the 2010 Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race.
I previously outlined the major training rides I did in 2007. That year I focused on long distances with the idea that the best way to be ready for a 12 hour ride was to do multiple long rides in the 10+ hour category. I didn't spend too much time on intensity and I didn't do any racing. I trimmed weight and I thought that the distance in my legs to cover the Leadville distance. It may have been true that year, but I clearly didn't respect the ride enough to make sure I stayed on track the final two weeks and I didn't respect the deleterious impact of the altitude by arriving too close but not far enough prior to the race.
In contrast, in 2010, I did not do a single 200 mile road ride, or actually any ride much over 6 hours, but I added a lot more rides during the work work, rather than just focusing on long weekend rides, and more back-to-back rides. I did more hours per week as a result. I added more racing to my schedule and tried to add a lot more intensity in my rides, whether long or short. Instead of long, steady efforts, I figured it was better to burn-out and die on a ride if it would add strength overall. I also tried to add hills to virtually every ride I did, including adding three 7-10 minute hills to my commute home for work. I also worked a bit more diligently on dropping weight to help with the hill-climbing and did some running early in the season to both cut weight and help be ready for the walking uphill that is necessary in Leadville. I also made sure that I had a schedule that ran right up to the race day and stuck to it. In the 5 1/2 weeks just prior to leaving for Leadville, my Garmin says I biked over 82 hours, 1,100 miles and burned 33,000 calories. And lastly, I arrived in Leadville as close to the race as I could and I researched the area around Leadville and looked for place to stay in Vail because it's elevation was 8,100 feet, which was 2,100-2,300 feet below Leadville.
One note on equipment, which gets a LOT of attention by potential Leadville riders. In 2007 I rode a 26" hardtail - a Rocky Mountain Team SC. It was lightweight, but it was an accidental purchase, rather than fitted to me and it was probably too small. I didn't have any mechanicals, but just after the 2007 race I tried out PW's Niner A.I.R. I was immediately and completely sold on the 29er wheel size and, importantly, frame size/geometry of the 29er. I bought a Niner E.M.D., previously blogged about, but was lucky enough to upgrade to a Gary Fisher Superfly just before the 24 Hour Race. It is a superior bike and assuming you want a hardtail for Leadville, I can't imagine there is a better bike. The other guys I rode "with" (really, I was behind them all day), all had dual suspension bikes. I know I would go downhill faster on one, but I also assume I would go uphill slower on one with the additional weight. Since I am already carrying too much weight and need all the help I can get on the uphills, I went with the hardtail. I also fussed about tires a lot and ended up with Bontrager 29-3's, in the widest variety, both front and back. Again, thanks to the guys at Two Wheel Transit for the hand holding on this, but I think the tire was a great choice. I never gave a moment's thought to the tires no matter what I was banging into and while the course was rockier than I had recalled, the tires performed perfectly and I had no mechanical issues except the one where the engine could have pushed the pedals faster.
So, to sum it all up, I tried to improve upon the things I did right and correct the things I did wrong. I also think it helped a lot to have seen the course to know what I was up against. So, as I sat in the old gymnasium sitting through the racer meeting which runs with the spirit of a revival meeting in the deep South, I was ready to be done with the talking and I was just ready to ride.
So, in the spirit of the best advertising teases, the race report starts tomorrow.
I previously outlined the major training rides I did in 2007. That year I focused on long distances with the idea that the best way to be ready for a 12 hour ride was to do multiple long rides in the 10+ hour category. I didn't spend too much time on intensity and I didn't do any racing. I trimmed weight and I thought that the distance in my legs to cover the Leadville distance. It may have been true that year, but I clearly didn't respect the ride enough to make sure I stayed on track the final two weeks and I didn't respect the deleterious impact of the altitude by arriving too close but not far enough prior to the race.
In contrast, in 2010, I did not do a single 200 mile road ride, or actually any ride much over 6 hours, but I added a lot more rides during the work work, rather than just focusing on long weekend rides, and more back-to-back rides. I did more hours per week as a result. I added more racing to my schedule and tried to add a lot more intensity in my rides, whether long or short. Instead of long, steady efforts, I figured it was better to burn-out and die on a ride if it would add strength overall. I also tried to add hills to virtually every ride I did, including adding three 7-10 minute hills to my commute home for work. I also worked a bit more diligently on dropping weight to help with the hill-climbing and did some running early in the season to both cut weight and help be ready for the walking uphill that is necessary in Leadville. I also made sure that I had a schedule that ran right up to the race day and stuck to it. In the 5 1/2 weeks just prior to leaving for Leadville, my Garmin says I biked over 82 hours, 1,100 miles and burned 33,000 calories. And lastly, I arrived in Leadville as close to the race as I could and I researched the area around Leadville and looked for place to stay in Vail because it's elevation was 8,100 feet, which was 2,100-2,300 feet below Leadville.
One note on equipment, which gets a LOT of attention by potential Leadville riders. In 2007 I rode a 26" hardtail - a Rocky Mountain Team SC. It was lightweight, but it was an accidental purchase, rather than fitted to me and it was probably too small. I didn't have any mechanicals, but just after the 2007 race I tried out PW's Niner A.I.R. I was immediately and completely sold on the 29er wheel size and, importantly, frame size/geometry of the 29er. I bought a Niner E.M.D., previously blogged about, but was lucky enough to upgrade to a Gary Fisher Superfly just before the 24 Hour Race. It is a superior bike and assuming you want a hardtail for Leadville, I can't imagine there is a better bike. The other guys I rode "with" (really, I was behind them all day), all had dual suspension bikes. I know I would go downhill faster on one, but I also assume I would go uphill slower on one with the additional weight. Since I am already carrying too much weight and need all the help I can get on the uphills, I went with the hardtail. I also fussed about tires a lot and ended up with Bontrager 29-3's, in the widest variety, both front and back. Again, thanks to the guys at Two Wheel Transit for the hand holding on this, but I think the tire was a great choice. I never gave a moment's thought to the tires no matter what I was banging into and while the course was rockier than I had recalled, the tires performed perfectly and I had no mechanical issues except the one where the engine could have pushed the pedals faster.
So, to sum it all up, I tried to improve upon the things I did right and correct the things I did wrong. I also think it helped a lot to have seen the course to know what I was up against. So, as I sat in the old gymnasium sitting through the racer meeting which runs with the spirit of a revival meeting in the deep South, I was ready to be done with the talking and I was just ready to ride.
So, in the spirit of the best advertising teases, the race report starts tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
2010 Leadville 100 - Part 2
As we left our tale, our intrepid cyclists and mid-life crisis avoiders had gained entry into the 2007 Leadville 100. Notice goes out immediately after the lottery at the end of January, so by early February we knew that we had a spot of adventure on the calendar in August.
How did it go? I didn't finish.
I dropped out after 60 miles, where I had met the time cut-off, but completely certain that I couldn't make the 75-mile time cut-off which was just one hour later. PW finished the course outside of the 12 hour cut-off to take home a belt buckle, but within 13 hours so that he got a finisher's medal after he rolled across the finish line having completed the whole course.
I'm not sure whether to roll out all my excuses for not finishing or try to avoid them. I don't know whether to offer my list of training races and rides to show that I should have finished or to try to avoid that. I don't know how much anyone but me cares how much I was gutted after failing to finish, or whether I should avoid that also. Maybe I should just bottle this all up and move on, or better yet let it go and move on, or maybe in this age of therapeutic over-sharing I should just uncork.
But gentle reader, you can see all of the words trailing off below, so you know that something more is coming so I might as well blog my little heart out and tell the whole sordid tale. If you don't like to hear or read the blathering excuses of an aging excuse maker, then why are you here?
So here is what I knew about Leadville. 1 - It was very hard. 2 - That about 60% of the people who signed up every year actually got a belt buckle. 3 - That the altitude would be a huge factor. 4 - That the 100 miles of mountain biking covered about 15,000 vertical feet of climbing. 5 - That Leadville was generally non-technical and considered a good race for road bike riders.
Here is what I knew about myself. 1- I have a decent engine and can ride long distances. 2 - That I had no exposure to altitude and no idea what impact it would have. 3 - That my weight was ill-suited to the climbing. 4 - That my mountain bike skills were lacking. 5 - That I was suitably determined and had a good success ratio when I applied myself to things.
Taking all of this into account, what could go wrong? Oh yeah, you see it too?
I was lucky that Rider 1 was really getting back into cycling after some life and injury time off the bike. He had no interest in riding Leadville (his comment was, "I lived in Colorado; people from Colorado don't "do" Leadville because they already know how stupid it is to try to race at that elevation"), but he was interested in ramping up his mileage and was willing to put in the time to ride with me and train for a few mutual events.
The other thing I had going for me was fear. I was fearful of how hard Leadville would be and it was a great motivator to get out and ride and ride and ride. So, I started training early, including rides in February that were already stretching out to 3-4 hours when the weather allowed. In early April I knocked off the Spring Century at a high pace and felt good afterward. I then marched on to do the Tour of Pain (200 miles/1 day) in June, Seattle-to-Portland (206 miles/1 day) in July where Rider 1 and I finished in 10 hours total (including rolling time and time off the bike) bringing us across the finish line as the 22nd and 23rd finishers out of 2,300 one-day riders, and then I lined up to do RAMROD two weeks later and just two weeks before Leadville. PW and I did RAMROD together and I was feeling good. I think it is fair to say I was the stronger of the two of us at that point and I felt good all day. We happened into a conversation with someone it turned out was a multiple Leadville rider and his comment to me was along the lines of, "If you are rolling up Paradise this well, you will do fine at Leadville." At that point I was confident and ready. Maybe too confident, however.
After RAMROD I returned home for a week of work before we loaded up the family and headed to Colorado for a vacation and the race. I didn't ride my bike that week because of work obligations, etc. We then spent the week ahead of Leadville doing kid activities, like walking to hell and gone through museums, zoos and science centers; spent a day hiking in Boulder; and then hit Leadville, elevation 10,400', three days ahead of the race. In quick summation, I did the exact opposite of what they said to do about training and altitude ahead of the race. And it showed.
When I got on my bike for my first ride in Leadville on the Wednesday before the race, my heart was the only thing racing. As I crossed the level parking lot outside of the hotel, my heart rate shot up from resting rate below 60 bpm almost instantly to 140 bpm. I usually take a bit to warm up and this immediate jump in my heart rate was evident and worrisome immediately. I tried climbing up a grade out the back of town and my heart rate stayed in the same 135-145 bpm range whether I was going up or going flat and changing my exertion level seemed to have little or no impact on my heart rate. After a short ride, I decided that resting was a better course of action than continuing my ride.
The next day I went out to preview part of the course. It went a bit better, but the altitude was clearly having an impact on my heart rate, perceived exertion and breathing rate. I thought something along the lines of "I can get through this, but it may not be fun." I got the second part right.
The day before the race I spent walking around Leadville and then inexplicably agreed to visit the outlet malls in Frisco and spent more hours walking around, not returning to Leadville until time for a late dinner. PW had taken the more prudent altitude approach of "get in, get out" and had arrived in Denver Thursday, spent the day in Leadville on Friday and led the outlet mall expedition.
I got a horrible night of sleep in Leadville that night, tossing and turning all night and feeling as if my breathing was being constricted.
Race morning I felt tired but excited. I knew that I had the ability to grind out 12 hours of effort and it would be tough, but it had not occurred to me that I would not be one of the people getting a belt buckle and sweatshirt the following morning before we left town.
The race starts with a long roll-out from town of almost three miles downhill on pavement before it takes a turn onto dirt and starts climbing. There is very little level dirt road before the first climb starts, St. Kevins (pronounced Keevin). The moment the road turned up, my heart rate shot up, my breathing became labored and I was in trouble. I should have known 5 minutes into the first climb that it was a better idea to turn around, but I just kept thinking that I would warm-up and feel better as the day went on. It never happened.
I rolled into the first aid station area where my wife and kids were waiting, as was PW, about 15 minutes after PW had arrived. I told him to go on without me and I looked at my wife and said, "I am so completely f_____ed". She remembers it clearly because it was shocking and obviously correct. I was wasted at 26 miles into the race and had virtually nothing to go on. I had completed the first two climbs, St. Kevins and Sugarloaf, but had nothing in the tank for the largest climb or any of the return trip. I pressed on, hitting the next aid station at 40 miles and at the base of the climb feeling slightly better for the lack of major climbs in the intervening 14 miles, but decidedly wiped out. PW was more than 30 minutes ahead of me by that time and it would have been more if he hadn't waited so long previously. I headed up the Columbine climb with the stragglers and was losing spirit rapidly. The Columbine Mine climb is almost ten miles of going UP and it climbs above the tree line (the point at which the air is too thin to support the growth of trees) and reaches a peak of 12,400'. There were long sections where the steepness of the climb combined with the altitude had me walking my bike. This means that I was going 1.5 - 2 mph pushing my bike uphill rather than riding it, even if that was a meager 3-5 mph. It may not seem like a big difference, but it means that the final couple of miles of Columbine took most of an hour alone.
When I hit the turn-around spot at Columbine someone at the aid station quickly told me that I needed to hit the trail if I wanted to make the time cut-off. I don't know how compelling that was, but I did know that I would feel better getting to a lower elevation. I cruised down the 8.5 miles of downhill, humped up the one upward slope and then rolled the final mile plus into the aid station. I was stopped at the check in and told by a medical person that I looked okay and had made the time cut-off, barely, but that I had 1 hour to make the next cut-off which was 14-15 miles away and included a climb back up something known as Clavicle Hill or Ambulance Hill. I stopped to talk things over with my wife. My choice was to quit there and climb into the car or keep pedaling to the next aid station with certainty that I would be pulled from the race there and would likely be facing a long wait until an ignominious ride in the back of a pick-up into town. While I debated things with myself and my wife, those rolling up behind me were being told that they had missed the cut-off and they were pulled from the race.
I decided to quit.
It was incredibly hard thing to do. As Ken Clouber had said at the race meeting the day before, riding Leadville will hurt all day, but quitting Leadville will hurt forever, or at least until you come back and finish it. He was right.
How did it go? I didn't finish.
I dropped out after 60 miles, where I had met the time cut-off, but completely certain that I couldn't make the 75-mile time cut-off which was just one hour later. PW finished the course outside of the 12 hour cut-off to take home a belt buckle, but within 13 hours so that he got a finisher's medal after he rolled across the finish line having completed the whole course.
I'm not sure whether to roll out all my excuses for not finishing or try to avoid them. I don't know whether to offer my list of training races and rides to show that I should have finished or to try to avoid that. I don't know how much anyone but me cares how much I was gutted after failing to finish, or whether I should avoid that also. Maybe I should just bottle this all up and move on, or better yet let it go and move on, or maybe in this age of therapeutic over-sharing I should just uncork.
But gentle reader, you can see all of the words trailing off below, so you know that something more is coming so I might as well blog my little heart out and tell the whole sordid tale. If you don't like to hear or read the blathering excuses of an aging excuse maker, then why are you here?
So here is what I knew about Leadville. 1 - It was very hard. 2 - That about 60% of the people who signed up every year actually got a belt buckle. 3 - That the altitude would be a huge factor. 4 - That the 100 miles of mountain biking covered about 15,000 vertical feet of climbing. 5 - That Leadville was generally non-technical and considered a good race for road bike riders.
Here is what I knew about myself. 1- I have a decent engine and can ride long distances. 2 - That I had no exposure to altitude and no idea what impact it would have. 3 - That my weight was ill-suited to the climbing. 4 - That my mountain bike skills were lacking. 5 - That I was suitably determined and had a good success ratio when I applied myself to things.
Taking all of this into account, what could go wrong? Oh yeah, you see it too?
I was lucky that Rider 1 was really getting back into cycling after some life and injury time off the bike. He had no interest in riding Leadville (his comment was, "I lived in Colorado; people from Colorado don't "do" Leadville because they already know how stupid it is to try to race at that elevation"), but he was interested in ramping up his mileage and was willing to put in the time to ride with me and train for a few mutual events.
The other thing I had going for me was fear. I was fearful of how hard Leadville would be and it was a great motivator to get out and ride and ride and ride. So, I started training early, including rides in February that were already stretching out to 3-4 hours when the weather allowed. In early April I knocked off the Spring Century at a high pace and felt good afterward. I then marched on to do the Tour of Pain (200 miles/1 day) in June, Seattle-to-Portland (206 miles/1 day) in July where Rider 1 and I finished in 10 hours total (including rolling time and time off the bike) bringing us across the finish line as the 22nd and 23rd finishers out of 2,300 one-day riders, and then I lined up to do RAMROD two weeks later and just two weeks before Leadville. PW and I did RAMROD together and I was feeling good. I think it is fair to say I was the stronger of the two of us at that point and I felt good all day. We happened into a conversation with someone it turned out was a multiple Leadville rider and his comment to me was along the lines of, "If you are rolling up Paradise this well, you will do fine at Leadville." At that point I was confident and ready. Maybe too confident, however.
After RAMROD I returned home for a week of work before we loaded up the family and headed to Colorado for a vacation and the race. I didn't ride my bike that week because of work obligations, etc. We then spent the week ahead of Leadville doing kid activities, like walking to hell and gone through museums, zoos and science centers; spent a day hiking in Boulder; and then hit Leadville, elevation 10,400', three days ahead of the race. In quick summation, I did the exact opposite of what they said to do about training and altitude ahead of the race. And it showed.
When I got on my bike for my first ride in Leadville on the Wednesday before the race, my heart was the only thing racing. As I crossed the level parking lot outside of the hotel, my heart rate shot up from resting rate below 60 bpm almost instantly to 140 bpm. I usually take a bit to warm up and this immediate jump in my heart rate was evident and worrisome immediately. I tried climbing up a grade out the back of town and my heart rate stayed in the same 135-145 bpm range whether I was going up or going flat and changing my exertion level seemed to have little or no impact on my heart rate. After a short ride, I decided that resting was a better course of action than continuing my ride.
The next day I went out to preview part of the course. It went a bit better, but the altitude was clearly having an impact on my heart rate, perceived exertion and breathing rate. I thought something along the lines of "I can get through this, but it may not be fun." I got the second part right.
The day before the race I spent walking around Leadville and then inexplicably agreed to visit the outlet malls in Frisco and spent more hours walking around, not returning to Leadville until time for a late dinner. PW had taken the more prudent altitude approach of "get in, get out" and had arrived in Denver Thursday, spent the day in Leadville on Friday and led the outlet mall expedition.
I got a horrible night of sleep in Leadville that night, tossing and turning all night and feeling as if my breathing was being constricted.
Race morning I felt tired but excited. I knew that I had the ability to grind out 12 hours of effort and it would be tough, but it had not occurred to me that I would not be one of the people getting a belt buckle and sweatshirt the following morning before we left town.
The race starts with a long roll-out from town of almost three miles downhill on pavement before it takes a turn onto dirt and starts climbing. There is very little level dirt road before the first climb starts, St. Kevins (pronounced Keevin). The moment the road turned up, my heart rate shot up, my breathing became labored and I was in trouble. I should have known 5 minutes into the first climb that it was a better idea to turn around, but I just kept thinking that I would warm-up and feel better as the day went on. It never happened.
I rolled into the first aid station area where my wife and kids were waiting, as was PW, about 15 minutes after PW had arrived. I told him to go on without me and I looked at my wife and said, "I am so completely f_____ed". She remembers it clearly because it was shocking and obviously correct. I was wasted at 26 miles into the race and had virtually nothing to go on. I had completed the first two climbs, St. Kevins and Sugarloaf, but had nothing in the tank for the largest climb or any of the return trip. I pressed on, hitting the next aid station at 40 miles and at the base of the climb feeling slightly better for the lack of major climbs in the intervening 14 miles, but decidedly wiped out. PW was more than 30 minutes ahead of me by that time and it would have been more if he hadn't waited so long previously. I headed up the Columbine climb with the stragglers and was losing spirit rapidly. The Columbine Mine climb is almost ten miles of going UP and it climbs above the tree line (the point at which the air is too thin to support the growth of trees) and reaches a peak of 12,400'. There were long sections where the steepness of the climb combined with the altitude had me walking my bike. This means that I was going 1.5 - 2 mph pushing my bike uphill rather than riding it, even if that was a meager 3-5 mph. It may not seem like a big difference, but it means that the final couple of miles of Columbine took most of an hour alone.
When I hit the turn-around spot at Columbine someone at the aid station quickly told me that I needed to hit the trail if I wanted to make the time cut-off. I don't know how compelling that was, but I did know that I would feel better getting to a lower elevation. I cruised down the 8.5 miles of downhill, humped up the one upward slope and then rolled the final mile plus into the aid station. I was stopped at the check in and told by a medical person that I looked okay and had made the time cut-off, barely, but that I had 1 hour to make the next cut-off which was 14-15 miles away and included a climb back up something known as Clavicle Hill or Ambulance Hill. I stopped to talk things over with my wife. My choice was to quit there and climb into the car or keep pedaling to the next aid station with certainty that I would be pulled from the race there and would likely be facing a long wait until an ignominious ride in the back of a pick-up into town. While I debated things with myself and my wife, those rolling up behind me were being told that they had missed the cut-off and they were pulled from the race.
I decided to quit.
It was incredibly hard thing to do. As Ken Clouber had said at the race meeting the day before, riding Leadville will hurt all day, but quitting Leadville will hurt forever, or at least until you come back and finish it. He was right.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
2010 Leadville 100 - Part 1
The story of my 103 mile mountain bike race in Leadville, Colorado started well before the date of the race, Saturday, August 14, 2010. It actually started at least by January 2007 and maybe a bit earlier.
If you will indulge me in the longest blog entry I have ever written, I will relate the tale. I will break it into parts, but here is the introduction.
During college, as I have mentioned, I was a rower for the University of Washington. Being a rower on a team like the one at UW is a rather significant commitment. At one point, I realized that I was involved in rowing, whether actually on the water or in a weight room or running stairs or whatever, for more than 40 hours per week. I was obviously attending to my studies in the time I could carve out from my rowing, but it was really my primary focus and not just on the six days a week I was plying my "trade." During this time, I developed a few close friendships and in particular, I spent a lot of time with two people who have proved to be lifelong friends, PW and BP. During the part of the year in which we were to be in the weight room in the morning, instead of on the water, I would lift weights with these two gentlemen. We would also run together (or as I called them then, going for a "trudge" instead of a run) and otherwise support each other as we were seemingly intent on beating our brains out in the process of earning our seats in the boats.
As our first year was ending, our coaches exhorted us to keep in shape over the summer so that we were ready to start again in the fall. PW, for reasons that can be detailed another time, had spent time in Germany and had become exposed to professional cycling. As such, during the year he had shared cycling magazines and been trying to convince me that really my life would be much improved by purchasing a "ten speed" bike, as we called them then, and riding my summer away. PW also encouraged me in another pursuit which would come to equally dominate my life, beer, but that story shall also be saved for another day.
In any case, I bought my first road bike in 1984 and have been riding ever since. In some of those years I rode more and in some years I rode less, but I have been cycling now for 26 summers. During those summers, I rode my bike with BP and with PW (Riding with BP reminds me of one summer cruise up Bogus Basin road, in which I traded bikes with BP because he was doing more running than cycling and had a straight block on his Bianchi which was proving to be more gear than was reasonable on the trip up). Anyway, a lot of summer riding was done with PW, as well as some other adventures.
Well, along the way, PW and I both developed a serious case of adulthood, including all the usual symptoms including wives, children, mortgages and jobs with actual and developing responsibilities. As such, our summer riding and various other shenanigans fell to the wayside. Oh sure, we still got together and drank beer, but it just wasn't the same. So, come the winter of 2006, I got the idea that we needed to pick an adventure and get out to do something. To this end, I decided to issue a challenge to PW; a challenge to pick an adventure with me and commit to it for 2007.
At this point in the story, maybe I should leave it to the contemporaneous documents. Forthwith is the "Manhood Challenge" I sent to PW. It should be noted that I sent with this note a sickly looking rubber chicken that when squeezed would emit a gelatinous egg from its posterior.
MANHOOD MEMORANDUM
TO: PW
FROM: Rider 3
SUBJECT:CHRISTMAS GIFT / CHALLENGE
DATE: 12 / 7 / 2006
PW – Our traditional Christmas card, complete with adorable picture of the boys and glowing assessment of the family triumphs, will be arriving soon. Before that, however, I wanted to pass along a little christmas gift to you as both a reminder of our friendship and the value upon which I place on it, and a statement about your willingness to embrace an athletic challenge for 2007.
I don’t directly want to call you a chicken, or a coward, or yellow-bellied, or weak, or fearful, or spineless, or craven, or draw comparisons to your character with a worthless wastrel who cowers in the dark when faced with a challenge, so instead, please accept my gift in all of its meanings and take from it what you will.
I would, however, like to draw your attention, though, to the fact that I have “manned” up to most of the invitations that you have given to me over the years, whether it was STP, mountain bike racing or the day that I kicked your rear-end up and down Mt. Rainier (didn’t we hook a bungie cord to your bike at one point when you started crying?). Yes, I have been there whether I had the training time and a garage full of shiny new equipment or not. Can you say the same?
I’m not sure whether it will be the Leadville 100 or some other event, but I assure you that there is a challenge that is right for me, willing and able, and for you, so far unwilling and unable. I hope you will consider this as you gaze upon your new friend. Go ahead, give him a squeeze, and take an assessment of your manhood.
You know where to find me.
Gentle readers, you will be happy to know that this challenge did work its magic on PW and he agreed to enter the lottery for the 2007 Leadville 100. There was a suggestion that the lottery might not be an exclusively mechanical process; in other words a plea to the race organizers might help us grease the skids through lottery and it might be a bit more likely that we would get a chance to race. Keep in mind, that at this point the Leadville 100 was still a semi-known race and its registration was about 400 people in 2006, which ultimately expanded to about 650 riders in 2007 (there were almost 1,800 riders accepted into the race in 2010). In other words, this was prior to the "Lance" explosion. The following is the letter I sent to the organizers along with our printed registration forms,
PLEADING AND/OR BEGGING MEMORANDUM
TO: LEADVILLE 100 IMPARTIAL LOTTERY SELECTORS
FROM: Rider 3
SUBJECT:LEADVILLE 100 ENTRY
DATE: JANUARY 15, 2007
Dear Sir or Madam Selector:
I would like to introduce myself and my friend PW. I am a 40-year old, happily married, recovering attorney and brewery owner. My friend is a 41-year old, with an exceedingly understanding wife, who has the luckiest career trajectory known-to-man and is currently a corporate executive. We desperately want to ride the Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race. I am hopeful that upon contemplation of my story, you will give our application special consideration.
My friend PW has introduced me to the most important things in my life (after my wife and children, of course): Beer and Bicycling. PW and I met at the University of Washington where we both were rowers on the crew team. Rowers tend to hang out together to moderate the late nights and various excesses of college which would otherwise impede our ability to meet our training obligations. This meant that we had the opportunity to spend a lot of time together and we were forced into a rather monastic lifestyle that enabled us to greet the dawn each morning in an athletic frenzy.
We were rowing and living in Seattle at the beginning of the birth of the microbrew revolution. Rather than focus on purchasing beer primarily for “quantity” the way many of our friends did (giving birth to appreciation for “animal” beer), we tried to focus on “quality.” We would pool our meager funds and purchase single bottles of anything that we could find that we had not drunk before or we would buy as many of a single style or a single country’s beers as we could afford. It added some interest to our beer drinking and buying more expensive beer limited the amount we drank in an evening before getting up to row the next morning. Influenced by this and the re-birth of microbrews in the United States, I developed an unhealthy obsession with good beer. This eventually led to me giving up a reasonably lucrative career as a lawyer and turning my attention to a microbrewery in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. My wife insists that we bought the brewery to lower our monthly expenditure on beer. It didn’t work. If anything, it has gotten worse. I recently based my entire perception of a kitchen remodel around the creation of a space for a keg cooler so I could have my precious draft beer on tap every day of the year. Although we could debate the concept of man’s free will, whenever I look at what my life has become, I believe PW must accept part of the blame.
In a similar vein, as we ended our freshmen year of rowing, the crew-house discussions turned to summer fitness routines. There were various strategies and plans for being better rowers the following year, but PW was the emissary of cycling. He preached the benefits and joy of riding a bicycle and pushed us to recognize the beauty and misery of this largely European sport and niche hobby. I embraced this vision for summer-time training and it evolved over a number of years to virtually subsume all of my other hobbies except drinking. My children’s college fund has been spent on a basement full of bikes and gear, my golf clubs languish, my tennis rackets haven’t been used for anything but sword fighting in years and my ski day is usually limited by getting in some time on the trainer before or after.
Now, at this point in the story, you are undoubtedly wondering what this has to do with you or the Leadville 100. Well, I’m not sure, but it seems relevant to understanding how important this is to us.
Over the years, PW and I have not lived within 200 miles of each other since college, however, that has not stopped us from joining forces to take on numerous absurd and difficult challenges. These have primarily been on bikes, but have also involved ski trips and once, picking up a car in Southern California Saturday mid-morning, extensive (and I mean extensive) sampling at the Sierra Nevada Brewing Company in Chico, California, where we spent Saturday night, and still getting back to our respective homes in Seattle and Spokane by Sunday evening. Maybe not wise, but memorable.
We have also completed the Seattle-to-Portland bike ride in one-day (206 miles) on three occasions, done some road bike and mountain bike racing together and have generally challenged ourselves in a myriad of ways on bikes. Over the last couple of years though, we have had more work duties and family duties and obstructions to our training, racing, riding and other get-togethers. We also each faced our 40th birthdays. One of these factors caused us to have the following e-mail exchange starting last fall:
Rider 3: I know you know about the Leadville 100, but have you read about the TransRockies Challenge? It’s a week-long, two-person mountain bike race in the Canadian Rockies with thousands of feet of elevation climbs. We should either sign up for that or for the Leadville 100. Check out the websites and let me know what you think.
No response from PW.
R3: PW, we have to pick a mammoth ride for next year so we force ourselves to train for it and we get something on the schedule so another year doesn’t go by without an epic event.
PW: What have you got in mind?
R3: How about the TransRockies Challenge or the Leadville 100?
PW: Okay, I’ll do one of those next year if you will ride the entire course of the Iron Horse Trail with me this fall.
R3: I’ll ride it, but only if we do it in one-day each way and camp in-between. [Ed. Note: It’s about 115 miles each way.]
PW: I’ll do it on one-day each way, but only if we do it on single-speed bikes.
R3: I’ll do it on single-speeds, but only if they are Felt MP’s cruisers with dyno-charger lights and racks to carry all of our gear.
PW: I’ll buy a Felt MP cruiser, but only if we start from my house and ride the 40-miles to the trail.
R3: I’ll ride from your house, but only if we take a bottle of tequila and we drink a shot every hour we are on the trail or until the bottle is dry.
PW: We got a deal.
Unfortunately, this conversation started late enough in the year that we were not able to find a free weekend before snow covered the trail.
Suppressing the disappointment of this aborted ride, I decided I needed to exhort PW to agree to a ride in 2007. By the time this was coming around, the 2007 TransRockies Challenge was filled, but the Mother of All Epic Mountain Bike Rides was still a possibility: Leadville 100. Knowing that his promotion, his MBA night classes, his two daughters and his neighborhood which apparently requires four social events per week, was already taking up much of his time, I decided serious action was required. In early December, I sent PW the enclosed note, entitled “Manhood Memorandum”, and enclosed a “rubber chicken” which, when squeezed, expelled a gelatinous egg that is sucked back into its interior when released. [Ed. Note: I have enclosed an example for your consideration.]
Yes, I “called him out.” And, succumbing to peer pressure and the questioning of his manhood, it worked. PW agreed to accept the challenge and we have now focused our efforts and training on being ready for the 100-mile, high-altitude challenge of the Leadville 100. We know it’s long, we know it’s vertical, we know the air is thin, but what we don’t know is; is it tough enough? We hope to be on the starting line sucking the limited amount of oxygen out of the 10,000+ ft. altitude air to find out how tough the ride is and, more importantly, how tough a couple of aging beer-drinking bike riders still are.
Thank you for considering our application.
Also, if we get in, I’ll bring cases of beer for the Leadville 100 staff to show our appreciation.
Yes, I was trying to entertain the organizers and ensure an entry into the race. PW and I got in and we showed up on the line in 2007. What happened? Tune in for Part 2.
If you will indulge me in the longest blog entry I have ever written, I will relate the tale. I will break it into parts, but here is the introduction.
During college, as I have mentioned, I was a rower for the University of Washington. Being a rower on a team like the one at UW is a rather significant commitment. At one point, I realized that I was involved in rowing, whether actually on the water or in a weight room or running stairs or whatever, for more than 40 hours per week. I was obviously attending to my studies in the time I could carve out from my rowing, but it was really my primary focus and not just on the six days a week I was plying my "trade." During this time, I developed a few close friendships and in particular, I spent a lot of time with two people who have proved to be lifelong friends, PW and BP. During the part of the year in which we were to be in the weight room in the morning, instead of on the water, I would lift weights with these two gentlemen. We would also run together (or as I called them then, going for a "trudge" instead of a run) and otherwise support each other as we were seemingly intent on beating our brains out in the process of earning our seats in the boats.
As our first year was ending, our coaches exhorted us to keep in shape over the summer so that we were ready to start again in the fall. PW, for reasons that can be detailed another time, had spent time in Germany and had become exposed to professional cycling. As such, during the year he had shared cycling magazines and been trying to convince me that really my life would be much improved by purchasing a "ten speed" bike, as we called them then, and riding my summer away. PW also encouraged me in another pursuit which would come to equally dominate my life, beer, but that story shall also be saved for another day.
In any case, I bought my first road bike in 1984 and have been riding ever since. In some of those years I rode more and in some years I rode less, but I have been cycling now for 26 summers. During those summers, I rode my bike with BP and with PW (Riding with BP reminds me of one summer cruise up Bogus Basin road, in which I traded bikes with BP because he was doing more running than cycling and had a straight block on his Bianchi which was proving to be more gear than was reasonable on the trip up). Anyway, a lot of summer riding was done with PW, as well as some other adventures.
Well, along the way, PW and I both developed a serious case of adulthood, including all the usual symptoms including wives, children, mortgages and jobs with actual and developing responsibilities. As such, our summer riding and various other shenanigans fell to the wayside. Oh sure, we still got together and drank beer, but it just wasn't the same. So, come the winter of 2006, I got the idea that we needed to pick an adventure and get out to do something. To this end, I decided to issue a challenge to PW; a challenge to pick an adventure with me and commit to it for 2007.
At this point in the story, maybe I should leave it to the contemporaneous documents. Forthwith is the "Manhood Challenge" I sent to PW. It should be noted that I sent with this note a sickly looking rubber chicken that when squeezed would emit a gelatinous egg from its posterior.
MANHOOD MEMORANDUM
TO: PW
FROM: Rider 3
SUBJECT:CHRISTMAS GIFT / CHALLENGE
DATE: 12 / 7 / 2006
PW – Our traditional Christmas card, complete with adorable picture of the boys and glowing assessment of the family triumphs, will be arriving soon. Before that, however, I wanted to pass along a little christmas gift to you as both a reminder of our friendship and the value upon which I place on it, and a statement about your willingness to embrace an athletic challenge for 2007.
I don’t directly want to call you a chicken, or a coward, or yellow-bellied, or weak, or fearful, or spineless, or craven, or draw comparisons to your character with a worthless wastrel who cowers in the dark when faced with a challenge, so instead, please accept my gift in all of its meanings and take from it what you will.
I would, however, like to draw your attention, though, to the fact that I have “manned” up to most of the invitations that you have given to me over the years, whether it was STP, mountain bike racing or the day that I kicked your rear-end up and down Mt. Rainier (didn’t we hook a bungie cord to your bike at one point when you started crying?). Yes, I have been there whether I had the training time and a garage full of shiny new equipment or not. Can you say the same?
I’m not sure whether it will be the Leadville 100 or some other event, but I assure you that there is a challenge that is right for me, willing and able, and for you, so far unwilling and unable. I hope you will consider this as you gaze upon your new friend. Go ahead, give him a squeeze, and take an assessment of your manhood.
You know where to find me.
Gentle readers, you will be happy to know that this challenge did work its magic on PW and he agreed to enter the lottery for the 2007 Leadville 100. There was a suggestion that the lottery might not be an exclusively mechanical process; in other words a plea to the race organizers might help us grease the skids through lottery and it might be a bit more likely that we would get a chance to race. Keep in mind, that at this point the Leadville 100 was still a semi-known race and its registration was about 400 people in 2006, which ultimately expanded to about 650 riders in 2007 (there were almost 1,800 riders accepted into the race in 2010). In other words, this was prior to the "Lance" explosion. The following is the letter I sent to the organizers along with our printed registration forms,
PLEADING AND/OR BEGGING MEMORANDUM
TO: LEADVILLE 100 IMPARTIAL LOTTERY SELECTORS
FROM: Rider 3
SUBJECT:LEADVILLE 100 ENTRY
DATE: JANUARY 15, 2007
Dear Sir or Madam Selector:
I would like to introduce myself and my friend PW. I am a 40-year old, happily married, recovering attorney and brewery owner. My friend is a 41-year old, with an exceedingly understanding wife, who has the luckiest career trajectory known-to-man and is currently a corporate executive. We desperately want to ride the Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race. I am hopeful that upon contemplation of my story, you will give our application special consideration.
My friend PW has introduced me to the most important things in my life (after my wife and children, of course): Beer and Bicycling. PW and I met at the University of Washington where we both were rowers on the crew team. Rowers tend to hang out together to moderate the late nights and various excesses of college which would otherwise impede our ability to meet our training obligations. This meant that we had the opportunity to spend a lot of time together and we were forced into a rather monastic lifestyle that enabled us to greet the dawn each morning in an athletic frenzy.
We were rowing and living in Seattle at the beginning of the birth of the microbrew revolution. Rather than focus on purchasing beer primarily for “quantity” the way many of our friends did (giving birth to appreciation for “animal” beer), we tried to focus on “quality.” We would pool our meager funds and purchase single bottles of anything that we could find that we had not drunk before or we would buy as many of a single style or a single country’s beers as we could afford. It added some interest to our beer drinking and buying more expensive beer limited the amount we drank in an evening before getting up to row the next morning. Influenced by this and the re-birth of microbrews in the United States, I developed an unhealthy obsession with good beer. This eventually led to me giving up a reasonably lucrative career as a lawyer and turning my attention to a microbrewery in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. My wife insists that we bought the brewery to lower our monthly expenditure on beer. It didn’t work. If anything, it has gotten worse. I recently based my entire perception of a kitchen remodel around the creation of a space for a keg cooler so I could have my precious draft beer on tap every day of the year. Although we could debate the concept of man’s free will, whenever I look at what my life has become, I believe PW must accept part of the blame.
In a similar vein, as we ended our freshmen year of rowing, the crew-house discussions turned to summer fitness routines. There were various strategies and plans for being better rowers the following year, but PW was the emissary of cycling. He preached the benefits and joy of riding a bicycle and pushed us to recognize the beauty and misery of this largely European sport and niche hobby. I embraced this vision for summer-time training and it evolved over a number of years to virtually subsume all of my other hobbies except drinking. My children’s college fund has been spent on a basement full of bikes and gear, my golf clubs languish, my tennis rackets haven’t been used for anything but sword fighting in years and my ski day is usually limited by getting in some time on the trainer before or after.
Now, at this point in the story, you are undoubtedly wondering what this has to do with you or the Leadville 100. Well, I’m not sure, but it seems relevant to understanding how important this is to us.
Over the years, PW and I have not lived within 200 miles of each other since college, however, that has not stopped us from joining forces to take on numerous absurd and difficult challenges. These have primarily been on bikes, but have also involved ski trips and once, picking up a car in Southern California Saturday mid-morning, extensive (and I mean extensive) sampling at the Sierra Nevada Brewing Company in Chico, California, where we spent Saturday night, and still getting back to our respective homes in Seattle and Spokane by Sunday evening. Maybe not wise, but memorable.
We have also completed the Seattle-to-Portland bike ride in one-day (206 miles) on three occasions, done some road bike and mountain bike racing together and have generally challenged ourselves in a myriad of ways on bikes. Over the last couple of years though, we have had more work duties and family duties and obstructions to our training, racing, riding and other get-togethers. We also each faced our 40th birthdays. One of these factors caused us to have the following e-mail exchange starting last fall:
Rider 3: I know you know about the Leadville 100, but have you read about the TransRockies Challenge? It’s a week-long, two-person mountain bike race in the Canadian Rockies with thousands of feet of elevation climbs. We should either sign up for that or for the Leadville 100. Check out the websites and let me know what you think.
No response from PW.
R3: PW, we have to pick a mammoth ride for next year so we force ourselves to train for it and we get something on the schedule so another year doesn’t go by without an epic event.
PW: What have you got in mind?
R3: How about the TransRockies Challenge or the Leadville 100?
PW: Okay, I’ll do one of those next year if you will ride the entire course of the Iron Horse Trail with me this fall.
R3: I’ll ride it, but only if we do it in one-day each way and camp in-between. [Ed. Note: It’s about 115 miles each way.]
PW: I’ll do it on one-day each way, but only if we do it on single-speed bikes.
R3: I’ll do it on single-speeds, but only if they are Felt MP’s cruisers with dyno-charger lights and racks to carry all of our gear.
PW: I’ll buy a Felt MP cruiser, but only if we start from my house and ride the 40-miles to the trail.
R3: I’ll ride from your house, but only if we take a bottle of tequila and we drink a shot every hour we are on the trail or until the bottle is dry.
PW: We got a deal.
Unfortunately, this conversation started late enough in the year that we were not able to find a free weekend before snow covered the trail.
Suppressing the disappointment of this aborted ride, I decided I needed to exhort PW to agree to a ride in 2007. By the time this was coming around, the 2007 TransRockies Challenge was filled, but the Mother of All Epic Mountain Bike Rides was still a possibility: Leadville 100. Knowing that his promotion, his MBA night classes, his two daughters and his neighborhood which apparently requires four social events per week, was already taking up much of his time, I decided serious action was required. In early December, I sent PW the enclosed note, entitled “Manhood Memorandum”, and enclosed a “rubber chicken” which, when squeezed, expelled a gelatinous egg that is sucked back into its interior when released. [Ed. Note: I have enclosed an example for your consideration.]
Yes, I “called him out.” And, succumbing to peer pressure and the questioning of his manhood, it worked. PW agreed to accept the challenge and we have now focused our efforts and training on being ready for the 100-mile, high-altitude challenge of the Leadville 100. We know it’s long, we know it’s vertical, we know the air is thin, but what we don’t know is; is it tough enough? We hope to be on the starting line sucking the limited amount of oxygen out of the 10,000+ ft. altitude air to find out how tough the ride is and, more importantly, how tough a couple of aging beer-drinking bike riders still are.
Thank you for considering our application.
Also, if we get in, I’ll bring cases of beer for the Leadville 100 staff to show our appreciation.
Yes, I was trying to entertain the organizers and ensure an entry into the race. PW and I got in and we showed up on the line in 2007. What happened? Tune in for Part 2.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A rare race report
For those of you that follow our little blog, you may have picked up by now that I've had a less than stellar year of race results. The main reason for this, one could argue, is that I've started so few races.
So when I showed up yesterday at Liberty High School in the booming metropolis of Sprague, Washington, here's how I was greeted by another racer.
"Hey, how's it going? Haven't seen you out here in a while."
"Yes, well I haven't raced much lately."
"Been riding though? Tonight should be super fast."
"No, I'm kind of coming off of a three month rest block. So I should be nice and fresh."
"Seriously?"
Of course I wasn't being serious. Except for the three months part. I've had occasional rides, but nothing structured. Or particularly hard, save for some mountain bike rides where I had no choice. It's hard to go easy on a 25 minute climb.
So, I toed the line last night with a bit of, what? Foreboding? Fear? Not looking forward to tasting my stomach bile? Yes, yes, and yes.
In fact the race that our friends at Spokane Rocket Velo put on was outstanding. Super-fun course around the hills of the Palouse. Yes, it was all big ring. But who says going uphill in your big ring is easy?
Attacks started right from the gun, with Gabe Varela leading us through the "neutral" zone at 30 mph. You think I'm kidding? I'm not. It was fast enough that I forgot to start my Garmin unit, instead preferring to focus on things like, oh I don't know, breathing. And while I stayed among the front few guys early on, when I took a peek over my shoulder there were more than a handful of guys off the back, never to be seen again.
The race was fun though. In a whips and chains kind of way. A break went right from the gun, but unlike races earlier this season, the pack actually chased. We caught the break of Varela and Mike Gaertner about half-way through the 30 mile loop. For kicks I even took a few turns.
From there a flurry of doomed attacks went off and came back, until about 7K to go, when Gabe again lit it up. A tired pack hesitated, he opened a gap, and despite Rocket Velo's best efforts, Gabe only put more time on the group.
The finish was an uphill sprint. I actually felt OK going into it, but I unfortunately thought it would be good to lead out early. On an uphill sprint. You know, uphill, as in unless you're Andre Greipel, you're not going to do well by going early. Head and legs win races. I evidently had neither.
Oh well. I finished 10th or so. The results aren't posted, and even though there were maybe 35 or 40 people in the race, my guess is that I was far enough back that I won't make the results.
I also owe another racer an apology. Maybe. Although I consider myself a relatively smooth, and considerate, rider in the bunch, I had some feedback after the sprint alleging that I closed the door on said competitor (link). That is, I drifted from one side of the road towards something farther to the right, when I led out the sprint, making it impossible for him to get past me. Generally this is an unkind, unsafe and somewhat illegal maneuver.
For a drastic example of this, thankfully also without a crash as a result, here's a video to show what I mean.
If this indeed happened, my apologies. Although the race was held on a Tuesday, I certainly don't consider it the Tuesday Night World Championships. I really enjoy keeping my body and bike, and others bodies and bikes, in one piece. Especially when I'm sprinting for 8th place, or whatever.
Anyway, now that I have that off of my chest I feel better.
So overall, re-entry into the racing world could have been worse. And what a fantastic course. I absolutely loved it. Lumpy, fast, no traffic, good times. Although average speed in a race is among the worst ways to judge how hard a race is, we still averaged about 26 mph. So no, we weren't soft pedalling.
And kudos to Gabe Varela. Here's to being the most talented guy in the region right now, and to winning a race the hard way. Solo, off the front, after driving a break for most of the race.
If you're interested, here's a link to my Garmin file from the race. To see the gory details, click on "view details" on the image.
And I hope some of you can make the Two Wheel Transit shop ride on Thursday. 5:30 p.m.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Mad Dash 8 Hour Race
On Saturday, May 29 I rode/raced just short of 8 hours at Riverside State Park at the 24 Hour Race. For some inexplicable reason, a week later on Sunday, June 6 I decided to ride the Mad Dash 8 Hour Race, solo category. The term "a glutton for punishment" comes to mind. Also, WTF? comes to mind. I can and should blame combination mountain biker and lawyer DD, but I have to admit he didn't have a gun to my head, just the repeated and subtle suggestion that it would help me get ready for riding the Leadville 100.
In the intervening week between the 24 Hour Race and the Mad Dash, due to weather and work, the only riding I did was the Team Two Wheel Shop Ride. Admittedly that was an easy pace, but I felt fine and did not have any particular sensation in my legs that made me think that pushing pedals was a bad idea. Instead, I waited until the 15 minutes before the Mad Dash to have those feelings.
The Mad Dash race has 4 hour and 8 hour categories, as well as solo and team categories. The race is held in Farragut State Park, which is about halfway between Coeur d'Alene and Sandpoint, Idaho. It is part of "Adventure Week" which includes a bunch of adventure races and mixed sport events. I usually abide by the "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything" rule, but I will mention a couple of things. The course and ride information on-line could be a lot better. I was looking for distance and elevation information, along with a map or profile. There was a map, but it didn't show the direction or much else information. Also, when you are speaking to a group of bikers heading off for 4-8 hours of riding it is not that pleasant to say something along the lines of "if you get off the course, it is your own damn fault and if you get killed crossing the highway it is your own damn fault and you all signed the death waiver, right?" So, anyway.
The race started at 8 am and was scheduled to end at 4 pm, or whenever you finished your last lap after 4 pm. The race started in the boat launch area so that we had a paved uphill climb to spread people out a bit before we hit the trails. The uphill on the road, which lasted about 3-4 minutes, went well for me. After that we hit trails larger than single track but not a road, and went uphill for another few minutes before leveling off at the elevation of the main road. This also went well for me. It was just after that, about 10 minutes into the ride that I realized that I was tired and my legs were a bit dead feeling. I knew that Combo Rider/Lawyer DD was just behind me so I waited, thinking that I could draft him a bit, learn the course and get into a reasonable pace for the lap.
Good idea, no execution from the legs.
Instead, I drafted DD for 90 seconds and then watched him ride away, the last time I would see him until we were standing at the finish line. At the time I thought to myself, "well, you haven't recovered completely from last Saturday, so take it easy and you will warm up and warm to the task at hand."
Good idea, no execution from the legs.
My first lap of the 7.5 mile course wasn't tragically slow, but it was a bit slow and a bit cautious. I had never ridden in Farragut State Park and despite the excellent course information and terrain knowledge provided by veteran park rider and nearby resident Jeanna Hofmeister, I wanted to get the feel of the place before I pushed too hard. This turned out to be a reasonable idea since one harmless and flat corner led straight to a ramp across a ditch, another lead to a very steep and large, round rock strewn descent, one entry to single track led to a sudden switchback and, as with any mountain bike course, there were a few surprises around the course.
I will take this brief intermission to say that Farragut State Park and Bayview are incredibly pretty areas. The hills rise straight up out of the water and the views are much more dramatic than most of the rest of Coeur d'Alene or Pend O'Reille lakes. The mountain biking is also good and less traveled than Riverside State Park. The trails are a bit less hard-packed, there are more long sections of single-track and there are fewer rock-garden sections. All in all, I was very happy to have the chance to check out the park and terrain. I sense a family camping trip this summer.
Anyway, back to the race. At the end of the second lap, which I'm reasonably sure was the fastest of the day up to this point, I got a flat. I got my flat in a deeply wooded part of the course that had a bunch of small tree roots and some rocks. It was the most technical part of the course, but the thing that interested me is that I am fairly sure our racing uncovered a buried hydroponic line. Didn't take the time to figure out if that was it for sure, or where it went, but every lap I looked for it and was intrigued at what it meant.
But enough about the course. What about my flat? Well, it was a all-air-gone-in-sixty-seconds flat. Or more like 5 seconds actually. And, metaphorically speaking, it was also the moment of my racing day deflating. Oh, I kept riding for another 5 1/2 hours, but no more racing. I was just tired. I had the legs and/or energy to keep pedaling, just not fast. My gut bothered me from the time I woke up and it didn't really get better until the next day, so it wasn't just nutrition being wrong since it started well before the race. So combining tired legs and a iffy gut, it wasn't a great day.
I was still moving along around noon when the rain started. It sprinkled for a while and then it started to rain in a serious fashion. Thankfully the temperature was not too low, but it did make the course quite tricky. When I am "racing" I don't mind charging through puddles and what not - the point is to go fast, right? But I was already miserably slow, so it seemed pointless to just get that much muddier and wetter to save two minutes on incredibly slow laps anyway. And, the mud at Farragut Park is specially designed to be the slickest damn mud I have ever encountered. My tire selection and pressure didn't help, but others I talked to agreed that the course just got harder and harder to ride because of the mud.
So, as I approached the start/finish area at 3 pm, having ridden 8 laps (59 miles +/-) in 7 hours (8.5 mph avg overall), I crossed the line and told the timer that I was done for the day. Interestingly, as I stood there talking about 5' from the finish line, it stopped raining. Don't worry, though, it wasn't enough to get me to start up again. I chatted with a couple of people and figured that DD would finishing a lap up on me soon, so I was going to cheer him on to his last lap, but instead he decided to call it a day also. I think it helped that he knew he was a lap ahead of me.
I didn't stay around for the awards after the race and instead headed home. That was my mistake, however, as I was surprised to learn later that I had placed 3rd in my age division. Funny, I thought there only two of us who started. No, I actually don't know how many started, but I strongly suspect it was three and if it was more than three, the only reason I got third is that I rode another lap or two in the rain while all of the sensible people got off the course and headed home. DD was nice enough to get my medal and mail it to me, so I am sitting here gazing at it and thinking that it is the least well-deserved prize since Floyd Landis stopped racing.
To sum up - Farragut State Park - Cool place to ride; Adventure Week Organization - Still needs improvement of logistics and attitude; My own race assessment - Too soon after my last 8 hour effort and not trained to do that; Third place medal - Woo Hoo!
Rider Three
In the intervening week between the 24 Hour Race and the Mad Dash, due to weather and work, the only riding I did was the Team Two Wheel Shop Ride. Admittedly that was an easy pace, but I felt fine and did not have any particular sensation in my legs that made me think that pushing pedals was a bad idea. Instead, I waited until the 15 minutes before the Mad Dash to have those feelings.
The Mad Dash race has 4 hour and 8 hour categories, as well as solo and team categories. The race is held in Farragut State Park, which is about halfway between Coeur d'Alene and Sandpoint, Idaho. It is part of "Adventure Week" which includes a bunch of adventure races and mixed sport events. I usually abide by the "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything" rule, but I will mention a couple of things. The course and ride information on-line could be a lot better. I was looking for distance and elevation information, along with a map or profile. There was a map, but it didn't show the direction or much else information. Also, when you are speaking to a group of bikers heading off for 4-8 hours of riding it is not that pleasant to say something along the lines of "if you get off the course, it is your own damn fault and if you get killed crossing the highway it is your own damn fault and you all signed the death waiver, right?" So, anyway.
The race started at 8 am and was scheduled to end at 4 pm, or whenever you finished your last lap after 4 pm. The race started in the boat launch area so that we had a paved uphill climb to spread people out a bit before we hit the trails. The uphill on the road, which lasted about 3-4 minutes, went well for me. After that we hit trails larger than single track but not a road, and went uphill for another few minutes before leveling off at the elevation of the main road. This also went well for me. It was just after that, about 10 minutes into the ride that I realized that I was tired and my legs were a bit dead feeling. I knew that Combo Rider/Lawyer DD was just behind me so I waited, thinking that I could draft him a bit, learn the course and get into a reasonable pace for the lap.
Good idea, no execution from the legs.
Instead, I drafted DD for 90 seconds and then watched him ride away, the last time I would see him until we were standing at the finish line. At the time I thought to myself, "well, you haven't recovered completely from last Saturday, so take it easy and you will warm up and warm to the task at hand."
Good idea, no execution from the legs.
My first lap of the 7.5 mile course wasn't tragically slow, but it was a bit slow and a bit cautious. I had never ridden in Farragut State Park and despite the excellent course information and terrain knowledge provided by veteran park rider and nearby resident Jeanna Hofmeister, I wanted to get the feel of the place before I pushed too hard. This turned out to be a reasonable idea since one harmless and flat corner led straight to a ramp across a ditch, another lead to a very steep and large, round rock strewn descent, one entry to single track led to a sudden switchback and, as with any mountain bike course, there were a few surprises around the course.
I will take this brief intermission to say that Farragut State Park and Bayview are incredibly pretty areas. The hills rise straight up out of the water and the views are much more dramatic than most of the rest of Coeur d'Alene or Pend O'Reille lakes. The mountain biking is also good and less traveled than Riverside State Park. The trails are a bit less hard-packed, there are more long sections of single-track and there are fewer rock-garden sections. All in all, I was very happy to have the chance to check out the park and terrain. I sense a family camping trip this summer.
Anyway, back to the race. At the end of the second lap, which I'm reasonably sure was the fastest of the day up to this point, I got a flat. I got my flat in a deeply wooded part of the course that had a bunch of small tree roots and some rocks. It was the most technical part of the course, but the thing that interested me is that I am fairly sure our racing uncovered a buried hydroponic line. Didn't take the time to figure out if that was it for sure, or where it went, but every lap I looked for it and was intrigued at what it meant.
But enough about the course. What about my flat? Well, it was a all-air-gone-in-sixty-seconds flat. Or more like 5 seconds actually. And, metaphorically speaking, it was also the moment of my racing day deflating. Oh, I kept riding for another 5 1/2 hours, but no more racing. I was just tired. I had the legs and/or energy to keep pedaling, just not fast. My gut bothered me from the time I woke up and it didn't really get better until the next day, so it wasn't just nutrition being wrong since it started well before the race. So combining tired legs and a iffy gut, it wasn't a great day.
I was still moving along around noon when the rain started. It sprinkled for a while and then it started to rain in a serious fashion. Thankfully the temperature was not too low, but it did make the course quite tricky. When I am "racing" I don't mind charging through puddles and what not - the point is to go fast, right? But I was already miserably slow, so it seemed pointless to just get that much muddier and wetter to save two minutes on incredibly slow laps anyway. And, the mud at Farragut Park is specially designed to be the slickest damn mud I have ever encountered. My tire selection and pressure didn't help, but others I talked to agreed that the course just got harder and harder to ride because of the mud.
So, as I approached the start/finish area at 3 pm, having ridden 8 laps (59 miles +/-) in 7 hours (8.5 mph avg overall), I crossed the line and told the timer that I was done for the day. Interestingly, as I stood there talking about 5' from the finish line, it stopped raining. Don't worry, though, it wasn't enough to get me to start up again. I chatted with a couple of people and figured that DD would finishing a lap up on me soon, so I was going to cheer him on to his last lap, but instead he decided to call it a day also. I think it helped that he knew he was a lap ahead of me.
I didn't stay around for the awards after the race and instead headed home. That was my mistake, however, as I was surprised to learn later that I had placed 3rd in my age division. Funny, I thought there only two of us who started. No, I actually don't know how many started, but I strongly suspect it was three and if it was more than three, the only reason I got third is that I rode another lap or two in the rain while all of the sensible people got off the course and headed home. DD was nice enough to get my medal and mail it to me, so I am sitting here gazing at it and thinking that it is the least well-deserved prize since Floyd Landis stopped racing.
To sum up - Farragut State Park - Cool place to ride; Adventure Week Organization - Still needs improvement of logistics and attitude; My own race assessment - Too soon after my last 8 hour effort and not trained to do that; Third place medal - Woo Hoo!
Rider Three
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
24 Hour Race
A few blog-worthy things have happened since my last post. I rode part of the 24 Hour Race, we had a Team Two Wheel Shop Ride and I rode the Mad Dash 8 Hour race. Two of these things also involved my new bike, a Gary Fisher Superfly. And despite all of this, I was not once accused of motorized doping. I guess I need to work on that.
So, without further ado (ado being a naturally occurring substance which I am too polite to discuss in this blog), here are some of these tales of these events in chronological order.
24 Hour Race
It was a cold and dark morning, with wind whipped clouds on the horizon . . . Not, actually, it wasn't. The 24 Hour Race, put on by the incomparable Wendy Bailey and Gino Liesicki (and lots of volunteers and helpers), is a mountain bike race held in Riverside State Park and which runs from noon Saturday until noon Sunday on Memorial Day weekend every year. This is the 11th year of the event, although I would have guessed it was 20 or more. This race can be done Solo, Single Speed Solo, or on teams of various sizes ranging from two to ten. This event has continued to grow and it attracts several hundred people who participate, volunteer and otherwise camp and hang out around the race course area starting on Friday before the race. All in all, it is a great event and any organizer who wants to understand how things should run should take the time to check out this event, from course set-up and marking (clear, obvious and safe), logistics and support (excellent) to food (all provided by Mark Starr and the David's Pizza Emergency Support Vehicle) This race is a lot of fun.
This is my second time participating, the first was in 2007. The same thing precipitated my involvement both times: Leadville 100. A subject for another time, but the point is that I am "training" for the Leadville 100 and it seemed in 2007 that riding/racing my mountain bike for many, many hours was a good idea. So, in 2007 I signed up for the solo division and rode from the start at noon until around 6 or 6.30 pm and then went home for the night and came back to ride two more laps in the morning prior to the Sunday noon cut-off. I had slightly more ambitious morning ride intentions, but it was my anniversary so breakfast with my wife of then 18 years seemed like a good idea.
So, this year when my Leadville 100 aspirations came up again, I thought a good long mountain bike race might be in order again. I recruited two stalwart souls to join me in our self-described "daylight division" and we once again set out with the pack at noon and rode until Wendy said we would have to have lights on in order to head back out. This year that meant stopping about 7.40 pm after 6 laps, or about 86 miles.
Lap 1 - This lap is the high-excitement-of-the-start lap, but also the lap with the g-damned Le Mans start, which means running "to" your bike the way car racers at Le Mans used to, except this involves an uphill out and back run. Now, I don't fault them for it, as it does a good job of separating the pack out so there isn't a crunch as people get out on the course, but damn it all, I ride a bike because I hate running, so starting out my bike race with my bike shoes and running 600 yards up and then down a hill is not my idea of entertainment. By the way, this is the only time I saw Stalwart Soul PK until after he had finished his 7th lap and we were all ready for a beer. The first lap is also the lap where everyone's adrenaline is pumping and the people on teams are laying tracks as fast as they can. It is hard when you are planning to do eight hours (and I can't imagine doing 24 hours) to just settle into your day-long pace and not get sucked into racing at their pace. This gets better as the day goes on because a couple of hours into the day I just didn't have what it would have taken to even try to keep up with some of the fast folks doing single laps at a time. Anyway, this lap went reasonably well and the results tell me that I was 2 min 45 sec behind PK and 1 min 20 sec behind PW, the other "Daylight Division" riders also training for Leadville. Since I lost this much time to them on the Le Mans start alone, this wasn't a bad beginning.
Lap 2 - This was the lap in which I had a flat. I have had a couple of pinch flats before and they tend to be quick deflation affairs. In this case, the air was slowly draining and I was able to make it back to the pit area before stopping. I did this because I had a spare tube and pump available and somehow it made sense to me. I lost more than 10 minutes on my comrades this lap, but not bad considering that I rode gingerly for the last part of the this lap and then changed my flat.
Lap 3 - The lap from hell. As I started up the hill that starts the 14.something mile course, I realized that I couldn't shift into the largest cog in the back (largest cog = smallest gear, does this make sense? Yes, but still). I attributed this to the banging through the prior lap's "rock garden" sections. By the way, I have had to switch to using the term "rock garden" exclusively as my wife objects to the term "baby heads" to describe the infant-noggin size rocks that inhabit portions of this trail. Anyway, new bike and cables that might still need adjusting, right, so I figured I would just drop down into the "granny gear" in the front (speaking of jargon, does anyone still use that term for the tiny chain-ring) and make due. While I rode this lap, however, I started feeling miserable. I was really dragging. I couldn't get up to speed on the flats, I was notably slower uphill and it all started to get to me mentally and physically. Also, my right knee started to get sore, which is not something that would normally bother me, even on a long, hard ride. About half way through the third lap I had mostly decided that I would just struggle through one more lap and call it day. I had started out with the goal of riding six laps (about 86 miles), but if four laps (57 miles) was all I could do, I needed to be realistic and re-think my fitness for Leadville.
The last section of this course has a fast downhill section and then flats, so I shifted into the smallest cog in back to take advantage of the speed and instead was greated with the chain dropping between the cog and the frame. Not good. Very kindly, Tom, the mechanic from Two Wheel Transit who had prep'd the bike for the race, told me that he would be racing that weekend and if I needed anything he told me where to look for him. Tom and his crew had cheered me on prior laps so I decided to stop by and was hoping that we was not out doing one of his incredibly fast laps and instead could help me get the bike shifting correctly.
Thankfully, Tom was sitting course-side and graciously offered to take a quick look at the bike. And, indeed, all it took was a quick look as he immediately noted that when I put the rear wheel back on after changing the flat, that I had done so without putting the part of the rear hub that fits into the drop-out on one side, so that it was sitting on the skewer on that side. This meant that it wouldn't shift correctly since the whole thing was pushed sideways. A few of you will have immediately tripped to the other issue. Yes, the rotor for the brake was also pushed sideways, so that it was firmly and solidly against the brake pad. Do you think this might have contributed to the feelings I was having on that lap? Yes, you are right. You are very perceptive. In fact, riding a 14+ mile lap with your brakes "on" is really a bad idea and it makes me ponder my relationship with reality. How could I have not noticed? How could I not have spun the wheel after it was back in the frame? I don't know the answer to either of these things, but I did a quick change on the tire and it was apparently at least 15 seconds too fast since I didn't check that.
I was really glad, however, that Tom was there and had offered to help. Don't know when I would have noticed otherwise. Maybe when the brake ignited something?
Lap 4 & 5 - At this point in the race, things are less distinct in my memory. The good news is that nothing traumatic happened and the bad news is that also probably indicates that I needed to eat and/or drink more to keep the brain sugar levels up. My legs were definitely feeling the impact of my idiotic brake-pad fiasco from lap 3 and it really took these two laps to work them out so they felt good again. My right knee stopped aching and just went back to feeling normally tired above and below it. Interestingly, my 5th lap of the day was 15 seconds faster than my 2nd lap of the day. I had to slow down and baby the corners on my 2nd lap as the tire was getting low, but still that indicates that I was doing all right even five laps and more than 70 miles into the race.
Lap 6 - I came into the pit area after Lap 5 and saw PW. I was feeling pretty good for being 6 1/2 hours into a mountain bike ride and I finally felt like the crampy/stressed feeling from Lap 3 was finally gone, so I was planning to get in a 6th lap and call it day just as lights were required to be mounted on your bike to continue on the course. PW was getting a piece of pizza so I grabbed some sandwich I had brought and we agreed to ride the last lap "together". You would think that this word has an agreed-upon usage in the English language, but that would indicate that you don't know PW. "Together" in this instance meant that I should ride slowly when he wanted to go slow and that at the end of the lap when he felt sparky and got around a couple of riders, I should just hope to see him after the finish line. Oh well, you wouldn't have friendships that lasted 25 years if you didn't overlook this type of behavior, right? Maybe it's good there weren't blogs 25 years ago.
Post Lap 6 - I felt remarkably good after riding around Riverside State Park for nearly 8 hours. I knew I would be sore the next day, and I was, but I wasn't in the shot/knackered/wasted category. I was just in the good old-fashioned tired category. I was also very, very fortunate that my pal Mark was right next to my pit area and he had some cold beer, Papa's Pale Ale from the Coeur d'Alene Brewing Company (brewed in honor of the Centennial of Father's Day which was founded in Spokane (Proof of this claim and places to get Papa's Pale Ale on tap - just click). It is hard to remember a time when a beer tasted so good and it felt so good to sit down. So, I sat a bit, had another beer and then PK (who had snuck in a 7th lap - putting him at an amazing 90 miles in 8 1/2 hours)(also, did you know the correct term is "sneaked" and that "snuck" is not actually a word?), PW and I headed to the Steam Plant Grill to meet my family, PW's daughter and to have a burger, another beer and an end to a great day.
Last thoughts - Solo - When you get your race number for your bike in the solo category, you also get a small tag to hang on your seat that says "Solo". This is so team racers give you some respect as they bomb past you on their fresher legs. Since I was only ever intending to ride 7-8 hours and almost every other Solo was there for 24 hours, I felt bad every time someone passed me or I went through the tent and got kudos for being a solo. People who stick it out 24 Hours do deserve recognition, so I felt guilty taking any of it from them. I will ask Gino and Wendy for a "Daylight Division" sticker to go on my Solo badge next time.
Women - Any male who thinks they are superior to women by dint of their equipment, should come out to a race like this. I saw women flying around all parts of this course, uphill/downhill/technical/flat/volunteering, who outclassed me at every point. There were solo women, team women and women on co-ed teams all dishing it out better than a lot of men, so guys, let's put aside the junior high attitude that all men are somehow better athletes or more hard-asses than all women, cause it just ain't true.
Finish - It was a great day and it is a fun race. I saw a lot of friends and was reminded of why I like Spokane so much. Tom gets a shout-out for being the mechanic who saved my day and Mark Starr at the David's Pizza truck deserves special mention for his food and logistical support.
It made me tired just to type this up. That's why it took so long.
Rider 3
So, without further ado (ado being a naturally occurring substance which I am too polite to discuss in this blog), here are some of these tales of these events in chronological order.
24 Hour Race
It was a cold and dark morning, with wind whipped clouds on the horizon . . . Not, actually, it wasn't. The 24 Hour Race, put on by the incomparable Wendy Bailey and Gino Liesicki (and lots of volunteers and helpers), is a mountain bike race held in Riverside State Park and which runs from noon Saturday until noon Sunday on Memorial Day weekend every year. This is the 11th year of the event, although I would have guessed it was 20 or more. This race can be done Solo, Single Speed Solo, or on teams of various sizes ranging from two to ten. This event has continued to grow and it attracts several hundred people who participate, volunteer and otherwise camp and hang out around the race course area starting on Friday before the race. All in all, it is a great event and any organizer who wants to understand how things should run should take the time to check out this event, from course set-up and marking (clear, obvious and safe), logistics and support (excellent) to food (all provided by Mark Starr and the David's Pizza Emergency Support Vehicle) This race is a lot of fun.
This is my second time participating, the first was in 2007. The same thing precipitated my involvement both times: Leadville 100. A subject for another time, but the point is that I am "training" for the Leadville 100 and it seemed in 2007 that riding/racing my mountain bike for many, many hours was a good idea. So, in 2007 I signed up for the solo division and rode from the start at noon until around 6 or 6.30 pm and then went home for the night and came back to ride two more laps in the morning prior to the Sunday noon cut-off. I had slightly more ambitious morning ride intentions, but it was my anniversary so breakfast with my wife of then 18 years seemed like a good idea.
So, this year when my Leadville 100 aspirations came up again, I thought a good long mountain bike race might be in order again. I recruited two stalwart souls to join me in our self-described "daylight division" and we once again set out with the pack at noon and rode until Wendy said we would have to have lights on in order to head back out. This year that meant stopping about 7.40 pm after 6 laps, or about 86 miles.
Lap 1 - This lap is the high-excitement-of-the-start lap, but also the lap with the g-damned Le Mans start, which means running "to" your bike the way car racers at Le Mans used to, except this involves an uphill out and back run. Now, I don't fault them for it, as it does a good job of separating the pack out so there isn't a crunch as people get out on the course, but damn it all, I ride a bike because I hate running, so starting out my bike race with my bike shoes and running 600 yards up and then down a hill is not my idea of entertainment. By the way, this is the only time I saw Stalwart Soul PK until after he had finished his 7th lap and we were all ready for a beer. The first lap is also the lap where everyone's adrenaline is pumping and the people on teams are laying tracks as fast as they can. It is hard when you are planning to do eight hours (and I can't imagine doing 24 hours) to just settle into your day-long pace and not get sucked into racing at their pace. This gets better as the day goes on because a couple of hours into the day I just didn't have what it would have taken to even try to keep up with some of the fast folks doing single laps at a time. Anyway, this lap went reasonably well and the results tell me that I was 2 min 45 sec behind PK and 1 min 20 sec behind PW, the other "Daylight Division" riders also training for Leadville. Since I lost this much time to them on the Le Mans start alone, this wasn't a bad beginning.
Lap 2 - This was the lap in which I had a flat. I have had a couple of pinch flats before and they tend to be quick deflation affairs. In this case, the air was slowly draining and I was able to make it back to the pit area before stopping. I did this because I had a spare tube and pump available and somehow it made sense to me. I lost more than 10 minutes on my comrades this lap, but not bad considering that I rode gingerly for the last part of the this lap and then changed my flat.
Lap 3 - The lap from hell. As I started up the hill that starts the 14.something mile course, I realized that I couldn't shift into the largest cog in the back (largest cog = smallest gear, does this make sense? Yes, but still). I attributed this to the banging through the prior lap's "rock garden" sections. By the way, I have had to switch to using the term "rock garden" exclusively as my wife objects to the term "baby heads" to describe the infant-noggin size rocks that inhabit portions of this trail. Anyway, new bike and cables that might still need adjusting, right, so I figured I would just drop down into the "granny gear" in the front (speaking of jargon, does anyone still use that term for the tiny chain-ring) and make due. While I rode this lap, however, I started feeling miserable. I was really dragging. I couldn't get up to speed on the flats, I was notably slower uphill and it all started to get to me mentally and physically. Also, my right knee started to get sore, which is not something that would normally bother me, even on a long, hard ride. About half way through the third lap I had mostly decided that I would just struggle through one more lap and call it day. I had started out with the goal of riding six laps (about 86 miles), but if four laps (57 miles) was all I could do, I needed to be realistic and re-think my fitness for Leadville.
The last section of this course has a fast downhill section and then flats, so I shifted into the smallest cog in back to take advantage of the speed and instead was greated with the chain dropping between the cog and the frame. Not good. Very kindly, Tom, the mechanic from Two Wheel Transit who had prep'd the bike for the race, told me that he would be racing that weekend and if I needed anything he told me where to look for him. Tom and his crew had cheered me on prior laps so I decided to stop by and was hoping that we was not out doing one of his incredibly fast laps and instead could help me get the bike shifting correctly.
Thankfully, Tom was sitting course-side and graciously offered to take a quick look at the bike. And, indeed, all it took was a quick look as he immediately noted that when I put the rear wheel back on after changing the flat, that I had done so without putting the part of the rear hub that fits into the drop-out on one side, so that it was sitting on the skewer on that side. This meant that it wouldn't shift correctly since the whole thing was pushed sideways. A few of you will have immediately tripped to the other issue. Yes, the rotor for the brake was also pushed sideways, so that it was firmly and solidly against the brake pad. Do you think this might have contributed to the feelings I was having on that lap? Yes, you are right. You are very perceptive. In fact, riding a 14+ mile lap with your brakes "on" is really a bad idea and it makes me ponder my relationship with reality. How could I have not noticed? How could I not have spun the wheel after it was back in the frame? I don't know the answer to either of these things, but I did a quick change on the tire and it was apparently at least 15 seconds too fast since I didn't check that.
I was really glad, however, that Tom was there and had offered to help. Don't know when I would have noticed otherwise. Maybe when the brake ignited something?
Lap 4 & 5 - At this point in the race, things are less distinct in my memory. The good news is that nothing traumatic happened and the bad news is that also probably indicates that I needed to eat and/or drink more to keep the brain sugar levels up. My legs were definitely feeling the impact of my idiotic brake-pad fiasco from lap 3 and it really took these two laps to work them out so they felt good again. My right knee stopped aching and just went back to feeling normally tired above and below it. Interestingly, my 5th lap of the day was 15 seconds faster than my 2nd lap of the day. I had to slow down and baby the corners on my 2nd lap as the tire was getting low, but still that indicates that I was doing all right even five laps and more than 70 miles into the race.
Lap 6 - I came into the pit area after Lap 5 and saw PW. I was feeling pretty good for being 6 1/2 hours into a mountain bike ride and I finally felt like the crampy/stressed feeling from Lap 3 was finally gone, so I was planning to get in a 6th lap and call it day just as lights were required to be mounted on your bike to continue on the course. PW was getting a piece of pizza so I grabbed some sandwich I had brought and we agreed to ride the last lap "together". You would think that this word has an agreed-upon usage in the English language, but that would indicate that you don't know PW. "Together" in this instance meant that I should ride slowly when he wanted to go slow and that at the end of the lap when he felt sparky and got around a couple of riders, I should just hope to see him after the finish line. Oh well, you wouldn't have friendships that lasted 25 years if you didn't overlook this type of behavior, right? Maybe it's good there weren't blogs 25 years ago.
Post Lap 6 - I felt remarkably good after riding around Riverside State Park for nearly 8 hours. I knew I would be sore the next day, and I was, but I wasn't in the shot/knackered/wasted category. I was just in the good old-fashioned tired category. I was also very, very fortunate that my pal Mark was right next to my pit area and he had some cold beer, Papa's Pale Ale from the Coeur d'Alene Brewing Company (brewed in honor of the Centennial of Father's Day which was founded in Spokane (Proof of this claim and places to get Papa's Pale Ale on tap - just click). It is hard to remember a time when a beer tasted so good and it felt so good to sit down. So, I sat a bit, had another beer and then PK (who had snuck in a 7th lap - putting him at an amazing 90 miles in 8 1/2 hours)(also, did you know the correct term is "sneaked" and that "snuck" is not actually a word?), PW and I headed to the Steam Plant Grill to meet my family, PW's daughter and to have a burger, another beer and an end to a great day.
Last thoughts - Solo - When you get your race number for your bike in the solo category, you also get a small tag to hang on your seat that says "Solo". This is so team racers give you some respect as they bomb past you on their fresher legs. Since I was only ever intending to ride 7-8 hours and almost every other Solo was there for 24 hours, I felt bad every time someone passed me or I went through the tent and got kudos for being a solo. People who stick it out 24 Hours do deserve recognition, so I felt guilty taking any of it from them. I will ask Gino and Wendy for a "Daylight Division" sticker to go on my Solo badge next time.
Women - Any male who thinks they are superior to women by dint of their equipment, should come out to a race like this. I saw women flying around all parts of this course, uphill/downhill/technical/flat/volunteering, who outclassed me at every point. There were solo women, team women and women on co-ed teams all dishing it out better than a lot of men, so guys, let's put aside the junior high attitude that all men are somehow better athletes or more hard-asses than all women, cause it just ain't true.
Finish - It was a great day and it is a fun race. I saw a lot of friends and was reminded of why I like Spokane so much. Tom gets a shout-out for being the mechanic who saved my day and Mark Starr at the David's Pizza truck deserves special mention for his food and logistical support.
It made me tired just to type this up. That's why it took so long.
Rider 3
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Say What? Version 2
It's been a long time since I could legitimately say or write these words: I won a bike race. I'm not talking about an imaginary Alpe d'Huez or a city limit sprint. No, I am referring to a real, live, honest-to-goodness race with more than three people.
Yes, it's hard for me to believe too. I texted Rider One with the news since I had to leave the race venue before his race was over and his voice mail response was, "Are you kidding?" I called back and left a message for him with some details and when he returned my call his first words were, "Are you kidding?" So, that would indicate that a) I am a kidder, I kid; and b) I am an unlikely winner of a bike race (at least in Rider One's eyes). And, to give him his due, it is hard for me to believe also.
I'm going to share a secret with you, though. I wasn't the fittest or strongest rider out there last night. No, this win was not a Fabian Cancellara/Tom Boonen show of strength. It was more of a Salvatore Commesso style bit of wily riding combined with some experience. That was particularly true when I won the night's prime. Oh, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Yes, I am pleased to report that I also won that (accidentally).
Would you like a moment-by-moment, corner-by-corner recap of the race?
Oh. You would prefer I keep it short. Okay, if you insist.
The race in question was the Baddlands Tuesday Night training race, this week held at the Spokane Raceway Park, and my win came in the "C" Pack. With all due respect to my fellow riders, my buddy PW ("Half Man-Mostly Weasel") says that winning a C Pack race is like winning an award for being the Tallest Midget in the Circus. Now that I think about it, though, my buddy PW is kind-of a pain in the arse, so let's ignore that perspective and focus on the nobility of the competition and effort, shall we?
The race was on the 2.5 mile road course that incorporates the drag strip. We raced clockwise, which means that the finish is a LONG slightly uphill drag into a head wind, while the back side of the course, which has an S-curve and a little elevation change, was mostly with a tail wind. The race was largely "negative", which means that no one really wants to work the race, work that was done was to shut down efforts rather than make them, and at times everyone was content to sit in no matter how slow the pack wound down.
This is all relevant to set up my prime win and race win. As the pack comes out of the last corner at the bottom of the course there is a very long way to the finish line. People who haven't raced out there or who can't control their race emotions ALWAYS start the rush for the line too early. With the prime, I had no intention of going for it, but after sitting on a few wheels that were all starting to sprint 400-500 meters too soon, a Vertical Earth racer came by (sorry, don't know his name) and got a gap. I jumped (or more like, crawled) up to his wheel with about 300 meters to go. He had already been sprinting into the headwind for at least 100, maybe 150 meters. Predictably, he slowed down. I sat on his wheel and looked around and realized that we had a gap. As he slowed more, I sat on his wheel. Then, I moved over and with 50 or so meters to go, while the guy who pulled me up there was spent, I accelerated (mildly) and easily won the prime.
I would feel worse for the guy I did this to, but I have also done exactly the same thing and led others to their victory, so my guess is that he will notice what happened and be much less likely to do the same thing again. Particularly since he did the same thing to help me win the race.
The finish a few laps later was similar. Someone "went" for it on the backside, the group started pulling him back, as we headed up the start of the drag strip to the finish line a number of riders sprinted way too early. I waited, jumped on wheels and stayed out of the wind. Finally, to my surprise, the same Vertical Earth guy got the gap and was hell-bent-for-leather for the finish. Unfortunately for him, he started too early again. I was on his wheel and Dave Simmons was on mine. A similar scenario played out where the VE dude went for it, started to fade, Dave went on my right and I went to the left. The VE dude moved around a bit, which caused a moment of worry, but we stayed apart and it became a drag race between the three of us with Dave and me having the advantage having stayed out of the wind. Dave got the early jump, but thankfully the finish line wasn't 10-20 meters sooner since I managed, somehow, to keep accelerating just enough to get a couple of wheels ahead of Dave. I think the VE guy hung on for third, but I'm not absolutely sure about that.
So, for the first time in a number of years, like maybe five, I won a bike race. Just like that.
It feels awesome.
A couple of race notes for anyone interested in racing better. First, figure out how far you can really sprint, which is usually in the 200-250 meter range, but could be more, but definitely can't be 400-500 meters. Second, a race with a lot of headwind takes more patience than one without (usually). Third, it is possible on a windy day for 3+ riders to get off the front, but unless your only goal is to keep the pack together, you might think about working your ass off if you get into a group of 3-5 with a gap of even a few seconds; 90 seconds of effort could put you into a smaller group where you are no longer competing for the top 20 spots, but instead the top 3-5 spots. And lastly, think about and maybe talk with your teammates about whether you want to chase down your own teammates when they try to get away. For some, a team jersey is just a jersey, and while no one in the A, B or C pack is on the way to the PRO's, we could try to think about and use team tactics a bit more to help our team and the quality of racing.
In conclusion, thanks to Baddlands for putting on the race and yes, I may only be the Tallest Midget at the Circus, but I am smiling from ear to ear about it.
Yes, it's hard for me to believe too. I texted Rider One with the news since I had to leave the race venue before his race was over and his voice mail response was, "Are you kidding?" I called back and left a message for him with some details and when he returned my call his first words were, "Are you kidding?" So, that would indicate that a) I am a kidder, I kid; and b) I am an unlikely winner of a bike race (at least in Rider One's eyes). And, to give him his due, it is hard for me to believe also.
I'm going to share a secret with you, though. I wasn't the fittest or strongest rider out there last night. No, this win was not a Fabian Cancellara/Tom Boonen show of strength. It was more of a Salvatore Commesso style bit of wily riding combined with some experience. That was particularly true when I won the night's prime. Oh, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Yes, I am pleased to report that I also won that (accidentally).
Would you like a moment-by-moment, corner-by-corner recap of the race?
Oh. You would prefer I keep it short. Okay, if you insist.
The race in question was the Baddlands Tuesday Night training race, this week held at the Spokane Raceway Park, and my win came in the "C" Pack. With all due respect to my fellow riders, my buddy PW ("Half Man-Mostly Weasel") says that winning a C Pack race is like winning an award for being the Tallest Midget in the Circus. Now that I think about it, though, my buddy PW is kind-of a pain in the arse, so let's ignore that perspective and focus on the nobility of the competition and effort, shall we?
The race was on the 2.5 mile road course that incorporates the drag strip. We raced clockwise, which means that the finish is a LONG slightly uphill drag into a head wind, while the back side of the course, which has an S-curve and a little elevation change, was mostly with a tail wind. The race was largely "negative", which means that no one really wants to work the race, work that was done was to shut down efforts rather than make them, and at times everyone was content to sit in no matter how slow the pack wound down.
This is all relevant to set up my prime win and race win. As the pack comes out of the last corner at the bottom of the course there is a very long way to the finish line. People who haven't raced out there or who can't control their race emotions ALWAYS start the rush for the line too early. With the prime, I had no intention of going for it, but after sitting on a few wheels that were all starting to sprint 400-500 meters too soon, a Vertical Earth racer came by (sorry, don't know his name) and got a gap. I jumped (or more like, crawled) up to his wheel with about 300 meters to go. He had already been sprinting into the headwind for at least 100, maybe 150 meters. Predictably, he slowed down. I sat on his wheel and looked around and realized that we had a gap. As he slowed more, I sat on his wheel. Then, I moved over and with 50 or so meters to go, while the guy who pulled me up there was spent, I accelerated (mildly) and easily won the prime.
I would feel worse for the guy I did this to, but I have also done exactly the same thing and led others to their victory, so my guess is that he will notice what happened and be much less likely to do the same thing again. Particularly since he did the same thing to help me win the race.
The finish a few laps later was similar. Someone "went" for it on the backside, the group started pulling him back, as we headed up the start of the drag strip to the finish line a number of riders sprinted way too early. I waited, jumped on wheels and stayed out of the wind. Finally, to my surprise, the same Vertical Earth guy got the gap and was hell-bent-for-leather for the finish. Unfortunately for him, he started too early again. I was on his wheel and Dave Simmons was on mine. A similar scenario played out where the VE dude went for it, started to fade, Dave went on my right and I went to the left. The VE dude moved around a bit, which caused a moment of worry, but we stayed apart and it became a drag race between the three of us with Dave and me having the advantage having stayed out of the wind. Dave got the early jump, but thankfully the finish line wasn't 10-20 meters sooner since I managed, somehow, to keep accelerating just enough to get a couple of wheels ahead of Dave. I think the VE guy hung on for third, but I'm not absolutely sure about that.
So, for the first time in a number of years, like maybe five, I won a bike race. Just like that.
It feels awesome.
A couple of race notes for anyone interested in racing better. First, figure out how far you can really sprint, which is usually in the 200-250 meter range, but could be more, but definitely can't be 400-500 meters. Second, a race with a lot of headwind takes more patience than one without (usually). Third, it is possible on a windy day for 3+ riders to get off the front, but unless your only goal is to keep the pack together, you might think about working your ass off if you get into a group of 3-5 with a gap of even a few seconds; 90 seconds of effort could put you into a smaller group where you are no longer competing for the top 20 spots, but instead the top 3-5 spots. And lastly, think about and maybe talk with your teammates about whether you want to chase down your own teammates when they try to get away. For some, a team jersey is just a jersey, and while no one in the A, B or C pack is on the way to the PRO's, we could try to think about and use team tactics a bit more to help our team and the quality of racing.
In conclusion, thanks to Baddlands for putting on the race and yes, I may only be the Tallest Midget at the Circus, but I am smiling from ear to ear about it.
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