Its zero-dark thirty AM, my crew follows me into the parking lot at Badwater. They pull up beside me. We are over half way through the race.
"I don't think I can finish this race", I told them.
"Okay......Why?" asked Crew member extraodinare Bob in a demanding tone.
Let me interpret his comment for you. What he was saying was get back on the bike and ride.
I searched my cranial cavity silently for reasons to quit. I bonked about 9 hours ago, my crotch is chaffed and changing the color of my chamois to plum from off white, I'm tired and I am not taking enough calories in to get out of the deficit I sank into earlier in the day.
I didn't say a word as I mounted the bike and we left.
"Try it for another hour" was Bob's suggestion.
This was a defining moment in my attempt. Thanks Bob.
When the event began, all was in order. I had filled up on Kostman's spagetti dinner and gotten a good night's sleep the night before. I told my crew not to be discouraged if I was the last rider up the first hill. That was the plan - go out easy and then ride consistent through the event.
We switched bikes at the top of the first climb. The Litespeed felt like a luxury liner compared to the stiff aluminum, GT, climbing bike I had built. I starting feeling bad as I neared the windmills, just like last year. This year it was not nearly as bad, though. I felt better after that little climb and began reeling in some riders - some of which would pass me back and some of which I would not see again.
I slowed way down for the climb up to Johannesburg. Its not very steep but fairly long. Meanwhile, other riders are pushing hard by me and then stopping. It reminded me of a binge and purge type behavior.
I swapped places with Owl, Raccoon, and some others for the next couple of hours. It was much hotter in the desert of California than it was in Idaho before I left. The heat was putting the hurt on me.
I was 18 minutes off of last years pace by the time I reached Trona. This was very discouraging to me. I crawled across the desert and up the hill that leads Panamint Valley. It felt great to soar down the other side. I tried to take in some calories before hitting the bottom. I was drinking what I thought was a lot of water. Later the crew would tell me I was not drinking enough. I just remember more water and salt tablets...water and salt....water and salt.
For those who have not had the pleasure, the road through Panamint Valley to the base of Towne Pass gives a whole new meaning to the term "wash board". I recommend a fully suspended mtn.bike for that portion of the race.
At the bottom of Towne Pass I climbed back on the GT - it felt great. I could have crawled up a wall with that bike. Great gearing and good climbing geometry. I climbed to Braveheart soundtrack, great CD. Once again the binge and purge riders came flying by me then were laying beside the road a couple of miles up. Must have been their poor choice of music. My crew coached me up the pass. Phew.......I was glad to be done with it. More water and salt.
I bundled up for the descent into Death Valley. Otter was recovering from his climb as I began down the long hill. We would see quite a bit of each other before we finished. Shortly before Stove Pipe Wells I stripped down to just my shorts. Damn.... it's even hot at night in that valley.
The night view of the star lit sky was incredible from Death Valley. I don't recall ever seeing that many stars before. Its a phenomenal place to be on a clear night. More water and salt.
At Furnace Creek I stopped and slept for about 1.5 hours. That felt so good. The heat seemed to wear me down alot. I did not recall feeling that tired when I did the Iowa Qualifier just a couple of months ago. I found out later that the crew passed the buck to my wife Deena for the task of waking me. Ya bunch of pansy's. Atleast that's her story. Again more water and salt.
From Badwater I could hear the buzzing of the Hornet for a couple of hours. Then I overheard her crew telling her how my legs looked skinny in the mirror. I looked like a skeleton they said. When I passed them, I had to confront them. We all laughed.
Prior to reaching the next climb diligent crew member Sara Varner (a.k.a. mom), opened the race book and began reading stories from the racers of yester-year over the PA speakers. This was very encouraging to me. I highly recommend it - not that my performance puts me in a position to recommend anything, but it worked for me.
By the time I reached the bottom of Salsberry and Jubilee passes the sky was lighting up in the east. I had never planned to be on that climb during daylight hours. Again I was very discouraged but kept riding. At the base I climbed aboard the GT again and mashed up the passes to the beat of Rage Against the Machine. Great climbing tunes.
Also at the bottom of this climb I began to feel hungry. YEHAW! I rejoiced in my hunger and ate a whole sandwich. My hunger would be short lived. By the time I reached the top I was in extreme pain from chaffing. It was the kind of pain that gives one a heat sensation and causes one to sweat a little harder until it subsides. I hate that. More water and salt. Prior to finishing the climb, Otter passed me.
Finally Shoshone. Now the long flat to the Ibex pass descent. Damn, it's hot and where the hell did this headwind come from? To this day I still do not understand how the wind can continue to blow into one's face even when the road twists and turns. At each turn the wind seemed to blow directly into my face. Suck it up and pedal on. It will only last for about forty miles. My crew stops for refreshments in Shoshone and when they catch me I am informed that many riders have dropped out. I pass Albatross after descending Ibex. She appears to be in pain and is no longer singing.
I took a couple of food breaks on the road to Baker. My crew covered me with cold wet towels each time, then took the opportunity to shoot photos of me looking silly. Apparently they were now officially bored?
I fixated on the thermometer towering over the freeway as I approached Baker. Otter was already there and taking a break. "Ninety seven degrees..hmmmmmm........ that's why I feel so hot."
Meanwhile my crew was trying to estimate my finish time. "2 AM", said Bob.
"No way, 11pm max" I replied.
Apparently my dried out gray matter was not calculating too well at this point. I was way off. More water and salt.
I felt good on the long gradual climb to out of Baker. Otter departed shortly after I did and caught me. We chatted for a few minutes. The road conditions sucked up that climb and only got worse as the event progressed. With the tax base the "People's Republic of California" has, how could the roads be so bad?
*Crew member Bob*
You left Otter on the grade out of Baker, after riding and talking with him,
(we gave his crew a drink of some sort to help him with his digestive problem
- he didn't like it) then you went screaming down the grade into that thriving
metropolis, Kelso. Darkness was beginning to fall as you mounted the GT for the
climb out of Kelso.
By the time I reached Kelso it was getting dark. What exactly is Kelso? There was a very old train station and a couple other buildings. More water and salt.
I started suffering again on the climb out of Kelso. The crew talked to me while I jumped out of the saddle occasionally for a change in riding position. Now it was dark again and I was unable to tell where the top was. I hate that.
A vehicle pulled aside my crew and was talking with them. Because of the headlights I could not tell who it was. I thought it might be CHP or San Bernardino County. It turned out to be Kudo. He pulled out of the event last night. Next he drove up beside me.
"Need any food" he asked.
"No I'm bonking just fine with the food I have", I thought to myself.
I informed him I did not need any, but it was kind of him to offer. Thanks Kudo!
*Crew Member Bob*
On the way up the pass, I thought you were looking good, (better than the night
before). Then, I noticed lights slowly coming up the pass. One headlight seemed
to be blinking off and on at irregular intervals. "What is that?" I ask the rest
of the crew. No one could proffer an answer. None the less, whatever it was, it
was getting closer. Soon music could be faintly heard from behind us, then got
louder. The lights got brighter and dancing in the bubble of brightness was Otter.
Where the hell did he come from? He went by us in a chorus of cheers as we spurred
the two of you on. In moments, the blinking tail lights of his van were all we
could see.
That was to be the last we would see of Otter until the finish. (Actually, we did catch him as he was fixing a flat, just after we were stopped by the CHP. We pulled over just ahead of him to feed you and they went off into the night).
Then Kudo came by with such delectable temptations as Milky Ways, Snickers, Ensure, ice, and water. You graciously declined.
The down hill that followed the climb out of Kelso was fantastic. It seemed to go on forever. I was happy to be racking up some miles at a high rate of speed with minimal effort. Then it happened. The CHP had seen our blinking lights from the freeway, exited, pursued us and pulled us over. Kostman was right. Keep your race permits accessible. Back on the bike. This gave Otter some ground on us but we would soon catch him and jockey positions again...and again.
I took my last break at the last time station in Amboy. The entire portion for the ride during the second night was very dark and still has me wondering. What does it look like out there? Now the climb over Sheephole Mtn. All the way up I kept wondering what kind of name is Sheephole? And who named it that?
We passed some kids who were broke down on the side of the road. They made lewd remarks and hollered obscenities after we passed. Nice people up there on Sheephole. The climb was extremely steep at the top. Otter made it over the top before I could, even though I watched his blinking lights all the way up. I would not see his support vehicle again until the finish line.
Finally after reaching the top and descending to valley below I was on the last stretch. What lie ahead I had not prepared myself for. It was only about 20 miles of flats. The problem was that my crotch was now so sore that I could no longer get into the aero position and the wind was blowing in my face. I felt like I was barely moving toward the lights of 29 Palms. I jumped in and out of the saddle for a good portion of the twenty miles in an effort to get it over with.
Additionally, I kept catching glimpses of people in the shadows on the side of the road. What were all those people doing out there in the middle of the night? I guess I can attribute that to my dehydrated, sleep deprived gray matter playing tricks on me.
At one point the Kinkajou mobile pulled up beside me and crew member Sara informed me that I had 16 miles left.
"That's nice.....", I muttered in a sarcastic tone. Sorry Mom. I was having a bad attitude.
Finally, the last climbs before the Best Western in 29 Palms. One of the stories from previous riders that was read to me was written by Muffy Ritz and she was very specific about how hard those hills were. I was prepared for those hills.
At the finish line, Seana and Reed held the toilet paper as I crossed the finish line at approximately 4 AM Monday morning. Thanks Reed & Seana.
508 miles, 35,000 ft of climbing and 44+ hours after the event began, I finally finished thanks to a year of hard training and a resourceful crew. A year before, I had quit on Towne Pass.
Thank you to my illustrious crew members, Deena Kinkeade, Sara Varner, Bob Miko and Pat King. Without you I could have never finished. You guys were great! And thanks to John Hughes for the sound advice and great coaching. Lastly, thanks to Kostman for promoting an extremely challenging event.
Tim "Kinkajou" Kinkeade
kinkeade@moscow.com