Sunday, January 22, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Horses Seemed Impatient
I've never been much of a racer, but I do get into the spirit for this event. Been having some trouble with my left hip since early November; flexors, adductors and the sit bone. A real pain in the ass. Though I'd been on the mend, I toed the line concerned about not being able to get very far. Mrs. Babilonia made me promise that I would be able to lift my bike onto the roof rack the next morning, to which I solemnly swore.
The rollout at the start always begins slowly as we pull out of the Star Brewery courtyard, but builds a fair amount of steam as we near the edge of town. Lance explicitly said "5 miles per hour," but we were up around 12 by the time we crossed 32nd street and the proverbial starting gun went off. There was just enough snow on the unmaintained city path to keep the pace moderate with some sliding around. I had a washout turning onto the first bridge and racked my jewels on the top tube—a real auspicious start. Entering the tunnel under John Deere road, the prehistoric reverberation of every kind of knobby fat tire drowned out the conversation. We single filed it through a narrow gap and headed out onto the private snowmobile trails. The sheriff stopped traffic as we crossed Central Avenue, and shortly thereafter the climbing began in ernest.
The first hill was a 220-foot, 10 or 12-percent grade about 4.5 miles from the start and our first dismounted push of the day. It was followed by a series of its smaller, off-camber siblings for the next two miles.
I passed fellow Madisonian Frank Hassler in this section and wouldn't see him for the rest of the race. Started running neck and neck with Ben Oney and James Zimmerman (on his brakeless, fixed-gear Pugsley) and would trade places with them all day long.
A little over a mile of downhill respite on paved bike path before going back to the ditch. Some sidewalk, farm fields, cattle range and more farm fields. A couple of open water and snowmobile bridge crossings.
My chosen tire pressures were working really well, with the Big Fat Larry on the front at 6psi and the Endomorph on the rear at 8psi. Plenty of grip and cushion without really risking a snakebite flat.
Right around mile 14 a group of about 6 or 7 of us started the final pushing climb to Humke Road. Took a break at the top and chatted with a guy on a Moonlander whose name I don't know. He was having fun. Set off down the tarmac and was soon joined by Ben and Joe Nolan. Felt good to have a break from pushing and hit 25mph+ on the big downhill just before Sundown road. Then it was onto the gravel and down to the B road, which is the best part of the whole course. The B is a rutted double track that drops down about 300 feet at 8 percent through a picturesque woodland. Much fun in spite of the patchy ice in the bottoms of the wheel ruts.
At the bottom of the B road, I saw Joe walking back up the trail. He asked whether I had seen his gloves and I replied that I hadn't. Once I rolled out onto Girl Scout road, I decided to deviate from my plan and wait to see how firm the Heritage trail was before adding air to my tires. Cresting the hill, I could have sworn I saw a couple on a tandem up ahead. Very surreal.
Turning onto the trail, I saw what I think in retrospect may have been Craig's cheering section. They told me that I was the 14th or 15th bike to go past them. I immediately started seeing runners, male and female, coming down the trail from the east. The only person I recognized was Laurel Darren, one of the female bike racers from last year. Within a couple hundred yards, I had decided that more air would make things go faster, so I pulled over and got out my CO2. Two things:
- A single 16g cartridge will take an Endomorph from 8 to about 12psi with a little left over, and another will take a Big Fat Larry from 6 to almost 10psi; and
- While you may not need your gloves inside your pogies on a relatively warm day, you still need to wear them while using CO2. That stuff is cold.
A couple of snowmobiles passed me at Gun Club Road and shortly thereafter, Rob McKillip caught and passed me. Or I should say that I wanted him to pass me. With the snow all chewed up in the wake of the sleds, somebody had to make a new track. Better him than me, and it turned out that he was really good at it. I followed him all the way to the tunnel under Holy Cross road near Farley. My strategy for dealing with the hip was to stand frequently and pedal for 5 or 6 strokes and sit back down. That, and wiggle around on the saddle a lot. My quads frequently reminded me that they weren't too fond of the whole production. But so it went, and it turns out that standing will increase your speed.
Just after leaving the tunnel, I spotted a 20-something male sitting in a huge pickup alongside the trail. I immediately assumed that this was someone's cheering section until he leaned out his driver-side window and shouted:
"Go get 'em, Grizzly Adams!"
Best. Heckle. Ever.
Fan? Redneck with a six-pack of Grain Belt on the seat next to him? I may never know.
From here, the trail got a lot faster. It was largely clear of snow and downhill, so average speed picked up to something more like 14 or 15 miles per hour. Rob tucked into his aero bars and quickly opened up a large gap. I shifted up, passing James again and putting a pretty good gap between us. The speed felt great but was tempered somewhat by intermittent drifts across the trail. They were well-tracked but I still didn't relish the thought of biffing it at 18 or 20 mph, so I checked speed somewhat while crossing them.
Pulling into Dyersville there was some nice clear pavement. Then some gnarly stuff in the ditch. Then some streets. I pulled into Chad's Pizza at about 2:05, refilled the fluids, grabbed a bag of peanut M&Ms and was out the door for the return trip by about 2:12...
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
On the Trail of the Fox
Another year, another Triple D. This time the bike field was quite large at 75 riders—about twice the size of last year. I suppose the huge upswing in the popularity of fat bikes in the midwest had something to do with that. You couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a Pugsley or a Mukluk when we lined up. There were also a couple of Moonlanders, 9:Zero:7s and Fatbacks, along with an assortment of mountain bikes...and even a cross bike.
Beautiful day, with temps that would rise from the mid-teens to just above freezing. Solid 20-mile per hour wind out of the Southeast. We rolled out of Dubuque at about 10:10 and into the wild:
With just one snowfall's worth of base, the going was sketchy. This was especially true as temperatures warmed up and the snow became less consolidated. Less experienced fat riders were running too much pressure and had lots of trouble holding a straight line. The skinny-tire riders didn't look like they were having much fun in the loose conditions either. Me? I just constantly looked for the track of the fat bike in front of me and did my level best to stay on it.
Following the trail of the fox. Looking for it when it was lost. Wipe out. Get up. Pedal. Sit. Stand. Coast. Push. Eat. Drink. All day.
7:10; 14th place.
(If you want more reading, here's the gateway to last year's account. I think I'll write more about this year later. Maybe.)
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
2011: The Year That Was (first half)
Yup, I almost went a whole year without a blog post. It's not that I didn't do anything, but that I didn't feel compelled to blog any of it at the time. So let's get you caught up.
January
After Triple D, there was much lake riding with the dog.
Then the Packers won out the playoffs as a wildcard.
February
Big snowstorm on Groundhog day:
Even bigger shitstorm on Valentine's day (ongoing):
More lake riding
mostly with the dog
March
Sometimes with humans:
More shitstorm. A lot more.
and toward the end came some non-lake riding with more humans:
April
More non-lake riding:
May
BALLS Ride:
(Fail. Dropped out at mile 45 on the first day. Windy and my knees hurt.)
Almanzo:
(Also fail. Dropped out at mile 35 in rainy conditions and temps in the 40s.)
June
Ride the Drive:
More riding with my new human:
and new bike:
All in all not bad.
January
After Triple D, there was much lake riding with the dog.
Then the Packers won out the playoffs as a wildcard.
February
Big snowstorm on Groundhog day:
Even bigger shitstorm on Valentine's day (ongoing):
More lake riding
mostly with the dog
March
Sometimes with humans:
More shitstorm. A lot more.
and toward the end came some non-lake riding with more humans:
April
More non-lake riding:
May
BALLS Ride:
(Fail. Dropped out at mile 45 on the first day. Windy and my knees hurt.)
Almanzo:
(Also fail. Dropped out at mile 35 in rainy conditions and temps in the 40s.)
June
Ride the Drive:
More riding with my new human:
and new bike:
All in all not bad.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
The Groundswell
I don't think anyone in Wisconsin knows exactly where this is going yet, but this should give you some idea of what the scale and tone is like.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
Ruby the Big Red Pony
This is the bike I call Ruby. It's generically known as a fat bike, a kissing cousin of the Surly Pugsley. Designed by the folks at Chain Reaction Cycles in Anchorage, it's built to the shop's specifications by Sapa Extrusions, an aluminum fabricator in Portland, OR. Sapa also make frames for Titus, Santa Cruz and others, and the build quality is quite good.
Like the Pugsley, it accommodates the 4-inch wide Surly tires using a wider bottom bracket spindle and shell, and by offsetting the rear dropouts 17.5mm to the right. This moves the drivetrain outward and allows for a full 3x9 setup without letting the chain rub on the sidewall of the tire. The compromises are a much wider Q factor and a purpose-built rear wheel.
Ruby currently uses a steel Pugsley fork with standard 100mm front hub spacing. This makes getting the front wheel on and off more of a challenge (an inflated tire can just be squeezed between the brake caliper and the other dropout, if the wheel is angled properly.) I might eventually go to the 135mm symmetrically-spaced version that Surly introduced this year.
Here's a full build list:
| Crankset | Bontrager Big Earl with ISIS splines, 175mm arms; bashguard/32/22 |
| Bottom Bracket | FSA Platinum DH CrMo BB, ISIS - 100 x 148mm |
| Pedals | Shimano SPD PD-M515 clipless |
| Front Derailleur | Shimano XTR E-type bottom-pull with Problem Solvers 'Cross Clamp Pulley |
| Rear Derailleur | Shimano Deore DX medium cage |
| Shifters | Shimano 8-speed bar ends on Paul's Thumbies |
| Cassette | 11-28t 8 Speed |
| Chain | KMC 8 Speed |
| Hubs | Shimano Deore XT 32 hole 6-bolt disc (M755 front, M756 rear) |
| Spokes | Wheelsmith Stainless Steel 14/15 |
| Rims | Speedway Cycles Uma II 559 x 70mm |
| Tires | Surly Larry front, Surly Endomorph rear |
| Brakes | Hayes HFX Mag Hydraulic Disc with 160mm rotors |
| Brake Levers | Hayes HFX Mag |
| Headset | Cane Creek S2 |
| Handlebar | Titec H-bar |
| Stem | 80mm Threadless alloy, 4-bolt faceplate |
| Grips | Ergon |
| Saddle | Brooks B.17 |
| Seatpost | Easton Havoc 30.9 |
This is kind of a big dorky bike, but I really like the way it rides. Considering how massive the wheels are, it's really pretty responsive.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Bend It Like Janus
Time for a look backward and forth. Last year was a good year for riding. 4011 miles, including 2 centuries. It also marked the end of a decade of having returned to riding regularly, during which I logged something like 28,000 miles. More than I had set out to do.
Did Bike the Barns, a couple of cyclocross races and (well, this year) the Triple D. Rode in the sun, at night, through rain, wind and snow. Logged significant mileage on the Cross Check, Long Haul Trucker and blue Trek sport-tourer; and a few on the Big Dummy and Black Pony.
Looking ahead, the next event on the list is the Madison Winter Fest CycloFrost race, which I also did last year.
Not much then until the end of April, when BALLS ride and the Almanzo 100 fall about two weeks apart.
Later in the season, I'll most likely do the Bike the Barns ride, but am also giving serious thought to the Colesburg 40 and the Unnamed Epic.
For the wintertime, I'm thinking about the 75-mile version of the Tuscobia Ultra and more than likely, a fourth try at the Triple D.
That ought to keep me out of the taverns.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
More Words About Bicycles, Clothes and Food
As I had mentioned in an earlier post, the confluence of a number of things that went well contributed to my finish at the Triple D this year. The weather was great and deserves much of the credit. Still, there were plenty of factors within my control that could have gone south on me but did not. Many were lessons learned from last time. Here follows a review of some of them.
New Bike
The 9:Zero:7 snow bike from Chain Reaction Cycles in Anchorage is a close relative of the Surly Pugsley. The low-pressure, high-floatation tires make a huge difference in soft snow. It can't just go anywhere, but it can go plenty of places that regular bikes can't. Very useful in the hilly early part of the race. Less useful on the paved segments.
This bike was a big improvement over the Black Pony's 26"x2.5 tires on 47mm rims. It holds a line on the mushy stuff where skinny tires just can't. The aluminum frame and single-wall rims make it substantially lighter than a Pugsley or Salsa Mukluk.
Clothing
I had obviously overdressed the first two years I did the Triple D, and for most of the training rides leading up to them. Big hat tip to Blogger member Jack London for posting in the comments this link to an article on PsychoVertical about how to dress for exertion in the cold. The outfit went as follows:
Nutrition
Experimented with a number of things during the off-season and after reading Matt Fitzgerald's book Racing Weight settled on Accelerade as my primary "food." I really like the orange in spite of a strong dislike for the other flavors. I took two 24-ounce Polar insulated bottles of this inside my frame bag, with a chemical warmer to keep it from freezing. Remixed one of the bottles at the halfway point. Drank all of it, in addition to at least 80 ounces of plain water from my Camelbak hydration pack. (My advice? Stick the bite valve between the pack and your back to keep it from freezing or thaw it if it does freeze. Yes, this really works, even if people tell you it won't, which they will.)
I also ate some real food. Eight whole wheat fig bars, some almonds, a couple of christmas cookies, a banana and a few Peanut M&Ms. Some more non-foods too—3 Gu gels.
Before the race, I had about 400 calories worth of steel-cut oats, two eggs, some breakfast potatoes, toast, a banana, coffee and Nuun electrolyte drink.
Fitness and Training
I took two sessions of a class called Functional Strength Training for Cyclists from the UW Sports Medicine Fitness Center. There is exactly zero time on a bike in this class, but a big emphasis on leg, core and upper body strength and on improving balance. Most of the exercises used body weight, spine ball or medicine ball, resistance bands or small free weights. Felt real improvement by the end of the second session.
Improved strength and dropping my weight down to about 165 on race day really helped me keep moving, especially on hills.
Also rode a lot this year, including 50+ mile rides on each of the three weekends leading up to the race. Pace and endurance have both steadily improved over the last 3 years. Oh, and there was some cyclocross racing too. Helps a little with peak efforts, mounts and dismounts, but placement shall go unmentioned.
Race Strategy
Having never really been a racer, this is one thing I need to work on. The experience from this year certainly seemed to help. Still, it seems like it takes a lot of discipline to make good decisions in the heat of the moment. This went better this time than in years past, but could still use a little work.
Guess I'll just have to put in more miles...
Other Triple D posts: Race summary; race report part 1 and part 2.
New Bike
The 9:Zero:7 snow bike from Chain Reaction Cycles in Anchorage is a close relative of the Surly Pugsley. The low-pressure, high-floatation tires make a huge difference in soft snow. It can't just go anywhere, but it can go plenty of places that regular bikes can't. Very useful in the hilly early part of the race. Less useful on the paved segments.
This bike was a big improvement over the Black Pony's 26"x2.5 tires on 47mm rims. It holds a line on the mushy stuff where skinny tires just can't. The aluminum frame and single-wall rims make it substantially lighter than a Pugsley or Salsa Mukluk.
Clothing
I had obviously overdressed the first two years I did the Triple D, and for most of the training rides leading up to them. Big hat tip to Blogger member Jack London for posting in the comments this link to an article on PsychoVertical about how to dress for exertion in the cold. The outfit went as follows:
- Head: Giro G10 snowsport helmet (previously mentioned here) and homemade lightweight fleece face mask. Serfas Sike-Out sunglasses and generic clear safety glasses.
The helmet scores points for ear protection but loses some for being heavy and sometimes too warm. The glasses performed well except that my eyes dried out toward the end of the race. The search for a better pair of goggles resumes.
- Torso: Under Armour Cold Gear 2.0 base layer and Mountain Hardwear Transition Super Power Jacket. (Please note that I don't name this stuff.)
That's it. Both skin-tight...I normally wear a medium now, but the UA base was a small. I did get a little damp, especially early on, but changed into second base layer and added North Face arm warmers for the return trip. The jacket has some Windstopper material on it, and it really is properly named.
- Lower body: Windfront briefs and strategically-placed wool sock; padded cycling shorts, Polar fleece tights and Nashbar C-Pant knickers.
No complaints.
- Feet: Two pairs of thin wool socks, Lake MXZ-302 winter cycling shoes (also mentioned here) and Planet Bike Dasher shoe covers.
Feet stayed remarkably warm. One brief chill in hour 6 that went away after a brief jog. The Dashers are nice in that they are large enough to fit over the boots and give me about 10 more degrees of temperature, but too bad they aren't very durable.
Toasty.
Nutrition
Experimented with a number of things during the off-season and after reading Matt Fitzgerald's book Racing Weight settled on Accelerade as my primary "food." I really like the orange in spite of a strong dislike for the other flavors. I took two 24-ounce Polar insulated bottles of this inside my frame bag, with a chemical warmer to keep it from freezing. Remixed one of the bottles at the halfway point. Drank all of it, in addition to at least 80 ounces of plain water from my Camelbak hydration pack. (My advice? Stick the bite valve between the pack and your back to keep it from freezing or thaw it if it does freeze. Yes, this really works, even if people tell you it won't, which they will.)
I also ate some real food. Eight whole wheat fig bars, some almonds, a couple of christmas cookies, a banana and a few Peanut M&Ms. Some more non-foods too—3 Gu gels.
Before the race, I had about 400 calories worth of steel-cut oats, two eggs, some breakfast potatoes, toast, a banana, coffee and Nuun electrolyte drink.
Fitness and Training
I took two sessions of a class called Functional Strength Training for Cyclists from the UW Sports Medicine Fitness Center. There is exactly zero time on a bike in this class, but a big emphasis on leg, core and upper body strength and on improving balance. Most of the exercises used body weight, spine ball or medicine ball, resistance bands or small free weights. Felt real improvement by the end of the second session.
Improved strength and dropping my weight down to about 165 on race day really helped me keep moving, especially on hills.
Also rode a lot this year, including 50+ mile rides on each of the three weekends leading up to the race. Pace and endurance have both steadily improved over the last 3 years. Oh, and there was some cyclocross racing too. Helps a little with peak efforts, mounts and dismounts, but placement shall go unmentioned.
Race Strategy
Having never really been a racer, this is one thing I need to work on. The experience from this year certainly seemed to help. Still, it seems like it takes a lot of discipline to make good decisions in the heat of the moment. This went better this time than in years past, but could still use a little work.
Guess I'll just have to put in more miles...
Other Triple D posts: Race summary; race report part 1 and part 2.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Triple D 2011, Part the Second
Continued from Part the First.
The Journey Home
Chad's Pizza is a quaint little joint housed in an older storefront in downtown Dyersville. I walked in with a really huge beardfull of ice and asked where to sign in. I was number 7 on the sheet and put the time down as 1:47. Frank was there and (jokingly) pointed out that I had a little something on my chin. I handed over one of my water bottles (I started out with two 24-ounce insulated bottles of Accellerade) to the staff, asking for a lukewarm fill-up of water and for the location of the restroom. Answered the call again and changed into a dry base layer and added arm warmers. Said goodbye to Frank as he headed back out. I collected my water bottle, added some water to my Camelbak, and headed out myself.
Stopping had let me cool off a bit. I went out to the bike and mixed the bottle of Accellerade from powder I had brought along (note to self: take the powder inside with you next time) and downed a Gu gel and a couple of fig bars. Then I decided that if a little bit higher tire pressure is good, then even more must be better. So I set about pumping the tires to 12 and 14 psi. This took a little while, and my fingers got pretty cold. Another strategic mistake—I lost at least 5 minutes, and my speed didn't improve except maybe on pavement.
As I rolled out onto the street, my fingers were painfully cold, bordering on numb. Passed an arriving cyclist right away, and more as I turned back onto the main highway leading back to the trail. Arriving at the trailhead, I decided that the headwind I was now encountering required the use of one of my homemade face masks. I stopped and put it on (fingers still really, really cold) and called my wife to check in.
Back on the trail, I encountered the same icy, drifty obstacles in reverse order. Passed still more cyclists headed toward Dyersville. Maybe 20 minutes out, I passed a Canadian National freight train headed in the other direction—six huge diesel locomotives pulling well over a hundred black tank cars. It's no secret that I love trains, so this was a considerable boost (you takes them where you can gets them out on the trail.)
Rolling through this section, I could have sworn I heard someone chopping wood. Just the occasional, sharp report of a splitting maul hitting a good-sized block of oak. Okay, after a couple of miles, I figured out that it was the Tyvek number bib pinned to my jacket, blowing in the wind and making a snapping sound. Sheesh.
Just as I was arriving at the Tarley Funnel, I passed Piera, the Triple D's first female finisher. I remembered to go slow on the ice in the tunnel, and was soon rolling downgrade.
Alone With My Inadequacies
Had to stop and answer the call again, meaning that my hydration plan was working like a charm. Everything seemed fine, except that my butt hurt. As soon as I got back on the bike, it was confirmed—my ass hurt like hell, and I wasn't sure exactly why. After all, I had ridden over 4000 miles this year on similar saddles without a problem. Not my sit bones really, but the inner hamstrings where they contacted the middle of the saddle. I had a couple of theories about why this was happening. First, I think I had raised my saddle a little too high way back in Epworth when I pumped up my tires the first time. Second, all of the pushing and climbing early in the race had hit some muscles that weren't properly trained for that much effort. Third, and worst of all, it could be that after all those years of faithful service, a Brooks saddle had finally turned on me.
Thoughts of dropping out crossed my mind now, and I was standing more and looking for the smoothest parts of the trail. I soon stopped and lowered the saddle a bit, which helped some. I also used my clipless pedals to great effect by pulling up on the back side of the pedal stroke, enlisting lots more help from the front group of leg muscles. I finally settled into a decent pace somewhere around 10 mph. Slower, owing to the headwind, pain, and in the 20-degree temps, slightly softer snow. In retrospect, I think I should have gone back to 10/12, or maybe even 8/10 psi tire pressure.
Fortunately, the trail got much more scenic, and the distraction helped a little more. I kept a zombie-like rhythm, standing occasionally but not stopping. Finish I kept telling myself.
I hadn't seen a soul in a long time, when I rounded a bend just before Graf and saw someone pushing a bike. I asked, at some distance, whether everything was okay, but couldn't hear the reply clearly. I rolled up and got off, walking now with one of the female bike racers. She was clearly not having a good time at that moment and told me that her ride was over and that she had called to sag out of the race. She told me her fingers were really cold and hurt and that her hand warmers weren't really helping. Deciding at that point that she was coherent and not in danger, wished her good luck and continued on. I later tried to call the sag number to confirm that she was getting a ride out, but I wouldn't get cell reception again for a long time.
The Grind
After passing Graf, I settled into a good rhythm, with my butt feeling considerably better. Somewhere between Asbury and Budd roads, I had a brief out-of-body experience, feeling like I was floating above the trail. Gonna have to chalk this one up to some sort of runner's high, and soon I began to get concerned that I had missed the mandatory checkpoint at Durango.
It's strange how much my memory had compressed the route from previous years. Sundown ski area came into view, and I thought Durango must be right around the corner. Turns out that it's almost five miles away.
During this period, the sky was pretty overcast and I decided to switch from sunglasses to clear safety glasses. Took a brief break and did just that, ate and drank a little and got back underway. I was still having a little trouble seeing clearly, and it sure looked like my contacts were getting cloudy. The weak but persistent headwind seemed to be getting the best of them, and chilling my feet and torso a bit besides.
Finally, around the next bend, Durango came into view.
Crossed the last bridge and staggered into the Handle Bar to sign in. Traci (one of the race directors) checked me off on the list and told me I was free to go. I got back on the bike and called my wife to let her know I was about 45 minutes out.
Last Leg
The remaining bit of Heritage was pretty easy, but flat.
Passed some locals out on cross-country skis with their dogs. Rolled through the trailhead parking lot and onto a rough, narrow section to the crossing at Highway 52. It was almost dark, so I turned on my lights, but still managed to get off-trail at the crossing and onto someone's driveway...it took a short detour over a really rickety-looking bridge got things back on course. Made it through the golf course parking lot and found the course directional markings to the tunnel with the last few minutes of sunlight. I was surprised how narrow the track back through the tunnel was, and not surprised later to find out that others had missed it in the dark.
Now came the absolute worst part of the race. It was twilight, I was having a difficult time seeing through my now-translucent contact lenses, my butt hurt, I was tired, my tires were inflated too much and now Ruby and I were facing mile and a quarter of the same stupid, frozen posthole moonscape from way back at the beginning of the race. I couldn't find a decent line to save my life, so I just grinned and bore it for what seemed like an eternity. Sure, I could have let air out of my tires, but I just didn't have the patience. Never thought I'd be so happy to come to a stretch of clear, dry pavement. Called my wife one last time, giving her an ETA and asking for a bottle of electrolyte water at the finish line.
The return route through Dubuque was firmly committed to memory. Cleaned it in under 15 minutes. Rolled into the hotel parking lot and waved to the spectators looking down from the second-floor windows. Met my daughter in the lobby and my wife upstairs...hugs and kisses all around.
Official time in: 5:24, for a total of 7 hours, 24 minutes out. Time elapsed on bicycle computer: 6:57 for 67 miles. Sixth place right behind another Madisonian, Frank Hassler, who finished just 5 minutes ahead of me.
The Journey Home
Chad's Pizza is a quaint little joint housed in an older storefront in downtown Dyersville. I walked in with a really huge beardfull of ice and asked where to sign in. I was number 7 on the sheet and put the time down as 1:47. Frank was there and (jokingly) pointed out that I had a little something on my chin. I handed over one of my water bottles (I started out with two 24-ounce insulated bottles of Accellerade) to the staff, asking for a lukewarm fill-up of water and for the location of the restroom. Answered the call again and changed into a dry base layer and added arm warmers. Said goodbye to Frank as he headed back out. I collected my water bottle, added some water to my Camelbak, and headed out myself.
Stopping had let me cool off a bit. I went out to the bike and mixed the bottle of Accellerade from powder I had brought along (note to self: take the powder inside with you next time) and downed a Gu gel and a couple of fig bars. Then I decided that if a little bit higher tire pressure is good, then even more must be better. So I set about pumping the tires to 12 and 14 psi. This took a little while, and my fingers got pretty cold. Another strategic mistake—I lost at least 5 minutes, and my speed didn't improve except maybe on pavement.
As I rolled out onto the street, my fingers were painfully cold, bordering on numb. Passed an arriving cyclist right away, and more as I turned back onto the main highway leading back to the trail. Arriving at the trailhead, I decided that the headwind I was now encountering required the use of one of my homemade face masks. I stopped and put it on (fingers still really, really cold) and called my wife to check in.
Back on the trail, I encountered the same icy, drifty obstacles in reverse order. Passed still more cyclists headed toward Dyersville. Maybe 20 minutes out, I passed a Canadian National freight train headed in the other direction—six huge diesel locomotives pulling well over a hundred black tank cars. It's no secret that I love trains, so this was a considerable boost (you takes them where you can gets them out on the trail.)
Rolling through this section, I could have sworn I heard someone chopping wood. Just the occasional, sharp report of a splitting maul hitting a good-sized block of oak. Okay, after a couple of miles, I figured out that it was the Tyvek number bib pinned to my jacket, blowing in the wind and making a snapping sound. Sheesh.
Just as I was arriving at the Tarley Funnel, I passed Piera, the Triple D's first female finisher. I remembered to go slow on the ice in the tunnel, and was soon rolling downgrade.
Alone With My Inadequacies
Had to stop and answer the call again, meaning that my hydration plan was working like a charm. Everything seemed fine, except that my butt hurt. As soon as I got back on the bike, it was confirmed—my ass hurt like hell, and I wasn't sure exactly why. After all, I had ridden over 4000 miles this year on similar saddles without a problem. Not my sit bones really, but the inner hamstrings where they contacted the middle of the saddle. I had a couple of theories about why this was happening. First, I think I had raised my saddle a little too high way back in Epworth when I pumped up my tires the first time. Second, all of the pushing and climbing early in the race had hit some muscles that weren't properly trained for that much effort. Third, and worst of all, it could be that after all those years of faithful service, a Brooks saddle had finally turned on me.
Thoughts of dropping out crossed my mind now, and I was standing more and looking for the smoothest parts of the trail. I soon stopped and lowered the saddle a bit, which helped some. I also used my clipless pedals to great effect by pulling up on the back side of the pedal stroke, enlisting lots more help from the front group of leg muscles. I finally settled into a decent pace somewhere around 10 mph. Slower, owing to the headwind, pain, and in the 20-degree temps, slightly softer snow. In retrospect, I think I should have gone back to 10/12, or maybe even 8/10 psi tire pressure.
Fortunately, the trail got much more scenic, and the distraction helped a little more. I kept a zombie-like rhythm, standing occasionally but not stopping. Finish I kept telling myself.
I hadn't seen a soul in a long time, when I rounded a bend just before Graf and saw someone pushing a bike. I asked, at some distance, whether everything was okay, but couldn't hear the reply clearly. I rolled up and got off, walking now with one of the female bike racers. She was clearly not having a good time at that moment and told me that her ride was over and that she had called to sag out of the race. She told me her fingers were really cold and hurt and that her hand warmers weren't really helping. Deciding at that point that she was coherent and not in danger, wished her good luck and continued on. I later tried to call the sag number to confirm that she was getting a ride out, but I wouldn't get cell reception again for a long time.
The Grind
After passing Graf, I settled into a good rhythm, with my butt feeling considerably better. Somewhere between Asbury and Budd roads, I had a brief out-of-body experience, feeling like I was floating above the trail. Gonna have to chalk this one up to some sort of runner's high, and soon I began to get concerned that I had missed the mandatory checkpoint at Durango.
It's strange how much my memory had compressed the route from previous years. Sundown ski area came into view, and I thought Durango must be right around the corner. Turns out that it's almost five miles away.
During this period, the sky was pretty overcast and I decided to switch from sunglasses to clear safety glasses. Took a brief break and did just that, ate and drank a little and got back underway. I was still having a little trouble seeing clearly, and it sure looked like my contacts were getting cloudy. The weak but persistent headwind seemed to be getting the best of them, and chilling my feet and torso a bit besides.
Finally, around the next bend, Durango came into view.
Crossed the last bridge and staggered into the Handle Bar to sign in. Traci (one of the race directors) checked me off on the list and told me I was free to go. I got back on the bike and called my wife to let her know I was about 45 minutes out.
Last Leg
The remaining bit of Heritage was pretty easy, but flat.
Passed some locals out on cross-country skis with their dogs. Rolled through the trailhead parking lot and onto a rough, narrow section to the crossing at Highway 52. It was almost dark, so I turned on my lights, but still managed to get off-trail at the crossing and onto someone's driveway...it took a short detour over a really rickety-looking bridge got things back on course. Made it through the golf course parking lot and found the course directional markings to the tunnel with the last few minutes of sunlight. I was surprised how narrow the track back through the tunnel was, and not surprised later to find out that others had missed it in the dark.
Now came the absolute worst part of the race. It was twilight, I was having a difficult time seeing through my now-translucent contact lenses, my butt hurt, I was tired, my tires were inflated too much and now Ruby and I were facing mile and a quarter of the same stupid, frozen posthole moonscape from way back at the beginning of the race. I couldn't find a decent line to save my life, so I just grinned and bore it for what seemed like an eternity. Sure, I could have let air out of my tires, but I just didn't have the patience. Never thought I'd be so happy to come to a stretch of clear, dry pavement. Called my wife one last time, giving her an ETA and asking for a bottle of electrolyte water at the finish line.
The return route through Dubuque was firmly committed to memory. Cleaned it in under 15 minutes. Rolled into the hotel parking lot and waved to the spectators looking down from the second-floor windows. Met my daughter in the lobby and my wife upstairs...hugs and kisses all around.
Official time in: 5:24, for a total of 7 hours, 24 minutes out. Time elapsed on bicycle computer: 6:57 for 67 miles. Sixth place right behind another Madisonian, Frank Hassler, who finished just 5 minutes ahead of me.
In retrospect, I could have eliminated several blocks of wasted time and picked up at least one place, but that's the kind of stuff you learn in an event like this. It's intended to serve as a training ground for those looking to break into winter bike racing. I just had no idea that I was that close to Frank. Never saw him once we had parted ways in Dyersville.
Wasn't moving too fast after the race, but felt pretty good. Seems as though my food and hydration plans had worked out well. My eyes were so dry that my vision was cloudy even after I had removed my contacts. Took a long shower, ate some real people food and went down to watch other racers come in. Shot the breeze with the other snow geeks and got a medal and $20 at the award ceremony.
Slept pretty well that night, packed up early the next day and drove home in a snowstorm.
The End.
Wasn't moving too fast after the race, but felt pretty good. Seems as though my food and hydration plans had worked out well. My eyes were so dry that my vision was cloudy even after I had removed my contacts. Took a long shower, ate some real people food and went down to watch other racers come in. Shot the breeze with the other snow geeks and got a medal and $20 at the award ceremony.
Slept pretty well that night, packed up early the next day and drove home in a snowstorm.
The End.
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