On August 12, 2009, I head up for the 2009 Leadville 100 Bike Race which is on August 15, 2009. For those that don't know, the Leadville 100 is a 100 mile mountain bike race, actually about 103 miles, but who is counting, that starts in Leadville, Colorado, which is located at 10,200 feet elevation. The course is 50 miles out, up to 12,600 feet elevation and then the same 50 miles back. It has about 14,000 feet of climbing all above 9,200 feet elevation. Just for comparison, Dallas is at about 600 feet elevation. Entrants for the race are picked from a lottery process in early February. About 1300 people are allowed to race and hear that two to three times that many enter the lottery process. Actually heard a rumor that 10,000 people threw their names into the lottery process this year due to Lance Armstrong doing the race last year and again this year.
The trip is about 800+ miles from the Dallas area. My mother, who travels with me to some of these torture events, is along for this one as well. The first day we stop in Amarillo which is just about half way. On the 13th, we drive up to Salida, Colorado which is about 60 miles south of Leadville, Colorado and at about 7,000 feet elevation. On the 14th, we head up to Leadville and I get registerd and then head back down to the hotel in Buena Vista, Colorado which is 30 miles south of Leadville. Leadville is a very small town of about 2,500 people and hotels/rooms are scarce. This year, I waited until May to attempt to find a room and Buena Vista was as close as I could get to Leadville.
My preparation for the ride included about 2600 miles on my bikes, since January, which equates to roughly 200 hours and culminated with more than 500 miles ridden in June and 500 miles ridden in July. Most of the rides were done on the road and on my road bike. The last month, I switched over to the mountain bike that I would be riding in Leadville.
At 6:15 am on August 15, I line up in downtown Leadville with 1300 of my closest friends waiting for the traditional shotgun blast that starts the race. The organizers want people to line up according to their estimated finishing time. The top riders will do the race in about 7 hours with others taking up to 13 hours. The official clock stops 12 hours after the start but riders are recognized up until the 13th hour, if they complete the course. The temp is in the high 30's, overcast with a very slight dampness to the air. The tops of the mountains, in the direction that we will be going, are not visible. Not a good sign when you are 2 miles up. The shotgun goes off and it takes about 2 minutes for me, positioned near the 11-12 hour finishers at the back, to start moving.
The first 4 miles or so, riders are escorted out of town by a police escort, ugh, mainly downhill, on a paved road out of town. Just coasting, 25 mph is registering on the bike computer. These are cautious times cause the two lane road is clogged with bikes, 6 to 10 across and one mishap by a rider could easily take out dozens of bikes. The police escort, ugh, directs us to a dirt road at the 4 mile mark and the full out race is on.
This dirt road, St. Kevins, pronounced Keevins, is relatively flat for about 2 miles and then gets steep. The road is wet and a bit muddy, but the mud, I guess due to sand and small pebbles, does not stick to your bike like good'ole Texas soil. At about the 6 mile mark, the steepness comes and it is steep. Really steep. I gear down to a smaller/easier gear and get ready for the next 2 miles. I am still surrounded by bike riders as far as the eye can see. The pace is painfully slow and passing is next to impossible due to all of the bikes. Many folks start pushing their bikes early into the climb, which does not help the slowness of the pace. I ride the entire 2 miles at a much slower pace than I would of liked, probably 5 mph and it took me approximately 25 minutes. After the first 2 miles, the steepness subsides, just a little for the next 3 miles, but it is still steep, just not dirt road in front of your face steep. The rest of this climb takes us up and over Carter Summit.
Once over Carter Summit, we get dumped out onto a paved road. Remember the clouds, from earlier, by now, they are dumping a bit of light rain on us and the temps are probably in the high 30's, still. The next 3 miles are downhill and steep. Almost instantly, I get up to about 35 mph and decide that is about the maximum safest speed for me to hold on the wet roads with sweeping turns, so I am riding my brakes to maintain 35. Several riders go by me at 40 plus mph, which is easily done with little to no effort due to the steepness of the decent. About this time, my hands start getting cold, really cold. I am wearing wind/water proof gloves with thick latex gloves underneath them and my hands are pretty much numb by the time I get to the bottom of the decent, which is about 15 miles in. The rest of my body is fairly comfortable.
Now, I am on to the next climb, which is about 5 miles long and takes you up and over Sugarloaf Pass via Hagerman Road. These climb is not steep, by St. Kevins standards, but steep none the less. I settle into a pace and go to work. The road is once again dirt and it is wet. Due to my hands being so cold, I am having a bit of trouble gripping my bottles to drink and eating from my food stored in my pockets on the back of my jersey. By this time, the bike traffic has thinned considerably. If you wanna pass, you can with ease. Most of us appear to be of equal capabilities at this point so not of lot of jockeying takes place. It probably takes me about 45 minutes to finish off this climb and it is on to the Powerline Decent.
Powerline, named so cause the trail is basically a dirt service road underneath the electrical lines that hang overhead, has about 1400 feet of elevation loss over the 4 mile decent. Basically, it is really steep, rutted out, washed out and opportunity abounds to wreck. I enter the decent and catch up with a group of 8 or so riders. Due to the weather, still raining, wet trail and really only one good line down most of the decent, I am stuck riding my brakes most of the way down. Last year, in near perfect conditions, I took a few risks and passed many riders descending Powerline. This year, there would be no such risks taken. On Powerline, my hands were so cold that they were numb. It was very difficult to shift, brake and even hold onto the handlebars at this point.
I exit Powerline and start the couple miles, mainly flat, towards the Pipeline Aid Station which is at mile 26. I get to the aid station at about the 2 hour 48 minute mark. I had hoped to arrive at Pipeline about 30 minutes earlier than this. The volunteers, who staff the aid stations, filled my one bottle that was empty. In almost 3 hours, I had only consumed about 24 ounces of drink and about 400 calories. By my calculations, I was a good 20 ounces low on fluid consumption as well as 300+ calories short of what I had planned at this point. I chugged some water, some Coke and ate some chips, cookies and a bit of sandwich, if i recall, and headed off towards the Twin Lakes Check Point which was 14 miles away.
The route between Powerline and Twin Lakes is relatively flat, relative to Colorado and not Texas, and a mix of dirt/gravel roads, pavement and a new section of single track that is a couple miles, at most. I had to make Twin Lakes by the 4 hour mark or I would not be allowed to continue. By about mile 30'ish, the sun made a brief appearance and soon afterwards, my hands began to thaw. Soon afterwards, I stopped and took off my super thin, rain and wind jacket, that had did an excellent job of doing what it was suppose to do. Also pulled my latex gloves off that I had been wearing under my normal gloves. I also pulled my long sleeve base layer off which left me with just my jersey, which was perfect for this leg of the ride. At about mile 38, you get dumped out onto some pavement which has a steep decent down to Twin Lakes. I coast/pedal the speed up to about 35 mph, go past the place where I saw a downed rider last year with a huge puddle of blood about his head/body being worked on by medic's/staff. Heard he recovered. Funny how you remember that kind of stuff. I then zoom onto a half mile section of a dirt road where rider's families, crews, friends, are on both sides crewing for their racers. Probably 1000 to 2000 folks strong and they are yelling, screaming and cheering all riders on, especially us racing the cut-off times.
The road is getting narrower and narrower due to people surging inwards and I hear folks saying the leader is coming. Knowing they were not talking about me, I look ahead about 300 to 400 yards and I see the leader, race leader, screaming towards me. As the distance is closing between us, his faster than mine if that makes sense, I see that it is Lance Armstrong, by himself and he is moving with a real purpose, to say the least. He goes past me going, I guess, about 25+ mph. I continue past the check point, stop at the aid station, have my bottles filled, eat some chips, sandwich pieces, grab some gels and take off for the 10 mile grind to the top to Columbine Mine.
Just so you know, Twin Lakes sits at about 9,200 feet elevation. Columbine Mine sits at 12,600 feet.
About 10 minutes after I pull away from Twin Lakes, I hear spectators on the course yelling that a rider is coming down. I look up to see the winner of the previous 6 Leadville 100's, Dave Wiens come screaming downhill past me as I creep up a premature climb towards the real climbing that starts at mile 42. Last year, Wiens and Armstrong passed me in almost this exact spot, me going up and them coming down. This year, it had been about 15 minutes since Armstrong had went past me. Just for the unknowing, I am at about mile 40 and Wiens and Armstrong are at about mile 60.
I make it to mile 42 and now the real climbing starts. From now, until mile 50, the dirt road will gain about 3,400 feet, which equates out to about 400 feet of gain a mile, which is huge. Mile 48 to 49 gains about 500 feet with mile 49 to 50 over 600 feet, which is crazy huge. The road is wet and muddy, but once again, the mud does not stick to stuff like Texas mud. I expected this climb to take me about 2 hours and 30 minutes and I planned to ride every inch of it, except about 1.5 miles near the very top that is rock and boulder strewn and mortals, I am told, do not ride.
About mile 44, the clouds get suddenly dark, I hear a clap of thunder and then the rain starts, again. For perspective sake, summer rain at 10,000 plus feet is not like summer rain in Dallas. It is cold, like ice cold. I ride for another few minutes, talking to a female rider and we are wondering if we should put on our rain gear, or not. As the rain continues, I stop and put my rain jacket on and ask a spectator to zip me up and he graciously does. Speaking of ice, about a mile or so later, I noticed that the rain is now bouncing off of me, my bike and the road. The rain is now sleet. I solider on and I am actually passing quiet a few bikers.
I failed to mention, I am wearing a heart rate monitor but I find it of little relevance for me, being a flat lander, at high altitude. In around Dallas, I can tell how hard I am working, or not, by my heart rate. At altitude, where the air is less saturated with oxygen, my heart rate and my effort do not seem to have much relevance to each other.
About mile 47, you travel above treeline, hence no more trees. Did I mention how beautiful the Aspen Trees are on the climb up to tree line? They are quiet beautiful.
I am still pedaling, in granny granny most of the time but venture down to like 32 or maybe 30 on the cog for brief periods. I am rolling along about 4 mph and have not walked an inch of the trail, yet, except for when I got stopped on a step section of Powerline earlier when the herd of bikes stopped in front of me and totally blocked the trail. I am chatting up people as I pass them and most are hurting bad, really bad. Most just say they are beat, hurting, or just nod their heads at me.
Ever since mile 43 or so, droves of bikers are passing me heading back from the 50 mile turn around at the top of Columbine. They try to stay on their right and I stay on my right. They have a much harder time due to their gravity induced speeds.
I finally make it to the really steep stuff about 48.5 miles and as far as the eye can see up the trail, folks are walking their bikes, probably 75 or more. I begin the long hike a bike. At every crest of the steep stuff, you are welcomed by more really steep stuff with folks walking their bikes. Nobody is riding, other than the folks coming down hill. For the next 1 mile of so, all that can be done is concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to stumble on the rocks that litter the steep trail.
When you get to mile 49.7 or so, you come to a little plateau, and then it goes down hill briefly to the Columbine Check Point and Aid Station. Never seen a more welcomed site, except last year at this same place. I ride past the check and stop at the Aid Station. I drink some drink, and drink some of the customary chicken noodle soup that is handed out at the top. I try to eat chips, cookies, etc., but the food does not want to go down, or should I say stay down.
All things considered, I feel pretty good, except for a massive, did I mention massive, headache, I had creep up on me about 2 hours earlier. Even thou I cannot pinpoint it's exact cause, I would guess that it could of been due to the freezing temps earlier, not eating enough, not drinking enough, a little bit of altitude, a little bit of climbing, a little bit of over exertion and about 6 hours and 40 minutes of time that had expired.
I then take off the way which I just came for the 10 miles back to Twin Lakes. This part is pure joy knowing that you can almost ride the whole 10 miles back without pedaling, unless you choose. But of course, you pedal, because you are on a bike and that is what bikes are made for, pedaling. I make it back to Twin Lakes with little effort in about 45 minutes or so. Amazing what gravity does for you, 165 minutes up, 45 minutes down. At Twin Lakes, the volunteers do their thing which is get you food, drink, hold your bike. They are the bestest. I talk to the two that are helping me, a bit too long, and then see the a volunteer from last year. He was the dude that gave me a ride back to town last year after I missed a turn coming down Columbine and traveled an extra 8 miles to get to the 60 mile check. I talk to him for a bit, a bit too long, he encourages me on and I take off. The whole time, I had not realized that I had not went past the check point, which is some 100 yards or less from the aid station. It would of been a real bummer to mess off 10 minutes at the aid station and then miss the cut-off time, which was 8 hours. Luckily, I was probably around 7 hours 30 minutes when I rolled into the Aid Station.
As I head back towards the Pipeline Check Point, I see that I only have about 1:20 minutes to do the 14 miles which would get me to the 74 miles. Earlier, before I had reached the check at the top of Columbine, I thought the odds of me getting past Twin Lakes at 8 hours had already left town. As I go up the short steep road climb of about 2 miles, I am passing a few folks and my legs still feel good and have not cramped on the bike. My right leg did cramp just a bit when I stumbled pushing up Columbine, but only for a moment. As I get over the climb, and start navigating the now relatively, relative to Colorado and not Texas, flat gravel and dirt roads, I start running times and mileage thru my head to see if I can make the 74 mile check at 9 hours. By now, it is probably in the high 50's to low 60's and the rain has long since left. I am pressing pretty good. I then get to then new single track which is a series of 6 or 7 switch backs, uphill, and probably close to 2 miles long. I ride all of this, pass a few folks and ride away from a few who had been behind me.
I push on, on relatively flat dirt roads. About 3/4 mile from the Pipeline Check Point, my elapsed time on my watch goes past 9 hours and I know my ride will end at 74 miles. I pull into the Check Point and the volunteers cut my wrist band off and take the timing chip from my left ankle. My elapsed time on my trusty Polar Watch read 9:02:55.
Another rider, who missed the 9:00 cutoff said his Garmin had registered 10,000 feet of climbing at the 74 mile check. I believe the climbing at the 74 mile check to be closer to 12,000 because, except for the climb back up Powerline, almost all of the major climbing is done. The entire course has around 14,000 feet of climbing.
Oh, guess I should mention that Lance Armstrong won in 6:28 minutes, taking 20 minutes off of the record, and reportedly rode the last 10 miles on a flatish tire. Dave Wiens, who had won the previous 6, came in at second around 6:58.
I am guessing that I will be back in 2010 to see if my then almost 45 year old body can finally get it done.
Peace,
steven
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Syllamo's Revenge 2008
I make the 400'ish mile drive up to Mountain View, Arkansas on May 02, 2008 for the 2008 Syllamo's Revenge which will be on Saturday, May 03, 2008.
I make it to the race site Saturday morning about 7:00am for the 8:00am start. It is about 48 degrees with a high expected around 70. As I start getting my bike ready, someone yells at me from across the way and I then see Jersey and Stuart, still in Jersey's car. I make my way over and talk to them for a bit. I then get back over to my bike and get it and myself ready. I meet Brady Kendall for the first time, who is parked across from me. I see Ray Porter a few minutes before the race meeting and we talk a bit. About 7:45, they have the pre-race meeting with the riders and I am pretty cold with just a short sleeve jersey on. About 8:00, the race is off.
The race starts off for about 1/5 of a mile on a paved park road and then makes a hard right turn onto a 1 mile dirt road climb at a 11 percent incline. I inspected the first hundred yards or so of the climb the previous day and found it to be washed out and rutted very bad due to flooding rains that Mt. View has experienced this spring. I knew issues would be forthcoming when 300 bikers tried to squeeze onto the climb and find their spots on the only smooth sections going up.
As we enter the very beginning of the climb, folks are hitting the ruts and washouts and wrecking, dismounting, crashing. I enter the sketchy beginning clean, just ahead of Jersey and Stuart. As I make it about 100 yards and about to pass a female rider just to my right, she hits a rut, wobbles and wrecks to her left, which happens to be where I am. She takes my front wheel out but I get my left foot down and don't fall. We get untangled with riders going every which way around us. I am now in a washout and it takes me about 50 yards of so or pushing before I can find a break in the moving congo bike line before I can jump my bike back onto the smoother line. Jersey and then Stuart passed while I was trying to get back on my bike. It is much harder to get started on a 11 percent grade that is all washed out than I realized. Anyways, I get rolling again and go at the task of climbing the road. I then feel something running down my right leg and look down to see that a package of gu I had stuck in my lycra just above my knee had busted when the female hit me. At least it wasn't blood, which I was expecting. I catch back up to Stuart and we enter the single track within a couple of bikes of each other. Jersey is gone and I think Porter is already at the first check.
Immediately, mud starts making its presence known. There are mud bogs every couple hundred yards or so. It is rideable, but soupy and muddy. On top of the mud and water, the next 33 miles or so are littered with 12 billion rocks. Big boulders, lots of large flat rocks, baby head rocks, small boulders, pea sized rocks, bowling bowl sized rocks, golf ball sized rocks. IDB is a paved highway compared to Syllamos. The rocks, every last one of them, are slick as heck. Rubber tires caked in mud and muddy wet rocks don't mix at all. Anywho, Stuart and I ride together with a group of 10 or so. I stop and help some racer looking dude out who is pushing his bike, wheelie style, along the trail. He says that he had burped his front tire flat two times already and is out of co2. I give him my inflator, he inflates his tire, thanks me and is off in a quickness. A few miles later, I ride up on racer looking dude pushing his bike wheelie style again. I ask him if he wants the inflator again, and he declines. I tell him I have 4 more cartridges plus a hand pump, and no i'm not wearing a camel of any type. He declines. again and says he is just going to make the first check and see what he can do there. Stuart and I then ride out the first leg which is about 15 miles. It took well over 2 hours to make the first check. I get a colored mark on my number plate, fill my bottles, eat some banana and orange, lube my chain, which is caked solid with mud along with my rear derailleur and roll out just ahead of Stuart. The next check point is at mile 25.
The trail is again more of the same. Lots of mud, rocks and muddy, slippery, rocky, hike a bike sections. At about mile 18 or so, I see Ray Porter coming back down the trail. I ask him whats wrong and he tells me he is finished, pulled the cleat mount out of the bottom of his shoe. He asks me why I am way back here, referring to my stellar placement at the moment, and I tell him. Anyone who might read this will have to wait for my excuse. Anyway, I head my way, slowly, and he heads his. I am now doing the math in my head and wondering if I will make the 35 mile check point. The cutoff time at check point 3 is 2:30pm. I am averaging a little over 6 pathetic miles and hour. 6 miles an hour in 4 hours will get me about 24 miles. I continue on, still drinking and eating like I should. I make check point 2 at mile 25 right around noon and get my second colored mark on my number plate. Still on my 6 mph pace. I fill my bottles, eat some fruit. Lube my mud caked chain again and roll out. I have a little over 2 hours to make check point 3 at 35 miles before the cutoff time. In my mind, I am thinking it is not going to happen.
I take off and enter what is probably the most difficult portion of the trail. Lots of mud, lots of rocks and lots of hiking for me and a group of 5 or 6 that I am riding with. We ride a little, hike a lot. After almost 2 hours of hiking and a little riding, I make check point 3 at about 1:50pm, a whopping 40 minutes before the cutoff time and get my third colored mark on my number plate. I eat some fruit, fill my bottles, lube my muddy chain, clean some mud off of the mud caked rear derailleur and take off on the next loop which is 12 miles of single track bliss.
In this section, all of the large nasty rock sections are gone as well as the mud. The trail is covered in rocks, but they are pretty much pea sized to marble sized. It has lots of rollers, that are fun to ride and nothing that is too steep. I stop and help another rider with a flat who is out of co2. I think he said this was his third of the day. I give him my inflator, he airs up and rolls off after several thanks. I continue on, which seems for ever and roll into check point 4 at around 3:50pm. It took me almost 2 hours to ride 12 miles of some of the finest single track I have ever seen. Man I was killing it.
I am now off on the last 2 miles, the first mile is some easy single track and the last mile includes going down the 1 mile climb that started this day of reckoning. As I get up over 30 mph on the downhill, I hit one of the washouts, it bounces me way left into more washouts. Somehow, I am able to slow without wrecking, gain some control and continue on. Once I get to the bottom and try to pedal, I find my chain wrapped around my pedal and crank arm. It takes me a couple minutes to get it un-twisted, remounted and then I roll on thru the finish line right at 8 hours.
Once I make it over to my car, Porter comes over and chats with me a bit and leaves. Jersey then comes over, showered, looking relaxed and beer cup in hand and tells me he knocked it out in 6:20. He studded up. He tells me the overall winner did it on a ss in 4:30 and beat the second place, who was on a ss too, by 20 minutes. I believe the third place finisher was on a ss as well. Stuart then rolls thru the finish at about 8:30.
As far as my finish and time, really don't know what happened or went wrong. I did have the flu really bad for two weeks in April and it hung around for a third week just for giggles. So much for the flu shot working. I didn't touch my bike for almost two weeks after the OC, due to being flu'ed out. I did ride a couple easy hours during the third week of April and a few hours the fourth week of April, but no intensity.
Without a doubt, this was my worst day ever on a bike, and I had a bad one at ORAMM last year. I was out almost from the beginning. I never cramped, never bonked, just did not have it. I had no power, not that I have much anyway. I spent most of the day in the middle chain ring and 34 cog or the granny and 34 cog because it was about all I could muster. Every pedal stroke required way too much effort. I suffered in a way that I have never known on a bike. In 8 hours, lots of things went thru my mind about the problem. Maybe it was the flu. Maybe I am in the wrong sport. Maybe I am not riding enough. Maybe I should take up roller blading. Maybe I should sell my bikes, not. I never thought about quitting, but thinking that I wasn't going to make the cutoff was very humbling.
All in all, it was still a good day. I never wrecked, except for falling over one time while at a dead stop around the 5 hour mark. Looked like a complete tard, but nobody was around to see. The bike did not fail me, not even the shifting, which is a miracle in its self due to all of the mud.
Later this week, I will be back on the steeds to get ready for the next round.
Peace,
s
I make it to the race site Saturday morning about 7:00am for the 8:00am start. It is about 48 degrees with a high expected around 70. As I start getting my bike ready, someone yells at me from across the way and I then see Jersey and Stuart, still in Jersey's car. I make my way over and talk to them for a bit. I then get back over to my bike and get it and myself ready. I meet Brady Kendall for the first time, who is parked across from me. I see Ray Porter a few minutes before the race meeting and we talk a bit. About 7:45, they have the pre-race meeting with the riders and I am pretty cold with just a short sleeve jersey on. About 8:00, the race is off.
The race starts off for about 1/5 of a mile on a paved park road and then makes a hard right turn onto a 1 mile dirt road climb at a 11 percent incline. I inspected the first hundred yards or so of the climb the previous day and found it to be washed out and rutted very bad due to flooding rains that Mt. View has experienced this spring. I knew issues would be forthcoming when 300 bikers tried to squeeze onto the climb and find their spots on the only smooth sections going up.
As we enter the very beginning of the climb, folks are hitting the ruts and washouts and wrecking, dismounting, crashing. I enter the sketchy beginning clean, just ahead of Jersey and Stuart. As I make it about 100 yards and about to pass a female rider just to my right, she hits a rut, wobbles and wrecks to her left, which happens to be where I am. She takes my front wheel out but I get my left foot down and don't fall. We get untangled with riders going every which way around us. I am now in a washout and it takes me about 50 yards of so or pushing before I can find a break in the moving congo bike line before I can jump my bike back onto the smoother line. Jersey and then Stuart passed while I was trying to get back on my bike. It is much harder to get started on a 11 percent grade that is all washed out than I realized. Anyways, I get rolling again and go at the task of climbing the road. I then feel something running down my right leg and look down to see that a package of gu I had stuck in my lycra just above my knee had busted when the female hit me. At least it wasn't blood, which I was expecting. I catch back up to Stuart and we enter the single track within a couple of bikes of each other. Jersey is gone and I think Porter is already at the first check.
Immediately, mud starts making its presence known. There are mud bogs every couple hundred yards or so. It is rideable, but soupy and muddy. On top of the mud and water, the next 33 miles or so are littered with 12 billion rocks. Big boulders, lots of large flat rocks, baby head rocks, small boulders, pea sized rocks, bowling bowl sized rocks, golf ball sized rocks. IDB is a paved highway compared to Syllamos. The rocks, every last one of them, are slick as heck. Rubber tires caked in mud and muddy wet rocks don't mix at all. Anywho, Stuart and I ride together with a group of 10 or so. I stop and help some racer looking dude out who is pushing his bike, wheelie style, along the trail. He says that he had burped his front tire flat two times already and is out of co2. I give him my inflator, he inflates his tire, thanks me and is off in a quickness. A few miles later, I ride up on racer looking dude pushing his bike wheelie style again. I ask him if he wants the inflator again, and he declines. I tell him I have 4 more cartridges plus a hand pump, and no i'm not wearing a camel of any type. He declines. again and says he is just going to make the first check and see what he can do there. Stuart and I then ride out the first leg which is about 15 miles. It took well over 2 hours to make the first check. I get a colored mark on my number plate, fill my bottles, eat some banana and orange, lube my chain, which is caked solid with mud along with my rear derailleur and roll out just ahead of Stuart. The next check point is at mile 25.
The trail is again more of the same. Lots of mud, rocks and muddy, slippery, rocky, hike a bike sections. At about mile 18 or so, I see Ray Porter coming back down the trail. I ask him whats wrong and he tells me he is finished, pulled the cleat mount out of the bottom of his shoe. He asks me why I am way back here, referring to my stellar placement at the moment, and I tell him. Anyone who might read this will have to wait for my excuse. Anyway, I head my way, slowly, and he heads his. I am now doing the math in my head and wondering if I will make the 35 mile check point. The cutoff time at check point 3 is 2:30pm. I am averaging a little over 6 pathetic miles and hour. 6 miles an hour in 4 hours will get me about 24 miles. I continue on, still drinking and eating like I should. I make check point 2 at mile 25 right around noon and get my second colored mark on my number plate. Still on my 6 mph pace. I fill my bottles, eat some fruit. Lube my mud caked chain again and roll out. I have a little over 2 hours to make check point 3 at 35 miles before the cutoff time. In my mind, I am thinking it is not going to happen.
I take off and enter what is probably the most difficult portion of the trail. Lots of mud, lots of rocks and lots of hiking for me and a group of 5 or 6 that I am riding with. We ride a little, hike a lot. After almost 2 hours of hiking and a little riding, I make check point 3 at about 1:50pm, a whopping 40 minutes before the cutoff time and get my third colored mark on my number plate. I eat some fruit, fill my bottles, lube my muddy chain, clean some mud off of the mud caked rear derailleur and take off on the next loop which is 12 miles of single track bliss.
In this section, all of the large nasty rock sections are gone as well as the mud. The trail is covered in rocks, but they are pretty much pea sized to marble sized. It has lots of rollers, that are fun to ride and nothing that is too steep. I stop and help another rider with a flat who is out of co2. I think he said this was his third of the day. I give him my inflator, he airs up and rolls off after several thanks. I continue on, which seems for ever and roll into check point 4 at around 3:50pm. It took me almost 2 hours to ride 12 miles of some of the finest single track I have ever seen. Man I was killing it.
I am now off on the last 2 miles, the first mile is some easy single track and the last mile includes going down the 1 mile climb that started this day of reckoning. As I get up over 30 mph on the downhill, I hit one of the washouts, it bounces me way left into more washouts. Somehow, I am able to slow without wrecking, gain some control and continue on. Once I get to the bottom and try to pedal, I find my chain wrapped around my pedal and crank arm. It takes me a couple minutes to get it un-twisted, remounted and then I roll on thru the finish line right at 8 hours.
Once I make it over to my car, Porter comes over and chats with me a bit and leaves. Jersey then comes over, showered, looking relaxed and beer cup in hand and tells me he knocked it out in 6:20. He studded up. He tells me the overall winner did it on a ss in 4:30 and beat the second place, who was on a ss too, by 20 minutes. I believe the third place finisher was on a ss as well. Stuart then rolls thru the finish at about 8:30.
As far as my finish and time, really don't know what happened or went wrong. I did have the flu really bad for two weeks in April and it hung around for a third week just for giggles. So much for the flu shot working. I didn't touch my bike for almost two weeks after the OC, due to being flu'ed out. I did ride a couple easy hours during the third week of April and a few hours the fourth week of April, but no intensity.
Without a doubt, this was my worst day ever on a bike, and I had a bad one at ORAMM last year. I was out almost from the beginning. I never cramped, never bonked, just did not have it. I had no power, not that I have much anyway. I spent most of the day in the middle chain ring and 34 cog or the granny and 34 cog because it was about all I could muster. Every pedal stroke required way too much effort. I suffered in a way that I have never known on a bike. In 8 hours, lots of things went thru my mind about the problem. Maybe it was the flu. Maybe I am in the wrong sport. Maybe I am not riding enough. Maybe I should take up roller blading. Maybe I should sell my bikes, not. I never thought about quitting, but thinking that I wasn't going to make the cutoff was very humbling.
All in all, it was still a good day. I never wrecked, except for falling over one time while at a dead stop around the 5 hour mark. Looked like a complete tard, but nobody was around to see. The bike did not fail me, not even the shifting, which is a miracle in its self due to all of the mud.
Later this week, I will be back on the steeds to get ready for the next round.
Peace,
s
Monday, April 7, 2008
Ouachita Challenge 2008
I arrive in Oden, Arkansas on Saturday afternoon for the 2008 Ouachita Challenge Race which is on Sunday, April 06. I was still undecided if I was going to ride the singlespeed, as I did last year, or gears. I had both with me. If it was going to be a mudfest, the singlespeed it would be. If it was mainly dry, gears it would be. As I looked around the Oden school grounds, I see some muddy tour riders, but not overly muddy. I make it to the registration table to pickup my packet and ask the people if they have any idea how muddy the trail is. I am told that it is not too bad. I had registered in the singlespeed class back in December, but something has crept into my not so distant future and it dictates that I do some long rides on a geared mountain bike. Ugh. The lady at the registration finds my packet, which has me down in the singlespeed class. I look at it, think, and tell her I am going to do it on gears. She marks out the singlespeed on my number plate, changes something in the paperwork and it is done. I am down with gears.
My mom, who is retired and likes to travel to some of these torture events with me, is having a seat in the cafeteria where many folks are having their fill of the meal provided with the price of admission. I give mom my packet and make my way out to the finish line and bump into some familiar faces. I find Sparky, Cope, Ryan, Bgreen, all of the Chops, Purly and others that I am currently not remembering. I chat with all for a bit and then make my way back to the cafeteria for the meal. I grab a tray of spaghetti, some salad and a drink. Brad has a seat with me as well as Ferguson. We eat a little and talk a little. ICUJeremy and Racer99 come thru the cafeteria and I speak with them for a second. Solo comes down and has a seat for a moment. It is now time to get back to the lodge on Rich Mountain near Mena and get my stuff ready for Sunday.
On Sunday, I get up about 6:15 am, gather up a few things and head out to the car around 6:30 am where I find the fog so dense that I can only see about 100 feet. The lodge on Rich Mountain sits around 3000 feet elevation and it is about 14 miles from Mena. I take off down the mountain, a little faster than I probably should and now realize I need gas. It is about 54 miles to Oden, it is foggy, I need gas, and I have an hour and a half before the start. About halfway down the mountain, most of the fog lifts and I make it to Mena. I gas up and drive on. I make it to Oden about 7:30 am and it is around 48 degrees . I do the pre-ride bike ready, get dressed, which includes only a short sleeve jersey because that is all I packed, make it over to the starting line with about 5 minutes to go. I meet up with Chop. Icu is right in front of us. Further up in the crowd I see Coz. Cope, who rode the day before, walks over to us, says a bit, and heads off to get some video of the start, or so he says.
The race is off. About 200 of us head out of the parking lot with a truck leading the way, we make a left onto the road, go a couple hundred yards and make a right onto another two lane road. At this point I am in the back quarter of the field and the leaders and pace truck look to be three or four hundred yards in front of me. I ease to the far left of the road. Knowing that I am stone cold, my heart, lungs and legs, I am taking it easy since it takes me about 15 minutes or even longer, to get the diesel engine firing. We travel on the paved highway for what seems like 4 or 5 miles and then make a right turn onto a dirt road. By now, I am probably in the top 50 or so. I am riding in a group of about 10 riders, one of which is a female decked out in hammer gear. This rolling dirt road has the group of us see-sawing back in forth for some reason. A group of 3 or 4 singlespeeders, decked out in cute matching gear, pass, get in front of me and hammer girl, slow down, and then we pass them at the next hill. This idiotness continues for the about 4 miles or so until we enter the single track. About now, I am pretty much warmed up, or as much as a 42 year old body can be. I haven't even noticed the cool morning air.
Right away, the mud starts making its presence known. The trail is littered with muddy sections, some have standing water and some are just plain mud. A group of about 10 of us are making pretty good time, with me being near the back. This section of the trail, which I believe is the Womble, is considered by most to be some of the best riding on the entire course. But today, it is a muddy mess. This section, which is around 12 miles or so, has a minimum of 10 to 20 muddy spots per mile, and probably alot more. There is hardly any climbing, or rocks, to speak of, but has many small creek crossings. Within the first few miles, my feet are already soaked and my black bike is already splattered with mud. I make it out of the Womble with no problems and make it to the first aid station to refill my two bottles. I do have a camel on my back, but no drink in it. It is only packed with a couple tubes, co2 inflator, small pump, some chain and links, my gels, hammer mix and a few tools. I water up, grab a few cytomax gels, geez they are awful, and roll out.
As I head onto this paved road section, I see Sparky. She yells at me, I yell back and she says something about taking a picture as I roll by. Since I am already passing her, she says she will get a picture of my backside. I am thinking yeah, that is what you want. Not. I think I get my first colored zip tie about now. I am rolling along on this section and come along side a youngster on a Karate Monkey, ss style. I make some small talk with him. He says he is from Plano and he is wearing a Baylor jersey. I ask him if he is "bui" from the Dorba forum and he says he is. He is rolling along at a good clip. He says that ICU is behind us somewhere. I ask him where racer99/Steve is and he tells me in front of us a few minutes. I tell him that he never passed me after I passed him at the start. Bui then says racer99 did not pit at the aid station. I end up leaving bui behind on this section, which I am guessing was 5 or 6 miles long. If my memory serves me, we turn onto another dirt road section for a bit, and then enter the single track again. Somehow, bui caught me and entered the singletrack ahead of me. Damn young'uns on those one geared big wheeled bikes.
I think we are now entering Blowout Mountain territory. I am feeling really good and strong, but my measuring stick is kinda low. Been eating and drinking on schedule, no wrecks or bike mishaps. After about 20 minutes or so, I am riding with a couple other dudes and we are making decent time. My goal going in was 6 hours and I feel I am right on schedule and I am now around the 2.5 hour mark, if I remember. Who knows, I coulda been way optimistic in my goal, but I felt I was on track. I then see bui coasting back down the trail towards me on his bike. I ask him what's up, and he says he needs a chain. I assume that he has lost his chain on a downhill and could not find it. I am thinking dang, in almost 3 years, I have never broken a chain on a ss. Geared bikes yes, singleton's no. I am not carrying a chain, only some 9 speed links. Anywho, bui continues in his direction and I continue on mine. I end up riding by myself for the next 20 or 30 minutes or so. I think I passed the couple dudes I was riding with but they could of ridden away from me, which is the more likely scenario. For those not in he know, Blowout Mountain has lots of short steep climbs and lots and lots and lots of rock gardens with lots and lots of rocks. Gosh, IDB, which is a rocky trail in the Dallas metromess area, on steroids. Those who know me, know I love IDB. Those who don't, the previous sentence is my lame attempt to be sarcastic.
Anywho, I am still feeling good, hardly winded or tired. I am riding some of the rock gardens and dismounting for some. On about the 20th dismount, I am pushing my bike thru one of the rock gardens and I hear the always pleasant sound of air rushing out of my rear tire and then see stans sealant blowing out and the tire goes flat, instantly. I cut my tire pushing thru a rock garden. What are the odds? Man, this is why I love IDB and rocks. I get my bike out of the rock garden, inspect the rear tire, and see I have a cut in the sidewall that is about 3/4 of an inch on my tubeless 29'er tire setup. I get my rear wheel off, get my camel off and go to work. I get the tire off, dump most of the remaining sealant out and remove the stans strip. I get one side of the tire back on, put a tube in, take an empty cytomax gel pack out of my pocket and place it as make-shift boot inside the tire at the site of the cut. I get the tire aired up and all looks good. I get the wheel back on and ready to roll again. During this down time, which I guess to be 20 to 25 minutes, about 2o or so riders pass me, including ICU and hammer girl. Just about all offered assistance while I was working which I politely declined since I had everything I needed. Thanks to all who offered up. As if they will ever read this mess. I finally get rolling again. After 10 minutes or so, I start catching some of those who passed me. On one of the short descents, while trying to slow, I go into a rock garden "hot" and end up riding a nose wheelie about 10 or 15 feet thru the garden. How I did not endo and smash my melon on one of the Yugo sized rocks, I will never know. I finally make it thru Blowout Mountain and on to the next dirt road.
I pull up to the aid station, water up, eat some banana and some cytomax gu, yuck again. I hear a volunteer tell another rider that we have about 6 miles up Brushy Creek, I think that is the name, and then it is all road to the finish. As I pedal out, I see Solo chilling at the station. I yell at him and continue on. I ride the dirt road for a bit and then enter the single track again. I pedal on for about 15 minutes or so and then ask myself why did I not inspect my homemade tire boot at the last aid station. I decide that I probably should stop and inspect the boot. I find that the empty cytomax boot has slipped and the tube is visible thru the cut, and partially protruding. Not good. I again go to work on the rear wheel. Remove it. Let the air out. Un-seat the tire bead on the side of the wheel that the tire is cut on. I then un-wrap about 20 inches of duct tape that I had wrapped around my hand pump. I tear the strips into about 5 inch segments, press them all together. Place the duct tape, along with the cytomax pack, on the inside of the tire against the cut. Get the tire on, air it up and all looks good, for a second time. I get the wheel on and I am ready to pedal out again. During this stop, I spent another 20 minutes or so repairing the tire and getting passed by another 20 or so riders, many of whom offered up assistance and I politely declined, again.
I start rolling again and soon start catching some of the folks who passed me during my second mechanical. I am now stuck behind a group of about 10 riders who are stopping frequently to hike up steep sections of the trail. During one of these hikes, I hear someone behind me say rider up. I turn around and see jjay grinding up the steep climb that we are all walking. I think to myself that he is doing really well and me, not so well, since he was doing the 80 miler and myself the 60 miler. Jjay passes me and I tell him to "get it" or something along those lines. I tell the other guys in this group, including a 15 year old kid and his father, that jjay is doing the 80 miler and they all kinda freak out. I then tell them that he is a real bad ass and that we should not feel too terrible for him passing us. During the next 30 minutes or so that it takes me to get over Brushy Creek, about 4 or 5 more 80 milers pass me. I then make it out of the last single track and onto the final stretch of dirt road.
As I pull out onto the dirt road and hang a left, I am by myself. No sooner than I start pedaling, bui pulls up beside me. He tells me that he got a chain from Solo, I believe. I am amazed. This youngster on a singlespeed has caught me twice, passed me once going the right direction and once going the wrong direction, and now dead even with me with about 7 or 8 miles to go to the finish. Anywho, we take off and have some good down hill ahead of us. We talk for a bit and then, feeling like I am cheating, tell him I am going to cruise on and will see him in a bit. I then set my sights on about 3 riders that are about 5 or 6 hundred yards in front of me. I am bombing down the downhills and flying up some of the climbs. I then see that one of the riders is hammer girl, whom I had ridden with at the very beginning of the race. I finally catch her. I believe we pass one of the other riders and the other rider has ridden away. She and I ride side by side for a bit, I pull for a bit, she pulls for a bit. She tells me that her legs cannot take another climb. I probably pull away from her about a mile from the paved highway. I make it to the highway and the volunteer tells me I have about 1.5 miles to the finish. I turn left onto the highway and start rolling. I get passed by one dude who went by me like he had a rocket on his bike. I continue on for another few minutes and cross the finish line right at 7 hours.
All in all, a good day of riding. No wrecks, no body damage and felt really good at the end. Did I meet my 6 hour goal? No. Would I have met my 6 hour goal had I not cut a tire? Who knows. Did I enjoy the ride? You better know it.
Thanks for wasting your time,
Steven
My mom, who is retired and likes to travel to some of these torture events with me, is having a seat in the cafeteria where many folks are having their fill of the meal provided with the price of admission. I give mom my packet and make my way out to the finish line and bump into some familiar faces. I find Sparky, Cope, Ryan, Bgreen, all of the Chops, Purly and others that I am currently not remembering. I chat with all for a bit and then make my way back to the cafeteria for the meal. I grab a tray of spaghetti, some salad and a drink. Brad has a seat with me as well as Ferguson. We eat a little and talk a little. ICUJeremy and Racer99 come thru the cafeteria and I speak with them for a second. Solo comes down and has a seat for a moment. It is now time to get back to the lodge on Rich Mountain near Mena and get my stuff ready for Sunday.
On Sunday, I get up about 6:15 am, gather up a few things and head out to the car around 6:30 am where I find the fog so dense that I can only see about 100 feet. The lodge on Rich Mountain sits around 3000 feet elevation and it is about 14 miles from Mena. I take off down the mountain, a little faster than I probably should and now realize I need gas. It is about 54 miles to Oden, it is foggy, I need gas, and I have an hour and a half before the start. About halfway down the mountain, most of the fog lifts and I make it to Mena. I gas up and drive on. I make it to Oden about 7:30 am and it is around 48 degrees . I do the pre-ride bike ready, get dressed, which includes only a short sleeve jersey because that is all I packed, make it over to the starting line with about 5 minutes to go. I meet up with Chop. Icu is right in front of us. Further up in the crowd I see Coz. Cope, who rode the day before, walks over to us, says a bit, and heads off to get some video of the start, or so he says.
The race is off. About 200 of us head out of the parking lot with a truck leading the way, we make a left onto the road, go a couple hundred yards and make a right onto another two lane road. At this point I am in the back quarter of the field and the leaders and pace truck look to be three or four hundred yards in front of me. I ease to the far left of the road. Knowing that I am stone cold, my heart, lungs and legs, I am taking it easy since it takes me about 15 minutes or even longer, to get the diesel engine firing. We travel on the paved highway for what seems like 4 or 5 miles and then make a right turn onto a dirt road. By now, I am probably in the top 50 or so. I am riding in a group of about 10 riders, one of which is a female decked out in hammer gear. This rolling dirt road has the group of us see-sawing back in forth for some reason. A group of 3 or 4 singlespeeders, decked out in cute matching gear, pass, get in front of me and hammer girl, slow down, and then we pass them at the next hill. This idiotness continues for the about 4 miles or so until we enter the single track. About now, I am pretty much warmed up, or as much as a 42 year old body can be. I haven't even noticed the cool morning air.
Right away, the mud starts making its presence known. The trail is littered with muddy sections, some have standing water and some are just plain mud. A group of about 10 of us are making pretty good time, with me being near the back. This section of the trail, which I believe is the Womble, is considered by most to be some of the best riding on the entire course. But today, it is a muddy mess. This section, which is around 12 miles or so, has a minimum of 10 to 20 muddy spots per mile, and probably alot more. There is hardly any climbing, or rocks, to speak of, but has many small creek crossings. Within the first few miles, my feet are already soaked and my black bike is already splattered with mud. I make it out of the Womble with no problems and make it to the first aid station to refill my two bottles. I do have a camel on my back, but no drink in it. It is only packed with a couple tubes, co2 inflator, small pump, some chain and links, my gels, hammer mix and a few tools. I water up, grab a few cytomax gels, geez they are awful, and roll out.
As I head onto this paved road section, I see Sparky. She yells at me, I yell back and she says something about taking a picture as I roll by. Since I am already passing her, she says she will get a picture of my backside. I am thinking yeah, that is what you want. Not. I think I get my first colored zip tie about now. I am rolling along on this section and come along side a youngster on a Karate Monkey, ss style. I make some small talk with him. He says he is from Plano and he is wearing a Baylor jersey. I ask him if he is "bui" from the Dorba forum and he says he is. He is rolling along at a good clip. He says that ICU is behind us somewhere. I ask him where racer99/Steve is and he tells me in front of us a few minutes. I tell him that he never passed me after I passed him at the start. Bui then says racer99 did not pit at the aid station. I end up leaving bui behind on this section, which I am guessing was 5 or 6 miles long. If my memory serves me, we turn onto another dirt road section for a bit, and then enter the single track again. Somehow, bui caught me and entered the singletrack ahead of me. Damn young'uns on those one geared big wheeled bikes.
I think we are now entering Blowout Mountain territory. I am feeling really good and strong, but my measuring stick is kinda low. Been eating and drinking on schedule, no wrecks or bike mishaps. After about 20 minutes or so, I am riding with a couple other dudes and we are making decent time. My goal going in was 6 hours and I feel I am right on schedule and I am now around the 2.5 hour mark, if I remember. Who knows, I coulda been way optimistic in my goal, but I felt I was on track. I then see bui coasting back down the trail towards me on his bike. I ask him what's up, and he says he needs a chain. I assume that he has lost his chain on a downhill and could not find it. I am thinking dang, in almost 3 years, I have never broken a chain on a ss. Geared bikes yes, singleton's no. I am not carrying a chain, only some 9 speed links. Anywho, bui continues in his direction and I continue on mine. I end up riding by myself for the next 20 or 30 minutes or so. I think I passed the couple dudes I was riding with but they could of ridden away from me, which is the more likely scenario. For those not in he know, Blowout Mountain has lots of short steep climbs and lots and lots and lots of rock gardens with lots and lots of rocks. Gosh, IDB, which is a rocky trail in the Dallas metromess area, on steroids. Those who know me, know I love IDB. Those who don't, the previous sentence is my lame attempt to be sarcastic.
Anywho, I am still feeling good, hardly winded or tired. I am riding some of the rock gardens and dismounting for some. On about the 20th dismount, I am pushing my bike thru one of the rock gardens and I hear the always pleasant sound of air rushing out of my rear tire and then see stans sealant blowing out and the tire goes flat, instantly. I cut my tire pushing thru a rock garden. What are the odds? Man, this is why I love IDB and rocks. I get my bike out of the rock garden, inspect the rear tire, and see I have a cut in the sidewall that is about 3/4 of an inch on my tubeless 29'er tire setup. I get my rear wheel off, get my camel off and go to work. I get the tire off, dump most of the remaining sealant out and remove the stans strip. I get one side of the tire back on, put a tube in, take an empty cytomax gel pack out of my pocket and place it as make-shift boot inside the tire at the site of the cut. I get the tire aired up and all looks good. I get the wheel back on and ready to roll again. During this down time, which I guess to be 20 to 25 minutes, about 2o or so riders pass me, including ICU and hammer girl. Just about all offered assistance while I was working which I politely declined since I had everything I needed. Thanks to all who offered up. As if they will ever read this mess. I finally get rolling again. After 10 minutes or so, I start catching some of those who passed me. On one of the short descents, while trying to slow, I go into a rock garden "hot" and end up riding a nose wheelie about 10 or 15 feet thru the garden. How I did not endo and smash my melon on one of the Yugo sized rocks, I will never know. I finally make it thru Blowout Mountain and on to the next dirt road.
I pull up to the aid station, water up, eat some banana and some cytomax gu, yuck again. I hear a volunteer tell another rider that we have about 6 miles up Brushy Creek, I think that is the name, and then it is all road to the finish. As I pedal out, I see Solo chilling at the station. I yell at him and continue on. I ride the dirt road for a bit and then enter the single track again. I pedal on for about 15 minutes or so and then ask myself why did I not inspect my homemade tire boot at the last aid station. I decide that I probably should stop and inspect the boot. I find that the empty cytomax boot has slipped and the tube is visible thru the cut, and partially protruding. Not good. I again go to work on the rear wheel. Remove it. Let the air out. Un-seat the tire bead on the side of the wheel that the tire is cut on. I then un-wrap about 20 inches of duct tape that I had wrapped around my hand pump. I tear the strips into about 5 inch segments, press them all together. Place the duct tape, along with the cytomax pack, on the inside of the tire against the cut. Get the tire on, air it up and all looks good, for a second time. I get the wheel on and I am ready to pedal out again. During this stop, I spent another 20 minutes or so repairing the tire and getting passed by another 20 or so riders, many of whom offered up assistance and I politely declined, again.
I start rolling again and soon start catching some of the folks who passed me during my second mechanical. I am now stuck behind a group of about 10 riders who are stopping frequently to hike up steep sections of the trail. During one of these hikes, I hear someone behind me say rider up. I turn around and see jjay grinding up the steep climb that we are all walking. I think to myself that he is doing really well and me, not so well, since he was doing the 80 miler and myself the 60 miler. Jjay passes me and I tell him to "get it" or something along those lines. I tell the other guys in this group, including a 15 year old kid and his father, that jjay is doing the 80 miler and they all kinda freak out. I then tell them that he is a real bad ass and that we should not feel too terrible for him passing us. During the next 30 minutes or so that it takes me to get over Brushy Creek, about 4 or 5 more 80 milers pass me. I then make it out of the last single track and onto the final stretch of dirt road.
As I pull out onto the dirt road and hang a left, I am by myself. No sooner than I start pedaling, bui pulls up beside me. He tells me that he got a chain from Solo, I believe. I am amazed. This youngster on a singlespeed has caught me twice, passed me once going the right direction and once going the wrong direction, and now dead even with me with about 7 or 8 miles to go to the finish. Anywho, we take off and have some good down hill ahead of us. We talk for a bit and then, feeling like I am cheating, tell him I am going to cruise on and will see him in a bit. I then set my sights on about 3 riders that are about 5 or 6 hundred yards in front of me. I am bombing down the downhills and flying up some of the climbs. I then see that one of the riders is hammer girl, whom I had ridden with at the very beginning of the race. I finally catch her. I believe we pass one of the other riders and the other rider has ridden away. She and I ride side by side for a bit, I pull for a bit, she pulls for a bit. She tells me that her legs cannot take another climb. I probably pull away from her about a mile from the paved highway. I make it to the highway and the volunteer tells me I have about 1.5 miles to the finish. I turn left onto the highway and start rolling. I get passed by one dude who went by me like he had a rocket on his bike. I continue on for another few minutes and cross the finish line right at 7 hours.
All in all, a good day of riding. No wrecks, no body damage and felt really good at the end. Did I meet my 6 hour goal? No. Would I have met my 6 hour goal had I not cut a tire? Who knows. Did I enjoy the ride? You better know it.
Thanks for wasting your time,
Steven
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