Apparently if you make a mask of avocados and honey, it looks like someone puked guacamole all over your face.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Apparently if you make a mask of avocados and honey, it looks like someone puked guacamole all over your face.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
24 Hour Nats in Photo
These were my brake pads about an hour and a half before the race start. Jeff, head of the very-best-pit-crew-at-Moab-ever (see below), decided to be a pal and change them for me....after I innocently asked him to ride my bike around and cop a feel of my front brake. Well, thanks, Jeff. I think the metallic sheen you see below would have turned into a big stinking problem not too long into the race. Thank god Jeff knew more about this than me...
Here you see a large dust cloud from the 306 rider/runners who took off, ran around a bush (?), and came back to claim their bikes. I am still coughing that crap out of my lungs.....and I didn't even do the run, thank you teammate Dax.
Here we have team 8-6's bike strategically placed for retrieval......right next to competitor Yuki Saito's of team Topeak-Ergon. Now that it's all said and done, how uncool is it to say we were scared? We were scared. OK, me. Me was scared.
But Dax Massey (Bach Builders) got things going right from the start. He wasn't scared and pulled out in the top 5 riders.
I thought I would make up for my uncool-scaredness by getting a shot of my bike alone on the racks, after the 306 racers had departed. It also eased my mind to know I had my bike staged waaay earlier than any normal human should have. I'm not convinced my cool points went up any. But at least I can say something geeked out about how much I love my Niner.
My very-best-pit-crew-in-Moab-ever, Jeff and Jason. I don't know what to say except I owe these dudes and they really rock. Jeff was the coolest thing since Flintstones vitamins and Jason was the source of all things vital- race data. Both provided an endless supply of positive vibe, jokes that I really tried to laugh at, and soup. Plus they understood that Dax's short lap times, while AWESOME, meant that my breaks were short too! Aack!
After one lap I was still smiling....but, do I look like I'm crying? Yeah, I might have been. I should delete this picture, it's terrible.
These smiles were genuine, though.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The End or a Pause
Back in Tucson....just arrived last night and am full of mixed emotions.
Grateful to be in one spot, not burning fossil fuels as I move around, grateful to have access to healthy, fresh food and a consistent shower/laundry, and grateful for space to move around and stretch out. Oh, and really grateful for consistent internet (it's been 2 weeks since I could check email...silly). While it's good to stop and catch up with myself and to relive the amazing memories I've created over the past 6 months, I'm surprised that I could keep going. I'd need to tweak a few things to go back on the road full-time, mostly having to do with carbon footprint and the like, but I guess being a traveler since birth predisposes me to the nomadic lifestyle.
I suppose that's a good thing, as I'll be leaving in a week to race 24 Hour Nationals in Moab. I haven't exactly heard many positive things about the course, but I'm at least glad that I'll be NOT going at it alone. I switched my registration over to duo, and will thankfully get to do half the number of laps I would otherwise be destined for.
Having said that, I remember the way I felt after last years shindig in Dairyland, and clearly remember saying that I thought duo was "way" harder than solo. This may be true, but at least I won't have to spend a month after dreading my bike and feeling like kitty litter covered poop dipped in dog puke. Sorry for the graphics, but it's so true, so true.
Instead, I'll just feel really poopy for 24 hours, then kind of poopy for a week or half-week, then pretty darn fast again. Better odds, better outcome.
Grateful to be in one spot, not burning fossil fuels as I move around, grateful to have access to healthy, fresh food and a consistent shower/laundry, and grateful for space to move around and stretch out. Oh, and really grateful for consistent internet (it's been 2 weeks since I could check email...silly). While it's good to stop and catch up with myself and to relive the amazing memories I've created over the past 6 months, I'm surprised that I could keep going. I'd need to tweak a few things to go back on the road full-time, mostly having to do with carbon footprint and the like, but I guess being a traveler since birth predisposes me to the nomadic lifestyle.
I suppose that's a good thing, as I'll be leaving in a week to race 24 Hour Nationals in Moab. I haven't exactly heard many positive things about the course, but I'm at least glad that I'll be NOT going at it alone. I switched my registration over to duo, and will thankfully get to do half the number of laps I would otherwise be destined for.
Having said that, I remember the way I felt after last years shindig in Dairyland, and clearly remember saying that I thought duo was "way" harder than solo. This may be true, but at least I won't have to spend a month after dreading my bike and feeling like kitty litter covered poop dipped in dog puke. Sorry for the graphics, but it's so true, so true.
Instead, I'll just feel really poopy for 24 hours, then kind of poopy for a week or half-week, then pretty darn fast again. Better odds, better outcome.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Cold Summer
I'm still trying to vomit up the rest of my Intermontane race report, so that I can move forward and recover fully. In the meantime, I've renewed my commitment to my bike and have been putting in some good days. Today was going to be another long, beautiful ride around the Fort Collins area and began accordingly. I headed south on my mountain bike, following the paved, rolling roads to the town directly below. I filled up my water bottle with some ice and gatorade at my new favorite watering hole, and continued west into the foothills, where my plan was to catch another, winding hilly road north and loop around the entire city before dipping back into the Fort. How I wish I would have looked north before starting my venture.
In keeping with the consistent 90-95 degree days where keeping cool was the challenge, I was decked out in my bibs and jersey, little gloves to keep my hands juicy, and sunglasses for, you know, the sun. I was grateful for the "cloud cover" that was today's weather, hoping it would make it easier to stay hydrated and whatnot.
An hour and a half into the ride, I wasn't really warming up and could tell my body was on the flat side of the spectrum. Not wanting to be an idiot, I decided to cut the ride short of the 80 miles I had planned, and to turn east at an earlier point. After conferring with a knowledgeable local on the proposed turn, I was looking at 14 miles til that point, then a 2 mile climb, followed by an 11 mile descent into a spot I knew would be ~30 minutes from food, home and a shower.
Flat was how I was feeling, but not how the road was, so I was taking my time. Just a couple of miles short of my eastward turn, it started to sprinkle, then sprinkle a little harder and I decided to pull off to assess the situation and eat a granola bar or something. From my dry vantage under some enormous pines, I was dismayed to see the direction I was heading was covered in that beautiful white mist of rain that got thicker and whiter the further you looked. You know, the kind of white you love seeing except for when you're terribly dressed for it, or carrying a computer, or just did your hair and are wearing all white. At this point the temperature started dropping noticibly, and I realized I was well within the "terribly dressed for it" parameters. I saw the lovely veneer of chicken take over the skin of my arms and half hoped someone I knew would stop and offer me a lift into town.
I hung out for a few, ten-fifteen minutes waiting to see if the rain would quickly pass, or slowly pass, but it just kept coming. Finally, I sucked it up and decided the cold wet would give me motivation to turn the pedals over faster. It didn't, really, but at least I started moving again. I got to the turn to go over the mountain and tacked my way up the hill. This was actually the best part of the ride, because I had quit beating myself up for feeling so sluggish and was enjoying the rain-drenched climb. I suppose I felt I now had a justifiable reason for feeling crappy, so it made it okay for me to go at a stupidly slow pace. I was thinking about the TransGermany and wishing I had my single speed under me, or a gu that tasted a little different than the rest, but I could see the break in the ridge line where I would descend and knew my climb was short lived.
The descent hurt worse than I remember winters in Boone hurting. The rain had turned into hail and I was trying hard to keep my arm muscles engaged to create some sort of muscular warmth. I picked up my right arm to give it a shake and my hand was dead weight dripping from my wrist. A shake of my arm produced an electric shock that shot up my hand and forearm. The same thing happened with my left arm. My hands weren't asleep, they just weren't functional. That fact was both alarming and confusing all at once. I then realized I was drooling and snotting and that my mouth was agape time-trial style, and suddenly felt like a gigantic puss for being so freaking cold in August in not-Alaska....
Even thinking what a wimp I was, I still could barely get my hands to work once I arrived home. I knew I only had a handful of things to do before I could jump in a hot shower and dethaw, so I threw my wrists under the kitchen sink hoping the warmth would get me started. It felt so good I wanted to dive into the sink. Taking off my shoes and chamois required a talk-through and as I waited for the shower water to heat up I made a pb&j sandwich that looked more like a Picasso than anything I should be eating. Once in the shower, it took a full 8 minutes before my hands started tingling and then another 10 for them to stop. Even as I type, they are a little tingly feeling.
So, what did I learn from my little adventure into the great afternoon outdoors of Fort Collins?? I suppose even out here in the foothills the weather can change drastically and I should be prepared to be prepared for whatever, particularly when the day starts out cloudy...
Good luck to everyone suffering through the Leadville 100 tomorrow! I hope you all are prepared because I've heard the weather may be a bit chilly up there at 10,000 feet....
In keeping with the consistent 90-95 degree days where keeping cool was the challenge, I was decked out in my bibs and jersey, little gloves to keep my hands juicy, and sunglasses for, you know, the sun. I was grateful for the "cloud cover" that was today's weather, hoping it would make it easier to stay hydrated and whatnot.
An hour and a half into the ride, I wasn't really warming up and could tell my body was on the flat side of the spectrum. Not wanting to be an idiot, I decided to cut the ride short of the 80 miles I had planned, and to turn east at an earlier point. After conferring with a knowledgeable local on the proposed turn, I was looking at 14 miles til that point, then a 2 mile climb, followed by an 11 mile descent into a spot I knew would be ~30 minutes from food, home and a shower.
Flat was how I was feeling, but not how the road was, so I was taking my time. Just a couple of miles short of my eastward turn, it started to sprinkle, then sprinkle a little harder and I decided to pull off to assess the situation and eat a granola bar or something. From my dry vantage under some enormous pines, I was dismayed to see the direction I was heading was covered in that beautiful white mist of rain that got thicker and whiter the further you looked. You know, the kind of white you love seeing except for when you're terribly dressed for it, or carrying a computer, or just did your hair and are wearing all white. At this point the temperature started dropping noticibly, and I realized I was well within the "terribly dressed for it" parameters. I saw the lovely veneer of chicken take over the skin of my arms and half hoped someone I knew would stop and offer me a lift into town.
I hung out for a few, ten-fifteen minutes waiting to see if the rain would quickly pass, or slowly pass, but it just kept coming. Finally, I sucked it up and decided the cold wet would give me motivation to turn the pedals over faster. It didn't, really, but at least I started moving again. I got to the turn to go over the mountain and tacked my way up the hill. This was actually the best part of the ride, because I had quit beating myself up for feeling so sluggish and was enjoying the rain-drenched climb. I suppose I felt I now had a justifiable reason for feeling crappy, so it made it okay for me to go at a stupidly slow pace. I was thinking about the TransGermany and wishing I had my single speed under me, or a gu that tasted a little different than the rest, but I could see the break in the ridge line where I would descend and knew my climb was short lived.
The descent hurt worse than I remember winters in Boone hurting. The rain had turned into hail and I was trying hard to keep my arm muscles engaged to create some sort of muscular warmth. I picked up my right arm to give it a shake and my hand was dead weight dripping from my wrist. A shake of my arm produced an electric shock that shot up my hand and forearm. The same thing happened with my left arm. My hands weren't asleep, they just weren't functional. That fact was both alarming and confusing all at once. I then realized I was drooling and snotting and that my mouth was agape time-trial style, and suddenly felt like a gigantic puss for being so freaking cold in August in not-Alaska....
Even thinking what a wimp I was, I still could barely get my hands to work once I arrived home. I knew I only had a handful of things to do before I could jump in a hot shower and dethaw, so I threw my wrists under the kitchen sink hoping the warmth would get me started. It felt so good I wanted to dive into the sink. Taking off my shoes and chamois required a talk-through and as I waited for the shower water to heat up I made a pb&j sandwich that looked more like a Picasso than anything I should be eating. Once in the shower, it took a full 8 minutes before my hands started tingling and then another 10 for them to stop. Even as I type, they are a little tingly feeling.
So, what did I learn from my little adventure into the great afternoon outdoors of Fort Collins?? I suppose even out here in the foothills the weather can change drastically and I should be prepared to be prepared for whatever, particularly when the day starts out cloudy...
Good luck to everyone suffering through the Leadville 100 tomorrow! I hope you all are prepared because I've heard the weather may be a bit chilly up there at 10,000 feet....
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Day 2
DAY 2
Being a sucker for drama, I got on my bike the following day just to see what would happen next. I didn’t plan on being any faster, my body was still rejecting efforts I made to ride with any level of intensity, and we were starting at 9:00, so I knew the heat would still be an issue. But I love a good story, so I lined up with everyone else and tried to get my head in the game.
Each stage began with a “neutral” roll-out following a police escort, which climbed a long hill, then hit the dirt where it was game on. On day 2 I realized that the group was splitting on the roll-out, causing some riders to be off the back before the race technically started. I thought it must have been demoralizing to those racers who were being dropped during the supposedly ‘slow and neutral’ roll-out pace. I was just getting dropped at the dirt which was bad enough, but who cares about equality or consistency, I mean, we’re all “elite” level athletes competing for 10 grand, right?? No need to worry about the great and amazing folks who weren’t there to rip peoples legs off trying to get a chunk of cash…. for those who were there for the ride, and who somehow seemed to fall under the radar of the race organizer.
Stage 2 was marked much better than day 1. The organizer had learned something from all the complaints and stories and had doubled the number of markings and tape for the second stage. Even so, there were a couple of spots that were frighteningly low on markings, I made one wrong turn (quickly resolved), and I kept thinking that we needed even more confidence markers to compensate for low trust levels from the day before.
When it was all said and done, though, the day went pretty smooth, and I’d only had to deal with my struggling fitness and lack of ability to handle the heat. I still was only able to sit and spin on all climbs and found my body refusing to let me go even moderately paced, let alone “hard.” More frustration, but at least it was all mine.
That evening at dinner, a racer meeting was announced. “Hmmm, shouldn’t we be having these every day??” I thought, but was curious what the noise was about. Then, the organizer stood before the group and told us that some wingnut had taken over the top of the mountain where we were supposed to ride the following day, and had threatened to take down course markings and make the trail impassible. Questions abounded: did you call the cops, do you have a permit to use these trails, what’s this guy’s address and can we go take him out, etc. etc.?? Numerous alternatives were put on the table and it was finally decided to run the course backwards, and take out the top part that was supposedly causing the problems. The start was delayed in order for the organizers to have time to put up the new markings, so instead of starting early, at 7:00 as previously promised, we were told the new start was at 8:00. Fine. Off to bed we were for an early day in the morning.
Being a sucker for drama, I got on my bike the following day just to see what would happen next. I didn’t plan on being any faster, my body was still rejecting efforts I made to ride with any level of intensity, and we were starting at 9:00, so I knew the heat would still be an issue. But I love a good story, so I lined up with everyone else and tried to get my head in the game.
Each stage began with a “neutral” roll-out following a police escort, which climbed a long hill, then hit the dirt where it was game on. On day 2 I realized that the group was splitting on the roll-out, causing some riders to be off the back before the race technically started. I thought it must have been demoralizing to those racers who were being dropped during the supposedly ‘slow and neutral’ roll-out pace. I was just getting dropped at the dirt which was bad enough, but who cares about equality or consistency, I mean, we’re all “elite” level athletes competing for 10 grand, right?? No need to worry about the great and amazing folks who weren’t there to rip peoples legs off trying to get a chunk of cash…. for those who were there for the ride, and who somehow seemed to fall under the radar of the race organizer.
Stage 2 was marked much better than day 1. The organizer had learned something from all the complaints and stories and had doubled the number of markings and tape for the second stage. Even so, there were a couple of spots that were frighteningly low on markings, I made one wrong turn (quickly resolved), and I kept thinking that we needed even more confidence markers to compensate for low trust levels from the day before.
When it was all said and done, though, the day went pretty smooth, and I’d only had to deal with my struggling fitness and lack of ability to handle the heat. I still was only able to sit and spin on all climbs and found my body refusing to let me go even moderately paced, let alone “hard.” More frustration, but at least it was all mine.
That evening at dinner, a racer meeting was announced. “Hmmm, shouldn’t we be having these every day??” I thought, but was curious what the noise was about. Then, the organizer stood before the group and told us that some wingnut had taken over the top of the mountain where we were supposed to ride the following day, and had threatened to take down course markings and make the trail impassible. Questions abounded: did you call the cops, do you have a permit to use these trails, what’s this guy’s address and can we go take him out, etc. etc.?? Numerous alternatives were put on the table and it was finally decided to run the course backwards, and take out the top part that was supposedly causing the problems. The start was delayed in order for the organizers to have time to put up the new markings, so instead of starting early, at 7:00 as previously promised, we were told the new start was at 8:00. Fine. Off to bed we were for an early day in the morning.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Intermontane Race Report Installment Uno
PROLOGUE AND DAY 1
No race report is complete without including significant details leading up to the event. In the case of the Intermontane Challenge, in Kamloops, British Columbia, the days leading up to the race were almost as telling as the race itself.
Saturday was spent at my cousin’s wedding and reception where I was playing bridesmaid. The party was raging at midnight when I forced myself to bed and to try and sleep for a couple of hours. I was up at 3:30 to drive to the airport where I was to catch a flight to Vancouver via Phoenix. Waiting for the boarding call, I noticed no plane in our little gate. Hmmm, a bit concerning…. in actuality, my heart sank just a little, because I had a feeling what was going to come from this situation. Forty minutes later, when we were supposed to be boarding, the plane showed up and started preparations for our flight.
Between the late arrival of the plane and traffic on the tarmac, we were delayed about an hour beyond our original flight time. My calculations had us arriving just in time to zip over to my connecting flight and get on. The flight attendants had assured us that agents on the ground were doing everything possible to inform our connecting flights of the delay and to rebook us if necessary. When we landed, I could see my flight in the gate and breathed a sigh of relief that I would be on my way to Vancouver with no problem. Wrong, Rebecca, no sauce for you.
We sat on the ground for at least 10 minutes waiting for our gate to open, and by the time we pulled in and deplaned, I could see my Vancouver bound flight pulling away from the gate. I couldn’t believe it. There were four other people on my flight that were supposed to catch the one to Vancouver, and they didn’t hold the plane for the couple of minutes it would have taken to get us on. Tears welled up in my eyes and I willed myself not to cry. The agents taking care of the 90% of us who missed connecting flights rebooked me to fly to Vancouver at 7:30 at night, putting me in near 11:00, and with no way to reach Kamloops without renting a car and driving for 3-3½ hours. I would have gotten into Kamloops at 3:00 a.m., if everything went really smoothly!!
I was livid and had the agents rebook me to go through Seattle and arrive in Vancouver at 7:15, thinking forward progress was better than none at all. Fortunately these flights went off timely enough and I got through customs in Vancouver quickly. I took off through the terminal to get a ticket to Kamloops where I got lucky for the first time all day. The last ticket on the last flight of the night had my name on it…whew! I breathed a sigh of relief and was grateful that at least I was going to be able to start the race in the morning.
I arrived at the hotel at 12 midnight, PST, after having traveled for 23½ hours. I was dehydrated, hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. At that point, I should have had the wherewithal to know that my race was in jeopardy, and to get out my single speed. I didn’t, of course, get that smart until Friday.
Warming up before the race, I felt,….sort of all right….I guess. I could tell that I was going to have difficulties going fast off the start. My legs felt okay, but overall I was blech, and I sensed that my spring was going to be a bit more like fall. I rationed that having a slow start to a stage race was a good thing. Better to ride into form than lose it, right??
The race began with a parade lap around town. It was actually kind of fun (and a good warm-up) until we suddenly started going back up the hill we had come down at the beginning…what?? It was weird to be climbing this hill “not racing,” and trying to pretend like it wasn’t bothering me, which it was. At the top of this extended paved road climb, the dirt road, aka start of the race official, splintered off to the right, and the pace picked up. I did not.
I felt like someone was choking me, at altitude, and forcing me to ride my bike all at once. It was horrible. The pain was unbelievable, but oddly, my legs felt all right. Looking back I can see it was because I wasn’t able to go fast enough to make my legs hurt at all! I kept telling myself not to worry, that the race was 5 days long, and that if I could give myself a little time to warm up, I would ride into form and be able to make up a fair amount of time. With these thoughts, I was able to keep my head in the game, even though my body was ready to throw it in and go swimming for a week.
About ¾ of the way through the course, I was bombing down some magnificent singletrack when I started noticing a lack of course markings. Now, the yellow-green tape that was being used to this point had not been particularly plentiful, but it was still present, and suddenly I wasn’t seeing any at all. I kept going a bit further until I dumped out onto a dirt road and spied a piece of tape dangling from a nearby tree. Sweet, I thought, I am on track. A little bit later, though, I started noticing some oddities. I was catching up to people who were walking where I was riding and the trail seemed awfully familiar. I paused to evaluate the situation for a few minutes and was caught by Jonathan Nutbrown, who was walking his bike due to a broken off derailleur. Wait a minute…I passed Jonathan Nutbrown walking his broken off derailleur bike hours ago …..something is really wrong. I called out to another guy who I had been riding off and on with, “haven’t we done this part already??” As he whizzed by his joyful response, “YEAH!!” hit me with disbelief. Dude, you really didn’t care, did you??
I promptly turned around and started back up the trail I had just come down, for the second time. On the way back up the trail, I ran into several other people who had apparently made the same mistake I had, and were grateful to be corrected before they got too far off course. When we finally rectified the mis-turn and got back on track, 24-25 minutes had gone by and what mental edge I had left was starting to dull.
Did I mention that it was HOT?? Apparently, the locals who heard the race announcement responded with, “July?? In Kamloops??” Everyone thought we were nuts, and I started agreeing with them. You would think that Canada means cool, chilly, heck, downright cold. Not Kamloops, where winter sees 20 below and summer sees over 100. Temperatures hit and exceeded 100 degrees every day we were on the bike and it was stifling. Being in the sun was like riding with someone towing on your Camelback while wearing a garter around your ribs; it was nearly impossible to breathe and push the body in the heat. The shade, thankfully, was easily 15-20 degrees cooler, and when there was a breeze, it made all the difference in the world.
Anyway, between the heat, the day-before travel, the dehydration, the disappointment, and the getting lost, I can honestly say I had one of the worst days on my bike I’ve had in years. I knew coming into the race that I would be going up against girls who would likely be faster than me, but I also knew that if I was on my game, I would race competitively, and that a stage race means anything can happen. After coming in over an hour behind the leaders on day 1, and feeling completely helpless over the factors contributing to my situation, my race felt doomed to enjoying salt and vinegar potato chips and cokes at the finish. I soon realized I wasn’t the only one who had had a rough day of it.
All around the race venue, stories were piling in of racers going off course and losing anywhere from 10 to 50 minutes. People (myself included) had run out of water due to these mis-turns and were suffering from the effects of the heat. Attitudes ranged from livid to laughing, but the majority of people had stories to tell of losing their way and dealing with the elements. I started feeling my fairness radar going off, as I learned that, not only had the leaders not gotten lost, but most people behind them had, and at a host of different places on the course. This was not a case of 1 or 2 racers getting turned around in one spot (probably rider error), but the majority of racers getting lost in multiple areas, indicating a very poorly marked course.
The only other stage race I’ve done (TransGermany, 07) was a point-to-point race in its’ first year as well. It was organized beautifully, and marked expertly. In the 8 days that hundreds of us raced, I heard not one single report of getting turned around or misled, and it ended up being one of the best experiences I’ve ever had on a bike. First year syndrome was no excuse for what was going on in Kamloops, and I was concerned.
No race report is complete without including significant details leading up to the event. In the case of the Intermontane Challenge, in Kamloops, British Columbia, the days leading up to the race were almost as telling as the race itself.
Saturday was spent at my cousin’s wedding and reception where I was playing bridesmaid. The party was raging at midnight when I forced myself to bed and to try and sleep for a couple of hours. I was up at 3:30 to drive to the airport where I was to catch a flight to Vancouver via Phoenix. Waiting for the boarding call, I noticed no plane in our little gate. Hmmm, a bit concerning…. in actuality, my heart sank just a little, because I had a feeling what was going to come from this situation. Forty minutes later, when we were supposed to be boarding, the plane showed up and started preparations for our flight.
Between the late arrival of the plane and traffic on the tarmac, we were delayed about an hour beyond our original flight time. My calculations had us arriving just in time to zip over to my connecting flight and get on. The flight attendants had assured us that agents on the ground were doing everything possible to inform our connecting flights of the delay and to rebook us if necessary. When we landed, I could see my flight in the gate and breathed a sigh of relief that I would be on my way to Vancouver with no problem. Wrong, Rebecca, no sauce for you.
We sat on the ground for at least 10 minutes waiting for our gate to open, and by the time we pulled in and deplaned, I could see my Vancouver bound flight pulling away from the gate. I couldn’t believe it. There were four other people on my flight that were supposed to catch the one to Vancouver, and they didn’t hold the plane for the couple of minutes it would have taken to get us on. Tears welled up in my eyes and I willed myself not to cry. The agents taking care of the 90% of us who missed connecting flights rebooked me to fly to Vancouver at 7:30 at night, putting me in near 11:00, and with no way to reach Kamloops without renting a car and driving for 3-3½ hours. I would have gotten into Kamloops at 3:00 a.m., if everything went really smoothly!!
I was livid and had the agents rebook me to go through Seattle and arrive in Vancouver at 7:15, thinking forward progress was better than none at all. Fortunately these flights went off timely enough and I got through customs in Vancouver quickly. I took off through the terminal to get a ticket to Kamloops where I got lucky for the first time all day. The last ticket on the last flight of the night had my name on it…whew! I breathed a sigh of relief and was grateful that at least I was going to be able to start the race in the morning.
I arrived at the hotel at 12 midnight, PST, after having traveled for 23½ hours. I was dehydrated, hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. At that point, I should have had the wherewithal to know that my race was in jeopardy, and to get out my single speed. I didn’t, of course, get that smart until Friday.
Warming up before the race, I felt,….sort of all right….I guess. I could tell that I was going to have difficulties going fast off the start. My legs felt okay, but overall I was blech, and I sensed that my spring was going to be a bit more like fall. I rationed that having a slow start to a stage race was a good thing. Better to ride into form than lose it, right??
The race began with a parade lap around town. It was actually kind of fun (and a good warm-up) until we suddenly started going back up the hill we had come down at the beginning…what?? It was weird to be climbing this hill “not racing,” and trying to pretend like it wasn’t bothering me, which it was. At the top of this extended paved road climb, the dirt road, aka start of the race official, splintered off to the right, and the pace picked up. I did not.
I felt like someone was choking me, at altitude, and forcing me to ride my bike all at once. It was horrible. The pain was unbelievable, but oddly, my legs felt all right. Looking back I can see it was because I wasn’t able to go fast enough to make my legs hurt at all! I kept telling myself not to worry, that the race was 5 days long, and that if I could give myself a little time to warm up, I would ride into form and be able to make up a fair amount of time. With these thoughts, I was able to keep my head in the game, even though my body was ready to throw it in and go swimming for a week.
About ¾ of the way through the course, I was bombing down some magnificent singletrack when I started noticing a lack of course markings. Now, the yellow-green tape that was being used to this point had not been particularly plentiful, but it was still present, and suddenly I wasn’t seeing any at all. I kept going a bit further until I dumped out onto a dirt road and spied a piece of tape dangling from a nearby tree. Sweet, I thought, I am on track. A little bit later, though, I started noticing some oddities. I was catching up to people who were walking where I was riding and the trail seemed awfully familiar. I paused to evaluate the situation for a few minutes and was caught by Jonathan Nutbrown, who was walking his bike due to a broken off derailleur. Wait a minute…I passed Jonathan Nutbrown walking his broken off derailleur bike hours ago …..something is really wrong. I called out to another guy who I had been riding off and on with, “haven’t we done this part already??” As he whizzed by his joyful response, “YEAH!!” hit me with disbelief. Dude, you really didn’t care, did you??
I promptly turned around and started back up the trail I had just come down, for the second time. On the way back up the trail, I ran into several other people who had apparently made the same mistake I had, and were grateful to be corrected before they got too far off course. When we finally rectified the mis-turn and got back on track, 24-25 minutes had gone by and what mental edge I had left was starting to dull.
Did I mention that it was HOT?? Apparently, the locals who heard the race announcement responded with, “July?? In Kamloops??” Everyone thought we were nuts, and I started agreeing with them. You would think that Canada means cool, chilly, heck, downright cold. Not Kamloops, where winter sees 20 below and summer sees over 100. Temperatures hit and exceeded 100 degrees every day we were on the bike and it was stifling. Being in the sun was like riding with someone towing on your Camelback while wearing a garter around your ribs; it was nearly impossible to breathe and push the body in the heat. The shade, thankfully, was easily 15-20 degrees cooler, and when there was a breeze, it made all the difference in the world.
Anyway, between the heat, the day-before travel, the dehydration, the disappointment, and the getting lost, I can honestly say I had one of the worst days on my bike I’ve had in years. I knew coming into the race that I would be going up against girls who would likely be faster than me, but I also knew that if I was on my game, I would race competitively, and that a stage race means anything can happen. After coming in over an hour behind the leaders on day 1, and feeling completely helpless over the factors contributing to my situation, my race felt doomed to enjoying salt and vinegar potato chips and cokes at the finish. I soon realized I wasn’t the only one who had had a rough day of it.
All around the race venue, stories were piling in of racers going off course and losing anywhere from 10 to 50 minutes. People (myself included) had run out of water due to these mis-turns and were suffering from the effects of the heat. Attitudes ranged from livid to laughing, but the majority of people had stories to tell of losing their way and dealing with the elements. I started feeling my fairness radar going off, as I learned that, not only had the leaders not gotten lost, but most people behind them had, and at a host of different places on the course. This was not a case of 1 or 2 racers getting turned around in one spot (probably rider error), but the majority of racers getting lost in multiple areas, indicating a very poorly marked course.
The only other stage race I’ve done (TransGermany, 07) was a point-to-point race in its’ first year as well. It was organized beautifully, and marked expertly. In the 8 days that hundreds of us raced, I heard not one single report of getting turned around or misled, and it ended up being one of the best experiences I’ve ever had on a bike. First year syndrome was no excuse for what was going on in Kamloops, and I was concerned.
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