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 ;)
Kent and Jay climbing up the "col du vin."
Where do we go?
