Have you ever woke up and immediately felt a sense of dread come over you? It really is a strange feeling. One moment you are in a peaceful place dreaming about puppy dogs and rainbows and then suddenly you’re jarred awake with thoughts about how life is really going to kick your ass. That was my wake up call on August 12th.
John, my partner, was still cowering under the sheets when I pulled the drapes open to a beautiful, partly cloudy day. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and the bikes were moving. People dressed in Spandex whizzed by our window like ants moving to a new picnic location. But it wasn’t sunny and perfect inside my head, because today’s performance would set the tone for the rest of the week and determine whether or not I had the legs to make it the entire way. I threw on some pants and a cap and headed downstairs. We had plenty of time to eat breakfast, do a final bike check, get dressed, and finally, somehow get all of my important belongings into the provided duffel bag. It was really a struggle to get all of my bike equipment, clothing, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, food, and many other accessories in the mediumly-large (smallishly-huge?) bag. But after some grunting and groaning, I did it. It really felt like I should get a T-shirt and certificate for doing this dismantling and repacking for seven straight days. The time that morning seemed to go by in slow motion, but before you knew it there wasn’t much time left before the start of the race. I still needed to get my bike box into one truck and my bloated equipment bag into another. Bikers were already anxiously lining up at the starting line, some looking prepared, others looking like opossums getting ready to cross an eight lane highway during rush hour. I was most likely the latter, but I wanted to portray a look of confidence, especially in front of my partner.
The goods news was that the first day was supposed to be the easiest. The bad news was that every day after this would get progressively more difficult. According to the route map, these were the day 1 statistics: total uphill, 1139 meters (3736 feet) and the total distance was 33 km (20 mi.). Sounds easy, huh? Come on, you know better than that!
We got our equipment into the proper trucks and ran back upstairs to gather the last of our things. Looking around for any last forgotten tidbits, I realized that I really didn’t want to leave the security of my hotel room, but a guy on a loud speaker was yelling something about safety and bears and the route, so I figured it was time to go. I put on my best “let’s go gettum” look and we took our place amoungst the 700 other riders. It was impressive to see so many bike helmets lined up perfectly. We met up with some other friends from the Bay Area that were riding and chatted while a helicopter flew overhead and the large crowd around us began to buzz. The anticipation was as thick as pea soup as people jumped up and down, looked at their bikes one last time, and talked nervously about the coming doom. Suddenly the music turned to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” and the announcer began the countdown. I reminded John that I wouldn’t think any less of him if he wanted to back out now. No luck. Bang! The bikers began to surge ahead at the starting gun and we were off. We were to make a loop around the entire resort, almost like a premature victory lap, and then head up the mountainside, out of sight. Friends and family lined the streets and cheered wildly. It was really an exciting time, with cameras and videos watching us as we cruised down the hill and back up again.
We made the final turn and looked up the hill. I was already breathing hard; a combination of excitement and trying to keep up with the crowd of riders. After two years of preparation, here we were at last…
The beginning of the route was as advertised. Fire roads and double track led us up the hill in a long strung out line of shiny helmets and dripping foreheads. I was already regretting having an extra layer on and had to pull off to the side to lighten the clothing load. People kept pushing pedals uphill and several already looked like they were going to die and we could still see the resort. Dust began to shroud several of the climbers that were already very far ahead. I got on my bike and just kept moving forward. This would be my motto all week: Just keep turning the pedals. John’s motto was probably: Keep turning the pedals until I have to wait for Michael.
After about four miles of roads, there were two motor bikes directing people onto a single track ahead and bikers were waiting on the side, presumably for their weaker partners. John and I headed down the hill and were promptly stopped by a long line of people off of their bikes walking slowly. It was a beautiful valley filled with towering trees, lush vegetation, and meandering creeks. We will now call it the gates of hell. For the next hour or more, we would follow people up the very steep mountain, one behind the other dragging our bikes behind us. Like pulling a dead camel up a sand dune, we would slip and slide on the dirt, steadying ourselves and trying to find a rock or root to use as a stair step, all the while tugging on 30 pounds of steel and rubber. We would hike in biking shoes almost the entire 3000 feet and never once get on our bikes. I had to pull off to the side of the trail several times and catch my breath. So much for bike training, I should have been hike training! There was no end in sight, but looking behind me was impressive. A long line of bikers hiking up a canyon with soaring mountains framing the picture. I could just sit there forever and marvel at the sight… and I tried, but John kept moving and I needed to stay with him. One foot in front of the other and don’t look up. One foot in front of the other and don’t look up. Oh God, why me? One foot in front of the other and don’t look up. While contemplating my sanity, I passed several riders lounging on the side of the hill, taking in the scenery and also some energy bars. After a good hour plus, the grade finally started to level off and I could see people standing at the top of the pass. Needless to say, it was a welcome sight as blisters were starting to form on the bottoms of my feet. The view was breathtaking (literally), and we were at the top of Taynton pass.
I gathered myself and hopped on my bike as we started down the backside of the mountain downhill all the way to the finish line. The trail was singletrack, meaning that the bikes had to be in a single file line because there wasn’t any room on the trail. It was very loose by the time we got there and some were walking their bikes, which made passing kind of tricky. One side of the trail fell off into oblivion, and the only thing that would save you were some bushes perched on the edge. It was unnerving, but also really gorgeous up there. I kept my bike facing down the trail, attempting to keep up with John, who is a little better at technical riding than me, when suddenly there were two tree saplings on both sides of the trail. Like guards letting only the brave through, I attempted to thread the needle, when…over the handle bars I went. Both sides of my handlebars caught the trees and with a loud and dusty thud I was on my back looking up at the puffy clouds. The first crash of the week was under my belt. We were a total of nearly 10 miles from the start and I had already crashed. Given the total length of the race, that means that I could expect to crash a total of 36 times? Woo freakin’ hoo. I knocked off the dirt and pulled my bike out of the safety net of bushes. John waited and asked if I was ok, and then we kept going. I was a little more concerned about the road ahead, given that I had just tripped myself on the two smallest trees in the area. The trail then got nasty. The route map reads like this: “Technical downhill section, of singletrack switchbacks (approx. 36!!) DO NOT take short cuts as they are not cleared, stay on main trail.” We pressed on and hit the first switchback which was very tight. Wheels scraping, brakes squealing, and hands tightening, we turned into the turn and made it. Only 35 more. By about the fifth switchback, my hands were getting numb from gripping the handle bars so tightly and I was losing feeling in my fingers which were controlling the brakes. Each new switchback revealed new carnage. Bikers crashed on the side, either going too fast on not controlling their bikes and as the turns got more severe I would unclip out of my pedals and drag a foot, trying to make sure not to fall again. The trail was becoming worse as riders in front of us rutted up the course and broke up the ground in each turn. Also the further along we went, the hotter our brakes became and the less stopping power we had. Consequently, I would have to brake earlier for each turn, which would cause my brakes to get even hotter. I came around one turn to see a only a riders foot peeking up the trail and a bike somewhere down the hill. An aerial view would probably look something like a Benny Hill clip. I can hear the music in my head as riders get on their bikes go to the next switchback and crash, go to the next switchback and crash, repeating the scene for 36 times.
For all of the drama, John and I made it to the bottom unscathed where we were met by friendly faces and a rest stop. The rest stops would all look similar; a table with bananas, oranges, watermelon, energy bars, maybe some sweets and lots of water and energy drink. We quickly ate and got back on our bikes (this is a race after all) and headed towards the finish line which was about 8 miles away.
Double track along power lines turned into single track that was absolutely amazing! We were treated to beautiful views of a river gorge that winded through the countryside, with a turquoise river that almost glowed.
Being careful not to fall into the gorge, we eventually came out of the forested area into a small community. Passing through some streets and following the signs we came to a clearing that was the football field of the local school. The entire center of the field was perfectly lined with tents and there was a bustling area of riders all moving in different directions. We made our way around the track and finished: 4:35:14. We finished Day 1! There was a sense of relief knowing that I had made it, but there was also a sense of dread knowing that my legs were really tired and this only day one of one of the easiest days of the week.
Now if you think that you can relax, you have a rude awakening. Here’s what you need to do before you even think about resting:
#1) Rehydrate and eat something immediately. 2) Find your tent out of 200 different tents. 3) Find your bag out of 400 different bags, all of which look exactly alike since they were provided to us. 4) Clean your bike and prepare it for the next day. (Clean off dirt, clean the drivetrain, make repairs, make adjustments) 5) Try to find the coldest water source available to soak your legs in. A river or a pond will do, and helps keep the swelling down in your muscles. 6) Clean yourself in the “shower truck” which was a mobile big rig that had about 10 small shower stalls. A very long line awaited all of the men, while the women’s side was very civilized and never a line. Imagine bathroom lines at a ball game, but the roles being reversed. 7) Brush teeth and add deodorant. Necessary for the close quarters and long lines everywhere. 8) Go back to said tent and get all of the things out of the duffel that you need for the morning, clothes, food, equipment. 9) Once again, try to fill duffel as best as you can. Run out of energy and leave it for the morning. 10) Go eat dinner. 11) Go to the awards ceremony following dinner. I was always too tired and only went one night. 12) Go back to tent and collapse. Oh wait, don’t forget to try and find water to fill your bottles with for the next day. This process would be repeated over and over again, but I did get into a routine by the end of it all.
Dinner on this night would be prepared at a convention hall down the hill from tent city. We would have to wait in line to get on the bus to go to town to wait in line to get into the building to wait in line to get into line to try and get some food. Tonight’s food would have a very repetitive theme to it, but no one initially cared as long as you could get enough of it. I took two plates of food back to my ‘table lair’ and put my arms around the rice and meat concoction. Some wilted greens tried to escape but were quickly scooped up with my spork. When people got close I would look up and snarl and they would move away from me looking for easier prey at the long dinner lines. Then I would get back to shoving food into my mouth at an alarming rate. I was very hungry and thirsty and tired and just wanted to crawl into my sleeping bag and pass out. After eating enough calories to carry my torso out of the convention hall, we waited in line to get on the bus and headed back up the hill. We got into our tent and….zzzzzz.
Michael's Cycling Blog 