2009 Vermont 50 - Misery Defined

It’s taken me a week to get to the point where I could write something about this mountain bike race. When Steve and I connected at the finish he said, “I, I, I don’t even have any words to describe what just happened.”

I'm not sure I can either, but here’s an attempt.

Rain was in the forecast for race day all week. I think both Steve and I thought, “Hey, it rained at Leadville and we survived. How bad can it be? This race is half the distance.” Famous last words.

I brought two bikes – rain/mud bike and the new bike – the Trek that got me through Leadville. I was so optimistic about the conditions that I didn’t even take the rain bike out of the truck. I figured I bought the new bike, it’s a mountain bike, it can stand a little mud.

Goal was to finish in 5 ½ to 6 hours.

Unfortunately, we woke up to rain. Riding to the start meant riding in pitch black, no street lights in the rain. It was an adventure just staying out of the ditch.

Like Leadville, the Vermont 50 starts downhill, in the dark, in the rain. The spray from the mud immediately covered my glasses. I was blind. Pulled them off just in time to take a big chunk of mud to the eye. Now down to one eye and squinting.

I pushed it towards the front to get out of the spray and thought Steve was on my tail. I turned around and he wasn’t there. For the next 13 miles I experienced something that rarely happens. I was ahead of Lebo while on a bike.

The first two climbs went well for me. I was climbing with the lead group and feeling good. The trails were muddy, but I was able to pick a line up the side in the woods and stayed on the bike for most of the climbs. Made it through to the second rest stop in good time.


However, I’d forgotten something – a little lax in my pre-race prep (wasn’t taking this last race of the season too seriously). I’d put on hardpack / slick tires for Leadville and forgotten to change them the night before this race.

Not good. As the rain continued, my slicks had absolutely no traction. As we started the third climb, Steve came up from behind (yes, the inevitable, a few seconds later, Steve was passing me). A few minutes later, the climb went to >20% and my rear tire lost traction and I started to spin in place like I was on a trainer. That began the pattern of the rest of the race -- hike a bike (hike a mud caked bike).

On the descent, the mud was taking its toll and the trails were turning into three inch ruts of greasy mud. Letting the bike just go and roll was really the only choice. Slowing meant grinding to a halt. It was like flowing through wet cement. It bubbled around the tires.

Conditions were so sketchy that it was impossible to take your hands off of the bars to eat or drink without crashing.

To be honest, I was scared to death taking that kind of speed down those trails, but it worked on the first one.

The next one? Not so much. Most people were walking down a steep descent about 15 miles into the race. I decided to try and take it on the bike. About a third of the way down, I had way too much speed, hit the brakes and was immediately sliding sideways (perpendicular!) down the hill. To make matters worse, I wasn’t slowing down. And, I was heading straight for a tree.

SMACK – I hit the tree hard, leading with my knee and bad hip. That spun me back to the back onto the trail (trees don’t give!) to provide the added benefit of being able to bounce down a series of roots. I thought for sure I’d broken my leg.

When finally came to a stop , I looked back up the trail for someone to be heading right at me. Thank goodness no one was there. A couple of guys rounded the corner and asked, “Are you OK?”

“Uh, yeah, I think I’ll be able to stand up here in a second, why?”

“Because we heard your crash from the top of the hill. What the heck did you hit?”

“Uh, see that tree up there?”

“Dude, you should dial it back a bit in this mud, alright?”

Alright. From that point on, the wind went right out of my sails. My leg was throbbing and I was covered in mud. The guys I was riding with would out-descend me and then I’d pass them right back on the climbs. Hours of this went by.

The trail conditions were getting so bad that you could only ride for 2-3 minutes at a time before having to jump off and push. Not only could the tires not grip, but it was hard for feet to get traction in three inches of mud. The full suspension bike had picked up about 5 pounds of mud and pushing it was work.

I think I literally hiked 15 miles of the next 35 miles of the race. It was awful. A lot of races have something redeeming about finishing. Nothing redeeming about this. This wasn’t about fitness, stubbornness, bike handling, bragging rights. Nothing.

It was a 50 mile loop, pouring like the Amazon and even though finishing wasn’t really all that appealing, there was no place to bail out. We were in the middle of nowhere.

About 15 miles from the finish, those crazier than us, the 50 mile trail runners (sliders, walkers) showed up on the trail. Yes, you could run / walk this course faster on foot than on a bike.
We could beat them on the descents, but they could go faster on the uphills. Each one that passed was offered my bike in exchange or running shoes. Each one, responded, “Uh, why would I want to push 25 pounds uphill?”

Not only were they not gracious enough to take the bike, the runners tore up what little was left of the trails. Mixing the mud up into a nice juicy goo.

At mile 42, I bonked. I hadn’t eaten much more than 5-6 boiled potatoes a handful of M&Ms and one Ramen noodles from a rest stop. I literally had to sit down for about 20 minutes. Eat a few bars and recover.

Back on the bike, mile 43-46 was miserable hiking at 2 mph.

Here’s the definition of pathetic: at mile 45, while pushing the bike up the 100th 20% grade of the day, I decided to walk on the side of the trail to get some traction from the leaves and plants. Below the leaves and plants a slick root was hidden. I caught it with my shoe and went flying. Yes, I can even crash while WALKING. Argh.

Then a quick downhill on a dirt road to the final check point at mile 47.

I’m thinking, now why would there be a checkpoint at mile 47 of a 50 mile race? The answer was obvious, the next three miles would be hell.

They were.

Sticky, Crisco-slick mud singletrack and wet grassy uphill meadows. I was so miserable; I stopped counting after 12 crashes.

When we finally got out on the upper ski slopes of Ascutney with 1 mile to go, the grass on the slopes was so wet it was almost impossible to stay on the trail without sliding down the hill. I crashed three times in the last mile.

Crossing the finish didn’t feel like an accomplishment. It felt like winning a stupidity award. 8 hours and 50 minutes (2:45 longer than it took me the last time I did it). Steve finished 171st, I finished 288th.

Of the 600 starters, 100 dropped out and 100 more bailed before the start. That was the IQ test of the day.

Wish I’d passed it!

Green Mountain Stage Race 2009 - The Wellesley - Weston - Lexington Invasion

I’m not sure how, why or when the Road stage for the Green Mountain Stage Race became the hotbed of Wellesley/Weston / Lexington Cycling, but 13 of the 61 starters for the 4/5 one-day race hailed from those three towns and a kid from Wellesley (UVM team member Nate Davis) won it!

It was a perfect 60 degrees and sunny at the start as we headed down the Sugarbush Access Road and turned onto Route 100. Wellesley’s own Eric Cohen took off from mile 1 and formed his own breakaway! His break would stick until the top of Brandon Gap, 30 miles in.

Every year I tell myself not to mess with the intermediate sprint about 15 miles into the race and every year, the temptation overtakes the good judgment to save energy for the really big climbs to come (low blood sugar = even lower IQ). This year, I had two excuses. First was, yesterday was my last day of a 3 week cycle of antibiotics for Lyme’s and I was pretty sure that I only had 45 miles in the gas tank for a 75 mile race – so, why not blow it in the first half of the race and have some fun?

Second excuse -- the riders in front of me were pretty squirrely. The UVM guys are talented, but their pack skills need some work! As we wound through Granville, I moved up a bit and found myself behind the zig-zagging UVM bunch. Zig-zagging is OK on the ski slopes, but a big no-no in packs of riders as one zig into another’s zag and the whole group crashes.

I asked the UVM’ers to hold their lines so the rest of us could finish in one piece. They politely moved to the side (? -- teenagers listening is a whole new experience for me) and I moved up into pole position next to Chip. We started to drive up the pace towards the sprint line. I thought the sprint was about 2k up the road, just around the corner, so I gunned it a bit.

I looked back and no one was there – ooops. Well, since we’re in, why not dive in with both feet? Mistake. Turns out the group was smarter than me (shocker, right?) -- we were about 5k out from the sprint line. Argh.

It was a long effort to keep the speed above 30mph and stay away. Eric was just up the road, but he was gunning it too and I just couldn’t catch him before the line. Score 2 for Wellesley in the sprint points, but now it was time to pull up and wait for the pack. I’d was sure I’d be paying for that effort in just a few short miles…

Here’s a shot of the gorgeous day as we rolled down route 100 towards the Brandon Gap.

After the right turn onto the Brandon Gap, the road wound up slightly before a big left onto the more serious part of the climb. The Posse / Monsters in the Basement guys were still all together as we headed into the feed zone. AndrewT had arranged for feed zone support. We headed into the zone looking for his gals. Excitement to see them soon faded to black as we now exited the feed zone without seeing them. About 2k up, their car passed us going in the opposite direction – they’d been stopped because of a crash.

That left Andrew and I climbing together wondering how we were going to ration the last water bottle we both had. Oops.

The group was faring pretty well on the Brandon climb. To be honest, I was surprised to still be climbing with the main group at 4K from the top. Then several accelerations combined with some steepening of the pitch and the popcorn began to pop at 3K. First Jeff, then AndrewK, then me, then Thom popped out of the group, but we kept them in sight. AndrewK and I were about 100 yards behind Thom and we found a rhythm and crested together. Andy and I were both pretty psyched with how we’d climbed. I was really psyched to still have some energy left as I thought I’d be cooked by now. Half done.

We gunned it on the descent to catch Thom, but even pushing 50mph, we weren’t making much progress. At the base, we were faced with the two of us working together into a head wind. We slowed a bit, ate / drank and then put our heads down and started to push on for the 35 mile slog to the base of the App Gap, the big finishing climb.

Luckily, about 10 miles later, we were caught from behind by a group of 10 riders who’d been working together. Hopping onto that train was a God-send. Bonus: Jeff was in that group! But, there wasn’t much socializing. Everyone was feeling pretty shot by the climb and the headwind and we all knew what was coming ahead.

Andy pushed a minor hill on Route 7 a little harder and we looked back and had dropped the group. That was a bit of a sign of things to come as we hit a .5K climb heading towards Bristol and the group quickly went from 12 to 7. We hit the Bristol Notch, a beastly 1K at 20%+ and the group went from 7 to 4.

The top of the Notch turns onto a dirt portion of about 2 miles. Picture groups of fans from “Deliverance” along the road and the motivation is to keep things moving and not get a flat, or you might become a feature on the nightly news.

Then an 8 mile flat stretch to the big-daddy finish – the dreaded 9 mile slog up the App Gap. While we’re climbing, folks are up top waiting and chalking on the 22% grade that leads up to the finish line….

Meanwhile, we’re down on the flanks of the App Gap. Andy and Jeff had stopped to take a nature break and I told them I’d soft pedal. Honestly, soft pedaling was my only choice. It’s all I had left at this point – I was out of water and out of gas.

A Boston Road Club rider named Chris and I started the climb together. The first part of the climb rises for 3.5 miles at about 10% and is called the “Baby Gap.” Near the top of this section, two volunteers had set up a water and Coke feed station. Just in time -- thank goodness as cramps were setting in for both of us.

After that, about a mile of flats leads to four miles of hell – average grades of 12%-16% without a let up. Chris and I found a rhythm and climbed together until he popped with about 4K to go. I thought I heard him catching back up and turned to find Andy Kessler climbing like a mad-man! Way to go Andy! He was picking off riders left and right and I became his next victim.

I turned back and looked down at the next switchback and saw Jeff just below us. I was psyched for Jeff, but also pretty sure he was going to catch me and drop me like a bad habit too. Jeff was strong on this ride.

Rounding 1K to go, I looked up. Straight up and could see flags on the horizon. That’s the finish up there? Who put the finish up there?

About that point, reality sets in. It sets in hard. 20%, then 22%. It’s a bear.


The folks cheering at the finish help a little bit, but it just hurts getting up that last bit. After four hours in the saddle, this is a heck of a challenge for us flat-landers.

Up at the Top, the rest of the gang was waiting. A pretty good day as we all finished:

13th – Duncan (MIBasement)
16th – Chip Herzog (MIBasement)
17th – Eric Cohen (Brueggers group)
18th – Mike Moran (Weston Posse)
29th – Thom Cranley (Brueggers group/Posse)
31st – Andrew Tappe (Weston Posse)
35th – Andrew Kessler (Weston Posse)
38th – Jon McNeill (Weston Posse)
42nd – Jeff Packman (Weston Posse)

Unfortunately, Chip had a bad crash on the way down the mountain to the cars. We're praying no bones were broken, but it looked like he might have broken his shoulder. Best wishes from all of us Chip.

Join us next year??

Leadville 100 2009 -- Much better outcome this year than the first time...

“It’s not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.” -- Sir Edmund Hillary

It’s hard to describe the suffering dished out by the Leadville 100 course. Start in the highest town in America at 10,200 feet of elevation, mix in 14,000+ feet of climbing and some pretty rough descents and you’ve got the makings of a suffer fest -- but one that’s pretty satisfying to finish. My last Leadville 100 was a mechanical disaster with 6 bike breakdowns along the way. It took a year off to get to the place where I was ready to come back and try for some redemption.

There’s a silver belt buckle for every rider that can finish within 12 hours. Funny what grown men will do for a trinket.

Here’s a (OK, not so) brief summary of the Leadville 2009:

Registration Day: Driving into Leadville for the first time is a bit of a shock. The town’s only major employer closed its doors 20 years ago, leaving it with the highest unemployment rate in the nation. The town is still recovering and looks pretty rough. Thanks to the Leadville founder Ken Chlouber, the Leadville 100 and its sister races are a major source of revenue for the town.

Six-time champion Dave Weins embodies the spirit of this race. He shows up to the mandatory pre-race rider meeting on Friday, gives encouragement to the riders, signs autographs and is so emotional about this race during his speech that he gets emotional and has to cut it short. A great guy.

Medical checks and registration done, it’s time to pre-ride, check every bolt on the bike and organize bags for the feed stations. Being adopted by the Nebraska contingent is a bonus – really nice group of guys riding and a great team of wives and support crew. My parents joined in for support this year along with Connor and Kent’s 7 year-old son Dillon – they will form the heart of the team at the critical Twin Lakes aid station to feed us twice at ~40 miles and ~60 miles. Tomorrow is my parent’s wedding anniversary and they are spending it doing this – I love you guys. Happy Anniversary! Big pasta feed at our house, then bed at 10p with Bike, clothes, bags ready to roll.

Start: up at 430a. To start by 530a. 39 degrees and rain, not good. Lance effect in full force – helicopter hovering overhead (helicopters in Leadville!?!). Mom, Dad, Connor, Dillon and the entire crew are there to see us off. Kent lines up next to Lance and Dave. David right behind. Steve and his Chattanooga boys and me with the Nebraska boys are grouped together somewhere in the pack of 1400-1500 riders. The starting shot gun blast goes and they are off to Twin Lakes and we are off on a 105 mile journey across the Continental Divide. The rain let up just prior to the start and we descended to the dirt with a rainbow above us. We were hoping that was the last of the precip. Not to be.

First section: St. Kevins climb – went well for Kent. He was in the Armstrong/Weins group and hung in even though the pace was high. Lance brought a group of pacers and they floored it at top of climb and Kent wisely let them go. Lowell and Chris from Omaha killing it up St. Kevins, we’re all up to the top after an hour or so from the start. Rain starts pouring on descent. Not good. Climb about 30 minutes to the Powerlines. Nebraska boys aiming for 10-10:30 total time making good time. Jim Maaske and I descend and climb together, yo-yoing back and forth. Descending the Powerlines section in the rain was a bit like Crisco in a pie-pan tilted at 45 degree angle – mud, very slick rocks, 3-foot deep ruts and tight crowds. Add to that the buzzing of evaporating rain on the high tension wires ahead and it’s a really challenging.

Twin Lakes
Rain gone, sun out and a wild crew meeting us with fresh Camelbaks, waters and food. Connor tells us that Lance is setting a record pace and Kent is top 15, David top 25, Steve Jarrett is top 30. Wow. Let’s hear it for the flatlanders! Me, I’m chasing Jim and am thanking God that the rain has gone and that I’ve gotten 40 miles in without flats, etc. this year. Dillon holds my bike while Connor refills my Camelbak and goes to work like a quarterback refilling my pockets with food for the climb. Dad and Mom pitch in with some great encouragement and we’re off to the big climb.

Columbine
Seven miles up at 10%+, many sections mid-teens. We cleaned two tough/steep sections at bottom and start to hear screaming. Over the rise comes Lance. He’s descending from the turnaround above us. He’s flying, covered in mud and dressed in black and looking skinny, really skinny. We yell encouragement as he come by us (the course is an out and back). He doesn’t look up, teeth gritted, he’s hammering. About 10 minutes later, Dave Weins comes by in second. We yell at him to go get Lance, repeating his encouragement that “it’s not about the first 80 miles, the last 20 miles determines your fate in this race.” He actually thanks us, tells us we’re looking strong and wishes us luck. A people’s champion.

Kent comes by about 10 minutes later in 15th place, then David in 30th, then Steve in about 35th. He’s killing it. But, he’s got altitude sickness and has just spend the last 15 minutes in the woods losing his breakfast.

We’re climbing up to 12,600 feet of altitude and I’m starting to feel what Steve was experiencing. Jim is suffering too, my head starts to really ache and I’m feeling dizzy and nauseous. Jim starts to lose his breakfast and I’m on the brink of the same. But, we keep on pedaling with short breaks to clear the dizziness. The last forty minutes of the climb are too steep and rutted to ride. The rideable lines are taken by the leaders as they descend, so we mortals are reduced to pushing. Boy, I needed to train for this. My back and arms are killing me. Not to mention my head and belly. We’re supposed to be eating, but I can’t get anything down. I’m having to stop and just stand to get rid of the dizziness. Poor Jim can’t keep anything down. I don’t know how he’s doing it. I begin to feel like our 12-hour deadline to win a silver belt buckle might be slipping away.

Then, is starts to rain and sleet. Big blow mentally. Not only suffering, but now add freezing to the list.

We finally get to the top and a guy walks up and says, “How are you feeling?” I say, “not so good.”

“Well, you don’t look so good – what’s wrong?”

“My head is killing me, I’ve had to stop to get rid of dizziness and my stomach feels like Vesuvius.”

“Son, you’ve got altitude sickness, you need to get down from here now. If you’re not up for that, I can get you medical assistance.”

“No, no, no, I'm going.” I yell up to Jim that I’m taking off b/c I descend like a wuss and head out before I get hauled off the mountain. Actually, I’m running away from the medical guy who’s heading towards me ;)

The first part of the descent is down ruts of loose rock – picking a line that will keep the bike up while not hitting any of the people coming up is a trick. Both Jim and I make it down to Twin Lakes in one piece. Dad, Mom, Connor and Dillon are great to still be there. Dad asks how much more riding we’ve got before the finish. I look at my computer and it says we’ve been riding for 6 hours 30 minutes and only 15 minutes off the bike. “We’ve got 5 hours of riding left.” He looks at me like we’re nuts. We are. We’re an 45 minutes off our target pace due to all of the stops on the way up. We fuel up and push on.

Back to the Powerlines

This part of the course mixes climbing and flats. I’m starting to do the math in my head and am quickly figuring out that we really need to push the pace to make it in on time. This is probably the best part of the course to make up some time. Powering on the flats is just about the only thing I do well on the bike and I try to keep Jim within sight and keep pushing. We hit the new single track climb and I can see Jim just below. He’s really gutting it out and we’re yelling encouragement to each other. I push up a few more sections and look down – no more Jim. Oh no. I slow up a bit at the top, still can’t see him and latch onto the group that was behind me to work together on the flats to the base of the Powerlines. The headwinds are brutal – about 20mph constantly. Guys can only pull at about 15mph. I took a taste of that up front and quickly pulled off to the shelter of the pace line.

Powerlines:

The bad part about the Powerlines is that even though Columbine is really hard, Powerlines is five miles of section after section of 15%+ grades after 80 miles are in your legs. It’s brutal and I’ve been in counseling for the better part of two years trying to get over my first experience with it ;) Still doing the math, I’m afraid I’m not going to make it.

A guy in our group named Brian from Monument, CO (it’s common for riders to introduce themselves to each other as we work together) is over-the-top encouraging. He’s exhorting everybody in our group to climb and not push. It’s great. We ride up the first 21% section and finally hit a section that’s too hard to stay on the bikes. As we hop off, there’s a family that has hiked up to encourage the racers. One of the guys in my group recognizes the Dad as a member of the local sheriff’s department. They have Gatorade, water, oranges and Tostitos. They walk beside us, feeding us. I ask the Dad/Sheriff how far to the top and he says we’ve got a 40 minute hike from here, shorter if we ride most of the sections. He tells us we’ve got 3:15 left to make our buckles and that we can do it if we stay focused and don’t get “lazy”. Love the hard-nosed encouragement. Really, the guy was an angel at that point. For the first time, I start to believe we’re going to make it.

We push for 20 minutes and reach a rideable section. There’s a hiker from Arkansas there who tells us we’re going to make it, we’ve got 20 minutes in the bank ahead of the cutoff now. We get on, he pushes each of us and we start to ride.

The altitude sickness starts to rear its ugly head again. I lose the group when I have to stop to shake the dizziness but connect with another group who is pushing, riding too. I’m losing time, but have nothing left. Going as hard as I can go. Everything hurts – badly. I’ve never hurt this badly on the bike. My legs, neck, back are killing me.

The Top – finally, reach the top and start to descend to the last climb. Touch the brakes as little as possible to try and make up some minutes. Get to the bottom and ask the official how long the next one is – 3 miles to the top.

St. Kevins –
Start to do the math again. Still too close. This climb actually feels pretty good and I’ve got a few guys to climb with. At the top, Sprite and pretzels served up by the Carmichael Training Systems team. I asked how much time we have -- 80 minutes to go the last 11 miles – a mix of climbs, descents and flats. I wait for Jim for a few minutes and then the guys tell me I should go. Leaving the constant servings of Sprite was tough.

This part of the race really adds to the hurt quotient – steep ups require some pushing before hitting a 2 mile descent and then the flats to the dreaded Boulevard. My altitude-effected calcs are telling me to push it above 18 mph on the flats and the legs are protesting but a little bit of a tail wind helps keep it above 20.

Boulevard
As we turn onto the Boulevard, we’ve got 4 miles of mostly up with loose rocks. The race official says you’ve got 4 miles and 31 minutes. Quick math – keep it above 8 mph and we’re there. This is a soul-buster part of the course. When you’ve done 101 miles and the race is called the Leadville 100 AND you hear you’ve still got 4 miles to go uphill, it combines for an easy nutty. Had that experience last time, this time even when knowing what to expect, it’s still hard to swallow.

I can only muster 13-14mph, going as hard as I can now go. Picked up a guy from Leadville and we trade pulls. Turning onto the last half mile, I’m seeing we’re going to make it with 15 minutes to spare. But, there’s one more climb to get over to the senior center, then down to the final rise to the finish line.

Locals are at the end of their driveways in lawn chairs cheering , “You’re going to earn the buckle. Let’s go Enservio!” (had the Enservio shorts on)

The last two blocks are mayhem, people lining the barriers two and three people deep (even after 11 and a half hours). Cow bells, cheers, shouting your number, your jersey. Can’t help not smiling. Then there’s a red carpet for the last 20 yards and Ken Chlouber himself going nuts on the PA calling out your name and hometown.

Above the crowd noise I hear, “Dad! Dad! You did it!” Up in the grandstands to my right I see Connor, Dillon and Kent as I cross the line (taking my hands off the bars to fist pump, I almost crash the bike with 2 feet to go ;).

What a feeling.

The upside to burning 8,000 calories? Ravenous eating for the next 24 hours. Why not start, like, now? Ever the gracious finisher, Kent grabs my bike and hauls me over to support for a warm serving of Ramen noodles. Dillon makes sure my bike doesn’t leave his sight and then steers it through the crowd and packs it in our van (Dillon, I still owe you an ice cream for your support buddy!).

Meanwhile, Jim guts it to the line in 12:08, beating the official cutoff by more than an 50 minutes. Amazing finish.

Kent, David and Lebo had a great race. We brought a buddy of ours (David) over from France to do the race. His first trip to America (and we do this to him!) He rode a good chunk of the way with CTS coach and author Jim Lehman. David was in the US for the first time and pretty nervous about the altitude, etc. Jim was great to him – encouraged him, cheered him on and brought him across the line in 26th place. What a great ambassador.

Saw Robert Coreale from the Etape trip several times. He was riding great also.

Results for our group:

Kent McNeill – 13th place (!) - 7:45
David Renvoise– 26th place – 8:09
Lowell Peterson– 253rd - 9:43 (!)
Steve Lebovitz – 340th in 10:09 (!)
Chris Peterson – 343rd in 10:09 (!)
Robert Coreale – 567th in 10:51
Jon – 832nd in 11:46
Jim Maaske – 902nd in 12:08

35% of starters didn’t finish.

We did and we got our trinket. ;)

Let's hear it for the Flatlanders!

Pics to follow in a couple of days.

Pan-Mass Challenge 2009 - He made it!

Our son Connor's headmaster went to the ER with a bloody nose in February and didn't leave the hospital for six weeks (Leukemia). My uncle passed away two months ago after an aggressive cancer returned. My sister-in-law has endured two surgeries in the past year while missing weeks with her two little girls to endure raditation treatments. You've got stories like this too.

Riding in the Pan Mass Challenge is our small way of fighting back. When the PMC started, kids had a 15% survival rate. Today, it's an 85% survival rate. Your donations for research make a difference!

Jeff and Karen Packman have used the Pan-Mass Challenge as a protest against their young daughter Hannah’s cancer for several years. Thankfully, Hannah is cancer free. However, the threat of its return is never far from their minds.

Just before the start of last year’s PMC, Karen got a call from Hannah’s camp – she was sick. Karen dropped her plans to ride the PMC and headed to camp. Most parents can relate to that fear for a child.

Luckily, it was a false alarm, Hannah would be fine (and Karen would make it down to Bourne to ride the second day), but that experience gave me a sense of what parents and families go through after cancer has struck – the shadow of cancer doesn’t leave.

When Jeff asked if I’d ride for Hannah’s team – Hannah’s Bandanas – it took me a nanosecond to say yes. So, we rode for Hannah's Bandanas this year.

First Day - Wellesley to Cape Cod (Bourne). 85 miles. Flying out of the start with the bright orange colors of Hannah’s Bandanas. Jeff, Karen, Andy, Alicia, Jon, Mike and Eric, Steve and Fred pushed nearly 22mph for the first 20 miles. The team stopped at the first stop and we kept pushing as a group of five (Eric, Steve, Fred and Uta Pippig) and rode to the finish in Bourne in just over 4 hours. Lesson learned: Boston Marathon champions can suffer -- Uta was strong and didn't fade at all during our hammerfest.

Highlight today: a little guy holding a sign saying, "I'm 11 years old because of you."

Day Two - Wellesley to Wellesley. 47 miles with our 13-year old son Connor. This was the longest ride of his life. He trained hard and it paid off -- he aced it! Highlight of today: riding through the hills of Walpole, a man sat at the end of his driveway under a poster he'd made in his wife's honor, thanking each of us as we rode buy. He said thousands of thank you's today. For all of you who supported our ride, one more huge THANK YOU.

Video highlights here: http://jonmcneill.phanfare.com/ (secret word = bicycle).

Hannah, Nikki, Steve, Uncle Jim -- we ride for you!

Mt. Ventoux / Etape du Tour Race Report - If you're feeling good, dial it back

Each year at the start, I ask myself why the heck I’m doing this. Each year at the finish I say to myself, I love this day on the bike.

Why? There’s nothing like it. Yes, you’re riding a real stage of the tour. Yes, the terrain is as challenging as it comes (significantly harder than B2B, Triple by Pass, etc.). Ventoux almost rivaled the pain of Leadville’s Powerline climb – it just went on forever.

But, where else are 20,000 people going to be cheering you on, singing, playing accordions (?), calling you a hero?

The bike rider is celebrated in France like nowhere else. Riding a stage of the tour in July is the tops.

A Detour…
Prep day was, er, ah interesting. We went out for a ~1 hour spin, just to keep things fresh, but save energy for the next day. Eric and I headed into town for lunch at the end of the ride. I spotted a vineyard that I’d read about (Parkers number one pick).

Note to self: riding in heat and then tasting Wine does NOT lead to good decision-making. Eric and I went in to buy a case each. We met one of the most effective winemaker / salesmen I’ve ever come across. He sang Sinatra to us, called Beth on the phone, let us taste a bottle that sells for 500 Euro at the GeorgeV in Paris.

You guessed it, we walked out with heads spinning and six cases purchased. They are on their way to the states. For years I’ve been trying to invest with Eric. I was not counting on the wine business being that investment.

Back to the Etape…
This edition of the l’Etape du Tour (translated, Stage of the Tour) was the most beautiful ride I’ve ever experienced. 10,000 riders at the start. Lineup at 6a, race starts at 7a.

We climbed through olive groves, fields of lavender (surrounded by the smell of it) and vineyards to be rewarded with vistas at the top of the climbs that included the Alps (Mont Blanc and Alpe d’Huez) and the rolling valleys of Provence.

Whenever the climbing started to hurt, you could just look left and have a stunning view to take your mind off of the pain.

That helped because there was a staircase of 5 climbs over 95 miles that would deposit us at the base of Ventoux for the final push.

Most years, I’m starting to die slowly after 75 miles or so. This year,the descents were so long that you could recover well and the first 95 miles flew by in just over 5 hours. Despite it being in the mid-nineties, I felt great.

A few years ago we were at the mandatory meeting for Leadville racers and were leaning against a wall with Dave Weins. Dave has won Leadville 6 times in a row, defeating all comers including Lance.

Steve leaned over and asked Dave what advice he had for a couple of first timers. Dave looked up and smiled. He said, “if you're feeling good, dial it back.”

That turned into the mantra for this day. Rather than going out of the blocks like a mad-man, on each climb, I’d try to pin the effort at 20 watts below my threshold (about 250 watts) and just spin. In prior years, I was the guy getting passed. This year, Eric and I were doing the passing.

On the third climb, something sounding like a gunshot rang out. I looked down and my tire had blown off the rim. Eric was great (yes Steve, the man can now change a tire). The two of us got it fixed and proceeded to re-pass all of the folks that had passed us while fixing the flat.

We kept saying to each other, ‘we shouldn’t feel this good.’ I’d respond, “alright then, let’s dial it back.”

That of course would work until Eric would be passed by a blond female rider and he’d take off like a sprinter on the attack. When that happened (every 15 minutes or so!), we’d yo-yo back and forth within 10 riders of each other.

On the fifth climb, I caught two great guys from New Jersey (Pete and Will). Their first question – “where’s Eric?”

"He’s probably 10 guys or so behind me, we’ve been doing that all day, back and forth.”

Little did I know, Eric had started cramping at the bottom of the climb (yes, there’s a lesson in there for us 40-somethings. It will go unsaid here…;). We’d gone 65 miles together and now he was no where in sight.

At the next water stop, I entered the scrum with about 2000 french guys claimoring for water. I managed to grab enough for Eric and I, hoarded it over to a fence along the course. As soon as I put the bottles down on the ground, I was swarmed with riders looking to raid my stash.

“No, no, I’m waiting on a friend.”

10 minutes of fighting off the French. No Eric. 15 minutes, no Eric. 20 minutes. No Eric. I must have missed him; maybe he was in front of me? So, I headed on (and passed the water onto some not so grateful French guys).

Climbed up the last pass and then descended before Ventoux fast enough to reconnect with Pete and Will on the descent.

As we plowed towards the base of Ventoux, Pete saw his wife and he and Will stopped.
I kept going to the next water stop. It was now about 98 degrees and it took me 64 ounces of water to make it 2/3 up the climb on Friday when we previewed it. Water was going to be at a premium today.

The climb rises out of a town called Bedoin and beautiful vineyards. This year’s Tour de France is saving this stage for the 2nd to last day. Trust me, there are going to be fireworks. Set up the Tivo for Saturday morning. It’s going to be amazing.

After rising through the vineyards, the climb heads into a forest of scraggy pine. The sign reads 20.5KM to the top. The grade is unrelenting – about 9-10.5%. Constant.

Pete and I headed up together. My goal – get to within 6K from the top without stopping. At 6K, there’s a restaurant and my prize was going to be a cold Orangina sugar kick for the last 6k push.

The world was about to go into slow motion though. Pete and I were climbing and it seemed to take 10 minutes per kilometer – just dragging.

The forest was like a sauna. Now nearly 100 degrees, no wind, sun burning down. Guys around us were so dehydrated the cramps set in and guys were literally falling into the ditches. The place became like an ER – dozens of cyclists lying by the side of the road waiting for ambulances.
On the way up about 500 people were being treated by medics and 4 were helicoptered off the mountain.

Pete and I kept grinding. But, the surroundings were getting to us. I thought we’d made it to 12K from the top and we’d round a corner and we were still 15K. Then we’d climb for what seemed like 30 minutes and I thought we’d be at 10K and we were at 12K. Mentally, it was tough, but climbing with Pete (he’s a stronger climber than I am) kept me going.

One guy started to swerve in front of us. He was cramping and couldn’t get his feet out of the pedals. Finally, he gave up and just fell over into the ditch. His friend behind him laughed and said, “at least you fell into a shady spot Rich!”

At 7K to go, I looked over and saw a guy I recognized -- former TdF rider and world hour record holder Chris Boardman. Chris was standing on the shoulder over his bike, trying to recover.

A Brit pulled up next to us and said, "Hey if nothing else, we can say we dropped Chris Boardman today!"

We finally rounded the corner to the restaurant. Over the prior hour and a half, I’d talked Pete into his first Orangina. He grabbed our bottles to refill them and I headed to the bar and ordered 3 Orangina. One for him, two for me. The first one lasted about 3.5 seconds.

While I was slamming the second one, Will came around the bend and challenged us to catch him on the way to the top.

Pete took off, I stayed and savored the first cold drink in hours. I hopped on the bike a few minutes later supercharged and climbed within about 500 meters of Pete and Will.
The last 6K are in the rocks above the tree line. It’s like the surface of the moon up here (check out the video of our preview ride).
The climb was proving to be a beast. It would take us 5 hours to go 95 miles and about 2.5 hours to climb the last 12 miles.

At 1.5K from the top is the Tom Simpson memorial. Tom was leading the stage in 1967 and keeled over at this spot. He was unconscious from exhaustion. When he came to, he yelled at the medics, “Put me back on my bike!” They did, he pedaled a short distance and died. Yikes.
Not today for anybody on the hill.

The last 500 meters seriously kicks up and then really kicks up the last 100 meters. Pete’s wife had told me to hold up 7 fingers over the line (this is my 7th Etape stage). Luckily the early Alzheimers hadn’t completely kicked in and I remembered. Best I’ve ever felt on one of these stages.

Meanwhile, Eric had cramped at mile 65. I can’t imagine how he finished. Most of us could barely make it up the climbs with two good legs. Eric wins the hardman award for going 40 miles, mostly uphill while fighting off legs that were locking up. 20% of the starters didn’t make it. Eric did. Amazing.

Amazing day on the bike. 108 miles, 11,180 feet of climbing, 6990 calories burned.

Join us next year?

Etape du Tour Day 5 & 6 -- combo post

Combo post today -- internet access has been spotty.

Saturday -- quick spin out to Tavel (Rose capital of the world). Great 1.5 hr. spin.

Great group of people.

Riding out through the limestone canyons:

Kent and his castle / estate.

Pete and Jonathan crusing through the vineyards.
Joan setting the pace through Tavel.

Her husband Neil right behind (perma-smiles all around).

Then to Montelimar to pick up the race numbers. On start village trip-- note to self: don't walk into self-cleaning public restroom with "friends" standing outside with change in their hands. Jay found out the hard way -- free 'shower'. ;)

Today -- quick cruise (yes, more vineyards). Wine tasting (is this how the pros prep?).

Eric in heaven -- chocolate and wine tasting (Eric and I are now in the wine business together -- more on that later).

Going to bed now. Up at 4a for the bus to the start...say a prayer for me. 105 miles, 11,500 feet of climbing. Mont Ventoux.

Etape du Tour - Day 4 - Climbing the Ventoux

OK, the ONE thing that brought me back to do the Etape du Tour (the amatuer stage of the tour de France that races on the course of the hardest mountain stage) was Ventoux. The climb is legendary. Before we "race" up it on Monday, we went over today to do a recon and see first hand how big a beast this climb really is.

Parked at the soccer stadium in Bedoin and headed up.

The first couple of K's are gentle climbs through the vineyards -- sunny and 80 in the valley (that was about to change).

Entering the forest...

Here's the recon video...(coming tomorrow)

Big lunch after summitting. Food never tasted so good.

Etape du Tour 2009 - Day Three

Mike, here's the face of a man melting in 97 degree heat (miss this now?).

A bit of an adventure today -- we set out on a 2-hour ride, which became a 3-hour ride in the heat. Why 3 hours? Well, the map didn't exactly agree with the roads. We climbed high into wine country, up a pass that was supposed to have gone up and over to our hotel.

Kent and Jay climbing up the "col du vin."

We stopped and asked at the town at the base if the road was good to the other side. Yes, no problem was the answer. 30 minutes (and some awesome views later) we were faced with a stone and dirt road. We turned around and headed back. Where do we go?

Chateauneuf du Pape on the return (what's left of the home of the early popes, now surrounded by vineyards).

This afternoon, we ventured to Avignon. The city is divided by the Rhone river. On the south side 700 years ago, the Romans were in control. On the north side was the southern edge of Kingdom of France. We climbed up to a castle fortress that defended the French side.

From there, we could see the Roman fortress and the "Palace du Papes" -- or Vatican City during the exile of the Popes to Avignon.

Amazing lunch at a friend of David's restaurant.

Big day tomorrow, climbing Ventoux in prep for our stage race.

Growing overhead in the terrace....this is wine / grape country!

Etape du Tour - Day 2

Etape du Tour 2009 - Day Two

It turns out that the Romans ruled this area (the word Provence actually traces back to the Roman empire where this area was just that – a provence of Rome). The Romans were here building and engineering at the time of Christ.

Today, we saw some of that. First, breakfast, then assembling bikes, then off to a ride through the vineyards of the Rhone Valley (crossing the Rhone to the left).

In 1300AD, Rome wasn’t safe for the Popes, so they moved to Avignon and oversaw the church from here. We are staying in Cheateauneuf de Papes (new home of the Popes). When they came, they brought vines from Italy for winemaking and Olive trees for oil production. As such they transformed this area into one of the premier wine producers in the world.

The riding today was unbelievable – visiting a Roman aqueduct at Pont du Gard that was built by 1,000 men during the time of Christ (AD30) to bring water from the mountains to the seat of government. That was followed by the medieval village of Uzes.

The ride wasn’t shabby either. Kent and David don’t mess around. We cruised through vineyards and by castles at 22mph for two hours. That helped get the airplane out of the legs.

Jay and Jean arrived tonight from the Midwest (Jay, thanks for being gracious enough with my tired brain trying to re-name you as Jeff several times during dinner). Repeat on the same 5 course meal. Two glasses of Rose (I started drinking Rose during the summer a couple of years back and this is the world headquarters of the stuff) and I’m off to bed after 5 wonderful courses. Means a long ride tomorrow, but I ride to eat, so all good.

Etape du Tour 2009 - Day One

Day One – Travel + Bastille = ?:
Faster planes mean shorter trip – a good thing most of the time. However, given that flying to Europe involves an overnight flight from the east coast, shorter trips mean less sleep. That meant about 2.5 hours of net sleep on Monday night.

Note to self: Landing on Bastille Day in France (Independence Day), not recommended. No one is there to work. The luggage took forever and when it finally arrived in baggage claim, the bike box wasn’t appearing.

Psyched to dust off what little French I know, I walked up to the baggage service rep and asked in French where the oversize baggage was delivered. I was actually a little proud of myself stringing something like that together on the first shot.

He answered, “the over-sized baggage will come out right over there buddy.” Perfect English. Pride was short-lived. It turns out, British Airways flew two guys in on our flight to handle bags on Bastille day. The local help “isn’t reliable” on holidays (he said with a smile).

After meeting my cousin Kent outside of baggage, we proceeded to get an encore performance at Avis (2 people working, 10 people in line, 2 employees out back on a smoke break). Ah, joie d’vivre!

After getting to the hotel in Provence, a whole new page turned on this first day though. Eating at a decent hotel in France trumps any restaurant in the US (I mean any). This hotel has a chef that is well-known in the region – and for good reason. A five-course dinner with Kent and our guide David was a very cool way to end the day.

The specialty of this region is chocolate and wine. I could live here. And weigh 300 pounds. Vive le France!

Ski Racing in Weston, MA?

More Fun than I knew you could Legally have in Weston

Two weekends ago, Jeff and I talked about the Tuesday night race series as we made laps around the course in Weston.

“You ought to try it.”

“No, I’d get killed.”

I mean, dressing up in lycra in the summer is one thing, but in the middle of the winter? A guy must really have issues doing that. I want no part of it. Er, ah, maybe? Nah.

This past Saturday, the nudges continued. “Hey, I think you’re ready for racing.” Hmmm, maybe if I set the bar high enough (don’t finish in an ambulance, don’t finish dead last)?

So during the commute home from work last night I decided to take the plunge and try my first race. For all of you guys who were wondering what this is like, here goes…

First, a couple of warm up laps. I was surprised – about 80 people turn up each week to race this series. And they are fast. And fit. Yikes. With each hill I went up, I’d get passed by a high school kid or two. Hmmm – this might be a humbling 25 minutes?

As I pulled into the start chute, guys were peeling off layers. Under the jackets and baggy pants were lycra ski suits. One guy’s said “R-U-S-S-I-A” down the side – as in former national team member. Another from Sweden. A few more from Harvard. Northeastern. Tufts. Dartmouth. Belmont Hill.

Hey, who’s the geek in the jacket and baggy pants? The guy who’d be a little bit leery of a full lycra approach at this time in the winter, that’s who.

We were instructed to line up according to “seeding” which is apparently Nordic ski race talk for “new guys, get out of the way and get in the back.” So to the back I went in my Amish outfit.

We stood four rows across in classic tracks (the two grooves in the snow for the old fashioned kind of Nordic skiing) about 75 yards long. We’d pole in these classic tracks hard and then hop out into the skate lanes. Apparently, this is a better solution for a mass start skate race with about 80 people. Less eyes getting poked out by flailing poles?

As the two-minute countdown started, the guy next to me leaned over and asked, “is this your first time?” “Yeah,” I said. “You?”

“Well, I haven’t raced in awhile, but I raced in college for McGill.” No baggy pants on this guy and he’s in back. Maybe time to reset those goals? Last might be a real accomplishment in this crowd. Yeah, last, but first non-Olympian, non-college racer… I just might be able to live with that.

“Five”- “Four” -“Three”- “Two” – “One” and with that, 80 bodies surge forward and start poling furiously. I can see McGill out of the corner of my eye and he’s already gapping me. I’m redlined and we’re only 5 seconds in! (according to my Polar, my heart rate went from 60 to 190 in a mere 8 seconds)

The next minute was like a roller derby on snow. Elbows, skis and poles flying around and lots of contact. I was gasping for air, but could only think, “I should have glasses on. These poles are coming up about an inch from my eye and I’m going to be lucky to have two functioning eyeballs at the end of this thing.”

I was holding my own in the middle of the pack and in the first turn a guy fell and came tumbling through the pack. Shouts of “Racer down! Racer down!” as people jumped, slid and hopped to avoid running him over and/or impaling him with their poles.

We were going faster on skis than I have ever gone. About 20 bodies hit the next turn at the same time and it was my turn. In a big way. The guy next to me planted his pole right inside of my ankle. I was airborne – for a minute doing the superman through the air. I looked at him, he looked at me, then I looked at the ground – bam, hit the ground and went tumbling head over heels out of the turn and into an embankment of fresh snow.

To add insult to injury, I was directly under the snow gun and it was now raining fresh and frozen Charles River water down on me. Whosh, Whosh, Whosh. About 30 people passed me as I dug myself up and scrambled back into the race.

I was now in the tail of the pack and ticked. Knowing that my son was waiting back at the start finish line, and I would subsequently hear, “Uh, dad, you’re like, last” as we came through our lap, I decided to dig deep and pretend I was trying to follow Lebo and MikeM behind one of their signature “I’m going to rip your legs off” summer time pulls.

It worked, I started to pass people. Not many, but a few geriatric types. Mostly women about 70 years old, but, I was passing people darn it!

This was the hardest effort I’ve done in a long time. I could feel my lunch surfacing a few times. The race settled into small packs, much like a bike race. And we were pushing each other hard and taking turns at the front. Around one turn, a woman crashed a broke a carbon race pole (about $250). Yikes.

It was wild and really sort of fun (as long as poles and eyeballs stay intact).

After 6K, I managed to pull myself up about 12 spots. “Hey Dad -- wow, you’re not last! Nice job! That was crazy sick.” Even a 13 year-old liked it.

Mission accomplished. No hospital visit. No last place finish. Lunch stayed down (just barely). 22 minutes of shear redlined thrill. 186 average heart rate.

So who’s up for next Tuesday night? Come on! I need some baggy pant company. I mean, who wears lycra?

Leadville 100 -- All it's cracked up to be and more...

Guts n’ Glory ~ New England Flatlander’s Leadville 100 Race Report:
10 Years worth of Mechanicals in One Day

Not many east coast races start at 10,200 feet. You’re right – none. Even fewer have 14,000 feet of climbing over a 100 mile course. There are no cash prizes, but the handcrafted silver belt buckle bestowed upon all who finish under 12 hours is one of the holy grail mementos of mountain bike racing. Even finishing the race before the cut-offs is something to aspire to.

I’ve been hooked on bike racing since 1997 and finally decided to turn my dream of riding this “Race across the Sky” into reality. Each year, our riding group (dads who sneak out at dawn to sneak rides into our day) tries to tackle an epic race. In January, we decided to target Leadville. It wasn’t as easy as just wanting to do it – we’d have to make our way through the application process. We pulled our race resumes together and essentially begged the organizers in writing. In March, thick envelopes arrived – we were in!

On August 9th, five flatlanders headed to Colorado. Kent, a former pro; Brad, a budding expert racer; Steve, Alan and I – desk jockeys and sometime racers.

At first blush, the race seems pretty straight forward – 50 miles out, 50 miles back. The turnaround point is at the top of that middle peak (Columbine) and so you get to see the course before you turn around and lap back (and see the pros as they fly by on their return). On second blush, however, this race is as difficult mentally as it is physically. You need to dig deep … as deep as you can go.

Friday was spent in medical checks, race check-in and a mandatory racer meeting. With one former Tour de France champion (Floyd Landis) and another rumored to be a last-minute arrival (Lance Armstrong), the small mining town was buzzing with excited riders and support crews. The pre-race festivities are held in an 1880’s era gym in the heart of Leadville. You are made to feel a part of “the Leadville family” (a phrase that’s used many times) – and it’s really true. This town has seen some hard times, is very different than its neighbor Aspen to the west and Vail to the east. The racers, the volunteers and the town form a community of folks who do this over and over again each year.

The race meeting was focused on the family feel – racers introduced by their tenure (stand if you’ve done this 10 times, 11 times, etc.). Armstrong’s coach Chris Charmichael was introduced, then Floyd (place went nuts). During of all of the melee, reining champion Dave Weins was sitting in a corner by himself. He’s a humble and approachable guy, and one of the guys in our group trains with him during the spring. So, we gave Dave some company – his advice, “the race is really tough, especially the 4.8 miles of 10%-30% Powerlines at the end. If you are feeling OK, trust me, dial it back.”

Medical checks and pre-meeting out of the way, it was time to get all of the gear ready for the race.

We stayed in two houses in Leadville (one with an interesting lavatory option – indoors or an outdoor option – see picture) and had a support crew to man the 2 critical feed zones – this meant that we could carry less food / drink mix / tubes / extra clothes, etc. The night before we met and set up all of the logistics. One of our support guys has an adventurous spirit and wanted to shuttle back and forth between feed stations – we thought we’d talked him out of that as he was manning the critical aid station. We got all of our supplies loaded into two cars for the support teams and headed to bed.

Kent and Brad’s goal was to place high. Steve, Alan and I had a goal of making it in before the 12 hour cutoff. Everybody in by then gets a shiny silver belt buckle.

Race Day! Steve and I left the house at 6a to get down to the start (just 3 blocks from our house) – looked to be a beautiful day as the sun rose over the mountains behind us. It was about 40 degrees, so we were pretty bundled up at the start in prep for the downhill section for the first 5 miles.



The gun went off and we kept things moving as we were warned that that first climb was pretty narrow and if you didn’t hit the first climb towards the front of the pack, you’d be walking as 1,000 people tried to squeeze into the narrowing trail. Alan, Steve and I picked our way up the sides and I managed to make it up the first climb without having to put a foot down.

As we came over the top, a woman crashed right in front of Alan, without any chance for him to react. He couldn’t avoid her and rode right over her rear wheel. Steve and I swerved and stayed up. Alan caught back on and we descended to the base of the second climb. As we climbed were talking about the woman that had crashed, hoping she was OK. A voice from behind said, “I’m fine – it was me.” We rode up most of that climb four wide on the road – with Laura from Aspen who’s husband was also in the race.

Steve, Alan and I rode together to the top of the 2nd climb and then started the infamous section of the trail known as the Powerlines. This is a steep, 4.8 mile, rutted-out, and sharp loose rocks to boot -- a nasty descent. I hadn’t thought there was much technical about Leadville, until then. This was a real mountain bike descent. We’d have to come back up this at the end of the race.

It was pretty much single-file traffic as the ruts were at least a foot deep and crossing one to pass meant risking your health (and your bike). I was three guys back from Alan and we were making good time.

About half-way down the climb the guy in front of me slipped into a rut and went head over heals. I swerved to avoid him and slipped into a foot deep rut and my bike went sideways. My rear tire right off the rim. Worse, in the process of untangling bikes and bodies, I lost my rear derailleur cable. As I stood beside the trail fixing my flat, I figured I’d get to the next feed station (which was mostly downhill) and try to rig a fix.

The only cog left in the rear was the 11 (hardest, but also fastest). I pushed it pretty hard down the descent – trying to minimize the gap to Alan and Steve – hoping to catch back up to them at the feed station.

The feed zone was filled with crews – hundreds of people. Finding your crew turned out to be a pretty tough challenge. Luckily Steve had a pretty bright jersey on and I could see him pulling away from Tom, our crew in this stop. I wanted to catch Alan and Steve, so I grabbed a bottle from Tom, gave him my empty and he insisted I take a bar for food. I had most of my food at the next feed, but reluctantly took it and put it in my jersey pocket (thank God). As I pedaled out of the feed zone, I looked for anyone with a bike stand and tools that might be able to help with my cable problem. No luck.

The trail was pretty flat and wide open leaving the station and I could see Steve and Alan ahead about a half-mile, so I pushed it pretty hard to try to catch them. I was gaining ground, but then the trail pitched up and my legs started to protest the lack of gears. I’ve never understood the allure of single-speed mountain bikes and now I was on a heavily over-geared one. Folks rode by, looked at my chain in the small cog and gave me strange looks.

Unfortunately, the next 15 miles had a good bit of up – nothing too steep, but enough to hurt, especially with the altitude. About half-way to the next feed zone, there were two guys waiving flags at the top of a steep (really steep) short downhill section. They told us to slow as a guy had a severe leg break at the bottom and couldn’t be moved and was still in the trail. I hit the brakes and started to slide down. My rear wheel hit a sharp rock and pssst – 2nd flat of the day. Got the flat fixed and was now down to one tube left.

I continued down the descent and got to the bottom just as a helicopter was landing to evacuate the guy with the broken leg. No one could pass until the helicopter was out of the way. Once he landed, we were able to pass.

Reality started to set in – rather than trying to make 12 hours, I was going to suffer to make the cutoffs along the course. And I was having to really push it just to do that.
After a couple mile climb up a ridge, we hit pavement and a guy yelled that it was a mile to the feed zone. I’d taped a piece of paper with the cut off times and my targeted split to my handlebar. The cutoff time for this feed zone was 4 hours.

We’d planned on hitting this feed in about 3 hours, but it was already almost 4 hours due to the flats and helicopter delay. Time for a shift in objectives. About a half-mile down the hill, I came into a corner way too fast. I hadn’t gotten enough air pressure into the tire and I rolled it and flatted again!

Stopping to fix it meant risking the cut-off, so I rode down on the flat (not recommended unless you enjoy fishtailing) and ran my bike through the feed zone so I could get to the middle of it and check in to make the cut off. A guy grabbed me as I was running and said he could help with my flat. “I can’t miss the cut-off.” He said that there was no cutoff here, it was at 8 hours. I looked and he had a full mechanic set-up. Bike stand, tools, etc. He fixed the cable and the flat.

While he worked on the bike I scouted around for our crew at this stop. Our man at this stop (the adventurer) was no where to be found. When the mechanic completed the repair, he said, “You really need to hustle, you’ve got about 3.5 hours to get to the top of the Columbine climb and descend back here to make the cut off.”

I pedaled through the rest of the feed zone and didn’t see our guy. As I left the feed zone I made a crucial misjudgment. Panicked about the time cut, I didn’t go back to the neutral station and at least get water. It was about a half-mile back and I figured I didn’t have the time. Bad decision.

The beast of the race is the Columbine climb and this was the foot of it. We’d top off at 12,600 feet after 2.5 hours of climbing. I started the climb with an empty Camelbak and a half bottle of water. There were some folks who’d hiked up about a half mile and they were kind enough to fill my water bottle to the top.

I was hot, the sun was baking and after about a hour, I was out of water again. The course is an out and back – make it to the top of the Columbine and you turn around and come back. This meant that the pros were descending while the rest of the mortals were climbing. We stayed right as they buzzed by on the descent. Floyd came by in hot pursuit of reining champ Dave Weins.

The descent was rough – wash board, loose sharp rocks and some ruts. I was so rough that as guys descended, some of their water bottles flew out. Keeping yourself fed with calories and liquids is crucial and I’d only eaten one bar and some gel in 4.5 hours. Desperate (and really thirsty), I went into scavenger mode. I grabbed the next full bottle I saw lying on the trail and filled mine with it. I was a pink liquid that after a few sips it turned out to be Red Bull – caffeine is a bad option when dehydrated so had to dump that and find another bottle.

My shifter was working well enough that I could most of the climb and I passed about a hundred people, many walking. This climb provided a lot of time to think and with 3 flats, 30 miles of no shifting and no food from the feedzones, I started to think about how nice it would be to maybe not make the cutoff. This started to sound especially good when a section of really steep loose rock meant everyone had to get off the bike and push. Steve and Alan came by (my split to them at this point was now almost an hour). Finally, we were way above the treeline at 12,600 feet, and the top was in site (really beautiful and above tree line – here’s a shot of it):



I grabbed a handful of pretzels while the guys at a neutral feed filled my Camelbak and bottle. Good – now I’d have enough liquid to make it down to the feed with something to drink! They told me if I hustled, I could make the cut-off at the base with ease. About half way down the descent, you, guessed it, flat #4! This time the front wheel flatted. This was now my last tube. I kicked the dirt, fixed the flat and started descending again. About 5 minutes later, I hit a rut on a corner hard and pssst! Flat #5 and no tube! Can you make this stuff up? No food, no water, no tubes, no shifting -- bad, bad karma!

It was going to be a long walk down. Two people passed me and pretended not to hear me begging for a tube. Then a third stopped and offered a tube. By this time, my arm was beginning to ache from all of the air pumping. I put 200 pump strokes into this tube so that it wouldn’t pinch flat on the way down.

I got to the feed zone, looking for our crew. Once again, Mr. Adventurer was no where to be found. I made the cut off with 12 minutes to spare, even with the flats and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But digging deep to stay in the race meant I really needed some food and the guy wasn’t there.

As I headed out of the feed, I begged a tube off of a little girl who’s dad had just passed through and started the 15 mile journey to the next feed. Hopefully, Tom would be there with another insurance tube.

That next 15 miles was long. I passed a couple of folks but mostly didn’t see a soul. Riding through this section with a group allows you to draft and stay out of the wind. No such help at the back of the pack.

The last feed was at mile 75, just before heading up the Powerlines climb. At this point, doing the Leadville 75 was starting to sound pretty good. I’ve never had a DNF in a race – a streak that’d promised to try and make a lifetime one. I preach to our kids all the time that, “McNeills don’t quit”, but quitting sounded pretty darn good.

Hey, I’d made it up the Columbine, survived all of the mechanicals and lack of food. Packing it in, didn’t sound so bad. To boot, there was a 9 hour cut off at the next feed zone and the sweep cars would be ready. Heck, Tom might even give me a ride back! I could shower, rest up and walk down to the finish to meet the guys. That sounded like a pretty good option.

When I came in to the feed zone the official said, “8:59 – congrats, you’re the last one through.” Dang it! What? You’re kidding, right? Are you sure the race clock is really that accurate?

Tom was still there (what a guy). He didn’t have a tube, but did have a cold bottle and the neutral feed folks filled my now dry Camelbak. I tried to duck out, “Tom, I don’t think I’ve got another 3-4 hours in these legs. It’s been a tough day.”

It was pretty clear by the look on his face that Tom wasn’t going to offer up a lift in the car.

Tom said, “Jon your bike has thrown you a ton of curves, why don’t you just hang in until your body collapses? If you do, they will get you out. The sweepers are now following on ATVs. You’ve come all the way out here, you don’t want to have to do this again do you?”

That was all I needed to hear. Off to the Powerlines climb with Tom riding beside me on the road until my turnoff onto the dirt. This climb really hurt. It’s very steep and loose. I could ride it about 3-4 miles an hour or walk it 1.5 miles an hour. I didn’t want to be on the thing for two hours (we still had another climb to go), so I rode as much of it as I could. The 30% grade sections were soul-busters.



The guys on ATVs passed me several times. They asked me to give them a thumbs up if I was OK, a thumbs down if I needed to get swept. I managed to pass a number of people on that climb. After about an hour, I saw the ATV guys standing in the trail near the top and thought to myself, this is it, I’m finally getting swept. Instead, when I reached them they said, “keep going, we won’t sweep you for another 2 hours and you’re going to make it.”

Once you open up the scavenger instinct, it’s hard to stop it. I barreled down the descent and hit the brakes hard when I saw a tube lying on the trail that had fallen out of someone’s jersey – insurance tube!

Half way down the climb, some road marshals were still there blocking traffic. A racer from Kentucky whom I’d met on the 2nd climb of the day was sitting on the pavement beside their car, waiting for a ride back. “Come on Kentucky!,” I shouted, “Let’s finish this out together – it’s downhill for another couple of miles!”

“Yeah, and then it’s uphill for 5 miles, no thanks,” he replied.

The last climb was mostly on pavement – once again the Camelbak and bottle ran dry. Just about a mile from the top, Kentucky passed me. “I’m back in, let’s go.” Finally, some company. Then, he dropped me! Off he pedaled.

After about 5 minutes I could hear music and voices. Was I hallucinating or were they chanting my name? What the heck?

“Come on Jon-boy!” “Get up here Jonny” “Let’s go Boston, come on!”

I pulled in to a neutral feed that I hadn’t even noticed on the way out and asked if they had water – next thing I knew, my Camelbak was off and getting filled, I was handed a cup of cold Sprite and the chief official walked up and said, “We’ve been waiting for you Jon, you’re our Guts and Glory guy this year.”

“What, you mean I’m in last place?”

“Oh, no, about a 100 people have dropped out already behind you and there are a few more still on the course behind you. However, you’re the only guy that we think is going to make it in by dark. We hear you’ve had some bike problems. Hang in there, overcome it. You look strong. You’ve got a mile to the top and then a 3 mile descent and then about 8 miles up to the finish. GO!”

That last mile went for a long time and then the descent. It was getting dark, I didn’t want to flat, so took it easy. It wasn’t so much the time – it seemed pretty likely that if I stopped to change a flat something could pop out of the woods and eat me.

When I cleared the descent it became clear that the darkness wasn’t because the sun was fading behind the mountains, but because clouds were moving in. It was starting to rain. I started praying pretty hard, “please God, I’m just one insignificant guy in an insignificant bike race, but if you could hold off on a downpour for an hour or so, I’d be really, really grateful.”

About 3 miles on sand and dirt and then finally pavement. At each road crossing, the volunteers shouted “Guts and Glory – keep going!” There’s not much to be said for last place, but gosh, I could get used to the first name service.

After a 4 mile detour around Leadville on a dry stream bed (where do all of the loose rocks come from in this state?), I hit finally the finishing straight just before dark. The rain had held off (thanks).

A team of volunteers were lining the streets and cheering. One of the officials who’d seen me at 3 stops ran up and slapped me so hard on the back I thought I was going to fall off the bike. “You made it you mother-[beep]!”

These folks were screaming so hard it made me feel like I’d won the darn race. No belt buckle, but it was almost as satisfying. Heck, the newspaper took a photo of the last finisher – I’d share the pages of the paper with Weins and Landis!

13 hours and 15 minutes after starting, I was finally done. Blind stubbornness – it pays ;)

Steve and Alan earned a belt buckle coming in around ~11:30 (way to go guys!). Kent was on pace to finish in the top 20, but couldn’t find our man in the feed zone either for a much needed tube and had to wait 35 minutes at the top of Columbine for some help with his flat. He still finished in around eight hours. Brad was just behind him. All five of us covered the 100 miles. Let’s hear it for the Flatlanders!

PS -- I still don’t know what happened to our local feed zone guy. I’ll be sure to forward his intensive care room number once one of us tracks him down ;)