White Mountains 100

The White Mountains 100 race has been on my radar for a few years. It is a very popular race that takes place about 40 miles north of Fairbanks, AK in late March. This year (2017) the race took place on March 26th. Because it is so popular entry is by lottery. This year I decided to put my name in for the lottery -which took place in December 2016- and see if I get in. I did not get in, and was number 24 on the wait list. Needless to say, I thought there was no way I could get in.

Then in February this year (or maybe late January) I managed to mess up my ribs, which didn't particularly help with my riding or training for any event. Out of shape as I was, I figured I'd just do the Trio in Talkeetna -a 60 mile race on some sweet singletrack followed by a great party. The Thursday before the Trio (March 9th) my friend Tim told me that he had just gotten into the WM100 and that I would probably get in too  as they only had two or three more people ahead of me on the wait list. At the post-Trio party the topic of the WM100 wait list came up and I said "if I get invited I'll do the race." Yes, I still thought there was no way I would get in.

Monday after the Trio (March 13) I get a text message from my friend Tony saying "you are in! you are in!" but I never got an email with the formal invitation to the WM100. The day after I emailed the race director and said that I had never received the email inviting but I wanted in, so I was put on the official roster March 15(in retrospect, this minor hiccup was a sign of things to come). Twelve days to train for a hundred miler, in the snow, with ~8,000ft of climbing. I got this...

Inspired by the inimitable Jill Fucking Simek, I immediately got on with my 12 day training plan (essentially going on a couple rides with some extra gear hanging from my bike) and left arrangements such as where to stay in Fairbanks before and after the race for the last minute because... well, that's how I roll. To continue with the theme started by the missing email, Tuesday before the race we found out my wife's car would not be out of the shop as expected. So I needed to find a ride to go to Fairbanks. On Saturday. No problem, by Thursday I had a plan ready which involved riding to Fairbanks with Tim K, and then back to Anchorage Monday with Rob C. I also managed to book a room at the Airbnb that Tim K was staying. My half assed WM100 attempt was taking shape. Was I panicking about what to bring with me for the race and whether my feet would freeze on the forecasted sub-zero weather? Why, yes I was!

Anyway, Saturday came and to Fairbanks we went. I can't thank Tim K enough for not only driving my sorry behind to Fairbanks, but also sharing his knowledge about the race and helping me figure out what to bring along -and stop fretting about it. Once in Fairbanks we went to the pre-race mandatory meeting where the race director commented on the unusual amount of people that had dropped out and allowed them to go through the entire wait list. Specially remarkable was the amount of Fairbanks bikers that had dropped... did they know something we didn't???

Sunday morning, early we went to Wickersham Dome Trail Head. The place where the race started, at mile 38 of the Elliot Highway (pretty much the middle of nowhere) There I was provided with a Spot Tracker and did the final check in. This was it, nothing left to do but ride a 100 miles! The weather was cold -about zero or so at the start- and expected to be colder on some of the valleys. But the forecast was for much warmer temperatures as the sun went up.

Eight o'clock and off we went. I'm always amused by the mad scramble that happens on the start of these endurance races. It is a 100 mile race, it will take the fastest people close to ten hours to finish -skiers and walkers 15 to 20 hours- but everybody has to sprint to be ahead, because those twenty seconds will make a difference... The race does start with a climb, and then more climbing. I quickly realized I was overdressed, and probably should have stopped to change layers earlier than I did as I was sweating. But overall I did swap layers at a reasonable point. The trail was relatively fast, but some snowmachines with paddle tracks had been on it and it was squirrely for the first 20 or 25 miles.

The first check point came quick, at mile 17. I stopped for a glass of gatorade and some water (one of my best decisions of the day) and kept going. I would like to point out that the first checkpoint is preceded by a steep, one mile climb, straight up. No turns, just one mile of grinding. A few of those on this race. Shortly after the checkpoint, I saw Tim K get off trail and do an endo. He was ok, so I kept going only to do the same a few hundred yards after. Like I said, it was squirrely.

Not too long after that, about mile 20 or 21, at the bottom of a hill my derailleur decided to throw the chain into the spokes. Dafu... As I tried to figure out what the heck was going on, several people passed me. Eventually Tony caught up with me and suggested it could be a bent hanger. I pulled on the derailleur and "cave maned" it into submission -or at least got it to where it would work without skipping too much. So 80 miles to go and a messy derailleur. Do I keep going or turn around? Did I mention that on this race if you have to be evacuated it would be $200? And I wouldn't catch a snowmachine ride back to the start until Monday afternoon? Decisions, decisions... Who am I kidding? the thought of turning around didn't last more than a second. I kept going.

And glad I did, the trail got smooth and fast not long after that. My drivetrain wasn't working great, but it was good enough. And it was starting to warm up. My jacket had frozen and turned to cardboard when I stopped but, meh... only a few miles to the next checkpoint at a warm cabin with baked potatoes. Then at mile 25 I tried to drink from my camelbak and found out the jacket wasn't the only thing frozen... Yep. Camelbak hose was frozen, which meant no water until the next checkpoint at mile 39. But remember the gatorade I got at checkpoint 1? At the speed I was going and having drank that water, I was pretty sure I'd be ok for water until the checkpoint. My strategy worked, and I made it to the cabin. Tony B was at the cabin too and asked how my day was going, "my derailleur is skipping and my camelbak froze. Other than that, is not going too bad." I ate my baked potato, drank some hot water and waited until my camelbak thawed out and then set off towards the Cache Mountain Divide. The highest point on the race.

The climb towards the Divide isn't too bad, a gradual ascent with some turns on it. At least it wouldn't be with a bike that can shift into the low gears. Mine did not want to do that. Another racer said he had had similar problems and had been able to bend his hanger back to where it would shift. I was afraid to keep tugging at the hanger, what if it finally snaps? So I climbed the divide on a taller gear than I should have. Made my way up along the spruce forest, out above tree line and got to the top. And then we descended. A glorious descent on a packed trail under a clear blue sky. Following the descent we got into the Ice Lakes, which were not icy but covered in snow. That was another super fun segment. Ridden on that direction, you have a 1 or 2 percent grade working for you, and with a smooth trail it made for fast sailing. I mean riding.

Following the lakes was some sweet trail through the woods, still mostly downhill as we kept shedding elevation. I got to checkpoint 3 as Tim K and a couple other friends were ready to leave. I was feeling good and figured I'd stop for a quick bowl of soup and then move on, see if I could catch up with them (also chasing a finish under twelve hours, which seemed feasible at the time) So in I went, opened my camelbak to see how much water I had. Ate my meatball soup (seriously, the checkpoints are the best on this race. They had baked potatoes on one and freaking soup on this one!) As I was getting ready to leave I noticed water where all  my gear was... uh, oh... long story short: I didn't close my camelbak bladder properly and it had leaked. So my quick stop lasted an extra ten minutes as I tried to dry the darned thing so I wouldn't freeze my butt.

My disappointment from the wasted time quickly faded away, as the trail continued to be amazingly fun. And fast. I made pretty good time to the next, and last, checkpoint at mile 80. The Borealis Cabin. I decided to have a really short stop at this checkpoint because I still had a (slim) chance to make it to the finish under 12hrs. I left the checkpoint at about 5:30 pm, that left me with 2:30 hours to finish -or an average speed of 8mph for the last 19 miles. Ambitious, yes, but not impossible.

After the Borealis cabin you descend just a bit more, to the lowest (and coldest) spot on the route, and then it is pretty much all uphill. With some serious climbs and the looming threat of The Wall on the horizon. The (in)famous Wichersham Wall, a nasty, steep climb about 7 miles from the finish line. Being a rookie, I had never climbed that but I had heard that it was nasty (spoiler alert: it was). I kept making my way towards it, alternating between "I'd be lucky if I finish under 13hrs" and "I'm going to be under 12" as I went along. At mile 90 there is an aid station, some volunteers with water, Coke, and snacks. It is not a mandatory stop, but I decided that some caffeine would be a good idea before The Wall. So I stopped for a glass of Coke. The volunteers there, like every other one that day, were super-friendly, full of smiles and cheers. A huge thank you to all of them.

Then, seven miles from the finish I hit the wall. Literally and figuratively. Another racer just in front of me was able to ride half or more of The Wickersham Wall. Without access to my lowest gear (remember my skippy derailleur?) I had to walk the whole thing. And all the effort trying to finish under 12 hours caught up with me. Or maybe I didn't eat enough as I pushed my bike up, and the temperature started to drop. I don't know. All I can say is that the push up The Wall and the six miles that followed were hard. Really hard and slow. But then I got to the last downhill, and cruised towards the finish line crossing it with a finish time of  12:23. They rang the bell and gave me my finisher's belt buckle. No, I didn't break 12 hours, but finishing under 12:30 isn't bad considering that two weeks before the race I wasn't even going to do it, and I had to fight a malfunctioning derailleur for 80 miles.

All things done, I had a great time and I will do this race again. The course is nothing short of spectacular, and the event is incredibly well run. From the race-provided GPS trackers, to the food and supplies at the checkpoints, medical team on the course, and warm trailers for the racers to relax after they are done. Next year I'll be putting my name in for the lottery again. And no matter where I end on the wait list, I will be training for it.

Kenai 250 Short version

This was my third attempt at the Kenai 250. The weather was bound to be awful (it always is) and there were rumors that the top of Lost Lake was still covered in snow. Right before starting, another racer who lives in Seward confirmed snow at the top, reportedly 6 miles that people were skiing Wednesday! Oh brother... Anyhow, off we went at 9am on Friday starting at the Seaview Cafe in Hope. The route this year had us climbing up Resurrection, down Devils Pass trail, up the road to Johnson Pass north trailhead. Ride Johnson Pass south to Moose Pass, then go to Primrose -with a small detour to ride Crown Point singletrack- ride the Old Iditarod trail to 12 mile trail head, back up the highway for about a mile to Troop Lake trailhead so you can ride the Old Iditarod trail to Bear Lake, then ride to Seward, have a burrito, ride Lost Lake back to Primrose; the highway to Tern Lake. Take the Old Sterling to Sunrise, then Snug Harbor Road to Russian Lakes, go around and then ride Resurrection back to Hope. Clear, right?

 So off I went at 9 am, rode Resurrection without much issue. Decent weather actually, and trail was nice.

The view was gorgeous. Down Devils was ok, but my choice of a fully rigid bike wasn't entirely optimal. Specially on the rock gardens, but on the other hand it prevented me from going too hard. So there is that. At the bottom of Devils I regrouped with Jill, my riding partner for the weekend. We had a lot of fun, if not success last year so I couldn't ask for a better riding partner. And getting to witness the recording of some of her video logs was totally worth it. If you haven't watch those videos you should. Seriously.

 Where was I? Oh, yes at the Devils Pass trailhead. From there we hit the road to Summit Lake lodge for pizza. And that's when it started to rain, and headwinds and eff you weather, really. After a longer-than-needed-but-it-was-warm-there stop at the lodge we took off and rode the rest of the road (and bike path) to Johnson Pass. It was raining at this point. At the trailhead we saw Alec C, Tim K and Josh D, and I think Ana and Jim J either passed us right there or were a little ahead. I started down the trail and let me tell you, it was muddy and overgrown. Like going through a freaking car wash honestly. I got cold, cranky, cold, cranky, and my right knee started to hurt at some point.

I passed Ana and Jim and Tim passed me, Jill ended up behind me apparently cold and thinking about spending the night there (thanks for not letting her do it, Julie) and I got to Moose Pass, in time to order dinner. But cold, in a bad mood and with a sore knee. At the restaurant it was quite a party. A party of tired, dirty cyclists with wet gear all over the place but a party nevertheless. My initial plan was to ride to Crown Point that night, or even further. But at some point in the warm restaurant a decision was made to camp in Moose Pass. I think it was six or seven of us that ended at the gravel pad about a mile north that night, merrily drinking margaritas off muddy cups. Thanks to the Fucking Singlespeeders, seriously thank you guys that was awesome!

 The next morning we eventually left camp, later than we should but hey, is not a race. No, wait it is. Whatever, we weren't going to win anyway. Had coffee at Moose Pass, rode Crown Point -totally worth stopping and doing the little loop if you haven't done it. The climb on the fire road is steep but the descent is sweeeet! And then down the narrow road to Primrose. At this point my knee was hurting. I'm not sure why, I think my saddle may have been a little lower than it should -I have a suspicion my seatpost slipped- and there was a slip on Johnson pass but I can't pin-point when or why it started to hurt. But hurting it was as I started on the Old Iditarod Trail.

This north section off Primrose isn't too bad, actually has some fun sections. Just remember it will be slower than the 6 miles and no big climbs suggest. After that, we got onto the south side of the Old Iditarod trail. The Bear Lake side. Not a mile in, we run into a hiker with three large dogs. Three large dogs that charge me growling and barking. One of them actually bites me. I yell at the guy "your freaking dog just bit me!!!" while pulling my bear spray. And what does he say "yeah, spray them!" Some people... at least he was polite, seemed genuinely concerned about me and apologize. I saw that the dog hadn't really harmed me and kept going... only to be followed by one of his freaking dogs still barking and growling at me. At that point I lost it. As Jill can attest I had some choice words for the dog. Who must have believed I was going to bear spray the shit out of him if he came close because he turned around. Anyway, as if I didn't like that trail already a fucking dog charged me. Some days...

At the bottom of the freaking-hill we pushed up last year and, to be honest I pushed some of it going down because that hill freaking sucks. Have I told you I don't like this trail? At the bottom of that hill I stopped to wait for Jill, there is a turn that is easily missed so I waited and took a selfie. #theoldiditarodtrail And then it started to rain.

 All day weather had been ok, even a bit of sunshine. But now it really opened up. It was only six miles or so to Seward, but I was soaked when we got to La Cantina. I think this is a good time to inform you that my rain jacket has apparently given up on being waterproof. Either that or the car wash like riding in Johnson Pass left it saturated. So there we were at La Cantina buying burritos, cold and trying to figure out what to do next. It was too early to quit for the day, so we had to at least start on Lost Lake. My knee hurt worse, but I figured I could still go. We checked on Trackleaders -sssssh, don't tell anyone- and I figured out it was only about 2 miles of pushing on Lost Lake. So fortified with burritos, drier, and with a spare burrito for tomorrow's breakfast and a warm Coke on our packs off we went! (Warm Cokes because they ran out of the ones in the fridge, the lady at La Cantina was really embarrassed. We didn't care)

 Lost Lake was actually good, all things considered. The trail was really good almost to the lake and then the snow was patchy for about two miles. Maybe it was the fact that I thought it would be worse. Maybe it was the beautiful scenery, but I actually enjoyed most of it.

It was cold, though. And windy, not surprising if you have been there before. So I put on literally every layer I had, including rain pants and kept on. After layering up eventually I started feeling my toes again. We stopped to eat a snack and drink a beer before descending.

The descent wasn't that good though. My knee hurt, bad, every time I stood up. On a rigid bike that made riding over the roots on that trail extremely difficult and painful. At that point I realized that I would not finish. I had already told Jill throughout the day that I didn't think I could do it, the knee was bad. But I think deep down I still thought I could push through it. I knew I risked a serious injury but I didn't want to quit two years in a row. The descent, however, made it clear I wouldn't be able to ride the trails on Russian or Resurrection. The climbs I could manage, slow and it hurt a little but I could do it. The descents however, were not going to work. The day wasn't over though.

 We got to Primrose and, obviously, nowhere to camp there. We had already discussed going back to Crown Point and camp by the lake. Get up early and get coffee at Moose Pass. But when we got to Crown Point some people had taken over the whole damn place. Parked their trucks and ATVs blocking the trail. We decided that they obviously didn't want company and kept going back to where the day started. We camped at the same gravel pad, exactly same spot. I had a decent night of sleep, but the next morning my knee still hurt. As you can see I was really happy when I got up.

At about 9:30 we left our home away from home. It is funny that we spent both nights there, on the other hand it is a good spot to camp.

I had my cold burrito and drank my Coke, and I told Jill I was done. She wouldn't have it. She didn't want me to quit, and I really thank her for that. Seriously. On the road to Tern Lake she fell behind me, she said she had to peel off some layers. Maybe she realized I needed to be by myself. I won't lie and say it was an easy decision. It wasn't a hard one either, I knew what I had to do since the moment I finished riding Johnson Pass. My knee was hurt and if I kept going I would make it worse and possibly cause a serious injury. As it was, a lingering ankle issue was flaring up again. It is never easy to quit one of these. It is never easy to accept defeat. A part of you keeps saying that you CAN keep going, no matter what the reason is you shouldn't quit. At some point on those five or six miles between Moose Pass and the Sterling Highway junction I came to terms with it though.

I waited for Jill and bid her goodbye. She'd continue on to have an amazing performance and finish that night after a 100 mile day. That Canadian is tough. Myself? I soft pedaled my way back to Hope on the road. About four miles from the Hope cut off Alicia D, who also scratched and was getting a ride from Seward saw me and stopped to offer me a ride back to Hope. I told them it was only 20 miles more (her friend thought that was funny, "only 20 miles, he says") and I'd feel better with myself if I at least rode back to Hope. Plus, they didn't want me on that car. I stank, and my shoes smelled like death. So I rolled back to Hope, changed into some clean clothes and drove back home. When I took of my socks I realized that my left ankle was very swollen, a cankle really, and I could feel my tendon on the back rubbing. So probably wise to quit. I guess.

 For those of you curious about gear, I rode a fully rigid 29r Gunnar Rockhound. I'd like to say it was a good choice and I think the knee issue is unrelated to it. But front supension -or fatter 29+ tires- may be a better choice. I carried my gear on a Revelate Viscacha seatbag -nothing to say other than it works great- a Revelate Sweetroll for the sleeping bag -the Sweetroll is a great piece of gear- a frame bag from when Revelate was Epic Designs (fuck you Specialized) and my trusty but no-longer-made Vaude backpack. All of it worked just fine. My sleeping setup consisted of an REI Flash sleeping bag, I really like that bag. Light and warm. An REI Flash sleeping pad, not the lightest, not the warmest, but I don't think you can beat the price/weight/warmth/comfort ratio for that pad. And because last year I had issues with condensation on my bivvy, this year I brought my MountainHardwear Sprite tent on the fat-pitch set up (footprint+fly) Being a floorless tent it lets bugs in. I brought a mosquito-net hood and... well, lets just say the set up needs work. The first night I was too close to the swamp and mosquitos bugged me (I'm so clever with my puns) the second night further from the swamp was better. But still, the system needs work.

 Other than that, the cankle is not as swollen and the knee feels better. Will I try it next year? Right now I'm saying no. But I'll probably change my mind.

Denali Classic Gravel Grinder 2015

After a less than stellar second cross season and a winter with almost no snow and more ice than ever, I was ready to hit road season. The lack of snow, combined with relatively warm March temperatures meant I could start road riding in March, which translates in more miles than usual for this time of the year. I have also either been doing it smarter or something, because I'm in fairly decent shape, from what I can see on my Strava log.

Anyway, the first long ride of the season was the Palmer Spring Classic brevet. This year I decided to go for the 200k (which being an Alaskan event means the route is longer than claimed, roughly 208 kilometers) Despite not having done any rides longer than 40 miles prior to it this year, I have to say the Spring Classic went really well. I rode with some friends who helped keep me in pace (thanks Nick and Chuk) and the day after I was feeling great.

Since then, more road riding and amazingly a few mountainbike rides. Again, the lack of snow allowed the trails to be dry a couple weeks earlier. This got me to Memorial Day weekend and the Denali Classic Gravel Grinder. For those who don't know, the Denali Classic is a race that happens every year on the Denali Highway here in Alaska. The Denali Highway is a 135 mile, mostly unpaved road between Cantwell and Paxson. To say it is a remote road may be understating it. There is nothing out there with the exception of a couple of lodges and a BLM campground. The race has been happening since 2006 or so, and it historically started at the Brushkana campground on mile 104 and had you go to Maclaren Lodge at mile 42, then go about 6 miles further to climb to the top of Maclaren Pass (elevation 4068ft, highest point in a road in Alaska) where you would turn around and go back to the start at Brushkana. The total mileage was about 135 miles.

Last year I participated on the race. I went all the way to the pass, headed back and about six miles past Maclaren Lodge I had a flat. Long story short, my poor planning relying on a CO2 inflator meant I didn't finish. I was very disappointed. Looking back, the disappointment from it was a very negative influence for the rest of the season.

2014, before the CO2 debacle

This year the organizer (the famous Rio) was able to get the race started at Maclaren Lodge. This meant several things, for starters the route would be obviously reversed. But it also meant a)rooms available instead of sleeping in a tent and b)showers. Did I mention nice, hot, clean showers? Yeah, that was nice. The Maclaren Lodge people were great, friendly and have really good food. Very recommended.

But back to the route change. Because the race now started at Maclaren Lodge, Rio decided to make it a two day stage race. Why? Because why not make it harder? The first stage, to happen on May 23rd was 125 miles, travelling from the lodge to Brushkana and back. The second stage, to happen on Sunday the 24th was to go from the lodge to the edge of pavement (roguhly 21 miles away) and back for a total of 42 miles. This second stage would start with the seven mile long climb to the top of Maclaren Pass.

Friday the 22nd came and we traveled to Maclaren Lodge. The trip was uneventful, but long. Even with that, the kids didn't complain too much. Like I said earlier, I felt in good shape I felt ready. But there was a catch. The temperature was forecasted to be in the 80s F. Yes, you read right 80 degree F weather in May on the Denali Highway. AS we drove there it was clear the forecast was right, not a cloud in the sky and the car thermometer read in the 80s until almost 8pm. At this point I should mention that after ten years living in Anchorage, I don't do well in the heat. Last year's Soggy Bottom made that very, very clear to me. So 80 degrees was not good news for me. It was actually bad news, and had me a bit stressed to be honest.

After settling in Friday, and seating at the lodge restaurant I asked the organizer what time were we starting Saturday. He said 10 am I said, nope. I'm leaving at 8 at the latest. Why? To cover as much ground as I can before it gets too hot. Most of the people doing the race had a similar idea and we settled for "I'll be up at six, let me know when you leave" Which is not a surprising answer from Rio, but that's another story.

The two guys I rode with last year, P and Z had the brilliant idea of doing the two stages on one day. Even if Z had been sick as dog the whole week before. They are that kind of guys. I was tempted to go with them, they are fun to ride with, but on the other hand I wanted to finish the Denali Classic. I wanted to do what I couldn't last year. So I decided to go on my own and leave at 7am.

7am came and, without a cloud in the sky and temperatures already in the upper 50s, off I went.

At this point I had devised an strategy: cover as much ground as I can before it gets hot, and then keep going as slow as I have to. This translated to a mad sprint to the turnaround at Brushkana and crawling back to the lodge. How mad was the sprint you ask? 4 hours and 10 minutes for those first 62 miles. Two guys also on the course started about an hour before me and didn't make it to the campground until at least 30 minutes after me. Yes, I'm bragging. But damn it, it was fast. And yes, Brushkana is at a lower elevation than the lodge so you are generally shedding elevation. But there are still some very big climbs as you can see on my Strava Log However, the "devil may care" attitude on the descents came with a price. I usually ride my cross bike with no gloves, and that day was not an exception. But the combination of fast descents on a very rough gravel road (seriously, there are mountainbike trails that are smoother) and all the dust resulted in some serious blisters on the bottom of my hands.

Those blisters would become more and more painful as the day went on.

But lets get back to Brushkana. I got there at about 11:10 or so. The wife of one of the racers had been kind enough to drive there and carry stuff for us, in my case water. Not only that but she also had a chair where I could seat for a few minutes in the shade. I can't thank her enough. After that I took off, only to find a headwind that would stay with me for the rest of the day. At this point the temperature was already hovering near 80, and I swear you can see my speed drop on the GPS log as the temperature goes up. Because it was so hot (at least hot by my standards) the headwind actually felt nice, it helped cool me down. But there is no denying the effect of a headwind. It isn't pleasant. To make matters worse, the road was very dry and some sections of sand were extremely soft. At some point I was pedaling through the deep sand, uphill and with a headwind. I know, poor me.

From the turnaround it is about 35 miles or so to the Matanuska River Bridge. All the way from the campground, I was planning on dunking my head in the cold river and washing off some of the sweat and dust. That kept me going through some of the nastier climbs out. When I got to the bridge I did wash my face, but there were these two characters there with an RV... They were very friendly, but, well... I didn't quite hear banjos but I didn't feel comfortable in my tight shorts if you know what I mean.

The climb out of the river was done in full heat. My Garmin 500 registered a temperature of 85 to 88 degrees all the way. It was painful for me. Like I said, the heat is not my friend. I shot down and have a hard time keeping going. But I did, I kept crawling my way back up. At some point I stopped to get in the shade of some alder bushes, because I just had to cool down. While I was stopped P passed on the way down, he had already gone to the top of the pass and was headed to Brushkana to do the whole 167 miles. Z had to stop after the first 42 miles,keep in mind the guy was coughing up a lung the whole week before. After talking with P I kept up. Got the Alpine Creek Lodge (roughly 25 miles from the end) where I had planned to stop and get a cold Coke and fill up my water bottles. But I looked at my time and saw that it was still possible for me to finish in less than 11 hours if I didn't stop. So I kept going. As I crested the climb, the wind picked up. What had been an annoying but at least cooling headwind became a viciously strong head or crosswind. It was reported that the gusts reached 30mph, and I believe it. There were instances of downshifting to maintain 12mph on a downhill, and times when the crosswind almost blew me off the bike.

About five miles from the end another racer (JJ) caught up with me -I should mention that because of the "start when you want" and my mad sprint on the first half I spent the first 120 miles or so riding by myself ahead of the rest of the pack. I told JJ I was surprised he hadn't caught up earlier (I had been crawling, really) and he said "lets ride together to the end." His pulling and just having company made those last miles a lot more pleasant and fast. And at some point, due to a weird turn of the road we even had a tailwind for about a quarter mile!

At about 5:45, ten hours and forty five minutes after leaving I was done. Sorry, no pictures of my finish because I actually got there too fast. Some of the sag cars that had picked up racers that bailed out had reported when they saw me, and people had predicted me back no earlier than six. Of all the reasons to not have pictures, being too fast is a pretty good one.

So I was done with day one. The blisters on my hands were sending needles every time I was on the hoods. I felt exhausted, I was mildly dehydrated and not quite ready to do any riding the day after. At this point several of the racers had dropped off, JJ was not going to do Sunday's stage and it seemed that I may be the only one even considering it. And what I was considering was not doing it. I couldn't do it, mentally I was done. A warm shower, a delicious dinner, beer... none of it changed my mind: I simply could not do it. My hands hurt too much. In the end I decided to go to bed and see how I felt in the morning. My wife and kids were superawesomely supportive and played along.

I fell asleep before 9pm. P would finish his crazy, mostly solo 167 miles around midnight for a total time of 17 hours and change. Amazing. Sunday I woke up around 7am, and begrudgingly got ready to ride. I did not want to do it. But I also didn't want to give up. I wanted to finish, and at least there were some clouds so it shouldn't be that hot. At 7:15 I took off.

The race director wasn't there to check me out, I didn't care. I didn't want to do this. But I had to. I had to finish. As I rolled out I told my wife to expect me back in five hours, or six. I felt weak, I felt defeated. My body had taken a beating in the heat the day before and my mind was crushed. I started up the long climb which I knew would continue for six or seven miles. About half a mile in the pain in my hands was unbearable. That was it. I could not keep going. I turned around and started down the hill. Screw it. It wasn't fun anymore. I wanted to quit, accept my failure for another year and go home.

But I didn't. I forced myself to calm down. I forced myself to put on some gloves and at least try. And I turned around, started up the hill again. Slowly crawled my way up. Granny gear on, one slow mile at a time. Just ride one more mile. And then just ride to the sign at the top of the pass. Just to say you climbed that. No matter how embarrassingly slow, you will get to the top. So swallow your pride and keep going. Slowly my legs felt better, I was able to find a hand position that was at least bearable. And I made it to the top of the pass. From then it was mostly downhill to the turnaround point. I knew all those downhills would be uphills on the way back, but I knew that I could do it. I knew it wasn't going to be fast but I didn't care anymore. I was going to finish. I got to the turnaround point in pretty good spirits. I even got a message on my cell from a friend congratulating me for my performance the day before, which was quite a surprise because there really isn't much cell coverage in this remote area. I stopped and ate a snack at the turnaround point and headed back. I was slow on the climb, but looking forward to the sweet six mile descent into the finish line. On the way back I passed another racer who must have started after me. I was smiling, I was happy, I was going to finish. The top of the pass came quicker than I thought it would. And then six plus miles of downhill, yes it was bumpy and my hands hurt but it was still fun!

At about 11 am, 3:45 minutes after starting I crossed the finish line. I once again surprised my wife, who didn't expect me back so soon. But this time she did manage to run out and take a picture of me.

Inside the restaurant, the race director informed me that not only had I finished, I was the winner! Of only four people to complete both stages I was the fastest, by several hours. I still feel that P was the winner of the weekend because he did it all in one day. But people keep telling me I won. At some point I may start believing it. I do know that I defeated some of my demons Sunday morning. And that was my biggest victory.

introduction

This was conceived as a blog about my mediocre-racing right after finishing the cyclocross season. But given what I have been doing this summer (in Alaska summer starts when the snow melts. At least for me it does) I think this will be more about endurance riding (off road and on both paved and unpaved roads), and cyclocross in the fall. With the occasional mountainbike race and maybe even road races!

Under construction. Check again later.