Pre-Race (3rd in series)

I woke up two days before the race to an ominous sky and thunder.  The weather forecast had predicted rain for that day, but the extended forecast looked good.  I kept the T.V. in my room on the Weather Channel, although up there they call it the Weather Network.  Initially it was hard to figure out what they were talking about since everything was in Celcius and kilometers/hour, but after a while you get a mental conversion.  Nothing too outrageous in terms of temperature or storms was predicted for the entire next week.  The hottest day was supposed to be on Wednesday, the 4th day of the race, and it was only supposed to reach about 80 degrees Farenheit.  There were horror stories about years past when temperatures would hover close to triple digits and you would hear about check stations running out of water.  Luckily none of this would come to pass. 

I was in Panorama Mountain Resort for the next two days.  There was a ski lift right outside my patio door that was moonlighting as a lift for downhill mountain bikers in the summer.  The large mountain to my right suggested that this was a great place to come and carve some turns in the powder come January, and the crowds here are nothing compared to the chaos that surrounds Lake Tahoe for the winter months.  Everyone was laid back, but there was a nervous anticipation in the air.  Or perhaps it was just me. 

My partner would not arrive until late at night so I had the whole day to check out the resort and get in a very light ride.  The night before, I met four guys on the bus that were from San Francisco.  They were very nice and invited me on a training ride with them in the morning.  I waited for their call as I put my bike together out the travel box.  There wasn’t too much to do, but I certainly wanted to make sure that the bike was in working order; remember that was one of the requirements.  I met them downstairs and we started off downhill towards the main road.  Looking around the resort, it’s hard to imagine a more beautiful place to begin this epic race.  It seemed as though the mountains were giving our little area a bear hug, huge mountains jutting into the air and surrounding us with a warm embrace and more trees than you could ever count in a lifetime.  A river roared at the base of the hill and kept cutting through the mountains as far as you could see.  We head to the right, (I had no mental compass whatsoever) and immediately encounter one very large moose just on the shoulder of the road, munching on some grass.   He (she?) was not really caring about anyone or anything.  One of the guys hopped off of his bike to take pictures of the giant.  I thought to myself that this was just par for the course.   Why take pictures now, you’ll practically be riding over them on the way to the finish line?  I pictured moose walking down the main street in Fernie, like <i>Northern Exposure</i>.  What I didn’t know is that I would never see another moose the entire trip!  

The next day was the last day before the beginning of the race.  My partner arrived the night before and slowly began putting his bike together.  He is a bike mechanic, so he’s a little more thorough than I am.  We also went on another very easy ride to stretch the legs.  

 Later in the evening we had our pre-race festivities that were to include a presentation on what to expect during our time in the wilds of Canada and a buffet dinner.  The presentation started with someone explaining about how the race started five years ago and how incredible the race was and blah, blah, blah.  Then the guy who actually put the daily routes together came to the stage.  He laid out the terrain and the specifics of what we were going to encounter going into Day 1 of the race.  Pretty exciting and scary stuff.  Remember those beautiful mountains giving us a bear hug?  Well apparently their embrace is a little overwhelming, since there is no easy way to get out of the resort.  They tried going up the downhill course, but all of the riders passed out.  Not a good way to start the race.  Then the second option, which was agreed upon, was a two mile “hike-a-bike section” up the face of one of the mountains.  According to our announcer this would be a 20-30 minute hike.  As we would learn in the next 7 days, he was a lying jerk.  No, he was a really nice guy, but a liar all the same.  We absorbed the bad news, got in line for the buffet and ate like kings, carbing up for the next day’s start. 

My nerves were starting to get the best of me.  I was excited to get this thing over with, but the idea of the pain I would endure over the next week was enough to make me want to choke on my pasta.  Tomorrow would come too soon and not soon enough. 

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2007 Mt. Diablo Challenge

I just completed the Mt. Diablo Challenge and it marks the end of my 2007 season.  That’s right.  I’m throwing in the towel.  I yelling “uncle.”  I am waving the white flag.  But what a season it has been!!  Unfortunately, I’ve just recently found the beauty of blogging so I didn’t get a chance to chronicle all of my events, but let me tell you there were many.

 I did the Mt. Diablo Challenge last year on my mountain bike and it didn’t go so well.  First of all, I was definitely in the minority standing on the starting line with big knobby tires on my bike and baggy shorts.  Everyone else was on their skinny tired road bikes and spandex shorts (for better or worse).  As you may have read in my first TR post, knobby tires are not the most efficient form of locomotion.  In addition, last year my bike chain exploded within the first mile of the race, causing me about 15 minutes of time.  And finally, I was not very strong.

 So this year, after showing the Canadian Rockies who their daddy was, I decided to attempt the coveted “under an hour” mark.  You get a T-shirt that tells everyone how studly you are, you get runway models under each arm and a brand new Mercedes.  I made up the last two, but you get the picture.  The course is 10.8 miles, with 3250 feet in elevation gain, starting with some pot-marked asphalt and ending with smooth but no so flat blacktop. 

 I did the race with my best friend, Matt, and his brother.  His brother lives close to Mt. Diablo and rides the mountain on a regular basis, but Matt has only done the route once before, only a couple of weeks prior.  Matt is now a 13-year heart and lung transplant recipient.  He isn’t 13 years old, he’s 32, but has been through a lot in his lifetime and has been working overtime to get strong and try some races.  This would be his biggest test yet. 

When we arrived in the morning it was a very chilly.  Where did autumn come from all of the sudden?  My temperature gauge said that it was 42 degrees when we started toward the start line.  My fingers were freezing and so were my legs, but I warmed up quickly.  We parked about 3 miles from the start so that we could warm up and I decided that I would do two laps, since it takes me a long time to warm up now.  While heading towards the registration we were met by a fire truck and an ambulance on the side of the road.  As we passed we saw them attending to a rider that had somehow used the road as a cheese grater on his face.  It was a flat road and we hadn’t even started yet! 

 By the time we reached the registration and I got my ankle bracelet (no it’s not for house-arrest, it keeps your time), there was not much time to get back to the truck and back to the starting line.   Yet silly me…I left my bib # in the truck thinking there would be plenty of time.  I hustled back to the truck and looked at the clock.  I needed to hurry.  I rode back quickly noticing there weren’t any other riders to be found.  Everyone else was at the starting line.  When I finally got there Matt told me that the race started.  “Did my wave go already?” I asked.  He didn’t know.  I moved along the side of the starting pack asking what wave they were in.  (They let the racers go in waves, so at to not cause bottlenecks or slow down the faster riders.)  My wave just left.  I hopped on my bike and pedaled quickly, my heart rate was already elevated and my legs were burning.  Needless to say, not the ideal way to start a race.  Very reminiscent of my race in Downieville, when I got to the starting line and realized that I had forgot to replace my rear tire skewer, meaning that on my first bump my rear tire would have flown off.  Anyway, I started my race and quickly passed the slower riders, while trying to find some sort of pace to keep myself on the hour mark.  It didn’t last long.  By mile 6 up the hill, my legs were screaming.  By mile 8, they were filing eviction notices.  The views were beautiful but my legs were throwing a temper tantrum and wanted nothing to do with it.  Meanwhile, my pulmunary system kept asking, “Are we there yet?  Are we there yet?”

The road gets progressively steeper towards the top of the mountain, and then pitches up at about a 25-30% grade for the last 200 yards.  We pass ranger stations and park benches along the way and there are friendly volunteers that cheer you up and hand out water.  What great folks…until I passed an elderly gentleman who said eagerly, “Almost there, only 2 or 3 more miles!”  I said to myself, “What the %$#@!  Make up your mind, is it 2 or 3 miles?”  At this point I was not in the mood for indecision. 

The final stretch of road started to sound like a porn video, people panting and shaking on their leather seats, trying to coax the last bit of energy from their legs.  I was not any better off, and my pace was nowhere near what I needed it to be.  Then, there it was.  The final push straight up.  This part of the route is like pouring salt on an open wound, but there are people already at the top cheering for you to finish.  I looked up the hill, got my energy back, my determination took over, I was unstoppable!  I got out of my seat to sprint up the hill, then, uh oh, cramps!  Both of my quads locked up and wouldn’t let go.  So here I was, I could see the top of the damned hill and my legs were saying “not today buddy.”  Every pedal up the hill was torture, but I focused on the top and suddenly I was there.  I can only imagine what my picture looked like coming across the finish line.  I must have looked like I was storming the beaches of Normandy, disoriented and scared.  I quickly hopped off of my bike got some water, started stretching and eventually the knots went away.  The weather at the top was beautiful, especially compared to last year; which featured clouds and mist.  You could make out the faint outline of the Sierras and some snow capped peaks. 

 I finally caught up to Matt’s brother and we went to look at our times and get our free smoothie.  Matt would be a while longer.  Everyone was huddled around the print outs desperate to see their times and there I was:  1:13:56.  No partying gifts, no ladies, no Benz.  Oh well.  I did catch a free water bottle, with a coupon for a free oil change and lube.  Oh, sweet victory!  Meanwhile, we waited for more flying water bottles and maybe a free map.  OOOH!  Finally we decided to go watch for Matt since he should be getting close and help cheer him up the ‘hill of death.’  When suddenly, someone was calling my name.  It was Matt, he had already made it to the top!  When we got to him it was very emotional and inspiring.  Matt is an incredible person.  He smashed his anticipated time of 2 hours with a 1:52. 

Overall, what a beautiful day to mark the end of my season.  I didn’t break the hour mark, but I was able to be there for Matt and see yet another incredible accomplishment from him. 

Here is another inspirational moment.  I get chills every time I watch it.

Pre-Race (2nd in series)

The 2007 Transrockies was unique in that it was the first year when they did the course in reverse.  In years past, they started in Fernie, British Columbia and ended usually in the Panorama Mountain Resort, British Columbia.  Starting in Panorama was unique because it required a 5 hour bus ride from the airport.   I started early in the morning on Thursday, August 9th, three days prior to the race.  I chose to leave three days early so that I could get acclimated to the elevation and also get a bearing on my surroundings.  As we dropped into Calgary Airport I was surprised by how flat it was, and suddenly I had a great feeling that maybe this won’t be so bad after all.  I mentioned this to the guy sitting next to me and he assured me that in fact there are very large mountains to the west.  Calgary lies to the east of the mountain range so it is similar to Kansas or the high plains of Wyoming.  All there was for miles were long rolling hills of green grass with hay rolled up like Hostess Ding Dong’s .   As I rode in the luxury tour bus towards our destination, I was treated to a very lengthy conversation going on behind me about all of the horrors we were to endure.  Apparently they had both done the race in previous years.  Luckily, Erica made a compilation of songs on her I-Pod so I sat back and turned up the tunes.  As the miles and songs went by the sky turned black with the pending sunset.  Suddenly there were large dark figures jutting up from the ground and it appeared as though there were clouds getting closer to us and stretching all the way to the horizon.  As they got closer, I realized that they weren’t clouds at all.  They were mountains.  They rose from the ground and burst into the sky like decayed teeth in some crazy, old man’s mouth.  I had never seen mountains that were so vain.  Standing tall and sticking their chests out they were indeed impressive and they were just the guards to the gate as our bus strained up the progressively steeper hills.  We proceeded towards Banff and picked up some people at a fancy hotel in the center of town.  It reminded me a lot like Jackson Hole, Wyoming in that it was clearly a cowboy town with some local money.  The main street through town was being torn up by diggers as some sort of facelift to the already increasing lease values.  Ralph Lauren had to pardon their dust.  It really was a nice looking town and Erica, Nathan, and I would experience it later in our trip.  The bus continued on and didn’t stop for what seemed like forever.  I didn’t arrive in my hotel room until 1:30 in the morning.  It had been a very long day.