Team Optibike

I have had the opportunity to do many amazing activities in my life, and often there is a singular moment in these that I remember particularly strongly. Among those I count: climbing the knife ridge approaching the summit of Denali at nearly 20,000 feet; the descent of the Turrialba Volcano during Stage 3 of La Ruta in Costa Rica; and the final pull up to the finish of the 100-mile Leadville race this summer when I knew I had my 10^th finish. To that list I can now add the moment I spent flying across the plateau at over 13,000 feet in the Pike’s Peak race.

Pike’s Peak has a long and celebrated history of motor-powered vehicles scaling its narrow road. The first automobile made it to the summit on August 12, 1901. It was a two cylinder Locomobile Steamer driven by C.A. Yont and W.B. Felker. It’s unknown how long it took these two gentlemen to get up the road, but I’d be willing to bet I was faster. The first Pike’s Peak Hill Climb race was held August 10 – 12, 1916, to commemorate the opening of the Pike’s Peak Highway. It is the second oldest auto race in the United States (the Indy 500 being the oldest). There are 156 curves on the course. In 2011, a 910-horsepower purpose-built car made it up the 12.42-mile course in 9 minutes and 51 seconds – the first car to ever break the 10-minute barrier. That’s an average of 75.65 mph. In 2010 the first bicycle race up Pike’s Peak was held, using a much longer 25-mile course that started in the city of Manitou Springs. In that event, two Optibikes made the trip at an average of 14.3 mph, finishing in 1 hour and 46 minutes, and winning the electric assist category. This year we had to beat that.

The course map

Back in April there was a lot of chatter on-line about the race. Some of the on-line electric bike communities were planning big things to topple Optibike. I’ve been a customer and fan of Optibike since 2006 and have owned two of their bikes. I was one of their first brand ambassadors and I have shown off my custom-painted “Nevada One” Optibike every chance I get, including bringing it into hearing rooms at the Nevada Legislature. I posted some stuff on-line about the race, and then Craig Taber (sales and marketing for Optibike) called me and asked if I wanted to come out and race Pike’s Peak as part of Team Optibike. I didn’t have to think about that one at all. Over the months leading toward the race, I learned more including that they were bringing out a new, more powerful Optibike and that they would be showing them off by racing a team up Pike’s Peak. I also learned that my friend and fellow Optibike maniac Jamie Johnson from San Francisco was also going to be racing.

The Friday before the race, Jamie and I met at the airport, got a car, and headed for Boulder. Once there we got reacquainted with our old friends at the Optibike company and each got to see the bike we’d be riding. We got to set up them up to our liking and immediately one funny difference occurred. I had brought out a flexible tape measure to set my saddle height just where I wanted it: 73 cm from the center of the bottom bracket. Jamie just looked at his saddle and said, “Yea, that’ll work.” We took the bikes out for our first test ride, just 5 minutes around the block near Optibike. Even in that short a ride, I was blown away by the speed and handling of these bikes. The all had new Schwable tires, and mine had the new Avid Code brakes with four pistons. This is very good when stopping from 35 mph, which was an easy speed to attain on these bikes.

After some adjustments and messing around, we headed off for a “quick” ride up to Brainard Lake, a mere 25 miles away with 5,600 feet of elevation gain. Nothing much. On the way up, we were climbing Boulder Canyon on Lee Hill Dr., and I found that with not too much effort I could pull away from Jim Turner (who designed the Optibike and owns the company). Jim’s strong but he’s a big guy, easily over 200 lb; with my relatively light weight and stronger human-based power-to-weight ratio (our bikes had the same power-to-weight ratio), a bit of leg push and I was right up past him. Just to be dramatic, I did this seated – it’s good to know how to do that, just to put the moves on people without them thinking you’re working that hard. Oh, I worked plenty hard, but only for about 30 seconds to get a gap on them, then I could ease off. During one of my pulls off the front of the group, Jamie caught me and hung on the back of my bike to pull himself past. He was so smooth pulling on me, I first thought the battery was dropping out when I felt the bike slow.

We got up to the lake in just about an hour, spent some time riding around the lake, and then came back. On the way down I got up to just over 55 mph, which could be scary on a bike, but this machine feels really solid even at that speed. I think Kyle said he got up to 62 mph. That’s nuts, although arguably not much more so than 55 mph is. I managed most of that ride on a single battery (we were all carrying 2), so I felt really confident going into the Pike’s Peak race.

Saturday was mostly about prepping and packing and getting everything down to the Colorado Springs area. Jamie and I got our packets and then found an REI store for him to get some mounts for his GoPro helmet cameras. We all met again at the hotel in the early afternoon and spent some time running the batteries down just a bit so we could charge and balance them overnight and be fully charged when racing. The rest of the day was spent putting on numbers, picking clothes, food, and stuff for the drop bag, and just reminding myself to relax and get ready to race.

Ready to Race

The morning of the race dawned clear and beautiful. I remember being out in the hotel parking lot helping to load the bikes, everyone dressed in their team jerseys working together. Driving down to the race start, seeing Pike’s Peak sticking it’s bald head into the sky up above the surrounding mountains, I began to wonder what it was going to be like to be up there, racing across those ridges in the sky. I started putting my mental images together, thinking about my efforts. The team was pulling together, working together and everything was going just the way we wanted it to.

Down at the start there was a lot of interest in the Optibikes and we talked to a lot of people. I tried to stay out of that and just relax and focus on the race. As we got lined up, we realized that Garrett was not there with us. Just as they were counting down the last 10 seconds to the race start, we saw him riding on the sidewalk coming up to the start. He had gone off to get a coffee and sandwich and was late getting back. He did start a few seconds late and rode the first part one-handed to hold his coffee. Later, at the top, he told Jim, “This thing needs a cup holder!”

The start was a bit chaotic as one of our riders got a bit aggressive with the throttle and flipped her bike, ending up on the ground. Here’s a video of the start:

One funny thing to note about this is the last bike coming through at about 33 seconds in the video is Garrett. You can just barely see him holding his coffee. That’s dedication.

Because of the dropped bike, we got a kind of a slow start. We had planned on a pace-line of the six of us (figuring that Garrett on the older bike would be too slow to hang on) and had hoped to be up in the 25-30 mph range going up the initial part of the climb and up highway 24.

Unfortunately there was a strong wind blowing down the canyon and right in our faces. Staying in the pace-line was really the only option at that point, and any time I moved out of Jim’s draft, I was immediately reminded of why we were doing the pace-line. Up a bit above the toll road gate, the hill pitches up steeply and I found myself really considering just leaving the group at that point and striking out on my own for the summit. We were just over 6 miles in and hadn’t gotten the speeds up high enough to achieve my pre-race goal of under 1 hour to the top. That was going to require just over 25 mph average speeds and we weren’t close to that. Look at the elevation profile, and you can see that section starting at about 14 miles with sustained 8% or more grades. That’s going to be tough. I wanted all my battery and all my legs ready for that.

The Pike's Peak Course Grade and Elevation

Another way to look at it is the trainingpeaks file. You can play with that and see where I was working hard, both early on and during my solo pull at the end.

I decided to stick with the original plan and just ride the pace-line with the team until after the dam, which is preceded by a reasonable section of downhill. That’s where we were moving at about 42 mph. I had been riding to that point in eco-mode, which means just over half the available power. The advantage I had is that I could still fill in the power gap with my legs, so I never lost contact with the team and saved on battery. I knew I could produce more power at 8,000 or 10,000 feet elevation than at 14,000 feet. That’s why my heartrate spiked up a few times in the first half, hitting my high for the day (180 bpm) at 15 minutes and 11 seconds. Spikes again at 22 and 27 minutes kept me working hard and saving my batteries.

Up to the point I left the pace-line, I was having a great day, only worried about our average speed to that point, but we were in the trees, it was a nearly perfect temperature, and other than my breathing I really didn’t have any way of knowing how high up I was. With the team together I felt very comfortable, the bike was running strong, and I didn’t have a worry in the world. But I hadn’t come there for a steady and comfortable ride to the top; I had come there to race and race hard, to leave it all out there on the mountain and have nothing left on top. Part of being on this team was my responsibility to the overall effort – getting everyone up, but another part was getting Optibike the best possible time. Sometimes being part of a team means going alone. Pulling out of the pace-line and moving up to the front and off the front was more than just a change in ride position, it was a change in attitude to one of an all-out time trial to the summit. I started what I had come there for – to race.

For the first part of my push to the summit, Jamie held onto my rear wheel. I had seen his shadow when we started, and then I became so focused on the road in front of me, my body’s response, and the bike that I pretty much forgot everything else. According to Jamie, when he had to switch to his front battery (we had all started on the rear ones) the momentary loss of power caused him to lose contact with me. He never got it back. Like I said, I didn’t even realize that and had just kept cranking along. You can see in my heart rate file: the heart rate jumps up to about 170 and stays there for just over 30 minutes. That’s a long time to hold that kind of effort, but I was at that moment committed to do everything I could to get up that hill as fast as I could.

As I went through the Glen Cove area at about 11,500 feet and saw the elevation sign, I realized I was still on the rear battery, so I switched there. With less than 3,000 feet to the summit, I was just going to my second battery. That knowledge gave me the confidence to really dig in and run the bike as hard as it would go and, at the same time, push myself even harder. Just beyond Glen Cove, I went above tree line.

Up there the views open greatly to large expanses of dirt, rock, and sky – a truly alpine environment. Looking out from the road, most of the views are down and I caught occasional glimpses of the forests and lakes. While it’s fun now to review the helmet camera images, I really didn’t look around much since it was taking every bit of my concentration to keep that bike straight and fast along that road with almost no guardrails. But I was very aware of the change to this alpine environment, a really foreign place for me to be doing what I was – a full out time trail on this very impressive bike. The change to this open and sparse environment made me feel even more alone out there, just riding and breathing. I found that the switchbacks on the steep part of the climb were so tight I was dropping to 13-14 mph to get around them and that was on a closed road where I was using most of the road. Out of every switchback I was on my feet, hammering the pedals down getting my speed back up.

The whole way that I was on my own up high I had a motorcycle escort. Turns out the driver was one of the two main organizers, but I didn’t know that. I had this feeling like I was Marco Pantani climbing Alpe d’Huez with a motorcycle escort. Except for the fact that I was all alone up there with my thoughts—no fans were lining the roads. I had never been in that kind of place in a bike race: all alone off the front.

This is what it felt like...

I still knew what I had to do, my main focus was still to pedal as hard as I could and push that bike ever higher. At about 13,000 feet there is a level portion called the Devil’s Playground. At that altitude, the air is about 40% less dense than at sea level, and I really think I noticed as I was able to accelerate to 38 mph going past the aid station. Up there I felt completely relaxed despite the impossibility of the moment. I was riding very hard with my heart rate as high as I dared keep it at about 170 beats per minute, but I was really in my element, working perfectly with the bike, both of us right at our limits but within a strange new comfort zone at such high speeds and altitudes.

The thinning air did much more than cut the air resistance; it made me breathe a lot harder. It also likely made my thinking and reaction time slower, but that didn’t change much. I still was using up all of the road on the switchbacks and trying to make the lowest time I could.

I was tucked down to minimize air resistance and cranking the pedals as hard as I could. I noticed the surprise in the faces of the aid station workers as I passed by at that speed. Above that lay about 1,100 feet of vertical climbing in maybe 2 miles. I knew I was close.

As I began that last 1,000 vertical feet of climbing, I knew I was near the summit and really dug in and raced for the finish, cresting the top of the road with my legs in lactate-driven pain and my breathing labored at 14,110 feet. I rounded the last turn, I could see the road crest in front of me, nothing but sky beyond that. I was on my feet, racing those last few seconds and accelerating the bike to over 28 mph before I hit the stop button on the watch. I wasn’t sure exactly where to hit stop because they had not yet set up the finish line! I cruised across the top parking lot as people yelled at me to stop. With nothing else to focus on I became acutely aware of my breathing and how labored it was.

It took a minute or so for me to be able to speak, and that’s when it hit me. I suddenly realized I had done what I had set out to do – win. Not just win, but race solo at the limits of my efforts in this potentially hostile thin-air environment and I had made it. As I slowed down after the finish, I suddenly became aware of just how hard I was breathing. It took a minute or two before I really realized what I had done.  Standing there alone, the feeling of celebration welled up within me and I had nothing left to do but yell out in joy. The feeling was incredible. Standing was not the best idea, as my quads where twitching visibly – that again told me I had accomplished my goal of leaving nothing in my personal gas tank—to run that to the limit and do as much as I could.

It was actually only 4 minutes I stayed there alone before Jamie made it up. Two minutes after that Kyle was there, and then after 2 more minutes Craig and Jim were only 20 seconds apart. Traci was up just over 6 minutes after Jim and then 5 minutes after Traci came Garrett, doing the finish in high style, sidesaddle on the frame as he crossed the line. From the first Optibike to the last only 20 minutes had gone by. Everyone except Garrett was on the new bike, but even he had a current model. Garrett had started late and ridden one-handed at first to manage his coffee. It had been quite a showing, with seven bikes entered placing first through seventh. I thought I had counted four other ebikes at the start, and the official record shows one other made it.

Before anyone dismisses what I did as “riding a motorcycle” or something, first look at the heartrate file and see how hard I was working and also remember that I had just over 1 horsepower and about 1600 watt-hours of battery at my disposal, not all that much. My heartrate averaged 161 bpm over the whole race, and 168 bpm over the last 30 minutes, which is among my best ever.

My heart rate over the entire climb.

Video Of the climb:

In the days following this event I kept thinking back to those moments high up on the mountain, moving so fast. It brought me back to where I started this write up – thinking of other events I had done and wanting desperately to get back to that moment of exhilaration on Pike’s Peak. I have to thank Jim again for designing such an impressive machine. Thanks also to Craig, Kyle, Garrett, and so many others at Optibike for doing what they do and making it possible for me to have this incredible experience. The bike is a near-perfect integration of many parts to make not just a strong climber, but an undeniably solid, complete bike that can race up those kinds of hills and also get me safely down again without ever feeling out of control. Like every Optibike, it lets me add as much as I can by pedaling to where I can really push myself and have so much fun doing it.

A year is a long time to wait for another chance to do this, but it’s already on my calendar. I can’t wait to get back up into that clear, thin air and race for the summit.

1000 Mile Buckle

Leadville 2011. The 10th one. One thousand miles.

History.

This all started back in 2000 when Japhy went and did “this race in Leadville” and seemed to have a great time and encouraged me to do it. So, the next year I applied and got in and, 11 years later, I’m still doing it. I didn’t know much that first year which is good sometimes. I just went and rode, finished, and had a great time. So much so that I kept coming back. So I’ve sort of been asking myself what I’ve learned over these 1000 miles on the trail, and I’ve come to realize that there are some things.

What I’ve learned 1: Why.

The first has to do with why I’m so attracted to events like Leadville and why this one in particular? Why have I kept coming back here when I haven’t done any other event this many times? Part of that answer has to lie in the physical and mental challenge of something like this. It is at that upper limit, that point where finishing really feels like an accomplishment; something that is never assured or taken for granted. I never felt prepared enough for this one, always running just a little bit scared, which is good.

Someone (in this case Ken Chobler) draws a line in the sand and invites people to come toe it. Line up and go, see what happens. But Leadville was always more than just that. There was a raw, original spirit to the race, the town and the whole experience. The energy in the gym both for the pre-race meeting and the award ceremony was genuine. Even Ken’s famous speech, with the great line, “You are better than you think you are and can do more than you think you can,” felt real and genuine every time I heard it. I believed him when he would say, “this is not a motivational speech, this is a fact that we have learned through years of doing this.” I believed Ken because he is the living, breathing embodiment of that fact. He believed in himself and his town when few others did in the early 1980s and created a second act for a boom-and-bust mining town, perhaps proving Fitzgerald wrong. He created the open-air laboratory for testing and defining the limits of human performance at high altitudes, not just for the elite and celebrity athletes (who eventually were drawn to Leadville) but for the uncelebrated average ones. Especially those average riders, those who got their recognition, their moment in the sun, because unlike so many events, Leadville announced and celebrated every finisher starting from “the last ass over the pass” award to the guy (it seemed like it always was a guy) who came in at 11:59:59, just making that 12 hour cutoff. The trophy is actually the south half of a north-facing donkey. From the last ass to the winner, one at a time, and it made me feel special every time.

Of course, not taking themselves too seriously, there was always the doctor who would get up after Ken to speak and warn us of the real dangers, like testosterone poisoning, lightning, and the very real possibility that we were not actually as good as we thought we were. A little push and a little reality, always a good balance.

Then there were the people, the support, the volunteers who would get up at some unnatural hour to get out and be up at 12,500′ when the first riders came though and to help everyone. There was the local VFW branch who for many years ran the neutral support at Pipeline, and who always had young kids who would hold your bike while you got what you needed. These people were out there as long as we where and probably worked as hard to make sure we had what we needed.

I kept coming back because of all of this and because the totality was truly greater than the sum of the parts. This line in the sand, this test, this challenge: ‘can you get from here to there and back,’ and all the moments through it is what kept daring me to return, to see if I still had “it.” Through the years there have been moments of great joy and beauty and moments of great pain and discouragement, and I never quit, I never gave up. The one experience I had every year was what I called “stripped to raw emotion.” This is an emotional state of just plain feeling, with no superego analyzing or holding my emotions in check I would enter an almost meditative state of pure feeling and often something in recent events in my life would take center stage in my thoughts. The one consistent element is that I would start to cry as the emotion washed over me and there was no energy to hold it back. This year it was about Mica, but it’s not so much about one event as it is about my state of mind. Nearly every year (this was no exception) I also start to cry at the top of the Boulevard, nearly back. Those are probably more tears of joy and celebration, knowing what I have just accomplished, giving me the space to settle in and enjoy that last mile to the finish. No matter what I felt like, I always made a strong finish, or at least made it look like I was finishing strong.

So is what I’ve learned simply that I’m endurance junkie? That is probably true. Why else would I do things like Leadville, the Cascade Cream Puff, and La Ruta? There are lots of ways to test yourself in endurance, this one was special. It was well known, and all my friends and family knew it was one I did, and I think it is that very specific (time, location, course) and very public test that raised the stakes and made me raise my game.

Starting line, 2007

What I’ve learned 2: Less is more.

I sometimes really wonder what I was thinking the first year I did this race. Sure it was cold at the start, but even for a cold start I had too much clothing on. I had to stop and remove layers that went into the Camelbak (more on that later). And that Camelbak was full of water adding more weight. I had bought my first Camelbak when I got my first full sprung bike that really had zero room for bottles on it. But I was riding Leadville in those first years on a titanium hard tail that had two bottle cages. I remember one year even taking the bottle cages off to lighten the bike, but carrying all that stuff on my back… What was I thinking? Over the years, I lightened the Camelbak but never got rid of it. I did get smarter with the clothes, wearing a warm layer for the time before the start and handing those off at the last minute. Still, I was carrying a lot and it was on my back. Even as recently as last year, now on a carbon-fiber full sprung bike, I still had the Camelbak. One thing Coach Jay really started pushing me toward was going to bottles only. This year I took this to heart and began racing with just bottles on the bike. I did the Cascade Cream Puff with only bottles carrying at most 2 and it seemed to work. That race had very good support, but still I thought I should do Leadville as light as I could. So on race day I had just two bottles mounted on the frame and pretty much nothing on my back. I loved the lighter feeling of it and carried only some food in one jersey pocket and my inhaler in the other, in case the dust triggered some asthma. Fortunately, it didn’t and the inhaler stayed there all day. Only on the climb from Twin Lakes to Columbine did I put another bottle in my jersey since it was hot and I knew I’d want a lot of liquid. Still since I emptied that first one pretty quickly, I really wasn’t carrying much all of that climb.

Turns out the same lesson was learned for the other stuff I used to carry. Mary commented this year that the car seemed to be less full than in the past. True, since the first years I used to carry a work stand and about a full bike shop to now when a multi-tool and a leatherman make up the repair kit, I’ve definitely gone lighter. This year, we even forgot wine glasses and were forced to drink straight out of the bottle.

So, lesson two was lighten up, travel light, get the stuff off my back and have a great time.

Finishing 2008

What I learned 3: Eat more.

Given what I’ve learned lately, I really can’t believe how little I ate the first few years. Again, no knowledge was probably good. I do know that the second year, I was seriously bonking the last few hours of the event and still recall looking at the GU packets on the ground and hoping to see a full one someone had dropped. It was only my third run, when my father came to be my support, and he looked at the hills and told me I was going to need a lot of calories to climb all that. He was clearly right. He pushed food on me at every aid stop and it really helped. That year was my personal best time. Not sure I learned the lesson that year enough but at least over the last few years I became much more careful with the eating. This year I took it to another level by eating something (either a GU or some kind of bar) every 20 minutes. The goal was to get 300 or more calories per hour going in. More than that going out, but still I was doing a lot better than in years past. I kept pretty close to that goal and I really noticed the difference when I finished. In years past I have been just destroyed at the end, sometimes unable to think very well for a while until my blood sugar came back up. This year, I finished and felt great, I remembered everything and was really able to enjoy our dinner afterward. I seem to have recovered more quickly as well. The most notable change was the night after the race. Pretty much every time after Leadville I have had a terrible night with my body alternatively too hot (to the point of sweating a lot) and then seemingly very quickly shifting to being too cold (to the point of shivering). This was so consistent I just thought it was something to expect, no matter what I ate or did that evening. This time I slept great and woke up feeling good. I think in the past I had just drained so much fuel out of my body I could no longer well regulate my temperature and had all these troubles. This year I felt good. Eat lots if you’re working hard. Makes sense to me.

Starting Rush 2010

What I learned 4: It’s the community

Trite, maybe, but no less true for being so. The levels and layers of interactions with this race run deep and wide. Maybe even more so in the last few years with the addition of the CTS community, my La Ruta teammates and Costa Rican riders I had met there who are coming to Leadville to race. That we all cross paths in Leadville makes that race and that town some kind of grand global crossroad. The support and friendship that brings makes us all a little closer and happier. That shared experience gives us all something to talk about and share both now and in the future. The racing is all fine and good, but if that was really all there was and I never talked with these people again, I think I would be left looking for more. Just like pain is temporary and quitting lasts forever, so the race is temporary, but the friendships, memories and shared stories last forever.

Lastly, it’s about the community of Leadville and the entire reason all these races exist. Had it not been for massive layoffs and one determined ex-hard rock miner, none of this would exist. Ken did this for his community and in doing so created a much larger one. I remember one year when a young man with a prosthetic lower leg came from Africa and tried the race, Ken was introducing him at the pre-race and got the nation he was from wrong. The man corrected Ken, to which Ken replied, “It doesn’t matter son; you’re Leadville now.” A quick recovery, sure, but I know Ken really considered everyone who came for this race an honorary son or daughter of Leadville.

Where’s the race report?

Really? You were reading this for a race report? Ok.

Twin Lakes Aid Station

The whole trip went well. The only thing I wish I could have done differently was relax more the few days prior. I was pretty wound up. I think it was because I had told a lot of people that I was going and that this was my big 10th year race. I think I put too much pressure on myself to do this and to finish. I know too well all the things that can go wrong and prevent a successful outcome. At least by the time we lined up Saturday morning I had relaxed. I was there, I was ready, all that was left was to race.

This year was the first that the race was fully under Lifetime Fitness and the one great thing they added was an early registration check in on Thursday afternoon. They stayed open until 7 pm and we made it into town early enough to take advantage of that. The reason this is important is that I had nothing to get up for Friday morning, so I just slept. And slept. Probably 10 hours or more which was great and probably just what my body really needed. The rest of Friday was taken up with a nice ride, lunch and prepping everything for the race. We then headed up to the CTS pre-race feed and hung out there for a couple of hours talking with both old and new friends.

The morning of the race, I got up about 4:30 AM and started drinking coffee and eating. I know since the race start is two hours away, the best thing I can do is force myself to eat. There will be plenty of calories burned today, so there is almost no danger in eating too much. I definitely worked at getting food down but am glad I did. Plus I drank a lot, trying to start hydrated and fed is a good move.

The race start was pretty well organized. They tried a new start sequence this year, with “corrals” (cattle call, anyone) based on your best finish time over the last three years. Good for me, but anyone who was a first-timer was in the last (back) corral. This led to some challenges for the really fast people trying to work their way through 1900 of their best friends to get up near the front. Forget it, not going to happen. I saw several people pass me on the pavement which is fine since there was plenty of room, but once we got out on the dirt, the trail is narrow; a lot of people on it and you just couldn’t go that fast. Still, some tried and I saw one pretty bad crash as a result of an unnecessarily aggressive rider trying to pass. I was not going to be “that” guy and just rode and tried to keep up or get ahead. The steep part of Kevin’s caused some backups but nothing terrible.

The roll up Kevin’s and down toward Sugarloaf was great and easy. Even climbing Sugarloaf seemed ok, lot and lots of riders, but manageable. My first experience with a real traffic jam was descending Sugarloaf and the powerline. The challenge was that one slow rider would cause a lot of backup. There were so many riders that I had trouble passing, again my concern was not crashing, not causing someone else to crash and just finishing clean. The steep part of powerline was ok, just a lot slower than I’d done it in other years. I heard from others who were behind me that they were “practicing track stands” on the powerline descent. This is where I really starting thinking how crazy this was to have so many people on this trail. It’s really too many.

The old (bottom) and the new (top) buckles and medals

The first year I did this (2001) there were 423 finishers; 51 went under 9 hours. By 2005 it was 471 finishers. This year 1173 people made the 12 hour cut and another 104 came in by 13 hours when they stop reporting. 262 made the 9 hour cut this year. Yes, change is inevitable and even expected, but trying to fit 2.8 times the number of people and maintain the “experience?” Not sure you can do that, no matter how well organized you are.

The race route opens up after the powerline and while I wasn’t in traffic at all, there were so many people. I grabbed two new bottles and some GU and a bar at the aid station, got a push off from Jim and headed toward the dam. I had done pretty well getting to that point, considering the traffic. Leaving there, I was surprisingly weak. This was probably the worst section of the race for me. Just didn’t feel fast or strong, so I just settled in and rode, ate and drank. Keeping the fuel going in was a priority and I did well to do that.

The large number of riders, even this far out, is good and bad. Good in that you always had someone to ride with, bad in that even way down (probably 38 miles) when you hit the new single-track, there were so many people that it backed up a lot again. As soon as anyone had a problem on the narrow trail, 20 people were stopped behind them. Again, standing with one foot on the ground was not what I expected to be doing at that point of the race.

The dam was a zoo as it often is, but even crazier than ever before. This time they opened a section of the road up Columbine for crewing just because there was not enough room on the dam. Rolling over that hill after the dam aid station, you have an amazing view of what looks like a sea of cars and colored tents where people are set up. Started climbing and my legs woke up a bit. The next thing I noticed was the two lead riders coming down the hill at a point way lower than I was used to seeing the leaders. Dang, those guys were running fast and hard.

The climb was good and I moved along. Once on the steeper part, I tried to ride what I could but again was thwarted by the number of riders and the traffic coming down. I do like this section as I can see a lot of people I know and that always motivates me to get moving. Again, I tried several times to get on the bike and ride and just couldn’t. I got to the summit at 5:21, and in the past I have been very consistent in that doubling the Columbine time will give me my finish. This would put me at 10:42 and I made 10:26, so I was doing better going home.

Over the top and I started down quickly. Again with a bunch of food in me and a desire to keep moving, I covered that 10 miles pretty quickly. Quick stop at the dam and I headed out again, trying to wake up my legs and get moving. I felt better than before, but still found it hard to really settle in and move quickly so I just did what I could. Another quick stop at the Pipeline aid where Mary had amazingly made it to in time to see me and I moved on again. Always a great boost to see her along the trail, despite the fact that I know she had to work hard to make those changes and sit around a lot in between. I cleared pipeline about 7 hours 20 min from the start – well more than enough time to make it in. At this point, all I was thinking of was finishing. I was slowly feeling better and better and I really relaxed and just enjoyed the riding. Coming over Kevin’s was great and I hit the bottom and moved along really well to the Boulevard. Rolled up that and as I hit the pavement, I locked out the suspension and dug in for a strong finish. Rolling that last few hundred yards with the biggest smile on my face, knowing I had done what I set out to do felt amazing. I finished feeling better than I ever had, standing upright and just enjoying the moment.

Ten finishes in 10 starts. Knowing everything that can go wrong, that feels amazing to say. Finishing strong and feeling good after riding 100 miles at that altitude is unbelievable. Not only all the things that can go wrong, but all the changes as I’ve aged over those years and still I’m pulling in at a decent time, still feeling good. Amazing consistency. I changed clothes, Mary and I walked over to the pizza place and we sat and ate outside and just enjoyed the moment. Even being able to sit after that race is an improvement on the past.

The awards ceremony was different from in years past, but the best part was at the very beginning they called up all the 1000 mile buckle recipients (there must have been a dozen) and gave us our very nice personalized buckles. The buckles have changed some with the new ownership, but still they personalize the 1000 mile ones and that’s pretty cool.

Award Ceremony -- Jake Rubelt and myself

Plenty of people have asked me if I’m going to do this race an 11^th time. My answer has been, “Never say never,” but right now I really doubt it. Unless something drastic changes in the number of riders, I really don’t want to do that again. I’ve had a lot of fun; I leave with a collection of buckles, sweat shirts, finisher’s medals, and memories. Last year my parents both came out and were able to experience the whole race. In 2003, my father came out and worked very hard as my crew. For eight of my ten years, Mary was there as my crew and I’m thankful to everyone who cheered and celebrated with me. All the people I’ve me along the way, even those who I’ve long forgotten. When it’s all added up the memories are what will be treasured.

Sweatshirts, shirt, buckles and medals from Leadville

There are many other things I’d like to do, trails I’d like to ride, races, I’d like to do. Leadville: What a long strange trip it’s been.

See you in the mountains

a BACON STRIPPER!

Photo by Conrad Snover

Jason Walker @ Tour de Nez Photo by David Evans

That’s Right! JWox crushed it yesterday in the Mighty Tour de Nez Masters Race! When asked how he did it he replied: “Pop tarts covered with bacon grease.”*

My only criticism is that his shoe covers don’t match his onesie.

You win a free pair of the forthcoming Bacon Saves Arm Warmers bro!!!

WOOOO HOOOOO!!!

-M

*quote made up

Finally!

The Cascade Cream Puff, 2011 version…Redemption.

Yes, I finished it. Really proud of this finish, really happy with my day and the whole thing. Amazing race, and I’m really not sure I’d do it again. We’ll see, memories fade and so will the colors on that hat.

For a bit of a back-story, I went up to do this in 2009, after hearing all kinds of great reports about it. It was a cold, drizzly to rainy day and the course was different from this one. Took me a ridiculous amount of time to finish my first lap and I was feeling crappy and I just DNF’ed out. In the days and weeks after, I kind of beat up on myself and regretted the decision to drop out. Honestly, I don’t think I would have finished in time, but there’s something different about being pulled vs. dropping out. I should have been pulled. So while the pain of finishing a hard race fades in the hours after you stop riding, the regrets of dropping out last a whole year until you can return and redeem yourself.

I signed up early in 2010 to go back and get that redemption, but then a funny thing happened: I got onto Chris’ La Ruta team and began focusing on that and they scheduled one of our training camps in Colorado Springs the same weekend as the Cream Puff. Lost that opportunity. I guess I did ok that year by finishing both my 9th Leadville and La Ruta, but still, no redeeming myself on the Cream Puff. So, 2011 rolls around and the entries open and my check gets sent in. This time I’m going. It is time to ride.

I drove up with Paul Meirs and we camped Friday night and a friend of his came from Hood River, OR and we all hung out for the race. Saturday I did a short hour-and-a-half spin on the river trail and the main road climb, just to make sure the legs were good, the bike was good and all was set. The weather was about perfect, not too hot, not too cold (unlike the showers that were too cold). Still that 3:30 AM wake up alarm was not too welcome, modified only by the fact that I had thought far enough ahead to make a thermos of coffee the night before and so I had hot coffee from the get-go. Food, coffee, quick check of the bike, and I realized mistake #1: I had left my helmet hanging on my handlebars the night before (so I’d know where it was) and when I put it on, I remembered that they get this thing called dew in the Cascades. Great, a cold, wet helmet to put on first thing.

The roll-out was easy and the first climb started hard. I found Paul in the pack and locked myself onto his rear wheel. That kept me moving up to the first aid station and onward before I lost him. The support here was amazing, lots of stuff and they handed out water bottles so you hardly had to stop. I grabbed bottles and kept riding. At the top of the road climb, there was a short single track that dropped you back on the road, followed by a climb back up to the top aid station and then onto the famous Alpine trail. This climbed up a good amount (someone had said 1,500′) and then down and around. We went through the Jedi section (so named because it look like the Ewok’s home with ferns and big trees and great, sweeping single-track). Drops, rocks, rough sections, thin sections, more and more and more single track and finally I dropped out to the Red Covered Bridge and finished one lap. Including the roll out, that was under 4 hours, which I was really excited about. Good time, and I felt ok. I had been eating and drinking and keeping up with both. Long days, need lots of fuel. Again, super support, someone cleaned and lubed my chain and I was off again for lap 2.

Somewhere along the Single Track

Yes, there was snow along the trail, and even some you had to hike over

Lap 2 was close to lap 1 in time and in how I felt, much to my surprise. All that training was paying off. Another chain clean and lube and I’m out again. This time, after crossing the river trail I hit that climb and just about stopped. I was running way low on energy and started eating more. I got up to the main aid station (aid 2) and got an espresso GU (awesome stuff) and kept going. Got to the top and then I realized where I was really getting beat up — my hands, arms and low back. I think the descending was a tough or tougher than the climbing. I was getting beat, was tired, my brain wasn’t as quick and the trail was just as dangerous. I kept slowing down more than before, I almost fell a couple of times and despite eating and drinking I was seriously bonking out.

I made it down. 12:26. Done, finished and beat, but I felt elated. I also was still bonking out and I pretty much sat down at the aid station and ate everything in my reach. Then I went to the food area and had a dinner.Rest, food, more rest and more food. I ran the PowerTap and it recorded over 6,300 KJ of work before filling up at 11:45, so I was probably closer to 6,600 at the end. Compare that to 4,500 KJ the last time I did Leadville and I realize how hard this race is.

Getting my hat from Scott

I’m sure this will be a good tune-up for Leadville. Lots of climbing and riding. Now it’s rest, recover, and a few strong kicks before winding into Leadville.

There were photographers out in some cool places in the trail, but I haven’t seen any of those photos yet. I’ll post some if I get some. UPDATE: Got the photos, and inserted a few.

The coveted hat.

This race totally fell off my radar this year. I didn’t hear a thing about it, usually get an email or something, and when i checked their website earlier in the year, it was down. Oh well. Will definitely try to make it next time around… -M

Being a Poedunk, I am always happy to get an opportunity to do some trail work.  Sunday provided just such happenstance.  As we descended back to the trailhead we came across some  blowdown pinyon pine.  Maxwell from SoCal carries a handsaw and we actually just cut the trees up and moved them. Wow.  Riding in sagebrush much of the time, I don’t carry a handsaw.  The action photo is John W from Reno.  It was an excellent weekend and I am looking forward to next year…and a better turnout from Reno and SLC (you know who you are).

via 2011 Tears, Fears and Beers bike race in Ely. « feral nerdiness in the great basin.

Some video shot from @LowCO2′s head @ the Hidden Valley Mountain Bike Race. -M

YouTube – HiddenValley2.

If you’re interested, the Reno Wheelmen Twilight racing starts next week at Hidden Valley. Not sure I’ll be able to make any of these unless someone wants to watch The Dude while i ride.

-M

This looks fun:

“Come join us for a great day of mountain biking on a scenic and fun course.  Race as a solo or on a team of 2, 3 or 4 (teams of 3 and 4 apply to the 8hr race only).

Lake Tahoe 4 and 8 Hour Mountain Bike Race Introduction.

I think most of us are back! The race went fairly well, for me at least, despite the wind and rain. Post up your report below in the comments.

Here’s a sweet photo of Stable At Speed (Dir, Turtle Afairs) by Robert Dunn:

Photo by Robert Dunn

This just in from Epic Rides:

“That’s right, folks. The rumors are true. Epic Rides is pleased to introduce… (drum roll)… the “Skip the Bitches” trail. As the name clearly states, this new trail will provide an opportunity to bypass the infamous Gas Line section of the course affectionately referred to as “the Bitches.”"

“Because we are very serious about our lap times, the Skip the Bitches will be run as an option to all participants after 3p on Saturday. By “option,” we mean that if you’re attempting to set a new course record we recommend you ride the Bitches. It’s faster, and 2/10′s of a mile shorter. But if you’re seeking pleasure in the saddle, Skip the Bitches! We think the new trail is righteous, and we’re confident you’ll agree.”

Epic Rides: 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo Course Information.