09.5.2012 | 7:33 am
A Note from Fatty: This is part 2 in my telling of this year’s Park City Point 2 Point race, a (normally) 78-mile, 14K-of-climbing MTB race, almost entirely on singletrack. Click here to read part 1.
The question arises: Why does everyone who has done the Park City Point 2 Point speak of it with such reverence? And terror?
Well, that has to do with cheesecake. Singletrack is a lot like cheesecake.
I will explain.
When you eat your first slice of cheesecake, you’re thinking, “Wow, this is better than anything I have ever eaten. It is in fact the thing that I wish I could eat, exclusively, for the rest of my life.
And so the PCP2P says, “Well, that’s awesome because I’ve got another slice sitting right here, ready for you to eat.”
And so you dig in.
And while you’re eating you say, “Seriously, this cheesecake is really good. Just totally delicious.” But as you finish, you’re thinking that it was a little harder to get the last few bites of that second piece of cheesecake down than the first few bites.
At which point, the PCP2P says, “Well, I’m really gratified you enjoyed that, because I’ve got another piece of cheesecake right here for you.”
So you answer, as diplomatically as possible, “Hey, thanks. This is truly delicious cheesecake. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever had any better. But I’m pretty full now.”
And the PCP2P replies, sweetly, “Oh, don’t be silly. Have some cheesecake. Here, I’ll put some raspberry stuff on it.”
Then the PCP2P cuts you a nice, big piece of cheesecake and puts it down in front of you. And you know, it might just be in your mind, but it seems to you that maybe it put that cheesecake down with just a touch of menace.
But you eat it. Because hey, you came here to eat cheesecake, right? And eventually, you finish it. And you’re proud of yourself for finishing that third piece of cheesecake, but it stopped tasting good at all toward the end, and now you just want to go lie down.
“Have some more cheesecake,” the PCP2P says.
“No thanks,” you reply. “I’m stuffed.”
“Oh, come on,” says the PCP2P. “You love cheesecake.” And it puts down another slice of cheesecake in front of you.
So you eat it, barely. But you’ve stopped thinking about the smooth texture of the cheesecake and how it contrasts so nicely with the crunch of the crust. You aren’t thinking about the mild, sweet flavor and the raspberry topping.
All you’re thinking about is chewing and swallowing. Getting this sucker down.
“I think I’m gonna hurl,” you say as you finish.
“Just one more slice,” says the PCP2P.
“Please, no more. No more cheesecake,” you plead.
“EAT THE DAMNED CHEESECAKE.”
And so you do. And you finish. Maybe. Or maybe you don’t. Regardless, you’re thinking, as you slowly chew, “From this point forward, I shall never eat anything but celery.”
So that’s kinda how the PCP2P is.
Small Omission, Big Consequences
There’s something to be said for going from “not gonna race” to actually being racing, all within half an hour. You don’t have time for your stomach to knot up and suddenly decide it needs to poop one more time.
You don’t have time to fret about whether your bike is set up properly.
You don’t have time for anything, really, except getting on your bike and going.
Unfortunately, in my case, it also meant that I didn’t remember to start my bike computer until I had been out for a while. Of course, as soon as I remembered this, I started it, but the damage had been done.
How long had I been out? How far had I gone? I wasn’t sure, and I knew it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that I stick to my very well-considered race strategy: go as fast as I could until I crossed the finish line, at which point I would stop.
This, by the way, is a really great racing strategy, and it’s taken me years to develop it. I should keep it secret. But because I care about this sport and love to share, I hereby authorize you to use it yourself, as long as you give me proper attribution. Thanks.
I Commence to Get Very, Very Muddy
We did a quick lap around a bluff, circumventing the sticky mud in the Round Valley loop, latched on to a short section of road, and then got onto the first section of singletrack that would let us know what the next five or seven miles would be like.
Which, in short, was very slippery mud.
I wouldn’t stay this clean for long. Photo courtesy of Zazoosh.
Within a few minutes, my legs — front and back — were covered. From the number of splats I felt on my face, I figured it was just as muddy as my legs.
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
And a very small rock got into my left shoe.
I learned to hate that rock.
Sometimes that little rock would work its way back so it was under my arch and I’d forget about it altogether. But then it would come forward and get so it was right where I push down on the pedal, or right under my big toe. And then I’d wince and, often, say something aloud, like: “Stupid rock.”
Now you might think that since I was approximately thirty minutes into what was going to be — at a minimum — a seven-hour ride, I would have had the sense to take the twenty seconds necessary to stop, take off the shoe, empty the shoe, and put the shoe back on.
I am happy to report that I left that shoe on for the duration of the race.
Groovy Train
One of the reasons I tried — but failed — to get as close to the front of the starting line as possible before the start of the race was that I knew that otherwise I’d be held up in lots of long lines during the first 25 miles or so of the race, before it spread out.
But since I didn’t get up front, I had a choice: be cool, or be a dork.
I tried to go with the “cool” route. Which means that when I could pass, I would. When I could not, I wouldn’t sigh and moan. Instead, I’d use the opportunity to rest a little bit and go out hard when I got an opening.
To my delight, the field seemed to be full of people who were going with a cheerful, friendly approach to both passing and letting people pass. “Want by?” and “Come on by on my right / left” were absolutely common things for me to hear people say, well before I even had a chance to ask to come by.
In fact, I got to the point where, if I caught up with someone and just wanted to hang there for a bit, I’d say, “I’m behind you but not looking to pass. Can I suck your wheel for a bit?”
Not everyone took the long view, of course. I remember in particular when one person at the head of a longish train slipped out on a wet rock, dismounted and worked his way up to a place where he could get back on his bike, the guy right behind him yelled, “Dude, move aside and let me pass!”
Which seems like an OK thing to say, except if the dude moved aside and let the other dude pass, the first dude would have had to first accept the fact that he would be rolling down a rocky mountainside for fifty feet or so.
Which seems like a little much to ask.
I Say Hi To Friends and Then Crash
When the chime on my GPS went off for the third time since the beginning of the race, I knew that I had been being a bad boy and that I needed to make amends. You see, I have my GPS set to chime every half hour, which, during endurance races, is my cue to have either a gel or a packet of chews.
So far in the race, I had eaten nothing, which meant I was digging myself a deep calorie hole, and digging it fast.
The problem was, on steep, climbing singletrack with people both in front of and behind me, there weren’t a lot of good opportunities to take a hand off the handlebars and grab for something.
So I promised myself: as soon as I got an opportunity, I’d eat something. And I’d do my best to catch up on some of those calories.
I rode up to Erica Tingey (read her story of the race here), the pro MTB’r whom The Hammer now idolizes. I was about to feel all impressed with myself for catching her when she said, “I’m not having a great day. Mechanicals and my leg’s not healed up.”
You know, just once I’d like to catch a fast person who didn’t explain why the only reason someone like me could possibly be riding near them is that they’re having a bad day.
Oh, wait a second. That actually happened about twenty minutes later, when I caught up with Kenny. “How’s it going, Elden?” he asked.
“I can’t believe how good I feel,” I replied.
“Awesome. I’ll let you by and see you later,” Kenny said.
And Kenny did see me later. About two minutes later, in fact, because we finally hit a dirt road, which was a great chance for me to sit up, slow down, get a drink, and eat a packet of Honey Stinger chews.
While I did this, Kenny passed me again. Which is really too bad for him, because if he would have stayed behind me for just another minute, he would have seen something really interesting.
First, I followed the road around a bend and discovered it started heading downhill, sharply, as I rode my bike with just my left hand on the bar.
Second, I saw that I was coming up on a gate, quickly. The way for bikes to get by was to go around the gate on the right side.
Third, I found that I was going too fast, was not steering well one-handed, and wasn’t going to clear the gate.
Fourth, I grabbed a handful of front brake and endoed, right into the right-side gatepost.
The way I could tell I wasn’t too badly hurt was that my humiliation was the first thing to register.
I got up, righted my bike, and then finished stuffing the chews into my mouth, no longer trusting myself to ride one-handed down this steep road.
I then got back on my bike and saw that a volunteer, about thirty feet down the road, had seen the whole episode.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Sure, I’m fine,” I replied.
“Good. Just a couple miles to the aid station,” he said.
So it’s a good thing I had gone through all that for no reason whatsoever.
Things Are Different
I went through the first aid station in 2:34, which meant . . . well, it didn’t mean anything to me at the moment. You see, I’m not one of those people who understands things like maps and stuff. I’m in fact exactly the opposite. When The Hammer had, earlier in the week, tried to explain where we’d be going and which trail led to which ski resort and what happened next, I eventually just said, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to hope that the course is well-marked.”
Even more to the point, when I see things like this course map, my brain seizes up and in fact doesn’t thaw out for a couple days:
I still have no idea what this map is supposed to be telling me.
Which leads to the next point I want to make: my recollection of what happened when is a little murky.
Specifically, I remembered from the first time I did this race that after the first aid station, the climbing became freakishly difficult and that I had needed to walk huge chunks of it.
This time, that was not the case. I never needed to walk anything. It was never even close. In fact, while many riders would pass me on the downhills, on the climbs I don’t believe I was ever passed. Not even once.
Yes, I am almost always slack-jawed when I’m riding hard. Photo courtesy of Zazoosh.
Part of that’s because this time I could shift into a lower gear, but that wasn’t all of it, because after the race I said to The Hammer, “I think they changed the order of some of the parts of the race since last time.”
She just rolled her eyes. “No kidding,” she replied.
And that’s really kind of a sad fact for me and racing. When I’m going hard, I don’t see anything but the course. When The Hammer asked me about whether I saw the low clouds over a lake we went around as part of the race, I said, “We went around a lake?”
When Nick Rico came flying right by me on the course about halfway through the race and said, “Did you see that moose?” I replied, “There was a moose?”
Racing, for me, is no way to see anything. Because when I’m racing, I see nothing but the trail, and only the next 20 – 50 feet of that.
So I continued riding along. Riding hard, feeling nothing but the intensity of the race. Over the past month or two, I’ve become pretty accustomed to that feeling, and I like it.
Sometimes it’s cold enough for me to pull my armwarmers up to my shoulders. Most of the time it’s not. I never have the need to pull out and put on my jacket. Not even when it starts to rain on me.
I’m feeling good, and almost to the second aid station, which will be roughly about two-thirds of the way through the race.
And it strikes me how amazingly different my race has been this year than the first time I did the PCP2P. The first time, I was hot. This time I always kept my armwarmers (and a jacket) at the ready. The first time, I was walking a bunch. This time, I rode all of it.
The first time, I was miserable. this time, I felt an intense calm. The first time, I was just surviving the PCP2P.
This time, I was racing it.
Special. So Special.
It’s not like I didn’t have time to notice things, though. For example, I noticed that for pretty much the entirety of the ride, I had Poison’s “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn” running through my head.
The problem (or at least the one I choose to focus on right now) is that I really don’t know that song, so I found myself improvising new lyrics around the existing lyrics:
Every rose has its thorn
Just like all farms in Kansas grow corn
Just like every teenage boy likes to watch porn
Just like that one famous tennis player had the first name “Bjorn”
And every 80’s hair band gets lots of scorn
Every rose has its thorn
Take this as a cautionary tale: Don’t listen to the the 80’s station when you’re about to do a big long bike race.
Luckily, there were many nice things to distract me from the horrible nonsense happening in my brain.
For example, the race course itself. It’s all singletrack. Really. Pretty much all of it. Like this:
Imagine, if you can, spending an entire day riding so much perfect trail that you are quite literally exhausted by it. Imagine riding, non-stop, through grassy fields, pine forests, and aspen groves. Riding so much good trail that you reach a point where you want to do the mountain biking equivalent of pushing back from the table on Thanksgiving and saying, “No more. This is all so good, but I just cannot eat one more bite.”
And now, consider that this is all happening just as the fall colors are just starting to come into play. So you’re riding along and the trees are green and the grass is green and there’s this overwhelming greenness all around you, and then you come around a bend and suddenly you’re in and under and over leaves that are so red and orange and bright they make you squint and suck in your breath.
That is the PCP2P.
Aid Station 2
I rolled into the second aid station, scouted out my drop bags, and started digging through everything. I needed to replenish my stock of drinks and food, but I wanted a Coke. Which I found, and started working on. Ignoring everything else.
At that point, three different people came up to help me.
“Want your chain lubed?” asked one. Why yes. Yes I did. I had been getting chainsuck every time I dropped into the small ring. I was dealing with it OK by backpedaling for a revolution after any downshift, but that’s not exactly a fun thing to do on a steep climb.
He took care of it.
“Want me to get your bottles filled up?” asked a second volunteer.
“Please,” I replied.
“Hey, need anything else?” asked a third person.
“Can you rummage through my bag for about four gels while I drink some soup?” I asked.
And she did.
Meanwhile I had finished my Coke and was now chugging down some Chicken and Stars soup, with no small amount of alacrity:
photo courtesy Alex Kim
So if you were curious how dirty my face and legs were, that’s how dirty.
I then saddled up and headed out, completely oblivious that a storm was heading in, and that in a few hours this would be the very place where people were pulled off the course because of terrifying amounts of rain, lightning, hail, and wind.
Hey, when I was there, it was arm warmers-down weather.
Finishing
From the first time I did the PCP2P, I remembered the final section as a truly miserable race.
This time, it wasn’t.
I had plenty of energy left. In fact, I remember thinking as I finished the last climb and began descending toward the finish line, “Oh, I’m at the end?”
photo courtesy of Zazoosh
I think that may be what happens when you spend too much time racing. And, of course, when the race course has been shortened.
Still though, I felt good as I crossed the finish line. I hadn’t cramped the whole day. Hadn’t bonked. I had ridden hard, and ridden reasonably smart.
I was proud of my effort.
It had started raining, so I sat down under a vendor’s canopy tent, drinking, cooling down. Happy.
Then it started raining hard. And then, harder than that.
I was no longer happy. Now I was worried. My wife was out there. In the cold and the rain.
Oh well, there was nothing I could do about it but watch for her.
So I found one of the aid station bags that had been brought back to the finish line, which contained a clean dry jersey and some track pants; I changed into those.
Then I saw someone had posted results. I went and checked:
I had taken third in my age group.
No way.
I walked around, stunned, wishing there were someone around I knew who I could tell this amazing news.
I had taken third!
Oddly enough, though, that is not where the story ends. In fact, that’s where it becomes very, very dramatic.
And it’s where I’ll pick up tomorrow.
Comments (33)
09.4.2012 | 12:01 am
A few days ago, Triathlete magazine interviewed me, talking about the upcoming Leadman Tri in Bend, Oregon. As part of that interview, we talked a little about blogging, and they asked me to give a few tips on how triathletes can make their blogs more interesting. Of course, I skipped the easy answer (write about something other than triathlon), and came up with a few suggestions, most of which are as practical and useful as they are obvious.
One of those suggestions was, “Include the drama,” pointing out that even if there aren’t overtly dramatic things happening during the race, there’s almost certainly some amazing emotions, conversations, and negotiations going on inside your brain. Even the most mundane race can make an exciting story if you can take yourself back to the event and describe what was going on in your mind.
I stand by this advice for writing race reports. Using your internal drama to spice up a race report is a good writing strategy.
But in the case of the 2012 Park City Point 2 Point, it is more or less unnecessary.
Go.
I’ve written about the Park City Point 2 Point (PCP2P from here on out) before. Specifically, I wrote about how after doing this ride on a rigid singlespeed, in brutally hot, dusty conditions, I would never ride this race — 78 miles, 14,000ish feet of climbing on singletrack in and around Park City, UT — on a rigid singlespeed again.
I made good on this promise last weekend, electing instead to ride on my geared Stumpjumper, with a suspension fork and everything. The Hammer, meanwhile, brought her Gary Fisher Superfly (thus restoring balance to the universe).
The drive from Alpine, UT (where we live) to Park City takes almost exactly an hour. So we got up by 4:00am, made and ate breakfast burritos, loaded the truck, and were out the door by 5:00am.
Which is when, of course, it started raining.
It was raining just a little bit, mind you. Enough so that The Hammer and I started talking about how maybe we should adjust what we started riding with and in which drop bags we should stow the most rain gear (we did this race without a crew).
As we drove North toward Salt Lake City, the rain came down harder. I turned the wipers from “Intermittent” to “Slow and Steady.” And then, in a minute, to “Nice and Fast.”
Then, in one minute more, to “As Fast As Those Wipers Will Wipe.”
And then, as we turned off I-15 to 215, the lightning began, with intense jags of electricity starkly standing out against the dark, briefly blinding the unwary driver (i.e., me). The only thing that saved us was my experience as a fighter pilot in the Korean war, where I had learned to drive with only one eye open, then — when that eye got temporarily rendered useless by a lightning-induced afterimage — I would switch to the other eye.
The Hammer was so grateful for my experience, tenacity, and courage. She’s very lucky to have me.
No Go.
By the time The Hammer and I were twenty minutes away from the start line in Park City, I would describe the intensity of the rain and lightning as “No way in God’s green earth would I go out in that to save a puppy, much less do an all-day mountain bike ride in it.”
It’s a long — but, I think you’ll agree, surpassingly apt — description.
I asked The Hammer, casually, “So, do you still want to race?”
With the deftness and speed of a Judo master, she turned my question back on me. “I don’t know. Do you?”
I parried. “It looks pretty bad. It’s a tough call.”
I switched to my survey-style questioning technique, which I have discovered is an almost ridiculously effective technique for extracting information from otherwise non-compliant spouses. “So, if you were going to express your interest in doing this race as a percentage, what would that percentage be?”
“Five percent,” she replied.
“Wow, I’m at like two percent,” I said, relieved we were both in the single digits.
It was time to make some phone calls.
First, I called Dug (you absolutely must read his post I just linked to, by the way), because he is really good about knowing weather forecasts and how rain is going to affect a specific trail, and stuff like that. I figured his go / no go opinion would be airtight.
Dug answered the phone, but did not say anything. Then he hung up again.
Hm.
For my next call, I rang up Kenny, who I knew would have good, local, updated information, since he was actually sleeping at the starting line in his Sprinter Van.
“Hey Mr. Jones,” I said, when he answered. I always call him Mr. Jones when he answers the phone, as a sign of respect.
“Hey Elden.” He always calls me “Elden” when I answer the phone, because my name is Elden.
“How bad’s the rain?” I ask, getting right to the point.
“Is it raining?” Kenny asked.
I could see Kenny was not going to be as helpful as I would have hoped. “You would drown if you stepped out of your van and into your parking lot,” I said.
“I’m down to 0.000001% on doing this ride,” The Hammer interjected. (Wives are allowed to interject into phone conversations.)
“Kenny,” I said, “Lisa and I are not going to do this race. We’re still going to drive to the starting line, though, and bring you a bunch of rain gear you can use if you choose to ride.” (We had found out the previous afternoon that Kenny and Heather hadn’t brought a lot of rain gear with them from St. George).
“OK, see you in a few minutes,” Kenny said.
Still Go!
The next call I made was to Ricky, who I knew was also making the drive from Utah County to Park City.
“Ricky, this weather looks bad,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s raining pretty hard,” Ricky said.
“Lisa and I are thinking we’re not going to do the race.”
“No?” said Ricky.
“Rick, I’d like you to express your likelihood of doing this race as a percentage,” I said.
“Oh, I’m 100%,” said Ricky, causing my head to spin around five times.
“So you brought good rain gear?” I asked.
“Well, I’ve got this windbreaker,” Ricky said.
I laughed and told him to come see us; we’d be parked by Kenny’s van.
Meanwhile, The Hammer was reading the PCP2P racer’s handbook. “The organizers of this race are smart,” she said. “They have a bad weather clause where they state that if the weather’s bad enough, they’ll do the race the next day.”
It was nice to know that this race wouldn’t go on blindly; there was a plan in place. My likelihood of doing the race skyrocketed to 3%.
Wait and See
We pulled into the parking lot, and immediately another truck pulled up beside us. It was Jay Burke, the race director.
“We’re obviously not going to start on time with this kind of rain,” he began, as a boat filled with pairs of animals drifted by. “We’re going to delay at least an hour to see what happens with the weather, and might have to postpone the race to tomorrow.”
“We vote for tomorrow,” I said.
“We’ll have a racer meeting in an hour and make the call then,” Burke said.
“If you do the race today,” I said, “the two of us will almost certainly DNS.”
Burke nodded and said, “I’ll take that into account.”
Meeting of the Minds
The Hammer and I made a mad dash into Kenny’s van. Shortly, Ricky arrived, too. I laughed at his windbreaker.
“Lisa and I did a whole day of racing in the rain in Breckenridge a couple of weeks ago,” I said. “I’ve never been so cold, and I lived in Finland for a couple years. I just don’t want to do that ever again.”
Heather, who had brought no cold-weather / rain weather bike clothes with her and has 0% body fat, looked concerned.
We talked about what the day held in store for riders. We talked about what mud does to bike drivetrains. We talked about rain and roots and slippery rocks.
“I don’t think I’m going to do it,” said Ricky, giving voice to what everyone (with the possible exception of Kenny, who seemed to still be on the fence) was thinking.
And then, over the course of two minutes, the rain slackened, then stopped.
It got light outside.
The sun came up.
The sky cleared.
And the race / no race decision suddeenly became a lot more complicated.
Meeting of the Racers
7:00am — which was the original start time of the race — rolled around and we, along with all the other racers who at least were considering doing the race, gathered around the race director.
“First of all,” Burke said, “The Round Valley section (the first and easiest 12ish miles), of the race is definitely not going to happen. That’s a clay-based soil; riding it today would be a disaster for the trail system and your bikes.”
“So we have options,” continued Burke, “And I’ll let you help decide what we should do. Should we do the race today, without the Round Valley section?”
About half the hands in the crowd went up. Mine stayed down.
“Or should we postpone the race ’til tomorrow?”
About half the hands in the crowd went up, including mine.
“Well,” said Burke, “That didn’t help at all. But I’m leaning toward getting this race done today. So, let’s line up at 8:00am.
Go?
Our group — Heather, Kenny, Ricky, The Hammer and I — walked back to our vehicles. The race was on. Should we do it?
Or not?
The Hammer and I had a conference, where, once again, we went through all the salient points.
“What if it starts raining again? I don’t want to spend the day in the rain.”
“The weather looks OK right now, but it’s between thirty and forty percent chance of rain the whole day.”
“We’ve already been racing a ton. It’s not like we need another race to make our summer complete.”
“But what if the weather turns out fine and we didn’t do the race? We’ll beat ourselves up.”
“You don’t seem like you want to do the race.”
“Do you want to do the race?”
“I’ll do it, but only if you want to. I’ll leave the choice up to you.”
Around and around we went. I don’t know how long we talked. Finally, though, I said, “The sky is blue and the race director says the rain there’s been will help the trail be better for riding, not worse. Let’s go ahead and race.”
Go!
Suddenly, we had a lot to do, and — thanks to all the time we had spent deciding whether to race — hardly any time to do it in.
I got the bikes out of the truck.
The Hammer grabbed our drop bags and took them to the area where they’d be picked up and taken to the aid stations.
Then I started dressing (The Hammer had arrived already dressed to ride) while Ricky (who had decided not to race) followed The Hammer and Kenny to the parking lot a couple miles away where we had to leave our cars.
I went to the bathroom and took care of my requisite nervous pre-race poop.
But The Hammer and Kenny weren’t back yet.
So I waited, holding on to The Hammer’s and my bikes.
The racers started lining up, according to self-selected finishing times. I wanted to be near the front because I’ve been riding pretty fast this year. But I couldn’t just leave The Hammer’s bike alone; she’d never find it in time.
So I waited.
Finally — finally! — Ricky dropped Hammer and Kenny off. Kenny grabbed his bike and started hustling his way toward the front of the start line.
But The Hammer wasn’t ready.
Using my almost superhuman waiting abilities, I stood by my wife as she stuffed her jacket and gloves and another pair of gloves and food and a camera and a crossword puzzle and some playing cards and maybe a complete change of clothes into her camelbak (I had no camelbak; I was using two bottles, had HoneyStinger gels in my right jersey pocket, HoneyStinger chews in my left jersey pocket, and a rain jacket rolled up and stuffed in my center pocket.). She put on her headband. Then her glasses. Then her helmet. Then her gloves. Then her armwarmers. Then her kneewarmers.
By now, the first wave had left.
Now ready to go, The Hammer and I ran to the starting line. She stayed near the back with Heather. I continued to push my way forward.
“What’s your hoped for finish time?” I asked a group of people.
“Just whenever” they replied. (Everyone was using the finish times based on the full-length course, not the the shortened course)
I kept hustling forward, hoping to see Kenny.
“What’s your hoped for finish time?” I asked again.
“Around eleven hours.”
I kept moving forward.
“When’s your . . . ” I started asking, but then stopped asking, because the wave of people I was with were clicking in and getting ready to roll.
They were the next wave out. The faster riders had already gone. I jumped on my bike, clipped in, and took off.
The PCP2P race had begun, and I’d find out soon enough if it was a good idea for me to be part of it.
Which is where I’ll pick up tomorrow.
Comments (22)
08.31.2012 | 11:27 am
If you do something
Enough
There comes a time
Where once there was
Terror
Or at least apprehension
There is now only
Expectation
This is what I tell myself is
Happening
With regards to the race
The race I will race
Tomorrow
The
Park City
Point
to
Point
I have done this race
Once before
And I remember well
How completely shattered
I was
At the end
(As well as well before the end)
Fourteen
Thousand
Feet of climbing
in
Seventy
Eight
Miles
Should I be anxious?
Should I be worried?
Should I be afraid?
Yes, yes, yes
But
I
Am
Not.
I have not
Made lists
Gathered gear
Or pored over
Elevation profiles
I have a plan
A simple plan
I will just ride
Until I cross
The finish line
Is this shoulder shrug
Of a plan
Because I have become
Used to racing
Week after week
After week?
Or is it because
I am a fool
And shall shortly
Learn
A valuable and
Painful
Lesson?
I will know the answer
To a degree, at least
By this time
Tomorrow
Thank you.
Comments (15)
08.29.2012 | 11:37 am
To race fast, or not to race fast..that was the question.
The question that I kept asking myself all summer was how, exactly, would I ride Leadville this year? Should I just take it easy? After all, I would be starting the Breck Epic one day later. Or should I ride with Blake? (He quickly discouraged this idea-He wanted me nowhere near him. This was to be Blake’s race, not mom and Blake’s race.) Or should I go all out–see what I could do, maybe even break the nine hour mark?
Stop right there.
Break the 9 hour mark? That really wasn’t an option, was it? I mean, I had been riding strong all summer…I think. Strava seemed to be telling me I was, but most Strava segments are short–they don’t have anything to do with endurance riding.
What’s a girl to do?
Decision, Made
As we packed our many (many, many) bags for this adventure, I finally decided: I would “race” Leadville. I really didn’t think I had it in me to break 9 hours, but I would ride hard and see what would happen. If I was having a horrible day, or if the weather was bad, I would back off. There would be no use in suffering, since I still had many more days of racing after Leadville with time to improve.
Then, of course, as we arrived in Leadville, some of our riding buddies approached me with comments like “I hear you’re gonna beat 9 hours this year!” Ugh!
Elden would even introduce me as “This is my wife, The Hammer. She is the one you want to be watching for this year. She is gonna smash the course.” Oh great! Everyone is expecting a great outcome, but I have no idea what I am capable of. All I did know was that the pressure was on!
After the first two years of racing Leadville, I pretty much knew I could finish the race in less than twelve hours. Because of this knowledge, the subsequent races were not as stressful. My only goal with racing was to improve my time from the previous year. Which I had successfully done, knocking anywhere from ten to forty five minutes off each year’s times. Sure, there was one exception: the year I married Elden–I actually slowed down that year. He was fixing far too many delicious dinners and I packed on a few extra pounds.
My attitude was ride hard, but rest easy. I pushed myself while riding, but I enjoyed my breaks at the aid stations–eating a sandwich and some chips, drinking my Mountain Dew, and visiting with my awesome crew.
This year, though, my attitude was changing. I found myself writing down lists of things that I needed the crew to hand me, or have ready for me to take. I was beginning to stress about my splits. I was writing the times that I would need to be as fast as my 2011 time and . . . to break the 9 hour mark. What was I doing? I was turning into Elden!
Rising stress levels
Friday’s festivities went well. Elden, Blake, Heather, Kenny and I rode down to Turquoise Lake and enjoyed a little bit of the single track around it, then we headed back up the Boulevard.
I think that riding the Boulevard prior to racing Leadville –my favorite and mandatory Leadville tradition– is the single most important thing you can do to prepare! After talking to Blake about his experience racing, I think he would agree. There is definitely a psychological component to riding the Boulevard and once you have ridden it, it doesn’t seem to get to you as bad on race day.
We also went down to Twin Lakes and got our crewing spot reserved. My son Zac, his darling wife Erin, and my brother Scott had all come to Leadville to support Blake in his quest to conquer Leadville (but they helped Elden and me, too.) Thanks guys for your wonderful crewing!
Then, after the traditional spaghetti dinner we returned to our room and started filling our drop bags with warm, rain gear and our favorite foods as well as making lists. This is when my stress level is at the highest. What do I need to pack? And what aid station should I have it be at? What do I want to eat? Drink? And when? Should I wear a camelbak or just use bottles?
And then there are the splits. How will I ever be to “that” aid station in “that” amount of time! It’s just not possible for me to ride that fast!
Aaaggh!
And then it started to rain. Not just a little sprinkle either, but pouring in rain! What were we in for now?
Race morning
As I looked out the window at 4:30 on race morning, I could see that the streets were wet, but it wasn’t raining! Yeah! While I was eating my breakfast, the hotel server said that his experience with the weather was when in rained all night (like it had just done–it finally stopped around 2am), usually the next day was beautiful. I was sure hoping he was right.
As I was headed down to the corrals, I saw Blake still looking half asleep wandering down to breakfast.
I guess he was having a hard time waking up.
I asked Blake if he was ready, and he mumbled something about he would eventually get there. I gave him a hug and wished him luck as I headed to the start line.
Elden was already down at the truck, getting both our bikes ready. Elden is fantastic to me. He had gotten down to our bikes early, checked tire pressure and greased the chain. His stess level was running at full tilt, but he was still looking out for me.
As I gave him a kiss and wished him luck, he asked me where the heck Blake was. Blake’s bike was still on his rack in his truck. I informed him that he was still in the hotel. Elden gasped and said he couldn’t believe Blake wasn’t down here getting ready! The race was to start in less than 30 minutes. So Elden went ahead and got Blake’s bike ready, too.
I couldn’t really think about or stress about Blake, I was too stressed for myself.
Just then Jilene rode up and we headed for the red corral.
Elden, Jilene, and me, before the race
I was pleasantly surprised when the volunteers kept telling us to keep moving forward toward the starting line. You see, Jilene and I have posted a time in the 9-10 hour time frame at a previous Leadville100, so we were to start in the RED corral. The red corral is positioned behind the silver and bronze corrals (super-fast riders-like Elden and Kenny and the pros like Rebecca Rusche are placed in those corrals).
I couldn’t believe how close to the front we were; I could actually see the starting line! I have never been so close, in the prior 7 times I have raced.
As I waited for the gun to go off, I formulated a plan. I really wanted to keep Jilene in my site as we descended the paved section. I am usually pretty nervous and go slow down the pavement. Today I wasn’t going to do that; I didn’t want to lose my great position in the pack.
The first 40 miles
My plan worked wonderfully. I certainly couldn’t go as aggressive as Jilene does on the pavement, but I kept her in site. As she pulled onto the dirt road, I saw that she had actually caught up with Elden. (Elden can’t descend on pavement very fast, due to his singlespeed gearing).
It wasn’t long before I caught Jilene on the climb up St Kevins. I love riding with Jilene. She is quite the chatterbox and she is usually singing or talking to someone. She was appropriately dressed in a Fatty jersey, but had also added tassells to her helmet and handlebars, as well as bright red lip stick to her lips. As I rode behind her, I was entertained with the conversations she was having with other riders.
The climb up St Kevins this year was fantastic. I think it was because I was with other riders that were comparable in ability to me — I didn’t have to surge and pass slower riders; we all just moved quickly up the hill. Before I knew it, I was at the giant switchback that signifies the end of the lion’s share of climbing on St. Kevins.
As we passed through the aid station at the top of paved descent, I glanced down at my top tube. To my horror, my valuable split times, which I had written on a piece of duct tape, weren’t there! I had forgotten to put the piece of tape on my bike. All my calculations were gone. Should I be stressed? No, I thought, times don’t really mean anything to me. I ride hard when I can and I ease off when I am tired. The tape would have probably just discouraged me anyway.
I didn’t need times; I was just gonna do what I could.
As the road turned to pavement and downhill, Jilene shot by me. I took the time to sit up and eat a Honey Stinger waffle. I wasn’t at all hungry, but knew the importance of continual eating. As we turned off the pavement, I quickly came upon Jilene. I was drafting off a guy, and we were cruising.
I blew Jilene a kiss and kept going.
Sugarloaf is my favorite climb in Leadville. By the time you get there, the crowd of riders has broken up a little and it is a very pleasant climb. I was a little worried about descending Powerlline this year, though. I figured I was with the faster crowd and would probably hold more riders up on the descent.
I was pleasantly surprised when only a few passed me on the descent.
Photo courtesy of Zazoosh
I was very appreciative to Erica Tingey as I was descending. Just a few days before we left for Leadville I was able to attend a Womens Mountain bike clinic put on by her. She had given me some valuable advice about descending that I would be using a lot during the next seven days of racing! (Thanks again Erica!)
Erica had reminded me that I need to look forward — not at my front tire — when I am descending. See, usually when I get nervous on a descent, I find that I look at my front tire and all the obstacles that I need to avoid; then I start to brake, which makes me more nervous and more apt to wreck!
When I look forward and keep my fingers off the brakes, I roll over everything and my anxiety level goes down and I go faster!
Simple fact, but hard to implement when riding!
I rolled through the Pipeline aid station a little faster than I had last year. I still felt really strong. I tried to eat, but nothing sounded good. I was already breaking my number one rule!
I then cruised toward the Twin Lakes aid station. I had felt pretty good on the relatively flat section leading to the aid station. I don’t think I improved my time, but I don’t think I lost much either. As I pulled up to my crew tent, Zac quickly came up and started helping me out.
It was nice having my son wait on me. I’ve been waiting for 24years for him to serve me. I needed to sit back and relish it for a moment, but only a moment I had to keep moving. I ate part of my subway sandwich and washed it down with some Coke.
I didn’t need to refill my Bentos box yet, because I hadn’t eaten anything out of it! That is why I tried to eat a little more while I was stopped. I had them pop open a can of chicken and stars soup and I ate that too.
Then I was off.
Up Columbine
As I started up the Columbine climb, I was pleased to find that I was with a group of riders that was riding at the same pace as me–not slower and not faster. I don’t really remember passing or being passed by a whole lot of people. I do remember thinking that I was farther up the climb this year when the first riders came by me in the other direction on their descent. That was a good sign.
As the dirt road narrowed and the rocky 4-wheeler path started, I was surprised to see people riding, not walking. In the past, I have tried riding this section, but there were too many people walking and that messes with my head. If people are walking up a steep climb, my brain tells me that the road must not be rideable, so I may as well dismount. Since most people were riding, my brain told me to continue and my legs responded.
We continued to ride and ride, then I heard a voice say, “Wow! I can’t believe we are still riding!” Now that was weird, because that was exactly what I was just thinking.
So I said, “What did you say?” wondering who I was even talking to — or was I talking to myself?
The girl behind me repeated what she had said, and I wholeheartedly agreed. She then launched into her life story…or at least the last couple of months of her life. Her name was Kristi and she had been training for the Leadville 100 run, but had experienced a running injury and had to pull out of that race. She decided — three weeks ago — to ride the mountain bike race . . . and there she was.
She did apologize for feeling so good; she is from Leadville and wasn’t having any difficulty with altitude. Her smooth-flowing conversation — without gasping — made this quite obvious! After we dismounted and started the death march, she pulled around me.
I looked her up in the results after. Kristi took 1st in her age group with a 9:10. How would it be to hop on your bike with 3 weeks of training and win your age group! Way to go Kristi!
While Kristi and I were talking, my handsome husband came whooping and hollering down the trail! I could tell he was feeling good and must be well on his way to breaking the 9hr mark! His words of encouragement buoyed my spirit for the last mile up Columbine.
I hit the turnaround point and knew my chances of a sub-9 were gone. In fact, I didn’t even know where I stood anymore. I couldn’t remember any numbers or split times. I did know that I hadn’t eaten anything on my way up Columbine, so I stopped at the aid station.
I was quickly greeted by Noah. I had met this cute 10-year old boy the night before at the spaghetti dinner. His dad, Doug, is a member of Team Fatty and we had the opportunity to ride with him last year in Davis at a Livestrong challenge. Noah and Doug were volunteering at the aid station. Noah brought me a delicious cup of Ramen made by his dad. I slurped it down, but the darn noodles got stuck at the bottom of the cup, so all I got was broth, when what I really wanted was the noodles!
Down Columbine
I hollered a big “thank you” to Chef Doug and was back on my bike heading down Columbine. I anxiously descended, looking carefully for Blake. Where would he be on the climb? I figured I would know by his position on the climb if he had a chance at finishing in 12 hours.
The first person I went by was Jilene. She wasn’t very far behind me at all. As I crossed the beginning of the Goat Trail, I saw Blake walking his bike! “Whoopee!” I yelled. He was in fine positioning! He looked good and was right in the middle of the bulk of the riders. If he continued as this pace, he would have no problem making 12 hours.
After descending a little farther, I saw Heather. I actually was a little surprised to see Heather behind Blake. She looked really good and gave me a huge smile. She was gunning for a podium position for the SS division. I knew that she would have to have a pretty strong second half to meet her goals. “Keep up the good work Heather!” I yelled as I passed.
“Look ahead…Look ahead..Look ahead” was my mantra as I raced down Columbine. I think it actually helped. My time down Columbine was at least four minutes faster than years past.
I rolled into Twin Lakes tired. “I haven’t eaten much,” I admitted to Zac and Erin. I drank another chicken and stars soup, but I didn’t feel like eating.
I grabbed a few gels and tucked them under my pant legs. That is my new favorite place to stash food — I actually prefer it to the Bentos box. They are easier to get to and they don’t accidentally bounce out and get lost like they can in the Bentos box (which is what happened to Blake).
While I was at the Twin Lakes aid station, I made an executive decision. Up until this point, I had on a very small camelbak — the kind that is basically just a bladder. It had worked great — it hardly weighs anything and I barely knew it was there. But as I was riding down to the aid station, I could tell the wind was beginning to pick up. The forecast called for 15-20 mile/hr winds and it looked like it could be right. Not only was the wind beginning to blow, but dark rain clouds were rolling in. So while at the aid station, I ditched the small camelbak and told Zac to grab me my slightly bigger camelbak and put my new yellow waterproof rain jacket in the pocket.
Zac got it ready for me, stuck it on my back and John Mecham gave me one of his signature supersonic pushes back out onto the road.
But as I was rolling away, something didn’t feel right. The camelbak was way too tight; it was very uncomfortable. I tried to loosen the straps, but they were knotted up and I couldn’t figure them out while riding. I decided to just deal with it. This decision set me up for a very miserable 15 miles. (I later found out that Zac had put Blake’s jacket in my pack. The bigger size of jacket must have been the reason it was so tight. Blake and I had identical-looking jackets and there was no way for Zac to have known that it wasn’t mine.)
The Last 40 Miles
The section between Twin Lakes and Powerline was super hard for me. The wind was picking up and I was slowing down. Trains of riders would pass me. I would try to catch a wheel, but couldn’t hold on and would fall off quickly. This wasn’t just in my head, either. This was the only section of the whole race I rode slower than last year: about seven minutes slower!
The rain never seemed to come and my backpack with jacket seemed like overkill. As I rolled into the Pipeline aid station, I quickly found Scott. He was very helpful (but a little scatterbrained); he got rid of the big jacket and gave me a much smaller windbreaker.
He got me a PBJ sandwich, Coke and Excedrin. I needed to use the bathroom bad, and of course the actual aid station with pottyies was nowhere in sight! I had to make do with what I had: a tree. Like I always say, I love my bibshorts except when mother nature calls.
Then I embarked once again. I really wanted to find a train to ride in on the paved section to the bottom of Powerline. As I pulled out, I thought I was going to be on my own and then suddenly a group of 3-4 people pulled along side of me. I even knew one of the gentlemen. We chatted for a while as we pedaled. I was waiting for the line to turn single file and a train to depart…but it never happened. These guys just kept talking and talking.
So I decided to be the engineer and rode to the front. I put my head down and started pedaling. I had probably gone a tenth of a mile and the two guys pulled ahead of me. I thought,”How sweet, they are going to pull!”
But no. They weren’t going to pull — at least not at the speed I had been pulling. They just didn’t like being “chicked.” Which is to say, as soon as they passed, they slowed down and started talking again!
I swear this little exchange of pulling and then being slowed by “talkers who don’t like being chicked” went on for a mile! I was so frustrated that I eventually “threw the hammer down” and left them to their chatting.
Then a beautiful thing happened.
I crested a hill, just a couple minutes before the Powerline climb begins . . . and there was a Strava tent with a lovely girl passing out little cans of Coke! I had just been thinking how nice it would be to have a Coke before the climb up Powerline and here it was: an answer to my prayer!
The march up the steep section of Powerline went smoothly.
Photo courtesy of Zazoosh
Riders weren’t congested like it is earlier in the race. We hiked up quickly. As we crested the first false summit, I got on my bike and started to ride.
I actually like the Powerline climb. I know that sounds crazy, but I can really climb well in my granny gear. I pass a ton of people in this section and everyone congratulates me on my climbing as I pass them. It gives me a little boost of confidence. After the first false summit I can ride all the way to the summit. Elden had reminded me earlier that the climb is exactly 3.3 miles from the gate. That little bit of knowledge is incredibly helpful!
When we had gone about 2.5 miles, some of the guys I had been riding with were pulling over for a rest. I tried to encourage them by telling them they had less than a mile to the summit. They looked at me like I was a crazy woman, speaking a different language.
I eventually made it to the summit and went flying down the Sugarloaf side of the mountain. It was a very well-deserved descent. Then I started up the paved climb. It seemed to go on . . . and on . . . and on. I kept thinking that the aid station would be just around the next corner . . . and then it wouldn’t be.
When I finally got to the Carter Summit aid station, I didn’t even bother looking at my watch. I knew I was way off from my 9 hour finish. I figured I would be lucky to squeak in under ten hours. I was a little disappointed in myself. So many people had thought I was in better shape and riding stronger this year. I was going to disappoint them all too. Oh well, I can only do what I can do.
I slammed some more Coke and headed out. As I left this aid station, I was no longer disillusioned that it is all downhill to the finish. I know there is a significant climb before we even hit the St Kevins descent. That knowledge is also very psychologically important. Because really the climb is not that hard.
With that behind me, I cruised down St Kevins trying to remember the climb “up” the hill that I had just done hours ago. It is weird how a descent down a mountain looks so incredibly different than the climb up.
The Final Push
As I got back on the paved road heading toward the Boulevard, I felt fantastic. I was flying. As I hit the dirt road, I was surprised to be immediately passed by about six guys. Those freeloaders had been riding behind me and I didn’t even know they were there!
They quickly shot past and gapped me. I chuckled to myself, for it was now my personal goal to re-pass all of them by the end of the Boulevard! I am happy to report that I was successful. I think I passed the last one just prior to entering the paved road. Woohoo!
Photo courtesy of Zazoosh
As I coasted across the finish line I was pleasantly surprised to see 9:28.
I honestly didn’t think I was going to improve my time. A few years ago I would have never imagined doing Leadville in less than 10 hours. I have worked hard this year and it has definitely paid off. I’ll gladly take 11 minutes off my time.
It was great to be greeted by my family: Elden, Zac and Erin and Scott.
What a fantastic crew. I was so glad they got to experience this with me. But now we must wait….would Blake make the 12 hour cut off?
As I was gathering my thoughts at the finish line, I wondered if I had played my cards right. Should I have slowed down and ridden easy and conserved my energy for Breckenridge? Would I later regret my fast time?
Time would tell.
Comments (27)
08.28.2012 | 2:38 pm
A Note from Fatty: A lot of you asked for the LT100 race perspective from The Hammer and The IT Guy (The Hammer’s son who broke his collarbone one week before Leadville last year). Using my most impressive superpower — asking people to do things — I have gotten stories from both of them.
Today will be The IT Guy’s Story; tomorrow’s will be The Hammer’s.
It’s a lot of story. So pace yourself. Take your time. Don’t let your glycogen stores get depleted, and drink whenever you get thirsty.
Me Scott, Zac and Erin drove down to Leadville on Wednesday 8-8-2012. We drove down to Grand Junction and stayed the night there.
The next morning we left Grand Junction and headed out to Leadville. I forgot to get gas until I had already got on the freeway, so I took the next exit, worried there wouldn’t be anywhere to stop in the canyon. We followed the signs saying gas station for 20 minutes down some little 20 MPH roads. I thought we were being lured into some alley that we would be murdered in. We eventually found a gas station and fueled up. We got back on the highway after that.
We stopped at The Hanging Lake to hike. I was the only fit person there so I flew up the trail and had to keep waiting for everyone else.
We eventually got to the top and my knee started hurting. I was worried down the whole descent that I hurt my knee and would ruin my ride that weekend.
We got back on the road and headed for Leadville.
We got to Leadville and met mom for our room keys.
Some of the stuff in the Delaware Hotel.
Mom and Elden left for an Elden interview so Me, Scott, Zac and Erin went to get me registered for the race. After I got my shirt and bag, we went down to the pizza place for dinner. We met Jilene, John, Kenny and Heather at the pizza place along with my mother and Elden. We ate some great pizza there.
I don’t remember anything eventful, but I am sure I went to sleep that night.
The next morning Me, Mom, Elden, Kenny and Heather rode out to Turquoise lake to ride the single track. We had a fun little ride. During the ride, I told Heather that she looked hilarious as she rode down the road in her super low single speed gear. She was spinning at about 6,500 rpm.
After the ride we showered and headed down to the race meeting. This year is the first time they have moved this meeting to a larger room, but it was still packed. The meeting was at the high school instead of the gym this year. We saved a spot near us for Jilene and John, but they ended up bringing Bry and Garrette as well. We all crammed into this bench (and pushed the people next to us off the other side).
The race meeting was extra-long this year, but eventually we heard Ken get up and give his “You are better than you think you are” speech.
The morning of the race, I woke up at about 5:30. I had a good night and was ready to ride. I walked around until about 6:00 eating a bagel. Around 6:00 I saw Elden. He was flabbergasted by the fact that I still hadn’t gone out to look at my bike or get in line. I told him that I heard they wouldn’t let you leave your bike, and I didn’t want to go stand in the cold for an hour. At about 6:10 I went to and got my bike ready [Editor's note: actually, I had already got his bike ready, or I'm pretty sure he would've missed the start].
I knew I would be in the back of the pack, so I didn’t care about being early. I kind of weaseled my way into the middle of my section.
The night before the race, I told Zac that I wanted to give him my jacket before the ride. As I was waiting in the line to start, Zac kept asking me about my jacket. I told him that it was cold and I would keep it. Zac kept telling me that I would regret it, but it was cold that morning so I held on to the jacket.
About 30 seconds before the gun went off, the adrenaline kicked in so I gave Zac my jacket. I am really happy that I did.
Waiting for the start (apparently less than 30 seconds before the race began, since Blake’s not wearing a jacket)
The gun went off and we just sat there. It took 1 minute and 45 seconds before I crossed the start line. That is a long time when you are excitedly waiting.
The Race Begins
The first descent was cold and slow. There were people that kept flying by, but I was told that everything would work out, so I should just stay in the pack. (I regretted that later on, but maybe it did help out.)
When we left the pavement for the first time, the road goes from about 8 riders across to 4 riders across so there was a total traffic jam that had stopped everyone. I rode of the road to the right around a big puddle and passed the large part of the traffic jam.
The climb of St Kevin’s was a lot of fun. Everyone was excited and ready for a day of riding. It took a little while to settle in to the flow.
There were so many people that you had to make yourself slow down and wait for the crowd. I think that it felt a lot like driving, there were 3 lanes, and it didn’t matter which one you were in, the other lanes were going faster.
Eventually we got to the first section of descent. There was one guy ahead of me on the descent. We had been going down for about 30 seconds and the guy in front of me wrecked. I don’t know why, because I don’t see anything, but he is in the middle of the trail. I stop and he says he is fine, but by then, the hundreds of people behind us are catching up. There are a lot of people shouting and slamming on the brakes, so after I hear the guys say he is fine, I rode around him and keep going.
There is a little more climb before we get to the top of the hill and the aid station. At this point, I am still enjoying the ride and am happy.
I passed the aid station and get on the pavement. I start looking at the other riders. This year the riders were separated into eight groups with different colors on their numbers, showing how fast they have finished the race before. I kept seeing numbers that were way fast and wondering why they are near me. I don’t know if I am doing well, or if they are doing badly.
Getting Into a Riding Groove
During the paved section, the riders pick up the pace a little. I keep wondering about the fast colors. I keep wondering if I should be passing these people. Maybe they know that there is 12 hours left in this ride and not to kill themselves yet. Whatever their reason is, I set myself in a groove and keep riding.
When we get to the Sugarloaf climb I am still extremely happy because I am still passing people. There is a lot of great nature around me to watch and help pass the time. There is a lot of really cool stuff in those mountains.
As I round the top of Sugar Loaf, I prepare myself for the worst. I have heard for 10 years that the Powerline descent is the most technical and awful mountain biking descent imaginable. They say it has one line and if you deviate even an inch, you will be suck into a rut and die. That is what I have learned to expect from this descent.
With all this worry and doubt in my mind, I start going down. The descent I come to learn is not very bad at all, in fact, I would say that it is fun.
At this time, I am still surrounded by people. This helps keep us moving at a quick pace, but also keeps us from going too fast and losing control. The road is a good double track where 99% of the riders stay in a nice single file line, and the other 1% bomb down the other side. There are a few climbs, but not many (you notice every one though because it brings the entire crowd to a standstill).
Coming down the descent, I see one person crashed out. When it happened, the next two guys on the trail stopped and helped the crashed rider out of the way. Other than that, everything else on the descent went great.
No Food
When I got to the bottom of the descent I know that it will roll for a little while, and then I will need to find a group that I can stay with on the flat sections. When I settle in, I reach down for my food and find out that it is gone. Sometime during the Powerline descent, my food bounced out.
I start to worry about not having any food. Every single person that has given me advice for this race has said. “Keep eating. Don’t ever let 30 minutes go by without eating”. The words ring trough my head. I know that I am only 10 miles away from the next aid station, but still I worry.
I find a group of riders on the flat that I try to stick with, but they drop me. Then I hop on the next train until it gets away. During this time, I realize that I can climb well, and I can descend ok, but when the road gets flat, I slow waaay down. I don’t understand this phenomenon, but I do know that it happens.
Eventually I see the Pipeline aid station. I am riding on the right side of the road as I round the corner to the aid station. I look up to see where I am supposed to stop and I see a child with a cup of water on the left. I start moving to the other side of the road. When I get over, I look for some food and don’t see anyone. I am still rolling along the road and look back. The child with the cup had been the last person at the aid station. Somehow I missed the aid station that I had been obsessing over for the last hour. By the time my food deprived brain realizes this; I am far enough past the aid station that I keep riding. My brain tells me I can’t go back because I am in the middle of a race.
So, somehow I miss the aid station, and I think it is ok for me to continue on without food. Clearly my brain is not working at its full potential.
I start up the dirt road past Pipeline as quickly as I can. I start passing people. Here is one of the times during the day that I feel like I am racing. Not because this is a race, but because I know that I have already gone 2 30 minute sections without eating, and I don’t want too much more time to pass before I get some food.
There is a small section of single track in the Leadville 100 race. I did not know about this beforehand, if I had known, I would have ridden even harder so that I did not get stuck behind a slow person in a situation that I could not pass them. Since I did not know about this section, I did get stuck behind a slow person. In fact, I think that I was stuck behind one of the slowest people in the whole world (Probably not really the whole world since he was riding in this race). When the section of single track ended, I believe that I was the 6th person stuck behind this slow person, out of about 150 people. I honestly think that there was a train of 150 people slowed down on this section of single track. It was horrible.
As soon as the single track ended I picked up the pace. I flew down the dirt road toward Twin lakes. All I can think about is how I have not eaten in close to 2 hours. I am extremely worried that I would not be able to recover, but then I came over the rise above the dam and saw the line of spectators cheering on the people in this race.
I met my crew right before the dam.
My crew consists of my brother Zac, his wife Erin and my uncle Scott. Jilene’s husband John is also waiting at this stop. I hop of my bike and sit down in one of their chairs as they start following the instructions that I gave them the night before the race. I pick up a PB and J sandwich and say I need to use the bathroom. Scott offers to hold my bike for me, but I tell him I don’t really have time to go, so I hop back on my bike and set off toward Columbine.
As I approach the hill, I hear some shouting and I see that the race leaders are already coming off the mountain. They pass me one turn before I reach the bottom of the Columbine climb.
Photo courtesy of Zazoosh
Climbing Columbine hurt my mentality a little bit. I passed the first turn when I realized how slow I was moving, how slow EVERYONE was moving. I thought that this would be the section that may just break me, then a girl on a single speed passed me. I saw her come flying by and I decided I could stick with her. I stayed right on her tail all the way up the mountain. I felt awesome.
I passed the tree line and saw the last 4 miles of the hill with a steady stream of people walking. The whole ride I thought there were too many people, but this is one of the times it made me mad. I felt good and wanted to ride, but I couldn’t because people were walking in front of me. There was a time that Ken Clouber was standing on a boulder next to the road telling people to ride, but I couldn’t because people were in the way walking. (I actually did ride for about 18.5 seconds to make Ken happy.)
Eventually (after an hour of walking) I made it to the top, and immediately turned around. I had passed a bunch of people and I wasn’t going to let them pass me while I was stopped. (After the race I found out that I had passed 251 people on the climb. I rock).
Improvising
The Columbine descent was uneventful and I soon was back at the Twin Lakes aid station. I met Zac and Erin and left them my bike and my camelback. I decided that it finally was time for me to go to the bathroom. I grabbed another PB and J and headed for the Porta Pot.
When I entered the Porta Pot, I faced one of the largest dilemmas in my life to this day. The dilemma was this. I am in a hurry to do this race, but there is no toilet paper. All I have are the clothes I am wearing and the sandwich that I am eating.
At this point, I believe that most people would go find another bathroom, but not this person. I decided that with the ¼ sandwich that I had not yet consumed, I would prevail. So I did my business and used the sandwich to wipe. It worked out perfectly.
I returned to my bike and told my crew the story. Erin started laughing and Zac went to find me some TP. I told Zac that the TP was no longer necessary, but it would probably help someone else if he went and put it in the Porta Pot. I grabbed my camelback and took off.
The Race Gets Hard
This is where the race got difficult. I got to a nice piece of pavement and slowed way down. The wind had started. Elden and my mother both know that any ride that I go on, there will be an absurd amount of wind. We all know that I am the wind-bringer. I can (and do) ruin most any bike ride because of this, but they still invite me. (How nice of them.)
Anyway, this is the part of the ride that I looked down at my clock and realize that that I have only been moving for 7 hours, meaning that I have 5 more hours ahead of me.
I don’t really remember much of what happened during the 10 miles between Twin Lakes and Pipeline, but I do know that it was slow and painful.
About 3 minutes before I reach my uncle Scott at the Pipeline aid station, it starts to sprinkle a little bit, and this causes me to make another bad choice. I stop and Scott tells me that he felt the rain too so I ask for a jacket. Scott hands me a large waterproof jacket that I ball up and put in my pocket. This doesn’t seem like it should be a big deal, but when you are tired and have 25 miles left of racing, and your back is aching, putting a nice big rain jacket in your pocket is more than just annoying.
I refill my supplies and set off again.
After the Pipeline aid station there is more flat and then there is Powerline. Again I realize that I need to work on my “riding on the flat” skills. After another long stretch of flat pavement, we eventually reach Powerline. I am stoked. I start up the dirt road and remember what my mother told me the night before. “It is 3.3 miles past the last gate until the top.” I told her that there is no way that I will be able to remember all the little distances she has told me, but this one did stick out. I start up the climb looking for the gate that means the climb is here, but I don’t see one, and I keep climbing.
The Powerline
I round a corner and I see the real climb. It looks almost vertical with 50 people walking up in single file. At the bottom of that hill, there is a small fence.
I start climbing and just about immediately hop off my bike to push it. I believe the hill is ride-able, but there are too many people, so I get in line like everyone else and keep pushing. When the really steep stuff ends, a guy on the side of the road told me that a single speed guy in the same shirt was the first place on a single speed by about 25 minutes. I said something like “I bet he was happy”, because I do believe that he should have been happy. (Editor’s Note: At that point on the course, I was most definitely not happy.)
After the steep spot, I start riding. The climb is by no means over, but the un-ride-able steep stuff is. I pass a lot of people here. Whenever someone asks me why I am riding, I reply with “Because I trained for a bike race, not a hike.” and I ride away.
I enjoyed the climb a lot.
After the climb there is a fun dirt descent, and then some pavement. I enjoyed the break and ate some Gu. (Before the race I filled some flasks with Gu so I didn’t have to get as sticky. This was probably the thing I was happiest about during the race: I didn’t even get a little sticky.)
St Kevins Climb
When the paved road starts up again, I start having some more mental issues. Before the race, I wrote down the splits for 11:55 from someone last year. So far I had been about 10 minutes ahead of those splits at every check. The splits I wrote down said that I should be at the last aid station at 10:15. My mother told me that if I was there at 10:00 I would be fine, but if I got there any later I would need to push myself. I watched my clock going up the hill before the aid station pass both 10:00 and 10:15. I got to the aid station at 10:23.
I was worried for the first time during the race.
I pulled into the aid station thinking that I want water in my camelback. I know that I have had Gatorade in my camelback for most of the ride and now I need water.
I get to the table and blurt out, “I want Gatorade in my camelback”. I give them my camelback and they start filling it. It took me another minute to realize that I said the wrong thing, but they were already giving the camelback back to me. I decide not to worry and get back on my bike. I move out of the aid station and eat a pack of Honey Stinger chews. I know that the race is not over and I need to keep eating.
I start down the St Kevin’s descent and eat some more chews. I look around and think how different the scenery is. 11 hours earlier it had been dawn, it was nice and moist and the air tasted like excitement. Now it was dry. I don’t think there was more than one turn that I could remember from the way out. It really made me feel like it was a different road (it wasn’t, I didn’t take any wrong turns).
I got to the bottom of the descent and back on the flat. I promised myself that I would not let this flat kill me, and I knew that I had to push it to beat 12 hours.
The Boulevard and Finish
I flew down the road. I ate some more Honey Stinger chews and went even faster. I was excited and I made myself believe I would make it. I turned onto the Boulevard and saw a line of people walking. I didn’t understand. Why were they walking up this little hill, we had just ridden 102 miles. Why are they all walking? I didn’t want to walk, so I rode up the side. Actually I believe I flew up the side. I was happy and full of energy and want it to end, so I kept on riding. When I got to the pavement, I think that I have passed about 75 people.
I was ecstatic and I saw that I was at 11:07. I rode up over the hill where you can see the finish line and all the sudden my right leg cramped. I couldn’t believe it. I had been feeling phenomenal for 11 hours and 10 minutes, then my leg cramped. I wouldn’t let the cramp bother me though. I knew that all I had was ½ a mile to ride in the next 50 minutes. I rode the last hill with just my left leg. It was not it terrible thing, but I thought it was worth mentioning. I passed 4 people in the last 20 yards getting me an 11:15:09 time for my first Leadville 100.
Photo courtesy of Zazoosh
I hopped off my bike and put on my finisher’s medal, then my mother started screaming in my ear. It was SOOO loud. I tried to get away, but she was hugging me too. I submitted to a super hug and almost being made deaf.
I was happy. I had rocked it.
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