Unfortunately, I was too amped up to sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, I finally fell asleep around 11:30 p.m. I woke up at 3:00 and couldn't get back to sleep. I would have to do this race on 3.5 hours of sleep.
It was a long drive to Whiskeytown Lake. After nearly 3.5 hours, I pulled in to the campground where Roger flagged me down and told me to park next to him. He and Sean Allen had a pit set up right on the race course, which turned out to be a really sweet spot. I jumped out of the truck to find it cold—really cold. Like 35 degrees cold, and all I brought in the way of warm weather gear were arm and knee warmers. Nice.
I registered, dressed and set up a makeshift pit in the bed of my truck. I spun around for a little bit in an effort to warm up, but in hindsight not really long enough. Roger filled me in on the course: the first climb was very steep, and the first downhill a little sketchy, so take it slow the first lap. Got it.
After the riders meeting, we cruised down the road a little bit where we would eventually line up. After goofing around for a while, Roger and I rolled up to the starting line. People immediately started lining up behind us. I didn't want to be up front, but I figured there would be plenty of time for things to string out before the climbing began.
When we took off, I took a few easy pedal strokes and slipped right onto Roger's wheel. My only thought was not knocking down Roger, who had the ability to win the race. When I looked up, we were sitting one-two heading into the dirt. I eased up on the pedals, because I didn't want to be up there, but nobody would come around.
As the trail tilted up, one single speeder jumped around me to go after Roger. We rounded a corner and were greeted by a wall. I threw it into an easier gear and started grinding away. Roger and the other single speeder had a gap, then it was me and a long line of people right on my ass. With everyone riding on my wheel, I felt pressured to keep the hammer down, even though I was already very uncomfortable with the pace. I figured that the grade couldn't stay this steep for very long, so I kept pounding away in a big gear. We went around another corner, and it was more of the same—steep, rutted, rocky, with exposed roots. I kept going with my heart rate near max. I thought, "What the hell are you doing? It's an EIGHT HOUR race!"
Another single speeder jumped around me and promptly spun his tire, which brought us both to a stop. Thankful for the excuse, I jumped off my bike and started walking while four or five guys rode past. I jumped back on the train and continued climbing, looking back to see nobody else as far as I could see. I was at the tail end of the "fast guys" group, a collection of racers I had no right to be part of. When we finally crested the top I was cursing the promoter. What a tough climb to start off a race with.
The descent was as tricky as advertised, and I was lucky to have advanced knowledge. The singletrack was exposed, rocky, loose and sketchy. The turns often had decreasing radii or off-camber surfaces. I thought of Sean who would be navigating this at night because he was doing the 24-hour race.
After the downhill there was another climb, this time on a fireroad, that immediately put me back into difficulty. It was short, but once again steep. Then another loose, rocky downhill that led to another fireroad climb. This one I could comfortably do in a reasonable gear, allowing me to eat, drink and pop Endurolytes. Most of the course after that was fun singletrack, with some steep grinds here and there, one hike-a-bike, and a screaming fireroad descent back to the finishing road.
When I checked in after the lap, I took a peek at the log sheet. There weren't many people checked in yet, and I was leading my age class. This was really dumb on my part. I went out way too hard on the first lap.
I finished the first 8.5 mile lap feeling a bit negative about the course. It was by far the most demanding of the three endurance courses I had raced on (Cool being the easiest). I hit the climb and immediately went for the granny gear. I was able to go up the climb at almost the same speed, but with a good spin and a WAY lower heart rate. It wasn't too bad the second time around.
The singletrack descent was still sketchy the second time. I just didn't feel comfortable on it. There were way too many corners where mistakes would send you over a cliff. My Waltworks hardtail excels on wide-open, high-speed descents, but I have never felt comfortable on it in technical situations like these.
I backed off the throttle a bit on the second lap and a couple guys passed me. That didn't worry me because I was just there to finish my eight hours. Halfway through the lap was a makeshift rest stop stocked with Hammer Gels, so I grabbed a couple. The flavor was "tropical," and they tasted like crap. I rode on wondering what about this nasty taste was tropical.
The second lap passed without fanfare. My legs felt great after slowing down a bit, and I was confident I could keep up the pace and knock out some laps.
I stopped at the truck, chucked the two empty bottles, and grabbed two new ones from the ice chest. Ten second pit stop.
I hit the climb for the third time and felt OK. I didn't want to kill the promoter anymore, at least not for the moment. About halfway up, when I hit one of the steeper sections, both hamstrings locked up suddenly with powerful cramps. What the hell? Two hours into the race? I had been adhering to my eating and drinking schedule, and I had been taking the Endurolytes. I was shocked and bewildered. I hopped off the bike, popped three Endurolytes, and drank a whole bottle of energy drink. I remounted and gingerly finished the climb. I continued the lap at a reduced pace, and didn't have any more cramps, but I was going pretty slow. People were passing me at regular intervals now. Mentally I was feeling pretty down. At the rest stop I pulled out some more Endurolytes and popped them as an older guy was passing me. He said he too was cramping already and couldn't believe it. I felt a little better knowing I wasn't the only one, but not much.
After the third lap I stopped at the truck to oil my bone-dry chain and get more energy drink since I consumed two bottles during the lap. I drank some water and took more Endurolytes. I hit the climb for the fourth time and immediately cramped. I climbed off the bike, drank more energy drink, stretched and tried again. Cramps. I continued walking up and tried a few more times to ride, but the cramps would not let up. Mentally I was broken. Even though my legs had many more miles left in them if I could just defeat the cramps, my mind had quit. I was done.
I coasted back downhill to the truck and threw the bike in. Sean's wife Mary—who was pitting for Sean and Roger, and is herself an accomplished racer—tried to console me. I changed clothes and stuck around long enough to see Roger and Sean come around a couple times, then made the long drive home. I just wasn't in the mood to be there watching other people make it look so damn easy.
Even though I was in better shape for this race than I was for the Boggs 8-hour, I only made it a little over half the distance.
I learned a few things from the race. For one, you cannot train for mountain bike endurance racing by riding on the road. Regardless of all the hours I put in, they in no way simulated the intensity required for that course.
Doing long rides alone isn't enough. Without some hard interval training, your legs will be shocked when the intensity of racing is encountered. Regardless of your intentions to keep your heart rate down, situations will arise that force you to redline.
You cannot do this kind of racing half-assed. My penchant for being ill-prepared, tired and late-arriving isn't such a hindrance in a short cross-country race. An endurance race is a different story. It was dumb of me to do all the training, spend all the money, waste all the time, and then try to drive down the same day. For another $55 I could have stayed in a Redding motel, picked up my race packet Friday night, and left for the race at 8:00 instead of 4:30.
Do NOT eat Mexican food the night before a race. Jennifer had a bad day at work on Friday, so she wanted to go to her favorite restaurant. I wanted something mellow like pasta, bread and a salad, but I didn't speak up. Normally Mexican food doesn't bother me, but with the nervousness I was experiencing the night before I was a wreck the next morning.
Ride a bike you are comfortable on, not one you have been wrestling with your position on for 18 months.
Chamois butter is a great thing. I slathered my shorts with the stuff and had ZERO issues with discomfort like I did at Boggs.
Later.
