Race Report: 2006 Coolest 24

My first taste of endurance racing was the 2006 Coolest 24 which took place in Cool, California. Right down the road near Auburn is an area where we ride called "The Confluence" where the north and middle forks of the American River meet. Confluence was a fitting word for this event: four regular guys coming together to form a mighty team.

Our team consisted of the brothers Noble (Steve and Doug), Craig Dalton and yours truly. Steve came down from Portland while Craig came in from San Francisco. Doug and I are locals. Craig was the only one with any experience racing in a 24-hour event.

Our first decision was which class to race in. There was some debate as to whether our collective racing experience should put us in the pro/expert class. The counter argument was three of us were newbies to endurance racing and two of us (Doug and I) had kids and very little training time. Ultimately we entered the sport/beginner class. Our name, suggested by Craig: Noble Riders.

In the weeks leading up to the race, Craig educated us on how everything would work and the equipment we would need. We slowly checked off these items as race day neared.

Throwing a huge wrench into my own personal plans was the fact that I would have a promotional exam for my employer, the State of California, on the morning of race day. If I passed the Senior Information Systems Analyst exam it would mean a substantial raise at work. As the lead of my technical group, I deserved this raise and the money that came with it.

On the morning of the race I made the 45 minute drive down to Cal Expo, took the exam, and drove back home. I then loaded up the truck and drove 40 minutes to the race site, which was Northside Elementary School in Cool. I somehow arrived at the venue in time and started unloading.

We set up camp on the grass in front of the school. I had been assigned the tent because Jennifer had a large one and I was closest to the venue. It had never been used before, so we really didn't know how large it really was. Doug and I stared at the directions for a moment before we started assembling what seemed like a 1000 piece puzzle.

It was already warming up quickly. By the time we finished setting up camp I was sweating profusely. The tent turned out to be massive, probably 10 feet by 20 feet. It was without a doubt the largest tent out there, and we dubbed it "Casa Grande." Later in the race a woman walked by and said, "Your tent is ridiculous. You're taking up the space of ten teams." We laughed at her. Haters gonna hate.

I should mention that at this point in time our only goal was to have fun. We had no aspirations of "racing" per se. We brought an ice chest full of beer. Jenn was going to bring sushi for dinner. It was simply a camping party with old friends with a little riding mixed in.

Race time came at high noon. Thankfully Craig was picked to do the first lap with the Le Mans start. He was ready.

Our "pace car" was an old bike with a small motor. It was cool.

Craig mugging for the camera. There is no grim determination here. Just having fun.

Craig brought it home and Steve (red jersey) took off for his first lap. Steve raced on a single speed and turned some very impressive laps.

I was next. As Steve jogged across the line in the transition area, the switch clicked in my brain. I had never raced for "fun" in my life. I took off and rode hard right from the start and left fun in the rearview mirror. Little did I know my teammates were secretly thinking the same way.

The course was a 10 mile loop consisting of two major climbs. The first one out of Knickerbocker Creek starts out steep with a 20% grade for a tenth of a mile before letting up a little. On normal rides I always climb this one for the challenge of it, but in the race I walked. It's just as fast to walk and it expends far less energy. Almost everyone walked it.

The second climb out of Salt Creek is much longer but at a much more manageable grade. After cresting that one it's a rolling run back down to the start/finish area.

The loop consisted of fire road, singletrack and a little pavement. The terrain was mostly hardpack with loose rocks, mud bogs, roots, water crossings, bridges, long flat sections and the occasional deep rut.

I rode pretty well, feeling comfortable and confident. Unfortunately I started cramping about halfway through my lap as I started up Salt Creek and had to back off the throttle a bit. In all the craziness of waking up early, driving all over the place, rushing to the venue and setting up in the sun, I hadn't taken care of myself. I hadn't eaten much nor had I hydrated, and I paid for it.

Still, I finished my lap in under 50 minutes and felt good about my effort. Here I am telling Steve (behind the camera) and Craig about my first endurance race experience.

Doug then took his turn. Here he is starting his lap:

Craig waiting for Doug before taking his second lap:

Steve starting his second lap:

On my second lap I felt much better after a little rest and getting some food and water into my system, turning in another sub-50 lap.

After we had all completed two laps, Craig took off for his third lap. Steve and I walked over to the leader board just for grins. We were just out there to have fun, but still, we were curious to see how we were stacking up.

Steve and I both found the four-person team column and naturally started at the bottom. I could see his head in my peripheral vision moving up with mine. As we scanned up we were not seeing our team name. When we reached top the realization hit us simultaneously. We looked at each other with astonishment. We were . . . winning.

Back at camp we told Doug and asked him what he thought. My quiet friend replied, "Might as well win this thing." The three of us were in agreement on that.

Steve took off for his third lap. Here's Craig and Steve making the exchange:

Doug and I told Craig about our situation and he agreed we should try to defend our lead. The beer would stay on ice. Jennifer still brough the sushi plate, and it was the best sushi I we ever tasted.

The sun was starting to set on Casa Grande. The future was bright enough that Doug had to wear shades.

As luck would have it, the first night lap would fall on me. Here I am setting up my lights:

My third lap was bad. Not only had I never raced at night, I hadn't even ridden at night with a light. Ever. It was a lot more difficult than I expected. A little prior experience would have helped tremendously. Racing downhill in rocky terrain was tough. Every trail feature cast a weird shadow making anything behind it invisible until the last moment. My lap was a full ten minutes slower than my daylight laps. I felt bad that I was holding the team back.

Doug completed his lap and he was about five minutes slower than his day laps. That made me feel a little better. I would try to make up for it on my next run.

For the night laps we had decided to double up so we could sleep. Here's Craig getting ready for his two-lap run in the luxurious Casa Grande:

Waiting for Doug:

While Craig and Steve were out I knew I had roughly four hours to get some sleep. It proved to be impossible for me. While we had decided to get serious, there were still many, many people there who were determined to have some fun. The beer was flowing and the music blaring. Somehow this did not bother any of my teammates who were all able to get some sleep.

During one of Steve's laps he was attacked my Sasquatch.

He managed to escape unscathed.

When my double lap came after Steve, I still wasn't good. I was tired and the darkness was really slowing me down. I sucked at night riding. My second lap was the longest one turned by anyone on our team, and I was bummed out about that.

After my double laps I knew I had four hours to get some sleep, but once again I was unable to. I have always struggled with sleep. Conditions need to be just right for me to get to sleep, and at a 24-hour race the situation is very, very far from "just right."

Daylight came and there was a spark of energy for all of us. There is something special about the sun coming up after a long night that rejuvenates you.

I took off for my sixth lap and somehow felt really good. I believed that I was flying around the course, but maybe it only felt that way because of how painfully slow I was at night. Towards the end of the lap I was smelling the barn and really pinning it. I came to a creek crossing and entered the turn to the bridge going way too fast.

My tires slid out and down I went, head first.

You can kind of see that my left hip hit the edge of the bridge. It hurt like hell.

Luckily I didn't damage my head or neck, so I was able to quickly come back up for a breath.

It took me a few minutes to get my bearings before I continued on. I plodded through the remainder of the course on one leg. My hip was on fire. I was soaking wet and cold. And I was pissed at myself. Again, I was costing my team time. Fortunately they all understood that I was the only one who had been awake for over 24 hours. That's when the mental mistakes can happen.

Here is Doug wondering where the hell I am:

Literally limping across the line:

Explaining to Steve and Craig what happened with grass and mud in my helmet:

While Doug was out, Craig tried to get a little rest in Casa Grande:

Doug finishing up lap 6:

Craig taking off for lap 7:

Craig bringing it home:

Apparently there was some endurance race tradition that the last lap was ridden in a Hawaiian shirt. I did not get the memo. Steve early in his 7th lap:

Bringing it home.

While Steve was out I tried to loosen up. In the hours since my crash my hip had tightened up significantly. I was in too much pain. It was decided Doug would take my lap on short rest.

We took a look at the leader board and determined if we completed our 27th lap before noon, it was impossible for anyone to catch us.

Steve returned at about 11:05. This would give Doug 55 minutes to complete his lap. Considering I turned a 56 with a crash, we believed we had a shot. Still, this was Doug's 7th lap with less than two hours rest since his last lap.

Doug taking off:

Doug crossing the line with a few minutes to spare:

Mobbed by the fans after his heroic 50-minute lap:

Your winners:

We completed 27 laps, more than any other team in the race, including the pro/expert class. Our lap times:

The obvious star of the show was Steve, who was grinding out these unreal laps on a single speed. Most of the teams we were competing with were turning 55-60 minute laps. You can see we didn't have a 60 minute lap until Craig's second night lap. Even my 56 minute crash lap was pretty fast compared to our competition.

At the awards, the promoter, Jim Northey, decided to give us the same amount of prize money as the pros—five crisp $100 bills. Jim handed them to Craig and he immediately donated one back to Jim. It was a cancer charity race after all. We each happily took our C-note for 24 hours of hard work.

It was also cool to see my friend and FTB coworker Roger Lackey win the solo single speed class with an astounding 20 laps. He is an animal.

It was nice to see our names pop up in some of the local web sites in the coming days:

As we were tearing down our camp, we talked about how winning a race comes with certain responsibilities. It was decided right then and there we would return next year to defend our title.

Later.

Time

I am getting old.

I know this because there isn't enough time to do all the things I want to do. If this sounds a bit too much like some Jim Croce lyrics, sorry. It was completely unintentional, although it did sound somewhat familiar as I wrote it.

So I am either a plagiarist, or the lack of time as you grow older is a universal truth, one that Jim and I and every other aging guy realizes at some point in his life.

I started this BLOG almost four months ago with every intention of posting to it with some regularity. Time, that slippery commodity--or more precisely, the lack of it--has prevented this.

OK, that isn't entirely true. There was time. Lots of it. I just chose to spend my limited time doing other things. Time is like money: it's all in how you spend it.

Unlike money, though, with time we all live on the same fixed budget. Every day you are given a meager 24-hour stipend to spend as you see fit. You will never get a promotion, a cost-of-living increase, or win the lottery. You get 24 hours, every day, week after week, year after year, until you punch out. How much time you are allotted after that is open to debate. I'm hoping for 100-hour days.

A younger guy, he might try four hours of sleep, eight hours of work, a couple hours for maintenance (showering, eating, ironing a dirty shirt) and a full 10 hours of fun. I did that for a time, while my young body could handle it, and it was great. Those were the days.

Now, at 37, with a family, you shoot for an hour of fun per day. If that.

Now before you get offended, especially if you're female--and REALLY especially if you're my wife--let me explain. There are many, many aspects of day-to-day family life that are enjoyable and fun. The trips to the park, the music in the car, the movies, the milk-out-the-nose hilarity at dinner, your toddler's developing personality, that hug when you get home from work, spending $700 on groceries at Costco, etc. All those things are great, and you wouldn't give them back for all the free time in the world.

Still, you ARE a guy, and as prepared as you thought you were for this new life, you wonder: Where the hell did my 10 hours of fun go?

Starting a family is like having a free-time garage sale. You haul all the contents of your garage out onto the driveway, pick up each item, and say, "Do I really need this?"

- Seinfeld reruns - out
- Fishing - out
- Drinking/pool/darts with the guys - severely limited
- Recreational reading - limited
- Watching or listening to 162 three-hour San Francisco Giants baseball games - out (I actually did this one year--all 162 of them)
- Watching 82 Sacramento Kings games on TV - in
- General garage tinkering - limited
- Weight lifting - out
- Riding bicycles - slightly limited
- Maintenance of bicycles - severely limited
- Racing bicycles - severely limited

So you trade in your Giants games, the ones that break your heart more often than not, for more meaningful things like changing diapers; both are entertaining in their own unique ways, and both often end with shit.

I'm better off without those losers anyway.

If this sounds like whining and complaining, so be it. But the truth is all these time restrictions are self-imposed, and I know that. Above all you want to be a DEVOTED HUSBAND and GOOD FATHER. I have no idea how to actually BE these things. I don't know that any man does right out of the gate. So far I'm about as good at these things as I am at juggling hamsters. I'm getting better, sure, but the pile of dead hamsters is getting frighteningly large.

The secret, I'm finding, is to not give anything up, but to keep at least a sliver of everything. Watch Seinfeld once in a while, go hang out with the guys once a month, and include your kids in your fishing and bike riding. Simple in theory, but it takes effort.

I used to ride my bike quite a bit. I've been riding my bike quite a bit for the better part of 20 years. The bike is an old friend, one I have known and loved since age four. As recently as two years ago, I was riding as much as 650 miles a month--pretty good for a guy who works full-time. And going back even further, when I was young and had those ten hours of free time, 1000 miles a month wasn't unheard of. This year my high month is 357 miles.

To a casual observer, that may seem like a lot of miles on a bicycle, and I guess it is. It's just not what I'm used to. It's not even the lack of mileage that I miss, it's the fitness level; I miss the speed, power and endurance I once had.

Cycling is a sport that only gets more enjoyable as your fitness improves. The feeling that comes from slicing through the air at a high rate of speed, the power generated with your own legs, is intoxicating. Cresting a tough climb without even breathing hard is a great feeling. Completing a long ride, and still feeling fresh at the end, is always satisfying. Those things come with lots of miles and time. Miles and time.

Every cyclist has at least a little racer in him. I have a little more than most, and that's what makes getting older that much tougher. I used to be very serious about racing, and I've even won a few races here and there. I still race a little, when the mood strikes me, in the VETERAN'S class. Yes, at 35 you are an old man as far as cycling goes, and banished to the vet class.

Whether they will admit to it or not, most cyclists imagine they are racing at some point during a ride. Sometimes you chase imaginary racers up a climb, other times powering away from ghostly pursuers on a long, flat road. Young and old, thin and fat, we all do it. It's just a hell of a lot easier for me to pretend I'm Lance Armstrong if my body looks more like his than John Goodman's.

Lately, more and more, I participate in those races of the imaginary kind. And, more and more, I'm feeling OK with it. I must say, even with my lack of training time, I win a lot. My invisible rivals are surprisingly slow and out of shape. If they expect to beat a guy like me, they really need to ride more. If they did 357 miles a month, like I do, they might just have a chance.

One

I suppose it's the non-conformist in me that took an immediate dislike to this blogging nonsense, yet it appears I am now posting to my very own BLOG. Wee. I'm somebody now. Look at me.

I'm not sure why I'm doing it, or what changed my thinking, but I guess I am going to find out. This may be the first and last post. Too close to call at this point.

I've always fancied myself as a writer, and I have enjoyed writing at various times in my life. At least I think I enjoyed it. Maybe, just maybe, I enjoyed the praise from readers more than I actually liked the writing.

I remember the very moment when I realized writing was merely a dream, a fantasy. I was in a bookstore scrounging through the bargain bin when I came across what looked like a nice hardback novel. The title escapes me now, but I can still picture the author inside the dustcover. He was about 30, average looking, posing on a split-rail fence, the ocean behind him. He had that "I'm on top of the world" grin on his face, the one that says, "I made it." It was his first novel. The original price was $24.95, but the book had been marked down to one dollar. A buck. This guy's crowning achievement, what may have taken years to complete, was worth a whole dollar.

THAT would have killed me. I couldn't even imagine walking into a bookstore and seeing my work reduced to bargain bin filler, a paper weight, a doorstop. My brain is not wired to handle that kind of rejection. At least it wasn't back then, back when I was writing.

The dream never really dies, though. Sure, you're never going to be paid to write, but you get your fix here and there, whether it's telling your buddy a story through e-mail, or making the driest software manual somewhat entertaining, it never really dies, this dream. Like that girl next door you grew up with, one day she just looks different. She was always there, but now you really see her.

Now I'm 37 and my first child is 15 months old. I've been in the computer industry, the path I stumbled upon when the writing stopped, for 14 years. For some reason, on this day, things seem a little bit different. Perhaps it's my age, or fatherhood, or my computer industry shelf-life expiring, or simply this blog giving me the outlet. I'm not sure what it is, but today the feeling is different. Today I think I can write again.

So I type on the keyboard, just like I do every single day. Yet today, these words, they just look different.

Race Report: 2004 Sacramento Cyclocross #2

Race two took place at Negro Bar. This venue typically gives me problems, but the course they created had a bit more pavement and a little less grass than in the past. There was also significantly more singletrack, including a very steep chute to climb. On the first lap I made it up and gained significant time.

After that I had to run up like everyone else.

I loved the more technical nature of this course.

The run up the steep hill was pretty tough, but instead of dreading it every lap I embraced it. Every time I picked off at least one guy and moved up.

I worked as hard in this race as I ever have.

On the pavement sections where guys tend to let up, I went full blast. I picked up a couple places here too, and not one single person passed me.

In the end I took sixth place, and I must say I was a little surprised and disappointed. I turned myself inside out and really felt like I would place higher. It was an improvement from last week, but I'm not really satisfied.

I don't want to keep harping on it, but my fitness just isn't what it was last year. The only reason I could even grind out a sixth place was I was willing to go so far into the deepest, darkest depths of the pain cave.

Even riding and training and racing as little as I am is a burden on those around me. I am left wondering if it is all worth it just to race at an "OK" level.

Things to think about.

Later.

Race Report: 2004 Sacramento Cyclocross #1

In a perfect world there would be enough time for everything. You could work a full-time job, spend time with your family, take care of the house and yard, cook meals, shop and still train like an absolute madman.

We do not live in a perfect world. Instead I trained like a sensible adult with many responsibilities. In other words, not much.

I went into this cyclocross season knowing I was not as fit as the two previous years. I would take my lumps and try to have some fun. Try.

Unfortunately I have always had a difficult time enjoying the ritual of paying good money to simply ride around in circles knowing I was only pack fodder. A participant. A loser. 

No, battling for podium spots is what has always made racing fun for me. There are guys who can focus on the individual battle against the course, or take pride in improving their 15th place from the race before, but that ain't me.

One thing that would make it even harder this year was the fact that I aged six years since last year. In the 2003 season I raced in the 35+ B class, which has been the standard for quite a while. For some reason it was changed to 30+ Bs this season. At 37 years old this now put me squarely at the older end of the category.

Race one was held at Folsom Point, which is a good venue for me if you discount the fact that I broke my ribs there last November. However, I also had a second-place finish a month before that.

I got a pretty good start up the asphalt starting hill and hit the dirt in sixth. I held that for a while as the pack spread out quickly.

I pretty much rode the whole race by myself.

A few guys passed me along the way, but for the most part it was a solo ride.

I felt OK but not great. My body language as I crossed the line suggested I was glad to be finished.

In the end I took ninth place. Curtis and Will smoked me.

The guy who won, Roger Lackey, was unknown to me at the time. About two years later I would learn that he works with me at FTB and he is an elite endurance racer.

Later.

Spot On

I did the Forest Hill loop today on my new-to-me Spot single speed, which was probably the most difficult mountain bike ride I have ever done with one gear. I owned the Surly 1x1 for a while of course, and rode it a lot, but I only used it around the Lake Natoma and Folsom Lake areas for the most part, which is fairly flat. I also rode it up in Sly Park, which definitely has some extended climbs, but they are long and gradual and non-technical. Riding a single speed up in Auburn definitely took it up a notch.

I'd like to say that I'm so freaking strong that it was easy on the single speed, but that would be a lie. A couple times my heart rate went into places it hasn't visited in some time, even when racing. 

Most of the loop is very rideable, but a few of the hills really hurt. I can say that I did not walk anything, so I felt that was a small victory. There is some definite elevation gain.

I finished with 26 miles hard-fought miles. My legs felt OK but my arms were shot. Sawing away on steep, standing climbs and holding on during rough downhills with only a rigid fork takes a toll on your arms.

I was still smiling at the end, and that's what matters.

Later.