Leadville 2015

  

Check out my composition...Mt Massive in the background!

Preamble

This is the 3rd time I have had a chance to race Leadville.  Clearly I have a mental defect.  My amazing family continues to put up with the training, the travel, my constant talking about bikes and training and more bikes.  I'm truly a lucky, lucky guy.  I manage to keep getting in, and with  the kind of support I have at home...who can lose? (btw, here's the 2014 story and the 2013.  They spend more time talking about the course and the race vs what's in my head)

I really enjoy Leadville.  The chance to play bike racer for a week, soak in the atmosphere of a world class event, hang out with amazing people, and test myself on a iconic race course.  Besides -- Colorado, around the Continental divide, in August...what could possibly be better? 

The drive to Leadville is one I look forward to each year.  It is amazing.  Driving across the Sonoran Desert, Monument Valley, 4 corners area, Moab, Fruita, Grand Junction, Glenwood Canyon, Vail, and finally up the hill to Leadville.  It is the American west in all it's glory.  It's also completely maddening as I drive within 30 minutes of about 20 bucket list bike trails and ride none of them.  This year I smartened up and activated the satellite radio in the car, which made the entire trip go by in a flash.  I highly recommend satellite radio if you're driving for a 12 hour period by yourself.

Due to bad fate, I had no lodging in Leadville this year. Instead, I was down the slope in Copper Mountain.  A soul-less, if clean and comfortable condo.  I did sleep better being about 1500' or so lower, but I missed out on the Leadville atmosphere.  Waking up and walking over to the City on a Hill for coffee listening to race chatter, talking with friends met in person and online...all with Mt Massive and Mt Elbert as a backdrop is something I could do every day. But not this year.  I did get to hang out with Laurel Darren-Simmons, one of my personal inspirations who was working medical for Leadville and for the Trans-Rockies run, and one of her buddies, Matt before the massive waves of cyclists rolled in.  It is nice to have friends at 10,200'.

I did manage to participate in a couple of pre-race festivities happening in PbVille.  The Fat Cyclist and Rebecca Rusch hosted pre-rides, a brat-roast for WBR, and generally shared their awesomeness.  

Fatty and Rebecca have some amazing stories that you can read in their books and on their websites.  The battles they have fought with sickness and personal tragedies, the victories they have achieved on the race course and what they have given back to the world are pretty amazing.  They have lived full lives, and are willing to share with the rest of us.  For that I thank them.  Their impact on many people, including myself is hard to appreciate. Heck, I probably wouldn't even have contemplated Leadville in the first place were it not for Fatty's writings. If you're looking for some good inspiration, or good mountain biking advice, or stories, or humor check out their books and websites.  

I only managed to make it to the barbecue, and do one pre-ride, but I did make the most of it.  Here's a picture of me with Fatty:

Fatty has great advice on how to suck in your gut properly for pictures

and here's a picture of me with the Queen of Pain:

Tiaras are for Princesses.  The Queen wears rainbow stripes

CONCLUSION:  I am GIGANTIC.  Seriously.  Look back at those pictures   

Here's a shot of the group listening to Rebecca Rusch share knowledge. I think it's pretty:




I did one serious pre-ride.  I rode the Powerline climb on Wednesday to prove to myself that I could ride the "normal" part of that climb at pace.  And I did.  Even stopping for people bombing downhill I rode the 2.5 mile section from the steeps to the Sugarloaf summit in 35 minutes.  This is where the race has fallen apart for me the past 2 years.  I wanted to ride this section on Saturday, and ride it properly.  Proving to myself on the first day at altitude I could just go on up without hurting myself was key to my mental prep.  

At packet pick-up I connected with Abby froth LRS team.  She's awesome -- one of the people that makes the entire organization special.  More friends at 10,200'...always makes me smile.

Thursday night rolled around, and I picked up my race crew:

Mom as Race Crew.  How Awesome is that?

Friday was the meeting.  I'm pretty convinced that there's a group of people that sign up for Leadville 100 events so they can hear Ken Chlouber go into full preacher mode and minister to the assembled masses.  His speeches are moving, he has the gift.  I did not take pics or record.  If you're interested, someone did a great job of setting his speech to scenes from the 2014 race here.  It really is special.  Each year I've taken a little piece away as personal motivation.  This year, Ken talked about "how" and "why" we are all out here in the mountains.  "the how is easy" he said.  "Put your head down turn the pedals, don't quit".  He went on, "They why is much harder.  They why is all the sacrifice not by you, but by your families, your spouse, your kids, your parents, your job so you can be here..." True words indeed.

Race day 

I came into the week in some of the best shape ever.  I set some truly aggressive, perhaps pipe-dream like goals, but figured, what the hell.  I'm here, it's too late to go home, might as well go BIG. So far everything had gone perfectly, and that would indeed continue...

Staying at Copper was relatively easy for not being in town.  30 minutes from condo to Leadville, so 4am wake up, 5am departure.  Sure, I could have slept until 5am with an in-town place, but it worked. I was there in plenty of time for start line pic with my awesome crew:

That's my crew!

Selfie Mode!

  

This year, thanks to some miracle of effort at BarnBurner last year, I was in the RED corral for the start.  This means the people in front of me had previously gone sub-8 or were honest to goodness pros.  Like previous World Champions.  And the American Champion.  And last year's winner.  And the winner from the year before that.  Behind me was 2/3 or 3/4 of the field.  I am naturally very self-critical, but I did let myself puff up a bit.  Red means "you're fast Rohit", and I would hang on to that thought for much of the race. Because when this race gets hard, you need every bit of encouragement to keep you moving forward.

That's the start line.  The collective Quads and Gastrocs belonging to people in this picture are truly phenomenal

Start to Pipeline Outbound

Last year, I lost the eating contest.  I was in calorie deficit before I even started the 2nd hour of the race.  This year, per Fatty and Reba's advice, I started eating before the race started.  One cookie-like thing from the grocery and one package of GU watermelon chews.  210 calories before the gun went off.  I was ahead of the game in the eating contest.  

Pro Call ups, call-outs, Thunderstruck, Bulls on Parade, Ben Wiens singing the National Anthem, one more "love ya" from Ken and Marilee and the shotgun went off.

Unlike the previous years, I was rolling from the gun.  Maybe 15 seconds passed before I was clipped in and rolling.  30 seconds later I was in my biggest gear, and spinning easily up the little rise on 6th street.  I stood up to take in the hill, and never had to drop into a lower gear.  Cresting the hill, it was full speed ahead...no jostling, no screaming breaks, no people flying up or dropping back...just that tie fighter sound of 600 knobby tires on the road at 30 mph.

Going fast in a qualifier is really really worth it.  

As we hit the dirt road leading to St Kevins the confidence was bubbling up.  I had just ridden the first few miles of this course much faster than I ever had previously, nearly all of it in my biggest gear.  No huffing, no puffing, just laying down the power and making the bike move.  On the dirt, the magic of the Red start came through again.  I could actually ride my pace, allow my legs to warm up and take in the race experience.  I saw a bunch of Phoenix area jerseys from various shops and clubs.  Even had a few people call out my own Shadetree jersey.  That's worth more than you might think to keep you motivated.  

Just before we hit the cattle guard signaling the start of the Kevin's climb, I passed The Hammer.  Aka, Fat Cyclist's wife.  I called out "Nice Shorts Hammer!" (because I was wearing FC shorts ya know).  Since she does not know me at all, when she looked over her right shoulder to see who was calling out to her, and it was this big Indian dude, her look showed "What the F??" vs "hey cool".  For me personally, knowing I was riding close to the Hammer was a great indicator that I was going the speed I needed to meet my goals. She is one fast lady, and I figured she would be a good person to mark my progress.

We climbed Kevins uneventfully.  The tempers were starting to pick up a bit with a few folks yelling about keeping lines and whatnot.  I kept Rebecca Rusch's words in mind, "your body does not distinguish between types of energy...it just burns calories.  So don't waste them being mad".  As always, I climbed at the pace of everyone around me.  This year, that pace happened to be quick vs plodding.  HOORAY RED!  I was topping the fist hard effort of the course, and I was not feeling one bit of tiredness...only total excitement.  That's new.

As we approached the big left turn there were a couple guys camped out on the road.  One was Doc Wenmark, the other appeared to be Ricky MacDonald.  Ricky MacDonald?  21 time finisher?  sitting on the side?  I must be hallucinating.  I was so stunned, I didn't even give him a shout out.  ah well, I'm sure he won't miss it.     

As the race rolled along the Carter summit I started to feel the pressure of the clock.  I wanted to be at Turquoise Lake road in 45 minutes.  I kept thinking, "the Carter Summit aid must be around the next corner" but it kept not showing up.  I was maintaining a good pace (I thought) and keeping up with the Hammer.  Keeping pace with someone as fast as the Hammer gave me a lot of confidence, as well as reminding myself where I was...riding in the clear due to the fact that I had started in RED...because I was fast. (see...it's all in your head, or my head as it were, is, something)

I managed not to panic with the elapsed time, and came to the road in 50 minutes.  Not bad.  And a good 10 minutes faster than I had made it in previous years.  Down Turquoise Lake Road as fast as I dared.  I tried to stay off the brakes, after all, this was a paved road downhill...what could go wrong? 

The road tilted up and I was feeling strong.  Again, the Hammer was my marker, and I was (mostly) keeping up.  That is until I took a minute to take a drink and down a GU.  I looked up, and she was gone.  I felt a little deflated as my rabbit had gotten away, but that was OK, it was time to work up Haggermans.

That's the fierce face.  This road is not flat

Heading up Hagermans I could not find wheels to follow. I was not being passed, and I was not catching people in front of me (Based on this picture, I should have looked behind and flicked this guy through...).  So I put on "fierce face" and put the bike in 1-harder gear than felt comfortable. Doing so added about 1.2mph, without putting me in too much difficulty. Magic! This year, I was RACING the Leadville 100!  I was racing a clock, but I was really racing it.  Another luxury I allow myself in a bike race that I don't really get to explore in daily life -- I was one of the (smaller) group of people that got to perform ..not just survive.  This part of the race the sweat and the effort in the legs just generated more adrenaline  and more speed.  It was euphoric.    

Taking the turn onto the Surgarloaf climb I started to get a little huffy and puffy.  We were crossing over 11000', so it was expected.  I slowed a bit, and again, did not panic even though the clock seemed to be moving against me.  I topped Sugarloaf at 1:34.  I had gained one of my 5 minutes back!  Feeling awesome (I'm RED baby!) I started down Powerline, willing myself not to crash.

That's Terrified Face.  Evidently I wear the flag of Arizona now.

I made the descent in record time, managed not to crash, even though I was in a 2-wheel slide at one point.  

The pavement after Powerline is a place I collect myself for about 2 minutes before laying on the gas.  The descent really is terrifying.  It's so steep, and rutted, and lose, and rocky...I really need that time to breathe a bit.  Yeah, it a race famous for it's insane climbs, I was most relived at the bottom of a descent.  That's not really conventional wisdom, but conventional or wise I am not.

Rolling past the fish hatchery I looked ahead to see a good size group forming.  My brain said "catch the group!  save energy"  But, rather than sprinting up, I did something smart.  I looked back!  Sure enough, there was a bigger group coming up, and they were moving fast.  About 20 riders went by before I saw a gap in the line.  I jumped over to the left and sprinted to catch up... now I was at the back of a 20 person paceline going 25mph, and I was soft-pedaling.  THAT is an amazing feeling.  Sure enough we swept up the group I had thought about catching, and there I was flying down the road towards the Pipeline spun out in my biggest gear. Beautiful!

One thing Leadville attracts are idiots on bikes. I do not know why.  I had seen one back on St Kevins trying to take his jacket off, no hands, on a trail.  He crashed.  Now I saw a guy riding inside the pace line, 30+ mph, no hands, taking off arm warmers.  I tried hard not to look at him, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when my part of the pack went by him.  He could have taken out 30+ riders with a small rock or bobble.  People are just strange.

Having avoided sure disaster 3 times (2 idiots, plus the Powerline) I rolled into the Pipeline aid at 2:08.  IT WAS LOUD!  perhaps there were more spectators, perhaps I was just earlier so they had more energy, but the tunnel of noise was amazing.  Talk about a launch pad for the next few miles!  I had lost 4 minutes to my goal time, but I was feeling good, and there was plenty of time left to race.  8 minutes on 2:00 is not bad at all...and 2 hours for 28 miles on a MTB is fast no matter how you cut it.  A great volunteer filled my empty bottle, and I was off for Twin Lakes!   

Looking for Friends on the Pipeline

The Pipeline is anything but flat (though people refer to it as "flat", people are weird).  It does lend itself to road tactics -- pacelines!  However, I must have done something wrong or used up all my RED energy, because I was alone.  I could not find a wheel to follow, and I kept catching riders going much slower than I was.  I did not really have a group to work with until I was descending the singeltrack, and back on a road the last 3 or 4 miles before Twin Lakes.  I was very happy to find some friends here, as it's a hidden hard part of the course.  It's just neighborhood roads, much of it paved, but the hills are just long enough to be painful.  I played leapfrog with someone from Phoenix in a Vassago kit riding a sweet Ti Vassago singlespeed.  I let him know he was riding my dream bike.  He let me know indeed, it was a nice bike.  I was happy we agreed, and my gears carried me forward a little faster than the singlespeed could maintain.  

About 3 miles out from TwinLakes I hit 2:45.  That was the time I wanted to be in TwinLakes, and I was feeling the pressure of being behind my goal.  The RED magic intervened again. As I was starting to despair a bit, I topped out the last rise before Twin Lakes, and started the nice long paved downhill to the dam.  

The crew area at Twin Lakes was louder than I ever remember.  Just like the Pipeline, but LOUDER.  cowbells, vuvuzuelas, viking horns, and cheering.  WOW!  Three people even knew my name in places I was not expecting.  THAT was a massive boost for me...people in Colorado at the Leadville 100 yelling "GO ROHIT!"  Talk about a heady feeling!

I crossed the dam in 2:58.  I had lost a little more time, but chin up -- I was still moving faster than I ever had by nearly 30 minutes.  I was 13 minutes off the goal, but putting in a strong effort on Columbine could make up some of that time.  It was time to put all the preparation to use.

Columbine

Mom set me up awesomely with fresh bottles, GU, and a new set of electrolyte capsules.  Mom really is a great crew!

They say the Columbine climb is 10 miles up from Twin Lakes.  It's really more like 7 miles up after 3 miles of rolling hills across a ranch.  I started my attack right out of the aid station.  Both prior years my legs had started to give out, and even cramp, on the rocky climb out of the aid station.  Not this year.  This year it was time to pass folks, provide some words of encouragement to people suffering, and try and get in a draft for the flatter sections.

Coming onto the doubletrack leading the final crew area before the climb proper I was behind 3 Ironmen.  I could tell they were Ironmen because of their little "M with Dot Head" tattoos on their calves.  I figured "awesome.  here's 3 guys who think this is a short race.  They are built like swimmers with broad torsos...let me see if I can tuck myself behind them and get some free speed for a mile or two!"  

Unfortunately, they were not moving fast, so soon I was looking to pass them.  As I was spinning up, all three of them were sucking down some GUs.  Then they did the MOST irritating thing I have seen so far at Leadville.  THEY THREW THEIR WRAPPERS ON THE TRAIL!!!  This is a HUGE no-no.  This was not the trying-to-put-the-wrapper-in-the-back-pocket-and-missing drop.  This was a flat out, throw foil wrapper on the trail.  I had to say something.  I yelled "Hey Ironman, you really going to throw that wrapper there??"  I got no response so I said it again, "Dude.  this is not Kona...we take care of the land".  Gah.  Those guys were wasting my energy.  So I added a gear, and accelerated past them.  Wish I had their race numbers.  

I digress.  

So I'm climbing Columbine.  It long, its pretty steep, and it never seems to end.  I was significantly buoyed by the fact that I made 2 switchbacks before the lead moto came through, followed by the men's pros.  World Champion Stripes, former World Champion Stripes, Swiss Champion, US Champion...WOW.  Those guys are fast.  But you knew that.  What you don't know is that I was seeing the pros well up the slopes of the mountain.  Both prior years I saw them much earlier on the course.  Again, feeling RED!

I was working hard on my "fast climb" cadence.  50 standing revolutions, followed by 50 seated.  Just keep doing it.  A lot like my daughter climbing Sleeping Bear dunes this summer, just a variation on "one foot in front of the other".  At one point, I tasted blood in the back of my throat.  YES!  YES! I was making this hurt and I was climbing at a pace I had never done before!

Until I wasn't.

The taste of the blood was gone.  My legs were tired, but not cramping. I had been eating and drinking effectively, but I was not able to make it hurt more after a while. I had the fitness, but I was losing the mental game. I thought I was in a good, even great mood, but clearly, more was needed. I started cheering other racers.  Guys who were seriously struggling I reached out and patted on the back.  I cheered for guys bombing downhill.  I saw Fatty, "GO FATTTTYYYYY"  Fatty said "nice job guys". He sounded casual.  Like he was having fun, or perhaps he was just happy he was no longer one of us going up.  I kept climbing.  

Reaching the rocky section I stacked up behind other riders and dismounted to walk -- but the downhill traffic was not too thick.  If I could have made the hurt come back, I could have ridden.  But there was no hurt to be had.  So I kept walking.  At the treelike Ken was in his usual spot watching the race.  He teased us, "it's faster if you ride...you'd be surprised".  I yelled out "I won't quit Ken!" Then I got one of the truly big boosts of the race.  Ken Chlouber growls back, "I've seen you before Arizona.  There's no quit in you."   YEAH BABY!!  

I ground it out to the top of Columbine emptying my bottles and most of my GU on the way.  I knew I had a friend at 12,600', and I was looking forward to it.  

Friends in High Places.  A LDS hug will get you moving.  
Photo Credit:  Laurel from her FB page

My friend Laurel Darren Simmons was working medical at the top of Columbine.  It's nice to see a friendly face at the top of the world!  I got some water, took 20 seconds for a selfie, and started coughing.  It was time to get down the mountain -- STAT.  

I made the turn at 5:10.  I was 25-40 minutes behind my goal.  The 9 hour pipe dream had dissolved on the slopes of Columbine.  However, I was still a full 45 minutes ahead of where I had ever been previously.  No regrets.  Time to get down this mountain, see mom, and reset the goals for a glorious Colorado day.

I bombed the downhill as fast as I dared.  I was looking for friends like Bonnie Moebeck, anyone in a jersey I could recognize, anyone who looked like they needed a cheer.

As I was headed down the goat trail and the rocky section of road, I was again puffed up about my performance.  I saw plenty of gold, silver and red race plates still climbing, and I saw A LOT of people.  More than I ever had...well, duh, I was going faster than I ever had.  Joey at the Shadetree had changed my tires out 2 weeks before the race to wider, higher volume tires.  Perhaps a risky move, but those tires were paying massive dividends now. Those things were letting me fly down the mountain. (Joey and his team are fantastic.  You'll notice I'm wearing their shop colors...if you have an opportunity to let them lay hands on your bike when in Phoenix, I highly suggest it). I was going fast enough I could not make out anyone specifically in the line going up, so I just cheered for everyone.  I love this part of the race.  Hopefully I don't sound like a jerk, cheering for everyone, but it does make me feel good.   

By the time I reached the ranch it was HOT.  I needed to get rid of the arm warmers, ditch the trash, and get some cold drinks.  Time to make this whole thing hurt again.

Coming over the ridge from the ranch to the Twin Lakes aid.  Fierce face is back

Paceline on the Pipeline

Mom was ace crew again.  I was a little antsy, perhaps petulant.  But mom dealt with it.  That's what moms do!  In less than 90 seconds she had me rolling again, full of GUs, sans arm warmers, and ready to turn in a fast last 40 miles.  I left the Twin Lakes Aid at 5:45. I rode through the crew area, and there were many more cheers, Matt PNut Laney gave me a high five...life was good!

As soon as the climb through the neighborhood was done, a pace line starting forming.  Hallelujah!  Not a very efficient paceline, as the guy on the front was just drilling it, and not moving over for anyone to take a pull.  It was however, fast, and took us all the way to the singletrack climb.  During this transition I was able to load a few more calories, and think about where I was.  My real goal was out the window.  No way to make 9.  So I started doing the math.  I was sitting at about 11.2 mph.  hmm.  If I could keep this above 10.5...I could go sub 10!  so, 9:something.  That would be awesome! I glanced down at the Gamin and seemingly at that moment, the average speed ticked up.  11.3!  Whee!  I could do this!  So 9-something was the new goal.  Love life under the beautiful (but hot) Colorado sky, and go as hard as I could enjoying the Leadville 100!  RED WAS BACK!

The pace line pretty much survived in one form or other all the way to the Pipeline aid.  My elapsed time showed I had just done Twin Lakes to Pipeline in 1:05  That was well within my original goal for the segment...and that felt awesome.

I reloaded water and headed out of the Pipeline bound for the Powerline Climb 

Blowing up and Finding the Will

This is the part of the race where I find out I'm not a very good paceline rider.  Because I'm not really a roadie.  So when I turned onto Half Moon road into that brutal afternoon Rocky Mountain wind, I just turned up the power as far as I could go without going completely into the red zone.  After a few minutes I saw the shadows on the road -- I was pulling 3 guys.  So I skipped left, gave a flick of the elbow, and they pulled through.  The three of them took good pulls and we were moving.  When I rotated to the front, something in my head said "make it hurt".  So I did.  When I rolled off after exactly one minute, 2 guys said "nice pull" and I struggled a bit to grab the back of the train.  When my turn came again, I burried myself for one minute.  I was doing my part!  When I rolled off, the guys said, "NICE FREAKIN' PULL DUDE!  WHOOOO!!!"  Yeah it was.  I had just given those guys such a sweet pull I couldn't grab the back of the train.  oops.  

Fortunately for me, I have been working pretty hard this year, and I was able to recover after a few minutes.  My average speed was still above 10.5, and I was doing better than 11mph by myself on the road.  But I was burning valuable matches to keep the pace.

Just before the turn onto the Powerline climb I passed a Specialized Factory rider.  Yeah baby.  This guy had his name on his jersey, his bike, and his helmet.  Might have been 20 or 21.  He was wearing a factory team kit, and I passed him. He laid out a tale of woe about what a terrible day he was having.  Whatever. I passed a pro. Add one point to the ego.

The steep part of Powerline was the steep part of Powerline.  I rode until the big right hand turn, then got off to trudge up the steeps.  It looks like this:

It's really steep.  You can see the Factory rider behind me.  Yep That's a gold number.  

Along the way there were people with water hand ups (THANK YOU) and Mr Pizza was there as I have become accustomed.  I also saw bRAD Keyes the man behind CarboRocket.  I love CarboRocket and I think I would love Brad if I knew him better.  As it is, I like him a lot.  He was out of water and CR, but he still had smiles to give away.  I took one, and kept on moving.

I reached the part of the course that I had pre-rode Wednesday.  40 minutes.  It should be 40 minutes of hard work, and this will all be done.  It's all rideable, and I can do it at 4-5mph, even though it is steep and somewhat technical.  

That was the plan anyway.  Then I got hit in the mouth, proverbially.  The cramps kicked in, and I got real tired.  I could not make the go happen.  Bonked.  I was done.  The number of GUs in my pocket said I had fallen behind on calories, and I was now paying the price.

So it was a slow trudge up to the top of Sugarloaf.  I watched the average speed dip below the 10.5 mph I needed for "9 something" and began to be pretty unhappy.  I tried to keep myself going by reciting some of the endurance mantras -- run across the coals, don't walk,  Keep moving,  Make pain your friend.  I tried resetting the soundtrack in my head.  "Bullet with Butterfly Wings", "Bulls on Parade", "Renegades of Funk", "Brainstew".  yeah, none of it was sticking or working.  So I was back to counting steps or pedal strokes.  I did sit once, waiting for the electrolytes to kick in and relieve some of the leg cramps.

Then it was over.  I was at the top and going down.  Fast.  Then faster.  Bouncing off rocks I would normally have braked for or gone around.  I was a bit too fatigued to choose a good line, and I was really hoping the tires, wheels, fork, and the rest would hold up to the abuse of a badly executed descent.  

I made it, and once on the dirt road I did my best to keep pressure on the pedals, keep the hands off the brakes, and make up some time.  23, 24, 27mph.  I was willing the average speed up, but it was not going to move very fast.  

Homestretch

I gave the 2.4 miles up Turquoise Lake road everything I had.  I stood, I spun, I sat and applied big power, I stood again.  The road required little concentration, so I put everything into leg mechanics.  Drop the heels on the down stroke, shoulders down, rock against the down stroke, shift forward to reduce pressure on the quads...shift back to relieve pressure on the hamstrings..maybe I have that backwards. Whatever.  Just keep pushing. The tang of blood was back in the back of my throat and it did wonders for my morale.  I was back working as hard as possible again, making it hurt. That. Was. Awesome. 

I reached the Carter Summit at 9:15. I had gone up Turquoise lake road in 30 minutes. 15 Minutes faster than I had previously. Even with that, only a world-class finish would bring me in sub-10.  So I reset the goal.  Sub 10:20.  I was going to make that last little goal...maybe even pull a 10:15.  2 cups of coke, 2 of water, new water in the bottle, and it was time to hammer home.

The final steeps on Kevins were not pretty.  I clawed my way up them.  Now, pretty much totally riding alone.  The downhill was terrifying, perhaps more terrifying than the powerline descent because I was going much faster.  I could see the dips and ledges coming, and the loose sand.  I tried to time the weighting and unweighting of the wheels and the brakes to make it all happen smoothly.  I must have plowed into some big stuff, but I managed not to go OTB at 30 mph.  Not sure how I did it, I was pretty much on auto-pilot.  

Off the steeps and across the valley to the railroad tracks.  Just kept it turning, pushing as big a gear as I could muster.  There was a big group of volunteers at a road crossing where the odometer crossed 100 miles...I cheered.  They cheered.  I cheered.  

I came to the Boulevard, 2.3 miles of steady uphill.  It's a nothing climb.  An easy spin.  Unless it's miles 101-103.  Then it's insanely painful.  I tried to call up the same mode I had on Turquoise Lake Road.  I wanted to taste that blood again.  I ate my last GU, downed the last of my water (no more than 20 minutes left), and put everything in.  I caught myself with my eyes closed a few times, which I guess is good? I was finished. My awareness was narrowed to my legs pushing and pulling. I was vaguely aware of steering, I saw some lightning (confirmed later).  I could not call up any songs, motivational speeches or mantras. Push-pull..that was it. I knew I was going to make it home, but there would be no victory sprint, no wheelie, no salute.  

The Boulevard ended, and dumped me onto the road.  One final uphill, which I managed to stand for.  There was the blood again...I crested at 10:15. I missed that target. 10:20 it would be.  The crowd at the finish line surrounding the red carpet was huge!  One biker-width only with kids hands out for high-5s...I think I gave out a few.

I was emptied. A truly amazing feeling that I simply don't get to have in my day to day life.  I didn't even see my mom wave and run beside me the last few meters, but you can see her in the picture!  Most of you have seen what I put on Facebook about this picture.  I love it.

I crossed the line, and crumpled onto the handlebars.  I was aware Mom was there.  I told her I was OK.  I got my finishers medal on my neck. Someone asked me if I was OK.  I told them I was.  No hug.  I was missing my finishers hug.  I was promised a hug from one of the amazing people that make the LT100 what it is.  I got no hug.  Mom hugged me after a bit.  Yeah mom!  I collapsed onto the courthouse lawn and laid there for about 90 minutes.  I wanted to get up and cheer the folks coming in -- all those people who refused to quit, bit I couldn't get up.  Instead I congratulated those around me, knowing each of them had turned in something special today.

Post Race

So I made it to the awards ceremony to pick up my hardware and my jacket.  A slight tinge of regret that it was "only" a silver buckle.  But heck, that Colorado silver sure does shine bright in the morning sun!

The usual question is, "will you do it again?"  Well, depends if they let me in.  But I do have a plan to get that last 1:17:22 off my time.

UPDATE:  Sadness

RIP Scott Ellis #1249.  Scott had finished the race 18 times, and died of an apparent heart attack on the top of Powerline.  The LRS has retired his race plate.  That's the 2nd time in 2 years someone has died at a race I was in.  The first was Iceman 2013.  It's common for people to say "at least he died doing what he loved".  Maybe.  But you never think "I might die" when you put that knobby on the start line.  We'll be thinking about you and your family Scott.  Ride in Peace.

Hooray!

I am very excited today.  

This is doubly exciting because I started the day rather sad.  There's an awesome 12-hour race this weekend which I'm not doing because I can't look my family in the eyes and tell them I'll be gone for 15 hours, then be a useless lump on the couch for one more weekend this year.

I am excited because I have a still have a ride planned for Saturday.  And it's not just any ride.  This is the LEGENDARY the ONE AND ONLY Mormon-National loop right here in Phoenix.  

Now I know there are all kinds of people that believe they live in the greatest mountain biking locations in the world.  But here in Valley of the Sun we have amazing trails, that are actually in town.  The advantage is that if you fall and smash you face, shoulder, butt, or other into something hard you can be rescued and treated with only the usual drama.

There's the other advantage of having literally 100s of miles of desert single track that I can ride my bike to pretty much 361 days of the year.  (The other 4 days it's raining)

So this is what's in play for Saturday:

But without the road bit.  Will be riding up the other side.

I get to ride a trail that people specifically travel here to ride from hundreds of miles away...and that makes my life feel just a little better.

This week just got a lot of awesome!

check this space to see if I broke my face later this weekend.  maybe monday

F-YEAH FRIDAY!

Lots of bike blogs and bike internet people post about F-YEAH FRIDAY!

Because it's Friday and if you can get out and ride, your brain goes F-YEAH the entire time.  You're psyched you're riding, there's no guilt because the kids are at school, and you're not working.  What's not to like?  

December in Arizona, so that means it's time for Desert Single Track.  Rode to the trail, drank the Whiskey From the Bottle, passed a roadie in a Rapha Team kit and a bazillion-dollar carbon road bike on the way home.  Love making the Tie-Fighter noise with the tires as you go by very serious looking guys in skinny tires.

That's an awesome time as far as I'm concerned. 

Hope you got a little F-YEAH in your Friday too!

Humbled and on a Mission

I am humbled today.

A friend (who I've never met...that's the internet for you) posted this on FB:

I've never thought of myself as an inspiration, and I am honored that Hans would consider me one.  I'm just a guy trying to get his daughters to grow up right, be healthy enough to be around for a very long time, and be the best father/husband/son/brother/friend I can.  Oh, and make time to ride as much as I can.  

But Hans has laid it down.  I'll consider that label of "inspiration" as a challenge as well as an honor.

I take on this challenge.  Get Hans across that finish line at 6th and Harrison in Leadville Colorado the 2nd Saturday of August, 2017.  According to my computer, that's the 12th.

As of today, I plan to be putting my knobby tire on the line myself.  If that plan does not work out, I'll be there to captain the crew.  

In the meantime, the rest of my Leadville peeps have some work to do.  Between Randy working for a buckle in 2015, Laurel saying she wants one in 2016, and myself going for a big one...that's a lot of miles to share with friends.

So, Hans...get those cranks turning.  Randy...figure out how to eat 400cal/hour without causing issues.  Laurel...be a rockstar.  

And I'll see you all in Leadville.

So there's this climb

Climbs are legend in cycling.  I only know of one sprint that is truly famous, the Tour de France finish on the Champs Elysees.  There are many famous tracks, the velodromes Roubaix, Mexico City, and the Velodrome du Lac in Bordeaux to name a few.  But it's the mountains who's names everyone remembers.  Alpe d'Huez, Galibier, Ventoux, Stilvio, Koppenberg, Vail Pass, Independence Pass, Oakville Grade, Columbine, Powerline...

It is the climbs where the Grand Tours are won.  It is the climbs where a cyclist suffers, and it's the climbs that make or break your day at Leadville. 

Then there's the other climbs.  The ones named in local clubs routes, local races route lists, or even individual cyclists brains.  They have names like Nine Mile, Skull Valley, Chain Breaker, Spring, Sunset, Sunrise, Anita's, Mt Gary. 

In 2011, I found a climb by chance.  My wife's parents had moved to Corona Hills, CA.  When visiting for the first time, I was expecting a random LA exurb, golf course, mall, boring.  I expected flat roads, lots of traffic, and no fun for a cyclist.

What I found was magic.  A neighborhood at the base of Santiago Peak, right on the border of the Cleveland National Forest. From their house, I can roll out, cut through a walking path, hop a curb onto "Forest Boundary Road" and climb dirt for miles.  Being a national forest, there's not much single track accessible, but the road is not very "improved".  A road yes, but a road with lots of rocks, ruts, and turns to make a real mountain bike (vs a cross bike or gravel grinder) required.  

According to maps, if i climb for about 7 miles, I can intersect the Main Divide Road, which runs along a ridge separating Orange County from Riverside County.  I could ride the Main Divide road all the way North, and have a ripping descent into the town of Corona, then take the paved roads back to the house.

This climb I'm talking about is not used much.  I've never seen another bike on the road.  Strava only has 10 people listed as doing the climb.  You see it's steep.  In about 6.4 miles, it climbs 3000 feet.  That's a 10% grade.  Average.  That's steeper than Columbine, and longer than the real climb bit.  The climb has become a marker of progress.

In 2011, the first time I tried the climb, I made it about 1.5 miles.  After hopping onto the Forest Boundary Road, I made it up the half-mile paved section with my heart exploding through my chest.  There's a left turn about 100m after the road turns to dirt, then a .5 mile climb at 11% before a hairpin switchback.  I made it about 2/3 of the way to the switchback before I had to walk.  So I walked to the switchback, turned, and tried to ride.  This is where the grade increases to 12-13%. I made it about 50m, and walked again.  Made it to the Forrest gate, pointed the bike downhill, exhausted.  Took my an hour to go about 2 miles.

Spring of 2012, I made it to the first switchback.  Then I stopped, doubled over, and puked.

Fall of 2012, I made the first switchback, rested for 10 minutes, then made the gate. Rested, grunted out another 100-200m, rested.  In that fashion, I made it about 3 miles up the climb.  Took about 75 minutes.

Spring of 2013.  I'm in for Leadville.  I made the gate without stopping.  Since the gate was closed to cars, I rested a bit, then continued up.  I made it about 4 miles.  Discovered that after 3 switchbacks, false flats begin occurring every 50m or so

Winter 2013.  Post Leadville.  4.5 miles morning after relieving my father-in-law of a couple bottles of wine.  Made it all the way to a descent that twisted around the mountain further than I could see.  Worried about how far down it went, I turned around and made it back before all the bacon was eaten.

Spring 2014.  5.25 miles up, past the descent, and up a steep little climb to another false summit.  Took me an hour to get up there as the sun came up over the mountains far to the east.  15 minutes to get back to the house, made it back before the kids were awake. 

Fall 2014.  Post Leadville II.  5.5 miles.  No stops. Under an hour.  2 quick descents on the way Had to turn around when the sun dropped below the mountains.  I had strength left.  I could have made the Main Divide Road.  

That's the goal for Spring 2015.  6.5miles up.  More elevation gain than Columbine. In the same distance.  

I've found my training hill.  It's me vs the mountain.  Solitude above the urban sprawl of LA and the Inland empire.  The climb makes my heart want to explode through my chest.  Makes my quads burn fierce, and my calves strain just to keep the bike moving on the truly steep bits.  I know there's no reason to do this, other than to get better.

Makes me feel like a cyclist or something.  

C4

Rode the C4 today.  My favorite trails in valley.  I have the privilege of having 75+ or so miles of incredible desert singletrack accessible from a trailhead 200m from my front door, and the C4 trailhead is about 25 miles from here.  

When I'm being serious about training (or feeling sporting) I'll ride there, ride the loop, and ride home. When I'm feeling really sprint I'll try and keep up with the Flat Tire Bikes shop ride.  I have never kept up.  

The trail itself is incredible.  Every bit of the Sonoran desert you could ask for.  Big views, grand old Saguaro, tight twisty trails, rocks, wide open down hills, big climbs...it's got it all.

Best part about riding up there is getting to stop by the Flat Tire after the ride.  Have a beer at Local Johnny's, and just chill

here's the Strava for those who are interested.  I cut off a small part of the race loop, because I wanted to get that beer.

http://www.strava.com/activities/223273050/embed/2543280963b40b5a748bc805448e03a5e6516431

The Tyranny of Expectations

Bikes are fun.  Riding bikes is more fun.  Racing bikes is really fun. If you are stubborn, like me, and ride and race long enough, eventually you start thinking you might actually be good at it.

So as races approach on the calendar (why did you sign up? because of this) you start to look at historical results.  You look at the cut-offs.  2 hours?  3 hours?  8, 9, 10?  What's possible on this course?  Do you recognize a name on the results sheet?  Can you be as fast as that person?  You wonder if this racer who made it around the course in "under X" has a Strava account? Maybe you can compare what they rode to what you rode on a  similar segment.  (This is where Strava is truly evil by the way...makes it so easy to be soooo overt analytical about a ride). 

Since very few people ever get to stand on a podium, the cut-off for "sub-whatever" becomes really important. Sometimes there's a trophy (Leadville buckles...) and sometimes there's a tangible incentive like a finisher's medal or a entry into another race, and sometimes (mostly) it's just bragging rights (any chance someone will beat Conrad at Iceman this year?  No? Ok, how about sub 2:15, or sub 2:00?)

So one goes through all of this math and posing and trash talking about how many beers were or were not drunk in the weeks preceding the event, and through that process a time gets in your head. 

That time represents an expectation of performance. And because you entered a race, it matters. 

So you work hard. You eat right. You train properly.  You wake up and strap a light on the handlebars at 4am. You follow rule 5. You convince yourself that you are hard as a nail and have the capacity to suffer. 

And you begin to tell yourself the lie that you are fast. 

Now the expectation grows. 

That expectation grows and grows until you're (politely) elbowing for a position at the start line. And it grows through the start, through the gun, and it grows as you make the first turn and climb faster than you even believed you might. Oh my god!  You're flying you are A CYCLING GOD!  THE JENSIE COULD NOT CATCH YOU!

And then you cross a mile marker and you look at the clock. You're not as fast as you thought.  You're behind your goal time. You better work. 

And now the race is a little less fun. Because you are working. Hard. Then you remember rule 10.  You start to feel better.

Soon, you're in a little bit of a panic. Will you make your time?  Will you beat your friends? 

The clock only goes in one direction and that average speed is annoyingly refusing to move closer to what you need to achieve your expectation of sub- SOMETHING....

You begin to think. 

Will your family be willing to wait for you at the finish or will you need to bum a ride from someone because you have just become so daaaaaamn slow there won't even be any beer or bacon left when your slug of a marshmallow soft body drags this carbon fiber racing bike you don't deserve over the line?!?

The expectation is shattered. You're not fast. You're not that hard. You're not even sure why you put a number plate on your bars.

But you're in a race. You're not on a ride. You are racing. 

So you keep going.

And eventually, after a bit more suffering. A bit more humility of being passed by a flabby dude or chick on some POS steel machine a bit more elation of passing some on with an IM tattoo, and you cross the line.  

You didn't make sub- whatever. You did likely make the final cutoff. And if you're me, you were doing this in the mountains, in some amazing scenery, with some great friends. And someone has a beer. And it's for you. 

But for all that, you're still disappointed. You had that expectation. You fell for the lie all racers tell themselves, and now it's eating at you. 

After you finish your beer, hose off the bike, hug your friends and kiss the family, reminding yourself how lucky you are to have a spouse and kids willing to let you put on silly outfits and shoes that are too tight to play in the mountains regularly, There's really only one thing to do to fight he tyranny of the expectation. 

Enter another race. 

Moab

Moab, Utah. 

If you ride a mountain bike, you have heard of it. You have dreamed of it. A place so legendary bike companies name models after the town, and the trails. 

White Rim. Porcupine Rim. Amasa Back. Back of Beyond. Burro Pass. Kokopelli's. Gold Bar.  Slickrock. Hazard County. Portal. Behind the Rocks. Poison Spider.  

Every one of those trails is on a mountain bikers bucket list, and that's about 10% of what's there.  Mountain biking may have been invented on the Repack on Marin, but it's heart is on Moab. Sure, the new school guys are all in Whistler, Vancouver, Revelstoke, Ft William, and other lift served parks. But all still hear the call of Kokopellis flute. 

For me the call is strong. 20 years ago I scraped some money together, signed up with a guide company I found in the back of Bicycling magazine (20 years ago one did not simply Google anything...) and rode the White Rim Trail over 4 days with 3 nights of camping.   I have wanted to go back ever since. 

Finally, through a combination of luck, persuasion and incredibly accommodating families, the stars aligned, and for three days in May, we rode Moab.  Me and five friends spent 3 days and 4 nights riding, drinking beers, talking about riding...drinking whiskey...eating..and that's about it. If you look at pictures, you can see me with a massive stupid grin in every single one. Why?  I was in Moab. On a mountain bike.

Here's an example of the silly grin:

Moab sits at about 4000' flanked by the Colorado and Green rivers to the north and west, and the 11400' Lasalle mountains to the South and East. Snow caps on one side, desert cactus to the other. You get to ride from Alpine glades to the desert floor in one go.  Did I mention it's awesome?

Once we had the trip dates locked in, it was time to figure out what trails to ride.   I really wanted to ride White Rim in One Day.  I proposed this to my riding companions, and there was a healthy debate.  (I am lying.  The debate went something like this): 
   
  Me:  "hey, how about we ride White Rim in one day"
   Friend 1:  "uh, no". 
   Me: "really, it's one of those rides.  It's life defining"
   Friend 2:  "uh...have fun, I have enough definition in my life"
   Me:  "it'll be a great way to motivate ourselves to get in shape over the winter"
   Friend 3: "no"
   me:  "but...there's all--"
   Friend 1:  "no"

That settled, we decided to ride the Magnificent 7, Whole Enchilada and Amasa Back.  I will now attempt to describe riding these trails with my limited writing skills.  I apologize in advance

The day before the riding started, we took a drive out to Mussleman arch while awaiting the later arrivals.  The three guys I drove out there had never been to Moab. It was like being at a fireworks show.  Oohs and Aahs...and wows never stopped.  Obligatory Mussleman and White Rim Road pics:

Mag 7

The Magnificent 7 trails sit on a mesa above Moab and Canyonlands national park near the Gemini Bridges arches.  The system is mostly desert rock, sandstone looking slabs that provide enormous grip for any kind of mountain bike tire.  Riding them is a bit dangerous, because you keep looking up at the LaSalle mountains above or the Colorado river below.  Trouble is, look around like that too much and you put your wheel in a rock.  ouch.

We spent about 2/3 of a day riding these trails, taking pictures, and getting used to our rental bikes.  Our guide from Rim Tours, Dave,  was probably very sad to be stuck with us for 6 hours of riding.  Dave did an amazing job showing us lines, routes, views.  For those in the group unfamiliar to desert-like riding (not me...I'm lucky enough to live 200m from a tailhead with access to 40 miles of desert singletrack) he showed us how to set up the bikes, clear rocks, and generally not break Rim Tours rental bikes.  While his instructions were good, Dave eminently failed on the last point, as we managed to break stuff anyway.

There's about 100 descriptions fo these trails online, so I won't attempt to describe them inch by inch.  These trails really are all they are cracked up to be.  Actual singletrack in addition to slickrock.  Exposures, tricky moves, tough but not insane climbs...really could not ask for a better set of trails.

Our group also shook out interestingly during the day.  Discovered Dave (not the guide) is a heck of a lot faster than he claims, Conrad has even more endurance than we thought, and a few of the group are really scared riding anywhere near a cliff edge.  And a few of the group are scared riding next to Cliff.  Some of us also did not spend a whole lot time getting in shape for the trip, and some of us got in shape for the trip by riding our brains out since January. 

We also discovered what a great time we were having!  Phones were not really used except to figure out if Strava was working.  Anxiety over being "in shape" for Moab was lost -- what we were riding was a whole lot of fun, not a whole lot of lung busting.  You can tell because even in all the pictures, everyone has a gin on their face.  Maybe not as big as the grin on my face, but a pretty big grin nonetheless.

I like this trail sign

Mountains, Trail, Canyon...and a ton of fun

This post was intended to be all about the Moab trip. I got through part of day 1, and finally decided to post it. Will do the other days soon.