124 – Challenge

Feeling fresh before the race start.

Today I competed in my first ever road bike race, Calvin’s Challenge, held in rural Clark County. It’s an endurance event featuring 12 hour and 6 hour mileage races, and 100 mile and 50 mile time trials, run simultaneously. A friend of mine had signed up for the 12 hour (the crazy bastard), and I thought I’d do the 100 TT, in preparation for an anticipated century ride in more challenging terrain later this year. A rather sobering training ride convinced me of the wisdom of doing the 6 hour, instead.

I’ve done a lot of different events over the past several years, from short running races, to half marathons, to mountain bike epics. But having never done a road race, nor anything for six straight hours, I wasn’t sure what I was getting into. That translated into a somewhat frantic morning, as I put together my cooler and kit for the day, not quite sure if I was forgetting something because I honestly wasn’t sure what all I’d need. As usual, I over-prepared, which is a good problem, but I couldn’t have known that when we left the house a half hour behind when I wanted to.

The race was tough. About as tough as I expected, given my practice lap of the course last week, and the fact that the forecast 10 mph winds had become 15 gusting to 25 by the race start. The feel of the event was friendly, though, and while the leaders were tense and serious before the start, we “normal people” further back were smiling and chatting right up until they released us. We started easy, the lead pack being paced by a support vehicle (albeit at 25 mph), and the rest of us just warming up our legs for the first mile or so, and getting our first taste of the headwinds that would dominate the majority of the next 25 miles. My legs came in quickly, and soon I was spinning along, hands in the drops, chugging out miles and passing a lot of people. I was hoping a pace line would form at some point, because I knew the course would turn us directly into the wind soon, and I wasn’t too excited about the idea of spending the day getting beat up alone through all that.

A few riders came past me that I couldn’t quite hold onto, but finally a group of about 8 guys caught me, and I latched on, grateful to finally have somebody to work with through the wind. I was already working too hard, and we weren’t yet an hour into the race! I settled in at the back of the line and let my legs come back to me, as we pushed through the wind and some rolling terrain. Having never ridden in a group before, ever, I made a few mistakes early on. We were slogging up a small hill and it seemed like the whole group just stopped, so I popped out of line and took the front, only to look back and see that I’d gapped the whole lot by 50 yards. Thinking that maybe I was just going to be faster than them, I continued on, only to have my ego thoroughly checked by the wind, and be swallowed up again by the pack. Later the group accordioned through a couple turns when I was taking my turn leading, and I again found myself alone at the front. This time, I took the opportunity to throw down some nutrition before they caught back up.

At 11 miles, we caught a break, as the course jogged Southwest for four miles, putting the wind directly at our backs. The pace of our little group immediately surged by 10 mph, and we hummed along the tar and gravel pavement, the only sounds being the whispery hum of our tires and the rapid clicking of our drivetrains. It was somewhat surreal, and a total departure from the entire experience of the race, otherwise. I grinned, enjoying the easy nirvana of it, finally understanding some of what my roadie friends have been about all these years. Sadly, this all came to an end too soon, as we turned left and back into the wind, everyone falling back into line and selecting more realistic gears on their derailleurs.

Twenty miles in, I had to find out what I was made of. Somebody took the lead in our group, and though I can’t be sure, it felt like he was trying to break us. Suddenly I was getting left, and two others dropped off behind me. The wind hadn’t slacked, and we had another seven miles of suffering to go before we turned out of it. I knew that if I let go of this group now, the next hour was going to be a long, miserable time. So I put my head down, clicked up a gear, and pounded. I tried to remember and use everything I’ve learned in the past few years of cycling, spinning all the way ’round the cranks, controlling my breathing, making myself as small as possible in the wind. It took me a half mile, and I almost blew up doing it, but I caught them again, basking in a mix of pride and relief when I felt myself get back in the draft.

Feeling strong, post-race.

Still, they didn’t slack. We pushed on and I had to really pay attention, all the way to and through the 25 mile checkpoint, and up to 28 miles, where we turned left, finally heading downwind and back towards the Start/Finish. You could almost hear each rider in our group (now up to 10 riders) smile as we clicked up a few gears and returned to a pace more closely resembling normal.

10 miles further on, though, it seemed like the exuberance of the group faded, and with each turn or hill, they seemed to go slower and slower. Finally I couldn’t take it any more, and after crossing a major road, I made a break. One guy came with me, and the two of us set off at a strong clip, taking turns shielding each other from the occasional crosswinds and wicking up pace to keep each other motivated. He was 50, so not in my class, which meant I didn’t have any reason not to work with him for the rest of the race.

We powered up the only real hill on the course at mile 49, took a left-right jog and streaked back to the pit area to reload and refuel. The group that we’d left came in a few minutes later, and I could’ve sworn we caught a few dirty looks from the guys who had been leading it. No matter. My new friend Brant and I decided to get ready as quick as possible, and we headed out again a few minutes later, back into the wind.

The shorter, 7-mile loop had just opened, and since we wouldn’t have the time to finish another 50 miler, we turned off and started lapping the short loop. During our second or third lap, I found myself doing most of the pulling on the upwind legs, and that still wasn’t enough. He was fading fast, and I still had a bit in the tank. When we turned onto the long downwind leg during our third lap, I couldn’t wait anymore and took off. Downwind, even after over four hours of riding, I could coax myself into 24-25 mph without too much trouble, so I figured I had better make time when I could, knowing that alone, there wasn’t much I was going to be able to do when I turned back upwind.

With one hour to go, and all by myself, I was starting to really suffer. My legs were starting to feel eerily similar to how they did on the Death March, just before things started to go really wrong. I was eating and sucking down electrolytes as fast as I could, but I knew I needed to be careful with my output if I was going to finish without hurting myself. I latched onto passing riders and packs whenever I could, but it wasn’t often. Heading into the wind, head down, on the small ring, I pedaled back to finish my fifth lap of the short loop just trying to survive, and praying for just enough strength to finish.

Lap six was spent, in equal measure, trying to negotiate with my legs for just a little more power, and doing math. I knew that they counted the miles you did on your last partial lap, so I was trying to figure out my decision points, since pressing on meant you had to turn around and ride back to the finish after time expired, essentially tacking on extra miles of riding after you were “done.” This was additionally complicated by the fact that miles one and two of the loop were into the wind, while mile three turned almost entirely downwind. I coasted through the pit for the last time, got a fresh bottle of water and HEED from Katie, and headed out to get as many “bonus” miles as I could.

A podium finish in my first road race? I’ll take it!

There would be no sprint to the finish. No grand, herculean final effort. Not today. After nearly six hours in the saddle, all I could manage was to keep moving forward, and that was good enough for two more miles before time expired. A small collection of us built up at the 2 mile mark, the courseworker jotting down our race numbers as we came in. I didn’t get to 100 miles, but I did get close. I finished with an official total of 94.5 miles, which put me a shocking second in my class!

I couldn’t be more pleased. I learned so much in this race, and to come out of my road debut with a medal, and having turned in so strong a performance against people with more experience and nicer bikes makes me very proud.

Finally, I have to give so much credit and thanks to Katie, who is my entire crew, and without whom I could never dream of doing the things that I do. She’s my fan club, personal motivator, nutritionist, psychologist, driver, mechanic, manager, publicist, photographer and pit crew. I’m so blessed that she’s also my best friend and my wife. So this medal’s for her. Thanks, babe.

Hardware!