Such is the case with my planning for this weekend’s Park City Point 2 Point race.

I’m excited to share my plan with you in great detail, because I think that whether you’re doing this race or another endurance mountain bike race in the future, my carefully-crafted plan should provide valuable guidance.

“But enough preamble!” I imagine those of you who use words like “preamble” saying. For the rest of you, I imagine you saying things like, “Get on with it, OK?”

I shall get on with it. Now.

My Plan, Revealed

Here, in short, is my plan:

I have no plan.

At first blush, I can see why you may think this is a not-very-good (i.e., bad) idea — to not have a plan for what is, after all, a 75ish mile race, with 14 thousandish feet of climbing, pretty much all on singletrack.

But I have my reasons. Here they are:

1. I have been busy. You may find this hard to believe, but I sometimes find it time-consuming to manage being a new husband, raising a largish pack of children, working a full-time job, training on the bike, doing cancer fundraisers, and writing hilarious things like what you are reading right now. If I had prioritized knowing a lot about this race, I’d know a lot about this race right now. Instead, I have prioritized pretty much everything else.
2. By the time I signed up, it was too late for me to get in better shape anyways. Until a few weeks ago — just before Leadville — I hadn’t planned to do the P2P anyway. This is mostly because I forgot to register until after registration was full. Which isn’t, perhaps, the noblest nor most compelling of reasons to not sign up for a race, but there you have it. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I found out that someone who had registered but couldn’t make it to the event, could transfer his registration. And suddenly, on a whim, I was registered for what is widely known as a brutally challenging race. Without any time to get any more prepared for it than I already am.
3. Nothing ever goes as I plan it, so why have a plan at all? I have always been an obsessive race planner. And then, when the race occurs, nothing ever happens the way I imagine it. This time, I have no idea what the race will be like (except that it will be long, climby, and singletracky). So while I can still count on a race day that is completely different than what I would expect, I at least won’t have spent several weeks fruitlessly imagining a race day that is nothing like what will actually happen. Very pragmatic of me, don’t you agree?

Things I Do Know

Of course, it’s not entirely accurate to say I know nothing at all about this race I’ll be doing in a couple of days. There are in fact a number of things I do know.

First and foremost, I know that I will be wearing my CarboRocket jersey. And not just because my good friend Brad — the owner / proprietor of CarboRocket — is sponsoring the event and is going to be in town racing.

Okay, that may actually be the reason. At least partially. But I think you’ll agree that it’s a good reason. Besides, Brad’s worn my jersey at a lot of races, I think it’s about time that I return the favor.

So, I know what I’m wearing. But that’s not all I know. I also know how many miles (78, I think) and how much climbing (14Kish) there is. I learned both of those things yesterday, when I was IM’ing with Dug, who is also doing the race, and who has prepared 8% more than I have.

I also know that The Runner will be crewing for me. Which is really nice of her.

Finally, I know my actual race strategy, which is the following:

1. Ride really hard. As if I were racing.
2. Walk when I can’t ride. As opposed to standing still, I guess.

Things I Do Not Know

My list of things I do not know is more extensive, and quite possibly problematic.

• I do not know the elevation profile. In my head though, it just goes up for 14,000 feet, and then goes down for 14,000 feet. That’s a pretty easy profile to keep in my head, so I’m going with it.
• I do not know whether I should ride using a camelbak or water bottles. I prefer riding with bottles, especially when riding my singlespeed (which I will be riding for this race). However, since this is a lot of singletrack and a lot of climbing, it could be really hard to find time to grab and drink from a bottle.
• I do not know the course. I understand it’s in Park City. Hence the name of the race. I haven’t pre-ridden any of it though. At least I don’t think I have.
• I do not know what time the race starts, or where or when any mandatory meetings are, or when I should pick up my racer packet, or where Lisa is supposed to meet me when she crews for me. I should probably find these things out pretty soon.
• I don’t know whether I’ve got a good gear selected. I used a 34 x 20 gear at Leadville, and that worked out great for me. And in fact, I’ve used a 34 x 20 on my Superfly SS since I’ve had it, and I’ve been happy with it. But I’ve got a twinge of doubt about riding a course this hard with a gear ratio this tall. But I’m not going to change it.
• I don’t know whether it’s a good idea for me to not have a suspension fork. I understand there will be an occasional bump on the course. I hope that’s just an unfounded rumor, though!
• I don’t know whether me doing this race at all is such a good idea. I don’t believe additional explanation of this point is necessary.

Oh, what am I worrying for? I’m sure everything will be just fine.

Right? Right?

But Shimano hasn’t said “no.” Shimano has said “yes,” and has provided an incredible amount of support and product as I try to find great incentives for all of you as you work to raise money in the fight against cancer.

And Intense Cycles hasn’t said “no,” either. They ponied up a frame for a top-of-the-line bike.

And Twin Six — an alternative cycling apparel company so good at seeming big and professional — hasn’t said “no” all year. They’ve been with me in more LiveStrong fundraisers than I can count, and they — pretty much every time — always give more than I ask them to.

These are all good companies, making good things, filled with good people. Thank them by supporting them, OK?

The Grand Prize Intense Spider 2 Winner

The winner of the Intense Spider 2, complete with his choice of the new 2011 Shimano XTR group, is Jim F:

Here’s what Jim had to say about himself when he learned he won this bike:

WOW, that’s awesome! My old mountain actually just started falling apart, this is perfect.

I am a 25 year old engineer working in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I started out riding mountain bikes on a local trail around a reservoir. Then I bought a used Giant OCR2 from craigslist to ride on the road. I think I will have to travel to some better trails to fully appreciate the Spider 2.

I donated in honor of my aunt who died from bone cancer a few years ago. It started out as breast cancer, then went onto remission for a year, then came back more aggressively as bone cancer. Thanks for all you do in the fight against cancer, I think it will/is making a difference.

Now, of course, the hard work begins for Jim. What color of frame should he go with: Raw, white, or green?   

And should he set the bike up with the Race version of Shimano’s new XTR group, or Trail?

Kinda fun to have to make those decisions. I’m sure that Jim will appreciate any suggestions you care to give him.

Congrats, Jim!

First Prize: Twin Six Shopping Spree

My good friends at Twin Six were good enough to make this contest extra-spicy by donating two $250 shopping sprees, which will make it possible for the winners to genuinely ride in style.

The first winner of this spree is Tommy F, who used psychic powers to somehow be aware that a genuinely useful message — i.e., he had won a $250 shopping spree from Twin Six — had been routed to his junk mail folder.

Which brings up something I’ve really been struggling with: do you have any idea how difficult it is to craft a “Congratulations, you’ve won a prize” email that doesn’t contain enough language to send it to junk mail folders?

It’s not easy. And evidently, I’m not succeeding (at least in this case) anyway.

Says Tommy:

I had to dig your message out of the [Junk E-Mail] folder in my Outlook. What does it know anyway? That may turn out to be my favorite folder from now on.

I’m becoming a big fan of Twin Six and I have ordered my third Team Fatty jersey in the last preorder.

I had a blast in Philly with Team Fatty. I told Philly Jen that since you couldn’t make it, she had a lot of pressure on her to make sure I had a good time and she delivered.

Hoping I can get to Austin!

The second person to win was none other than Noodle, the person we’ve all come to know and love not just for her incredible 100 Miles of Nowhere video, but for the fact that she’s been riding her bike across America to raise money with Team Fatty for the fight against cancer.

Here’s what Noodle had to say about winning:

Your email came in at exactly the same time as one telling me I’d reached my LIVESTRONG fundraising goal for Team Fatty. Shopping sprees are great, but that is better. Now I have to set my goal higher since I still have one month left on the road on my ride across America and I’d hate to waste this momentum.

It’s been very tough so far, what with the recovering from the broken wrist shizzle and not riding my bike for 9 weeks and then jumping in straight at the Appalachians. They are no joke. Also, not sure if you saw but my bike is tweeting as it goes. All for Team Fatty. :) http://yesiamprecious.com

Hope you are well, and congrats on not crashing at Leadville this year.

A little aside here: this is the first time, in all the contests I’ve run, that somebody I’ve “met” before has won something. (I put “met” in quotes because I’ve actually never met Noodle in person or talked with her on the phone or anything; I’ve just seen her video, read her blog, and think she’s triple-awesome.)

Congrats, Tommy and Noodle!

Second Prize: LiveStrong Jersey Signed by Lance, Levi, Bob Roll…and Me

The second prize in this contest is a LiveStrong jersey that’s been signed by three cycling celebrities: Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, and Bob Roll.

Check it out:

The winner of this jersey is Jen W, and she had this to say:

I hate to be needy, but I neeed one more thing. No jersey full of cycling bigshots signatures would be complete without your signature.

Sorry you couldn’t make Philly. It was a great time.

I am also — especially after reading Philly Jen’s incredible 2-part story (part 1 here, part 2 here) — really bummed I couldn’t make it to Philly for the LiveStrong Challenge. And to be honest, I felt kind of weird about signing a jersey that’s been signed by actual cycling champions, seeing as I am what is known, in technical cycling terms, as a “goofball.”

But OK:

Ugh, I still don’t feel good about that.

Still, congratulations, Jen!

We Are Not Done Yet

With three LiveStrong Challenges and two dream bike giveaways behind us, you’d think that we’d be close to the end of the year, cancer-fighting wise.

Well, we’re not. In fact, the biggest event and the biggest bike giveaway are still ahead of us.

I’m not going to tell you what the next bike will be (yet), but I will tell you that you will be excited about it. I’ll go a step further and say that I’m excited about it, in spite of the fact that — as administrator of the contest — people would probably take a dim view of me if I won it.

And the Austin LiveStrong Challenge — AKA Ride for the Roses — is the biggest event of the year. It’s the one that started it all, and it is huge.

So you’ve got a couple reasons to join Team Fatty Austin right now: because you might win a bike — remember, all the money you raise in your own LiveStrong Challenge account gets counted toward each bike giveaway — and because you’ll be helping in the fight against cancer.

And I think that by now it’s pretty obvious (based on the Seattle, San Jose, and Philly accounts from the Team Fatty Co-Captains) that Team Fatty is a pretty great group of folks to spend a weekend with, so if you can make it to Austin, we can pretty much guarantee you a great time.

So, why don’t you join Team Fatty right this second? And help us as we continue our fight against cancer. It’s fun, it’s important, and — who knows? — maybe you’ll win a dream bike.

That’s a huge amount of money, and I’m incredibly grateful to everyone who has either raised money or donate. Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

And now, on with part 2 of Philly Jenn’s LiveStrong Challenge saga. Read it, love it.

Sunday, 5:45am. Where is my head?

For some mysterious reason, I seem to be standing upright at this unfamiliar hour. The midnight snack of chips and salsa that I consumed shortly before falling asleep does not seem to be moving in an entirely synchronous fashion with the rest of me. It’s going to be a great day!

I am not yet kitted up for the day’s ride, since the Sleeping In Gear thing only applies to running outfits — bike shorts don’t really make comfortable pajamas. (I’m sure that fans of bib shorts would contend that I could bag plenty of Zzzzzzzzz while comfortably cossetted in the confines of a giant set of lycra overalls, but you don’t see any of them counting sheep in chamois, do you?)

Which means that once all the Fatties have assembled in the parking lot behind the hotel for the team rollout nearly an hour later, I have no idea where my helmet is. We pass the time by taking photos and applying sunscreen just as the first sprinkle of raindrops starts to fall. Someone offers me a spare brain bucket to accessorize the empty space between my ears. We take a group photo (note my uncovered head).

And then Jenni emerges from the hotel with my bashful headgear in tow, and the Fatties are finally on the road to the Livestrong ride.

As the long ribbon of the dozens of Team Fatty riders winds into the starting line area, we receive a big shoutout from the announcer. We split into our respective starting areas for the various ride distances, and wait for a surprisingly brief period of time — this year, the opening of the ride runs like clockwork.

Lance Armstrong shares a few words with the assembled crowd, Jessy Kyle sings yet another great rendition of the national anthem, and we are off.

The First Leg: Prepare to launch

This year, with no single team granted a position at the very front of the starting group, I take advantage of the opportunity to relax in the back of the first wave of riders. Though little can compare to last year’s sensation of being overtaken by more a thousand riders in the first five minutes on the road, I somehow manage to dig deep into my suitcase of courage and keep moving.

Bridge work in the middle of the initial 6-mile straightaway on Morris Road takes us on a brief detour, but soon enough we find ourselves riding on the quieter, more secluded network of rolling country roads that characterizes the heart of the course.

And what would a winding rural byway be without roadkill? Seven or eight miles into the course, I see riders ahead swerving to avoid a large, dark mass on the ground. As I draw closer, I notice that the lump in the road seems awfully…industrial. In a flash, I realize what it is.

A seatpost-mounted double bottle cage, better known in BikeSnobNYC parlance as a set of “butt rockets.”

(NOW you tell me. If I had known that those things actually came equipped with a launch button, I would have made them a part of my daily bike commute eons ago.)

Almost directly ahead of me, another rider barrels into the same concrete lip that doubtless sent the unfortunate double-bottle cage into eject mode. In what will become a recurring motif for the day, a Livestrong water bottle pops out of his frame-mounted cage and begins rolling forlornly across the road.

The rider who just lost his bottle abruptly brakes, and then starts rolling his bike directly backwards into the wave of oncoming riders. Without looking.

For once, I am grateful that I spent so much time playing Frogger back in the day.

I manage to pass through Bottle Rocket Canyon unscathed, and spend time riding with fellow Fatties Aaron, Lindsay, Drew, Jennie, and Ryan all the way through to the first Power Stop, where the rain begins sprinkling more forcefully.

I desperately need food. I’ve left the hotel without eating breakfast, trying to let my stomach settle and secure in the knowledge that the Livestrong Power Stops are all fully stocked with bars, gels, fresh fruit, energy drinks, and all manner of calorically dense edibles. While slowly starting to fuel up, I have the chance to chat with more Fatties. Standing with Ryan (from Hawaii), Philip (from Vancouver), and Jeff (who biked the 700+ miles from Louisville to take part in Livestrong Philly), I’m amazed by just how far Fatties will go to fight cancer.

The Second Leg: Stepping it up

I ride out with Ryan and we catch up with Jennie, who is rocking a pair of Converse sneakers and riding on platform pedals. The course starts to get a bit hillier, and the rain starts coming down more steadily. Ryan finds his hill legs and starts feeling more at ease on the course.

We begin seeing riders going past us in the opposite direction on the course, speedy people who have decided to turn around early in an attempt to beat the rain.

When we are about fifteen miles into the course, we see a large motorcycle on the opposite side of the road up ahead, followed by an enormous SUV. Behind the megamobile is a set of four riders, one of whom is sporting some World Champion stripes on his jersey. We wave as they zip by, and I start doing the math in my head:

(100-15) miles / 1.45 hours = WAY better breakfast than me

As we pull into the second Power Stop at Green Lane Park, the skies open up and we take shelter under the food tents. Joining us are Fatties Oscar and Nancy, and one of the historical re-enactors who make this stop a treat every year. The colonial-era celebrants come complete with fifes, drums, and historically correct costumes that make cyclists everywhere privately give thanks for the invention of synthetic fabrics.

The downpour gives “Ned Hector,” who goes by Noah in the 21st century, a chance to share his story with us. His wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer while she was carrying their child, and she passed away a month-and-a-half after giving birth. “But I have a beautiful 17-year-old daughter now,” he says, adding that the Livestrong ride is one the the events that is closest to his heart and one he cherishes supporting every year.

[greenLaneParkTent]

After hearing that, how can we not get out and ride a little harder, no matter how wet we might get?

The Third Leg: Going pear-shaped

We’ve given up on dodging the rain at this point, and we are getting thoroughly soaked. I remind myself that “triathlon” comes from the Greek for “peforming three different sports while sopping wet.” Besides, Clydesteve and the Seattle Fatties (where they serve up plenty of hail for Livestrong as a matter of course) will never let me live it down if I let a little precipitation put a damper on my plans.

When attempting to ride out of the way of a pileup and that sends another Livestrong bottle skittering towards me, I have to unclip and dismount when my line uphill is blocked by an oncoming car. This is the first of many cyclocross moments in the day; on the rain-slicked roads, I am happy indeed to be wearing rubber-soled shoes with recessed cleats.

Ryan and I continue along the 70/100-mile route, while Jennie takes the turnoff for the 45-mile route. Ryan and I go from having plenty of company to being almost alone once we decide to press forward for the longer route. “At least we’ll be able to say we rode further than the guy behind the SUV today,” I chirp.

The miles past Green Lane Park blur into one another. Ryan and I take turns waiting for one another along the way. There is dismounting. There is walking uphill. There is cramping. There is electrolyte ingestion. There is some relief.

The Ballad of the True Clyde

During one of our walking intervals, we cross paths with a big, strapping guy in his 20’s who has a photo of this little girl taped to his bib:

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/caracollins

For this fellow, a true Clydesdale packing 240-some pounds of pure muscle, the hill ascents are particularly unkind. He and Ryan and I ride together for a bit, then walk some more. Working to keep his momentum going, Ryan decides to continue ahead and I say that I’ll catch up with him at the next rest station.

I stick with the True Clyde as the cramping in his quadriceps gets more vicious. A triathlete and runner, he can’t believe how much his leg is seizing up on the bike, which it never does when he runs. I tell him it’s the exact same story for me. We keep moving forward. The climbs do not relent. We take it one step at a time.

I encourage him to take one of the extra energy bars I crammed into my jersey pocket at the last Power Stop.

Wet, tired, and hungry, when he bites into the bar he proclaims, “This tastes like one of God’s own apples.”

He asks how much farther we have until we reach the next Power Stop. I tell him I don’t know for sure, but that the stops are no more than 12-13 miles apart on the course, and we’re well over 11 miles out from the last stop. We press on; calling a SAG wagon is out of the question.

We approach the split for the 70/100 mile course at Dairy Lane, where by now the century course has been closed for hours. For the first time in what feels like forever, we see the colorful t-shirts of Livestrong volunteers. Knowing that he is safe and in good hands, I leave the True Clyde with the Livestrong folks at the turn and press onward.

Pedaling up Denial

I begin riding ahead, trying to speed up and reach the elusive third Power Stop. The miles start to rack up, with no other riders in sight. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…hunh?

With a left turn onto Forgedale Road, I am reunited with the quick and strong century riders who made it through the cutoff point before the longest course was closed early by rain. First I see one or two riding solo, then some riding in small groups and clusters.

The pavement is a bit rough, so I take my time going downhill in order to avoid cooking the descent. The longer I go downhill, the rougher the road feels. Gee, this pavement is bumpy! Fortunately, my brakes are completely solid.

My rear tire, however is not. It finally starts to shimmy ever so slightly, snapping me out of my denial. I slow, I stop, I turn, I pinch. Yeah, my rear tube is completely deflated and I’ve been riding on my rim. Ouch. Welcome to Team Flatty.

I open up my seatbag and get ready to do battle with my wheel, only to discover that I have levers, a tube, and a chuck for a CO2 cartridge — but no cartridge. My cartridges were confiscated at the airport when I flew down with only carry-on luggage for Livestrong Austin last year, and I completely forgot to replace them when I got home.

A passing rider generously gives me a spare cartridge (thanks!), and I return to gazing in despair at my rear wheel.

Then the cavalry arrives.

Fatties to the Rescue (the sequel)

In the blink of an eye, I am suddenly surrounded by Fatties: Tommy, Joel, and Doug (From Way Upstate NY) ride up, and a police officer pulls up behind me on his motorcycle to shield me from oncoming traffic. Fatties Jacqueline and Mike make sure we’re okay as they zoom past on their tandem. Tommy and Joel reassure passing riders that we’re all fine, and that I was just being pulled over for speeding.

Doug is my hero. In addition to being the Team Fatty grillmaster, he totally saves my bacon — efficiently swapping in a new tube AND defending the honor of my gently maligned cromoly frame by noting that he too is riding steel today. He even whips out a portable pump and inflates the new tube by hand. He makes a tough job — wrestling with Kevlar-laced tires and deep-V rims while perched at the edge of a guardrail on a turning descent — look easy and go quickly. That’s probably why his Clark Kent gig is being a professor of rocket science. Doug, you utterly rock. Thank you so much.

Back wheel restored, I roll with Tommy, Joel, and Doug until they deposit me at the next Power Stop at the Barto Firehouse…where Ryan is still waiting for me, nearly 17 miles and who knows how long after we left the previous stop at Green Lane Park.

By now, I am completely ravenous. I snarf down pasta salad, gorp, and several freshly picked local nectarines. I ask the bike mechanic at the stop to fill my rear tire back up to full pressure.

And then I brace myself to make do with the facilities.

The Room of Requirement

People who know me will tell you that I can be somewhat squeamish about the portaloo situation at rides and races. So imagine my reaction when I am face-to-face with this:

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present The Leaning Tower of Pee.

Even with my recessed-cleat, rubber-soled shoes, I am ricocheting around from the moment I step into the stalls. It’s like being in one of those carnival funhouses with the tilting floors…but pants-free! Or living in a barter economy, where it’s almost impossible to find purchase. Still, there’s plenty of TP (hmmm, wonder why), I cannot help but laugh aloud uncontrollably, and all’s well than ends (yet avoids upending) well.

The Final Leg: Life is sweet

By the time Ryan and I leave Barto, it’s well past 1pm, and we’re going to have to make better time if we don’t want to be pulled from the course. Ryan stays ahead of me most of the way forward. When I catch up with him at the next Power Stop, he tells me to go ahead and not worry about him catching up.

The rain begins falling in sheets and waves as I put my head down and ride, worried that I will be escorted off the course again like last year for being too pokey to cross the finish line by 4pm. It’s raining so hard that cautious, respectful drivers are giving every cyclist, even lone riders like me, wide and merciful berth.

Twenty miles out of Barto, I’m hungry again and starting to fade a bit. I reach into my back pocket, pull out a nectarine, and take a bite.

It tastes like God’s own nectar.

By the time I reach the final stop just ten miles from the finish, too drenched in the downpour to pause for anything more than downing an electrolyte tablet, I have acquired my own personal SAG vehicle. The support cars are gradually coming in off the course, and they’re tailing the few Livestrong riders that remain on the road.

The rain lets up as I return to Morris Road and the home stretch back to the finish line. I don’t know it at the time, but Ryan suffers a mechanical less than five miles from the finish, and is swept up by a SAG vehicle that declines to tweak his bike and release him in front of the finish line. He’s already plotting how he and his bike will take their revenge on the Livestrong course — and at least for today, Ryan still rode farther than that guy behind the SUV.

I reach Montgomery County Community College at 3:58pm. As I turn into the parking lot, I suddenly hear a big cheer: Maggi, Chris D, Jay, RayRay, and Kelli are all still gathered in the parking lot.

The volunteers, who by now have been waiting for several minutes between arrivals, actually shower me with rose petals. The Livestrong announcers have been at it nonstop since the crack of dawn. They give one more shout-out to Team Fatty.

I’m the last Fatty through the chute.

This story is only one of thousands out there during Livestrong Philly 2010. I was fortunate to be able to share stories with so many other wonderful people, and hope you’ll have the chance to do the same. Thanks to all the 2010 Philly Fatties for being such an amazing team.

Allez, Fatties, allez!

This year, Livestrong Philly became a three-day event, with the Livestrong Village opening up on Friday for packet pickup, the 5K/10K Walk/Run taking place on Saturday, and the cycling taking place on Sunday. From an official organizing standpoint, these changes were intended to enable participants to take part in both running and biking events, and also to help ease the traffic and hotel congestion that had plagued the Philadelphia event during the past several years.

At a micro level, what it actually meant was that the Philly Fatties had the chance to spend 50% more time scooping my butt out of the dunk tank of life.

Fortunately for me, when you need a helping hand, you can count on the Fatties — generously, resourcefully, and happily — to come to the rescue.

Friday: The Prologue Day

Witness the efforts of Maggi, Philly Fatty Extraordinaire. First, she was kind enough to come to my house and pick up me (the carless city dweller), my bike, and a big pile of random stuff early Friday afternoon. Then she laughingly elaborated on some of the more vibrant hues in the rainbow of colorful language as we sat snarled in traffic for over an hour, with good cheer and great gusto. And finally, after we walked into the first Starbucks that appeared immediately after exiting the freeway and I discovered to my horror that I had somehow left my cellphone and wallet back at my house, she calmly picked up the tab for the first bite of food I had eaten all day, loaned me her cellphone, and whisked my going-into-meltdown hiney first to registration packet pickup, and then off to the team hotel.

When we arrived there, we were greeted by Ryan, the Fatty who had brought himself (and his bike!) all the way from Hawaii to be a part of Livestrong Philly.

Maggi and I explained my discombobulated state, and the still-pressing need to prep for the following day’s Team Fatty Feed. Ryan uttered the magic words, “I can get us into Costco,” and we were off — me on a commuter train back to the city to salvage my electro-magnetic identity, Maggi and Ryan to Costco to round up provisions for dozens of hungry Fatties.

By the time I managed to get in and back out of Philadelphia, mass quantities of food had been purchased and stored, night had fallen, and everyone was ravenous: Maggi and Ryan, plus fellow Fatties Tommy (Ryan’s roommate, of http://www.24hoursforlivestrong.com fame, fresh off the drive up from Georgia) and Jennie (she of the mighty Pikachu-mobile).

They picked me up from the train station and we rolled into Ray’s, a nearby 24-hour diner-and-malt shop. Between us, I think we put away three milkshakes, over a dozen eggs, and something like a small farmhouse worth of other edibles. Though I could have sworn a tractor was required to haul me away by then, Maggi whisked all five of us back to the hotel in her magically capacious Honda Fit and dropped us off before making her way home.

Before crashing out for the night, I put in a pair of extended-wear contact lenses and donned my running clothes. Puzzled, Ryan asked why I had just gotten dressed before going to sleep. I explained that I was even more incoherent early in the morning than the sorry spectacle he had already witnessed that day, so it was easier to just wake up, throw on my running shoes (with their non-tying, elastic laces), and go. I insisted that sleeping in race-day clothes was a reasonable, even somewhat commonplace practice. After polling dozens of people on Twitter and finding that they were all just as surprised as he was, Ryan gently broke the news to me later in the weekend — I am a freak.

But at least the next morning I would be a freak with 20/20 visibility and socks on both my feet.

Saturday AM: Beginning A Day On The Run

Longtime readers of this site will know that the Fatty-In-Chief can knock out a marathon with about six weeks of training. The rest of us mere mortals have to work our way up to running greater distances over longer periods of time, and I needed to log a little over 14 miles of running on Saturday as part of the training plan for my first-ever marathon (Marines Corps! Ooo-rah!) at the end of October. I was hoping to run from the hotel to the starting area of the Livestrong 5K/10K, find the Fatties in the staging area, run the 10K, then run back to the hotel. Given the slow pace at which I was covering ground, this would mean I was MIA for much of the morning.

Which is where super Fatty Penina (who is actually quite petite), stepped in and took charge. Penina’s family, despite having absolutely zero fundraising requirements as walk/run participants, had collectively brought in a huge chunk of change for Team Fatty. On Saturday, Penina was armed with Fatty logo stickers for all everyone to wear, her daughters held up signs to help Fatties gather, and they were able to round up a big brace of Fatties for a group photo before the start — all while Penina was preparing to run her first-ever 10K. Hats off to the Scullion clan for Fattifying the Livestrong Walk/Run!

I made it to the staging area just in time to hear Jessy Kyle, a three-time Hodgkin’s lymphoma survivor, sing a stunning a cappella rendition of the national anthem.

Once they released us through the chute and we were on the gently winding course, I spotted Jennie and ran with her until we reached the point where the 5K and 10K courses split. The 10K course took us past some pleasantly landscaped and well-manicured neighborhoods, and even past some horse farms. When I saw the horses ambling around in their paddock, I imagined that we were having a dialogue about forward locomotion.

Me: I aspire to run like you, so gracefully and effortlessly. What is your secret?

Horses: O, little Clydesdale, it helps if your thighs do not touch.

For much of later part of the course, I ran with Julius, a friend of Maggi’s who was also participating in his first official 10K event. Julius told me about how he had recently taken up running, and how his training schedule was leading next to a half-marathon, then culminating in the Philly Marathon later this fall. We chatted about how our watch readouts compared to the mileage markers on the course, how eagerly we were looking forward to cooler weather, and just how much fun it was to be a newbie runner. Regular, mundane, everyday running stuff.

We didn’t know it then, but Julius’s life was about to take the kind of sudden turn that so many Livestrong participants know all too well. Maggi learned later in the weekend that Julius’s father had been hospitalized and would require emergency heart surgery; before the surgery could be performed, Julius’s father passed away early Monday afternoon. Maggi writes that Julius and his family are stunned and devastated. We ask that you keep them in your thoughts and prayers.

Saturday PM: Fatties, Fatties, Everywhere

After finishing the 10K, toodle-ing back to the hotel (toodle = the gear between jogging and running), and starting to feel the effects of being mildly underfueled, I was looking forward to lunch. Shortly before noon, Fatties started gathering around the grill area at the back of the team hotel. Through the magic of Fatmosis (a bunch of Fatties transporting a bunch of stuff), we soon had the makings of a full-on feed: Chips, dips, cookies, cheese, burgers, hot dogs, salad, sodapop. Christine made an emergency run down the street to help us fill in gaps in our shopping list (salad minus dressing equals “Not so much,”) and the hotel’s gas grill was manned by Doug, who kept everyone (vegetarians included!) in protein for the duration of the afternoon.

One of the highlights of the afternoon was the arrival of RayRay the Baker with this year’s cake from Cramer’s Bakery. It’s hard to imagine that last year’s cake could be equaled, but feast your eyes on this:

And here’s Ray, showing what he hath done:

And packed in every slice was the wonderful, double-decker chocolately goodness that we have come to know and love.

Jenni brought handmade hula hoops (JenniHoops!) in Team Fatty colors for us to take out on a whirl.

When it was all over, we had made serious inroads into the cake, but the salad was virtually untouched. Draw your own conclusions.

Later in the day, several Fatties drove in a caravan from the team hotel to the Fundraising Appreciation Dinner. Amid the hubbub of a cocktail hour and buffet dinner, one of the big highlights of my evening was having the chance to finally meet Marc Mandeville, who helmed M-Power to this year’s Team Champion Award, as well as meeting several warm, charming members of his family. Marc, a husband and father of three adorable young children who teaches here in the area at Episcopal Academy, was diagnosed with Stage IV colorectal cancer two-and-a-half years ago. He’s been fighting back on all cylinders, and managed to lead his team to victory this year even while he was undergoing a fresh round of treatment this spring and summer. M-Power was Team Fatty’s chief rival this season in Philadelphia, but only in the most positive sense: we brought out the best in each other. Marc exemplifies everything great about the Livestrong Challenge, and I look forward to him and his team spurring us on for seasons to come.

After dinner, the evening was emceed by John “College” Korioth, one of Lance Armstrong’s oldest friends. NFL linebacker and Travel Channel host Dhani Jones spoke with the crowd about how his life changed when his lifelong friend, Kunta Littlejohn, was diagnosed with cancer. Dhani started wearing bow ties to show his support during his friend Kunta’s cancer battle — and not only continued to wear them after Kunta was given a clear bill of health, but even founded his own neckwear line, Five Star Ties. The line includes a special golden bow tie, whose proceeds go to benefit Livestrong. You can see how dapper it looks on Kunta, Carlos (yes, THAT Carlos!), and Dhani:

There was also a Q&A session with Heidi Adams, Livestrong’s Director of Grassroots Engagement, and Lance Armstrong. Amid all the more serious topics they discussed, Lance did manage to share a brief anecdote about what it was like to be friends with College.

While the two of them were out golfing, Lance send a shot into the rough, and couldn’t seem to locate where it had landed. Exasperated, Lance turned to College and said, “Did you take my ball?”

“No,” College deadpanned. “Cancer took your ball.”

The evening closed with the screening of Team Fatty’s video for winning the Team Time Trial Award, the last of the four videos to be shown. See how many Fatties you can spot:

Then it was back to the hotel and waiting to show the video on DVD to the rest of the team. Curiously, only a couple of people showed up at Carlos’s hotel room, which we attributed to everyone’s desire for a full night’s sleep before a long day’s ride. Only when I quickly scanned my email the next morning did I discover that I had sent out an open invitation to the entire team to come see the video…with no viewing time listed. Doh!

Fatties are many wonderful things, but they are not psychic.

Otherwise, they would have known for certain what Sunday’s weather would bring…

– To Be Continued –

PS: If you haven’t entered the contest for the Intense Spider 2, outfitted with the brand-new Shimano XTR group of your choice (grand prize) — not to mention one of two $250 Twin Six shopping sprees (first prize) or a LiveStrong jersey autographed by Lance, Levi, and Bob Roll (second prize), you should go enter now. Find details on the grand prize here, and details on the other prizes here. Or you can just hop on over to my LiveStrong Challenge page and donate now.

Thanks, however, to the happy coincidence that all of our kids are late sleepers and The Runner and I are early risers, there was a beautiful little window in the morning where we were able to (on morning one) go for a nice three-hour mountain bike ride or (on morning two) on a ten mile trail run.

On each of these outings, we came across lots of other people — cyclists, runners, hikers — and each and every one of them were nice.

Well, each and every one of them . . . except one.

The Shrew

As we get into late August, trails start to show a little wear. They’re looser than at the beginning of the season, and any section with a meaningful grade is going to have at least a little dust on it.

Not enough to be a problem when riding, but probably enough to mean you need a few extra feet to stop.

The above is relevant to my story. Trust me.

So The Runner and I were on the Mid-Mountain trail, and after about 1500 feet of climbing, were enjoying rolling along the top. Along the way, each time we encountered a rider, an exchange like this would take place:

“How’s it going?”

“Good, you?”

“Awesome. Perfect riding day.”

“Yeah, for sure. Have a good ride.”

“Same to you.”

If the trail were wide enough (not common), this exchange (yes, this exact exchange, every single time) would happen without anyone stopping. Usually, though, whoever was going downhill would pull over to the side, letting the climber go by.

But then, one time, as we were descending around a corner, we came across a woman, climbing.

The Runner — who was in front of me — got over to the side and stopped. I got over to the side but — due to the (cleverly aforementioned) dirt on the trail, had not come to a complete stop by the time the woman climbed by.

Let me be clear: I was in the process of stopping, I had moved over to the side, and she had ample room to get by.

The woman said (as she rode by, unimpeded and without having to change her line in any way whatsoever), in a disgusted voice, “You’re supposed to stop and move over to the side to make room for people climbing.”

I was stunned. Speechless, momentarily. Flummoxed.

And then, when I had regained the ability to speak at all, it was only enough to make a weak reply.

“I was trying to.”

Time Passes

And that was the end of the exchange. She went on uphill, and we went on downhill. Every single other person we came across — cyclists, runners, hikers — did the “hey, how’s it going, have a good ride” exchange with us.

But I kept going over that moment with the snotty rider. And I kept getting madder and madder.

So, after half an hour, I told the Runner, “That woman got under my skin. I’m still pissed.”

“Me too,” said The Runner. And we agreed: we had moved over as soon as we had seen her, and had stopped as quickly as we could. The woman had been able to continue her climb completely unhindered.

She had simply been rude. And smug. Snotty, if you will.

Had we been in a big city, that kind of pissy in-your-face self-empowerment wouldn’t have bugged us. It would have been expected, even.

But this was on singletrack. And we were all mountain biking. And when I’m out mountain biking, I expect everyone to be cool. And that expectation is so very nearly universally met, when it isn’t, I’m thrown for a loop.

Yes, flummoxed.

How To Be Nice

So, for the one-in-one-thousand people who don’t intuitively grasp this, I’d like to now spell out what I believe has heretofore been the unspoken cardinal rule of mountain biking:

Be nice.

This rule, I believe, encompasses and supersedes all other rules of mountain biking. So yeah, descenders yield to climbers, because that’s the nice thing to do (because it’s easier to restart going downhill).

But climbers, be understanding if the descender can’t defy physics and stop on a dime.

When racing, if you’re going to pass someone, sure, say “On your left.” But how about saying, first: “How’s it going?”

Because that would be nice.

Don’t litter. Because that would not be nice.

Don’t poach trails. It’s not nice to steal.

If you see someone who needs help, help. That’s the nice thing to do.

And, basically, leave any corporate boardroom, big-city, in-your-face behaviors at home. You’re on a bike now. In the mountains. On a trail.

So just be nice.

PS: As an example of “How to be Nice,” check out the email I got from Liz C yesterday afternoon:

Team Fatty,

I did the Livestrong Challenge in Philly this past weekend…was supposed to do the century but got diverted to the 70m mile course. However, about mile 30, right on a steep climb I got a flat tire. About that time the skies opened up with pouring, pounding rain. As I was taking out my new tube and getting the wheel off my bike I was in complete misery. I’m not the fastest tire changer and knew I’d be there awhile, in the rain and losing time. I figured there was no way anyone was going to stop to help me in the middle of a climb while it was pouring rain.

How wrong I was!

Carlos from Team Fatty sacrificed his time and momentum on the climb to stop and help me! He not only made the change go faster, he also used his CO2 pump to ensure we inflated the tire with speed.

I’ve lost four uncles, an aunt, a cousin, and a grandfather to cancer. My own father is currently in the hospital after surgery, and is fighting Multiple Myeloma - so I set out yesterday to raise money and awareness for this great cause. But on the course I was not only buoyed by my mission of cancer awareness, but reminded of the brotherhood/sisterhood of not leaving a cyclist down on the road and the kindness of strangers in the most miserable of conditions.

I’ll probably never see Carlos again, but he’s definitely a great ambassador of your team. Thanks again for all you do!

Liz C

Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.

A “Hey, How About More Awesome Prizes” Note from Fatty:

You can read the details about the contest here, or simply click here to go to my LiveStrong page to donate for your chance to win.

But you know what? You may want to read on for a second, because this contest is about to get extra-spicy. Which is to say, I’m adding some great new prizes, which means there are more things you can win as you help in the fight against cancer.

Win One of Two $250 Twin Six Shopping Sprees

When you donate to my LiveStrong page or raise money at your own LiveStrong Challenge page, you of course set yourself up to win the grand prize: the bike.

But thanks to the generosity of the guys at Twin Six, you also have a chance at winning one of two $250 shopping sprees. If you win, you can use that $250 to buy anything you want from their online catalog.

You might, for example, want to get one (or ten, I suppose) of their new tech cycling caps. I like The Speedy:

And maybe you’ll want to get The Black Metal jersey:

And a cool Good Luck t-shirt:

And you know what? You’d only be about halfway through your Twin Six shopping spree. Which is why this pair of prizes is only one of the reasons I love the guys at Twin Six.

Win a Jersey Signed by Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, and Bob Roll

You know how many jerseys there are in the world that have been signed by Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, and Bob Roll?

Very few, that’s how many. (Sorry, that’s a pretty vague answer. But I haven’t done any, you know, actual research to find out.)

But by entering this contest, you automatically get a chance to win this jersey:

And here’s a close-up of the signature part:

Yeah, I think this is a jersey you might want to hang on to. And the only way you can get it is by either raising money as part of Team Fatty or donating to my Austin LiveStrong Challenge.

But What If You’ve Already Donated?

Those of you who have already been donated money to win the Spider 2 — or if you’re on Team Fatty and have been raising money this year — don’t worry; you’re grandfathered in. The money you’ve already raised / donated goes toward these new prizes too.

But if you haven’t donated or started raising money yourself, well…maybe these additional prizes are enough to push you off the fence?

This is an awesome contest with great prizes, benefitting the most important fight I know of.

So please: help out.

And now, on with today’s poetry, which I have titled:

An Ode to Sunscreen

I have a well-tanned head
Yes, I apply sunscreen before I ride
And yet, a certain amount of sun
Gets through my helmet
And my head has become tanned
As if it were a hide
(A tanned one, that is)

As have my arms
And as have my legs
(except my pasty white shins)

But it is a rare day
That I go outside without the protection
Of a shirt
Rare indeed
(But, alas, not unheard of)

And thus it was
That I found myself
At the edge of a pool
After a long morning’s ride
In Park City
My wife at my side
(and my children in the pool)

The day was warm
The breeze was cool
The day was in short perfect for lounging outside
(Oh, the treachery of Mother Nature!)

I lay in the sun
Not quite sitting
Not quite prone
As The Runner read aloud
From the book we have been enjoying together
(We were in the final few chapters)

Did I fall asleep? No!
But also I did not turn over
And I did not apply sunscreen
(For clearly I am a fool)

Why should I apply sunscreen, I thought
The book is almost over
And we will not be here long
(Oh, I am such a fool)

And thus did I sit
As the book got to the exciting conclusion
And I did not think about the passing of time
(Have I mentioned that I am a fool?)

And now, it is a day later
And I am much wiser
And I cannot wear a bike jersey without discomfort
(Nor any other shirt-like item, for that matter)

And I swear I shall never lay
Shirtless
Chest to the sky
For two hours
Again
(never ever, no matter what)

Thank you.

Fight Cancer, Win an Intense Spider 2

Let me make a few bold assertions here.

1. There is no bike company that is more thoroughly immersed in full suspension mountain biking than Intense Cycles.
2. No mountain bike company has more credibility in the full suspension arena than Intense Cycles.
3. If you’ve ever wanted a full suspension mountain bike and didn’t check out Intense Cycles, you didn’t do your homework.

So, yeah: Intense Cycles is pretty much synonymous with being able to ride over rocks, roots and ledges without touching your brakes.

And the Spider 2 is Intense Cycles’ XC and lightweight trail bike. Check it out:

Cross-country? Definitely. All-mountain? Yep. Marathon? Sure.

The Spider 2 has the revolutionary VPP suspension platform that pedals better than any bike on the market, yet still soaks up bumps from tiny chatters to big hits.

You know what you’ve got here? You’ve got one of the most desirable bikes you can buy.

Now, picture this bike, paired with top-of-the-line 2011 Shimano M980 Series XTR, from brakes to drivetrain to wheels. You can build it up with the super-light Race version … or the burlier trail version.

Which do you want to go with? It’s your call. You can’t go wrong either way, honestly…Just like XTR was designed for 2011 … It’s rider tuned giving you the options to choose the right components for how you ride.

All of this is topped off with a 2011 Fox 32 Talas Fit Terralogic Fork with Kashima coating & PRO components for the stem, bar, and seatpost.

Oh my. We’re starting to drool a little bit, aren’t we?

Darn right we are.

You know how much this bike would cost, retail? More than $6000, that’s how much. And it would be worth it.

Easily.

But Shimano and Intense Cycles are partnering to give one away, in the name of helping Team Fatty in our fight against cancer.

Fight Cancer, Win a Dream Mountain Bike

As those of you who have entered these contests before know, all proceeds of the Team Fatty raffles go straight to LiveStrong, because the work they’re doing in helping people fight cancer made a big difference in Susan’s life, my life, and in the lives of many others I’ve met.

In other words, whether you win the bike or not, you’re doing something good and important.

So you can win in either of two ways:

1. Donate money to my LiveStrong Challenge page. For every $5 you donate at my LiveStrong Challenge page between now and Friday, August 27, you get a virtual ticket, which could be the winner of the Intense Cycles Spider 2, built up with 2011 Shimano M980 Series XTR. Click here to donate now.
2. Raise money in your own Team Fatty LiveStrong Challenge page. If you’re a member of Team Fatty, every $5.00 you raise on your own LiveStrong Challenge since the beginning of this year through Friday, August 27 earns you a ticket, too. So — obviously — now’s a great time for you to make a donation on your own page as well as to press friends and family to make a donation (You don’t have to tell them that they’re increasing your chances of winning a bike when they do). And if you aren’t a member of Team Fatty, now’s a great time for you to join and start raising money to fight cancer and win cool stuff for yourself.

By the way: if you win and live outside the US, we’ll still cover shipping, but you’re responsible for paying customs. Cool? Yeah, I thought so.

How Can You Join Team Fatty?

Luckily, it’s really, really easy to join Team Fatty.

1. Click here to go to the Austin Team Fatty page.
2. Click the “Join Our Team” link.
3. Fill out the form. If you’re not planning to attend the event, join the virtual challenge to avoid the $50 registration fee.
4. Start fundraising. You’ve got to raise a minimum of $250 to attend LiveStrong Challenge event.

Good Luck!

I love mountain biking, and I’m convinced that anyone who doesn’t has never ridden a really great mountain bike.

And believe me, this is a really great mountain bike. And most importantly, I love that we’re all doing this for one of the most important, unifying causes there is — fighting cancer.

Whether you win something or not, you’re still doing something really great for a cause that affects every one of us.

Thanks, and good luck!

The first time I enter the Twin Lakes Dam aid station as I race the Leadville 100, I always get a little sense of foreboding. Up until now, the race is relatively easy. Sure, there are a couple of climbs, but you’re fresh for them; all they’ve really done is soften you up for the first of the two defining features of the Leadville 100: The climb to Columbine Mine.

The Runner’s and my crew — Scott and the IT Guy — had set up before the actual aid station (and had, I should emphasize, done an incredible job of taking care of me), so by the time I got to the aid station, I was all set and could just roll through.

The crowd at the aid station was huge. Hundreds of people. Hundreds of cowbells. I daresay, for the first time ever, that no more cowbell was needed.

And then, right in front of me, a spectator lunged from the left side of the crowd to the right.

And fell down.

“Yaaaaah!” I yelled, intelligently, and with italics. There was nowhere to swerve, so I just grabbed brake and hoped.

The spectator rolled out of the way so I missed him by inches, barely saving himself and me from a painful pileup.

Disaster averted. Time to climb. I looked at my timer. 3:07. That seemed . . . too good.

I had not been killing myself. I had not been wanting to set a personal best time. I had even thought that I had been slowed down by the crowded field during the climbs and had expected my time to be slow.

Was I going to somehow get my first sub-9 finish at Leadville, after all these years, by not even trying?

Nah.

I resolved to stick to my plan: have fun and be careful on the flats and descents; hit the climbs hard.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

The difference between singlespeeds and geared mountain bikes is most obvious at one particular moment: when the trail turns upward. This obviousness is manifested in two specific ways:

• All the geared bikes make shifting noises. If there are a lot of geared bikes turning uphill together, there’s an audible concert of derailleur sounds. This is in fact one of my favorite sounds in the world. It’s beautiful, and I feel a little bit bad that when I’m on a singlespeed, I don’t contribute to that sound.
• The singlespeed changes position relative to the group. The singlespeed is either going to shoot way out in front, or if the grade is steep enough, going to fall way off the back. One thing is certain: the singlespeed is not going to stay with the geared bikes.

Now, the first part — five miles of climbing, about 3000 feet of altitude gained — of the Columbine Mine climb is always one of my favorite parts of the Leadville 100, because this kind of climbing suits me. I’m good at getting into a climbing groove and then holding it almost indefinitely. On this part of the course, I almost always pass more than I am passed.

But something special happened last Saturday: I felt limitless.

I stood up — with 34 x 20 gearing, almost all climbing is in the standing position — and just went. I passed people constantly, and that is no exaggeration, thanks to a huge crowd of racers. For five miles, I passed someone every 10 to 30 seconds. And during this part of the course, not a single person passed me.

I was like a machine, turning the cranks steadily and easily. Tick tick tick tick.

I know this comes off as boastful; you’ll have to forgive me for that. The fact is it was an incredible, rare moment for me. To be the fast guy, the guy who drops everyone. To be, in my head, briefly, Andy Schleck.

I have never felt quite so strong.

Later, I would look my stats for the day. For the Columbine Mine section (and only for this section), the way I felt while climbing would be confirmed by the numbers (Columbine section highlighted in yellow; click image for larger version):

Out of everyone who raced — all 1022 finishers — I had the 42nd best time for the climb from Twin Lakes Dam to the summit of Columbine Mine.

1:31:54. I’m kinda proud of that.

Zoom

Now I’m done thumping my chest. I promise. And the truth is, my very best day on the bike is still nothing to what the fast guys were doing.

Due to the out-and-back nature of the Leadville 100, everyone who is a racer is also a spectator, getting to see and cheer on the racers go in the opposite direction. One of my very favorite parts of the race is, as I climb the Columbine Mine section, anticipating the moment when the race leaders will come bombing down the road. Much, much, much faster than I could have ever imagined possible.

This year, though, I didn’t get to have that anticipation, because the race leaders bombed by me so early in the cliimb.

Zoooom. There goes JHK, leading the race. Yelling “Rider up! Rider up! Rider up!” as he comes down, looking for a clear line because he has caught everyone by surprise. We hadn’t expected people bombing down the road so soon and so had not crowded over to the right side of the road yet.

Zoooom. There goes Levi Leipheimer, just a few seconds behind.

Zoom. Zoom. Todd Wells and Dave Wiens.

“Those fast guys are fast,” I think to myself. Then the obviousness of my reflexive statement strikes me as hilarious and I want to share it.

“Those fast guys are fast,” I say to whoever is close to me whenever someone comes screaming down the mountain for the rest of the Columbine Mine climb.

Nobody else thinks this is as funny as I do.

No Thanks, I’m Not Hungry Right Now

The Columbine Mine climb is divided up — in my head, at least — into two sections. The first five miles are the “easy” section, where you’re climbing up a groomed dirt road. Its difficulty comes from the altitude; you’re at around 12,000 feet by the time you get to the end of this section.

The “hard” section is the final three miles, where the trail gets narrower, looser, steeper, and very, very (very) rocky.

I walk a lot of this section. Lots of people do. It’s a sufferfest, and there’s nothing to do but put your head down and try to concentrate on at least walking it quickly.

Or if not quickly, at least not lethargically.

I try, in short, to not stand still.

As people zoomed down, calling out encouragement, I looked for faces I recognized. There goes Nate! And Chuck! And Mike! And Kenny! I shout out their names. None of them recognize me in time to shout mine back. I understand why. When you’re descending, you’ve gotta focus on the trail. Though Kenny would later say he simply did not believe it could be me up that high that soon. Nice of him.

And then, as I continue pushing, I see the oddest thing: A sign — “Hot Dogs and Beer.”

And it gets weirder. A guy, in a high-class maitre d’ outfit, with a platter containing little slices of hot dogs. Energetically offering hot dogs to everyone as they go by.

Nobody takes one. Right now, nothing in the world sounds quite so awful as a hot dog.

The maitre d’ sees me. Singles me out.

“Hi, Fatty, you of all people must want a hot dog!”

“The very thought,” I pant, “makes me want…to…hurl.”

“At least have one on the way down, OK?”

“Sure. On the way down,” I lie. Knowing, already, that when I come down I will not slow down. I will look the other way and not make eye contact.

Hot dogs for racers at their very limit, at 12,000 feet. It’s the wackiest, most awful idea I’ve ever heard of.

I hope they’re there again next year.

I. Want. Cantaloupe.

Eventually, I made it to the top of Columbine. My time shows I’ve got there in 4:39. I’m a little disappointed, knowing that I am not prone to negative splits in this race. A curious thing about the Leadville course is that it takes me almost exactly the same amount of time to get back to the start/finish as it does to get to the turnaround spot. So 4:39 means I’m probably going to finish in about 9:18.

Oh well. The sub-9 dream was fun to consider for a while.

But there are more important things on my mind than a fast finish time. Specifically, there is something I have been thinking of for the past half hour.

Cantaloupe. There is cantaloupe at the Columbine Mine aid station.

While most of the other racers simply hit this aid station and turn around, I pull to a stop, shouting, as I do, “bring me cantaloupe, and lots of it!”

This, to my delight, draws a cheer from the aid station volunteers, most of which don’t have anything to do (they’ll all be much busier in a little while; most racers further down the field will relish the chance to stop and eat).

No fewer than three volunteers sprint to the food table, each bringing me a handful of cantaloupe slices.

I eat three, maybe four slices. Okay, maybe five. It is so delicious.

As I finish the last one, I see a young volunteer — maybe nine years old — who has gone back to the table to bring me a double handful of more cantaloupe. He’s holding maybe six or eight slices. All for me.

I eat two. It’s the least (and also the most) I could do.

I then down a cup full of Coke (I love that they have Coke available at the aid stations; that’s new, I think), thank the volunteers for their outrageous awesomeness, and get started on the descent.

Where’s The Runner?

I have a love / hate relationship with the first three miles of the Columbine Mine descent. On the “hate” side of the equation, it’s rocky and technical, and there are a lot of people marching up the good line. And I’m tired.

On the “love” side of the equation, however, this is where I get to see and shout encouragement to friends and family who are making their way to the top.

I yell out to Jilene. Bry. Dave. Another Dave. Ryan. Cory. Heather. And more. And even more people yell out “Go Fatty!” to me.

It’s incredibly encouraging.

But there’s a problem. I do not see The Runner. And I do not hear her shout out to me.

So I start worrying. Has she had a mechanical? An accident? A bad day on the bike? Has she gotten sick?

All the way down, I worry. I worry so much, in fact, that I forget to be frustrated with myself for the fact that now on the descent, I am being passed just as often as I was passing others on the climb. That just as I never got passed while climbing, I never passed a single person while descending.

Forty minutes (about five or six minutes slower than most people around me), I pull into the Twin Lakes Dam aid station. Before I eat or drink anything, I ask, “Is Lisa OK?”

“She’s great,” the IT Guy reassures me. “She came into the aid station just a few minutes behind you. She was riding strong and was happy.”

A huge relief. I had just missed seeing her. And, as I learned later, she had just missed seeing me until it was too late to call out.

I swapped a bottle — once again, I had only drank one bottle between aid stations — and ate what is becoming my new favorite riding food: a Pro Bar Fruition. I doubt my reasons for liking them will ever make it into the marketing material but still, they’re ideal for racing cyclists for a few good reasons:

• They’re really moist. Unlike most bars that you have to chew and chew and chew and then take a drink and then chew some more, these bars are very soft and moist; you can get them down very quickly when you need to.
• They’re small enough to cram the whole thing into your mouth at once. It’s nice to get your hands back on your handle bars quickly.
• They’re tasty. The thing I like about all Pro Bars is that they taste like real food instead of something from a lab. The Fruition bars are heavy on the fruit, and are a great change from the energy bar taste.

No, You Go On

The next fifteen miles went slowly. Mostly because I didn’t pedal very fast. At least, not compared to the people who were passing me on a regular basis. If you look at my standings, you’ll see that I was the 375th fastest person on this section — a far cry from my placing going up to the top of Columbine Mine.

Then, on the paved section leading up to the hardest climb of the day — the Powerline — I met Charlie, another singlespeeder I had met and ridden with earlier in the day. It was nice to have someone to ride alongside with as geared cyclists zoomed by, hollering at us to hop on and draft. “Can’t do it!” we’d yell, wishing we could.

And then it was time for the Powerline. I — along with everyone else — hopped off my bike (OK, I didn’t really “hop;” I actually “very slowly dismounted”) and started the slow march.

And then I heard a bell ding.

Looking behind me, I saw a guy in a Specialized jersey, riding the steepest part of the Powerline.

The sheer amazingness of this will only register with those of you who have marched this trail.

I stood aside and yelled forward, “Everyone off the trail! Someone’s riding this sucker!”

Others looked back and moved aside. Some of us clapped.

Once I got to (what was for most of us) the hike-a-bike section, I got back on my bike and eventually got this guy. I asked, “Did you really just ride all of Powerline without putting a foot down?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a hell of a thing you just did,” I said. I would have said more, but that was all the breath I had. Still, an awesome climb like that has to be acknowledged.

Your Results May Vary

I finished the Powerline climb, staying on my bike for everything but the initial hike-a-bike section, then gingerly descended Sugar Loaf. Once again, all the people I had just spent half an hour passing zoomed by me.

Really, I should learn to descend faster.

Next up was the St. Kevins paved climb. As I rode up, I once again looked for where I had shot off the road last year. Couldn’t find it, at least not for sure. But I’ve at least now lost my terror of that road. It’s no more curvy or steep than anything I ride regularly.

Nice to have that bugaboo behind me.

I got to the dirt and the final mile of serious climbing in the race. Once again I started passing people, still feeling strong even this late in the race. I was having a good day.

Then someone asked me a question as I went by. “Do we have a chance at sub-9?”

“No,” I said. “We’re 8:20 into the race. We’re about an hour from the finish line. We’re a good sub-9:30 bet, but 9:00 isn’t going to happen.”

“Don’t tell me that,” he said.

“OK, all of that just applies to me,” I amended. “If you’re a great downhiller, you might still make it under 9.”

I hope he did.

Most Awesome Friend of Fatty Ever

Finally: the last hard pitch in the last hard mile of the Leadville 100. I started churning up it. Weary. Glad it was nearly over. Pleased to note that I was riding up a pitch on my singlespeed that people on their geared bikes were choosing to walk.

And then a guy jumped out beside me.

“Fatty! You’re doing it man! You’re almost there! You’re spanking the guys on geared bikes!”

He ran / walked / sauntered up the whole pitch with me. Cheering me on like I was some kind of superhero. I swear, I have never seen so much energy in one person at one time, and it was infectious. Encouraged by this guy’s energy, I went faster and crested that last pitch.

To whoever it was who did that: thanks. Your energy got me up a really tough hill.

[Update: The Friend of Fatty I'm talking about is named Tom E (he commented first today), and he sent me a terrific photo of me working on that climb. Check it out:

Thanks, Tom! - FC]

Small Finish

The nine hour mark slipped by unnoticed by me, some time as I was riding along the railroad track that leads to The Boulevard — the final climb in the Leadville 100, and a real demoralizer for people who don’t know it’s part of the race. You see The Boulevard is a two-mile dirt road climb that starts at mile 100. Which means the Leadville 100 is really more like the Leadville 103. Since you don’t go down The Boulevard on the way out, you don’t expect it on the way in the first time you do this course.

Nowadays, all The Boulevard means to me is that I’m home free. I’m going to finish the race.

I crossed the line at 9:17 — not a personal best (9:13 is my fastest time on this course), but certainly a best effort.

Afterward

I went and took a quick shower and then came back down to the finish line to catch The Runner when she finished, which she did in 10:29. A strong finish, and she said she had fun talking with all the people who recognized her from this blog, not to mention the admiring comments from everyone who noticed she was riding with a daisy on her handlebars.

Then, at the award ceremony the next day, I got a chance to see how awesome the really fast guys are, even off the bike. I chatted with Dave Wiens, kazillion-time winner of the Leadville 100 and quite possibly the nicest person alive. I talked with JHK and Heather Irmiger, and started my campaign to get the two of them racing the Leadville 100 on a tandem. They say they’re not interested. Pfff.

And then, JHK and I chatted with Levi Leipheimer.

Seriously.

It was great to tell Levi firsthand that I thought his reply to my open letter to him was hilarious.

Then I showed him how awesome I am at playing Yahtzee on the iPhone:

As you can see, Levi was impressed.

Kenny got his award for taking 2nd in the men’s singlespeed category; Heather got her award for taking 2nd in the women’s singlespeed category.

The symmetry was exquisite.

And, finally, The Runner and I got what we had been waiting for: our finisher’s sweatshirts, complete with our finishing time.

It was a good race.

Really, really good.

PS: Tomorrow I kick off a contest for a brand new mountain bike. I won’t tell you what it is yet, but I will tell you it is a very high end bike, tricked out with the new Shimano XTR group, and is worth more than $6,000.00!

We’ve just ridden our bikes. You know, actually treating our recreation as if it were for fun.

Weird, huh?

So as you would expect, when the alarm went off at 4:30 on the morning of the race, I was not nervous at all.

No indeed.

My ten trips to the bathroom before the race? Not nervousness.

My constant sorting and fidgeting with the food I was going to put in my jersey? Not nervousness.

My asking The Runner questions she had no way of knowing (Do you think Levi will race? Do you think it’s going to be a hot day? What flavor of Shot Bloks should I start the race with? Is it better for me to have a PBJ for breakfast, or a bagel with cream cheese?)? Not nervousness.

My turning around and heading back to the toilet one last time as I approached the starting line, with only about thirty minutes ’til the start? Not nervousness.

Although I will point out that at this point The Runner grabbed me by the back of my jersey and said, “You do not need to go to the bathroom. There cannot possibly be anything for you to poop or pee out at this point.” And she was right. In fact, once the race got started, I didn’t need to pee until mile 70.

By the way, for those of you who are interested, Levi did race, I started the race with Mountain Berry Shot Bloks, it was indeed a hot day, and I had two (yes, two!) PBJ sandwiches for breakfast.

Surprise at the Starting Line

The Runner went and self-seeded herself in line with a group of people who were hoping to finish between 10 and 11 hours. I moved further up in the line, because I hoped to finish between 9 and 10 hours.

Now I just had twenty minutes to stand around, in the middle of a crowd of 1300+ (I’m speculating) riders.

Then someone asked, “Have you heard about Levi’s response to your letter?”

I overcame the shock of being recognized — after all, I was just wearing my Fat Cyclist jersey, Fat Cyclist shorts, Fat Cyclist socks, and was standing by my Fat Cyclist bike — and said, “Oh yeah, I saw the tweet he sent a day or two ago. Awesome of him to call it out!”

“No,” the guy said. “I mean he actually wrote a long reply. You’ll have to check it out when you finish the race.”

And so I was left, for the next 100+ miles, to wonder what Levi had to say to me. As it turns out, Levi has an awesome sense of humor, and is incredibly generous to boot. Be sure to check out his reply to my open letter to him.

I Am Evidently Very Focused

The gun went off and the huge mass of cyclists started down the pavement. My fingers were freezing cold, my teeth were chattering, and my brain was on high alert. I did not want to get in an accident.

Hundreds — literally — of people passed me in the first few miles of the race. On a singlespeed and with my poor descending skills, that was just the way it was going to be. I’d have to earn a place further up the field once we got on dirt and started climbing.

And then, just before I got to the dirt, I heard, over my right shoulder, a familiar voice.

“You sure are focused on the road.”

It was The Runner. She had caught up to me and had been riding alongside me for a minute or so, and I had not noticed.

It was so good to see her.

We rode together for a couple of minutes, then hit the dirt, and it was time for me to go at my race pace, and for her to go at hers.

Chatterbox

I had told myself that I would not kill myself on the first big climb of the day — St. Kevins. But on a singlespeed, it is not easy to ride at the pace of geared bikes in their granny gear.

So I started passing. Or at least, I tried.

With 1300 excited racers funneling into a jeep road climb, things can get a little bit crowded. And for those of you who remember how crowded this climb was back in the days when 400 people would ride the Leadville 100, well, triple it and you’ll get the picture of how it is now.

Wait, did I just do a “I remember back when…” anecdote? Oh, I am getting old.

I heard some racers shouting at other riders — most people encouraging, but some as if they had chosen themselves as trail boss for the day. “Keep it moving, people!” they would shout.

I can just imagine the gratitude other riders must have felt upon hearing things like that. “Oh, that’s my problem. I forgot to keep moving! Thanks, trail boss!”

So I adopted a different approach for passing. I chatted.

“Hey there, racer 429. That’s a sweet setup you’ve got; I’m coming by on your left. Thanks man, have a good one.”

“Hi racer 777, how’d you get such an awesome number plate? Could you scootch over just a hair? OK, that’s perfect, keep it up.”

“Morning racer 1212, I’d like to borrow your line for about three seconds. No? That’s OK, just whenever you can.”

I was chattering like I was selling peanuts.

When I asked people to work with me to let me by (or just to let them know I was coming by), they almost always did. And as a bonus, I figured that if I had enough wind to keep up the talk while I passed people, I was not in my red zone.

Dominoes

We all knew there would be a lot of people on the course, and so we all (or at least most of us) were dealing with the crowded situation at the beginning of the race without too much difficulty.

But I did see one moment that was awesome in its crowd-related messiness.

There were four of us riding abreast at one particular moment. I was the one on the far left. And then the person on the far right lost his (or her?) line, swerved, and collided with the person on his left.

They both went down, and brought the person to their left down as well. Somehow — I do not know how — I sensed the moment coming and shot forward enough that I didn’t get trapped in the snarl of bikes and people.

But I expect about 500 people had to put their feet down and wait for a minute while those three people disentangled themselves from each other.

Scraped Up

I got to the top of St. Kevins, then dropped down the paved side. I sat up and took it easy, not wanting to repeat the huge crash from last year. Dozens — maybe more than a hundred — of people zoomed by. As I cruised down, I began to wonder: where had I even crashed? This road was easy.

The truth is, there’s nothing especially difficult or hair-raising about that descent. Last year, it was wet, but that wasn’t the real problem; everyone but me navigated it successfully even though it was wet. The real problem last year was that my head wasn’t in the race.

This year though, it was. And I made it down just fine and began my climb.

Going up Sugar Loaf, I was feeling great. The day was warming up and people were being incredibly friendly. Several riders commented they were glad to see that I had made it down the St. Kevins descent this time, and I agreed.

The climb up Sugar Loaf went by fast — I got into a climbing groove easily and started passing all those people who passed me as we were going downhill moments ago.

And then, of course, we got to the Powerline descent and all those people I had just passed passed me again.

Powerline’s a tricky descent — the most technical of the race — and I’m always glad to get to the bottom of it with my tires still inflated and my body uninjured. Still, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “If I weren’t such a lousy descender, I’d do pretty good at races.”

David Kutcipal caught and emailed me a good photo of me coming down Powerline. Check it out:

(And chances are if you rode in Leadville, David got a photo of you, too — he took more than 1100 photos, and organized them by bib number. Find yourself here.)

As I got to the bottom of Powerline, the dirt road turns up to intersect the right turn. There were several people on the left, going straight up the little pitch, so — wanting to conserve the momentum I had built up on my ss — I veered right.

I should not have veered right.

As it turns out, the right line was full of loose gravel. My bike slid out from under me and I went down, scraping up my right leg. Right in front of about 50 spectators.

The collective gasp would have been hilarious to me, had I not been so incredibly embarrassed.

I got up quickly, without even checking to see how my leg looked or whether my bike was OK. I did not look anybody in the eye, but rather hurriedly jumped onto my bike and rode away.

Once I was away from spectators, I slowed and looked my bike and myself over. My scrapes were not a big deal, and in fact I’d soon forget about them until I showered after the race. And my bike was fine.

Only my pride remained injured.

Hi and Goodbye

The next 20 miles of the race average out to be flat. Which is awesome if you’re on a geared bike; you have a chance to get into your big ring and increase your average speed by quite a bit.

On a singlespeed, this 20 miles is where you just kind of recover. I felt like I was getting passed constantly. Like, by hundreds. Groups would come by, drafting each other, and would even shout at me to hop on to their train. I’d just laugh; draft or no draft, I could not pedal that kind of cadence on my singlespeed.

And so it’s strange for me to look at the details of my race splits and see that during this flat section (Pipeline Outbound to Twin Lakes Outbound) I actually moved up 60 places (from 378th to 318th) in the overall standings, and even moved up 4 places (from 17th to 13th) in the ss category.

But I still felt like I was getting passed a lot.

I arrived at the Twin Lakes Dam aid station and The Runner’s brother Scott and her son (IT Guy) took care of my food exchange in no time at all, swapping out bottles and food exactly as I had asked them to the night before. But the truth is, I hadn’t eaten or drunk much. I’d emptied only one of my two bottles in that first 40 miles, and had eaten two packs of Shot Bloks. I just can’t seem to get the knack of eating and drinking enough during these races.

Then — for the first time during the race — I took a look at my time. 3:07? That’s not bad at all, considering I’d just been enjoying myself.

Now it was time for one of the two defining moments of the Leadville 100: The Columbine Mine climb.

“Maybe,” I thought to myself, “I should start taking this race seriously.”

(Click here for part 2.)

First of all, congratulations! Deciding to enter your very first mountain bike race is a big step, and you should be proud of yourself. You’re about to discover a whole new world of intense competition and camaraderie.

And while — as you’ll soon find out — racing can be hard, I think you’ll also find out that it can be very rewarding, just so long as you don’t overreach and keep your goals at a personal level. For example, when lots and lots of people pass you, don’t think “Oh no! These people are beating me!” Instead, think, “These people are not competing against me; they are competing with me. My objective is simply to finish this race in under twelve hours, or thirteen if it comes to that.”

You’ll be amazed how much better you feel!

But I don’t want to spend this whole letter giving you a pep-talk, Levi. No. I’m writing this letter to give you practical, useful advice you can use on your bike race right now.

At the Starting Line

Since you’re not used to mountain bike racing — and especially since you’ve never been to the Leadville 100 before — you’re going to be a little bit overwhelmed at the starting line. There is a huge crowd there, and you may feel intimidated. But don’t worry; you’ll be fine. Just follow these tips:

• Start from the appropriate place in line. Assess yourself honestly — do you belong at the front of the line where everyone’s going to be jockeying for position, or would it be more prudent to place yourself further back, where there’s more of a ride-and-let-ride mentality?
• Don’t surge forward off the line. It’s a neutral start. Don’t go attacking right off the line. You might knock someone down and make that person very, very angry. And don’t wear an iPod at the starting line either. For similar reasons.
• Careful of the Shotgun. Ken Chlouber likes to start the race off by firing a shotgun. If it catches you unawares, you would not be the first person to poop yourself before the race even starts.

Rough Terrain

This isn’t a road bike race, Levi. Well, actually, most of it is on roads. But they’re dirt roads. Downright Jeepish, often. Except the paved parts.

But my point remains: there’s some bumpy, unpaved stuff in this race. So pay attention! Stay loose. And don’t, for crying out loud, go crosschaining your bike.

(Crosschaining is when you have both your front and rear cogs in the largest gears, or when you have both in the smallest gears. And it’s not a good idea.)

Passing Etiquette

Next, you need to be aware that from time to time, people will certainly want to pass you. With more than a thousand people on the course, this may happen more often than you might expect!

When those people want to get by, they will generally yell “On your left!” or “On your right!”

Levi, I cannot overstress the importance of what those riders mean.

When someone says, “On your left!” that does not mean you should move left. No, it does not. It means the person wants to go by on your left side.

Please try to remember that, Levi.

And, by the way, in the interest of good sportsmanship, you should let people by when they want to go by. Remember: you’re not racing against these people. You’re just racing against the clock. It’s just that a whole bunch of other people are there at the same time, also racing the clock.

Endurance Racing Tips

Levi, I have to admit that I’m a little bit surprised that you chose the Leadville 100 as your first-ever mountain bike race. Did you realize that a lot of people take close to — or even more than — twelve hours to finish this?

This is not just one of those 45-minute rides you’re used to doing on the road, Levi!

Here are a few tips to make the miles go by a little more swiftly:

• Use some chamois lube. I recommend Dave Zabriskie’s Nuts. (In fact, I believe most everyone likes Dave Zabriskie’s Nuts.) You’ll find that your taint — no doubt not used to the punishment long hours in the saddle can bring — will be glad you did.
• Use a Camelbak: You want to stay hydrated, and you may not be proficient at grabbing a bottle while riding a bike. Also, a Camelbak can be very helpful if you’re going to be out between aid stations for a very long time, which may be the case: in one case there is 20 miles before you get to an aid station!
• Don’t get discouraged. Sometime during this race you’re going to get tired, and people are going to start passing you, left and right. Don’t let this get you down! Just remember, you’re in this for the long haul. Try singing yourself a merry tune to lift your spirits.

Levi, I think this is going to be a tough race for you, but totally worth it. Just remember: you’re better than you think you are, and you can do more than you think you can.

Kind Regards,

Fatty

PS: Just in case you were wondering how Levi really handles a mountain bike, you may want to check out this video: