Two days before the race I couldn’t have told you whether I’d be lining up for the 66 or not. Whether I was riding the 66 full on, half on, or the 35 on the recumbent changed depending on which day it was.
In an uncharacteristic move, I emerged from indecisiveness well before the inevitability of time forced a decision. I’d line up for the 66 but would only continue riding if 1) my hands felt good 2) I was winning or near winning the race and 3) I was having fun.
All three of those goals didn’t seem to hard to reach, so I was quite excited about the race. As soon as we got to Pinetop it started raining. It was on and off, just to give everyone hope. But when it was on it was pouring.
It was easy to predict muddy conditions, and I had good tires for it, but they were so small that if it were NOT muddy I wouldn’t finish the race because of my hands. Thus, I made the choice that if it was muddy I was out of the race. I couldn’t have made any other one.
Things didn’t look good during my warmup. But I was there and until presented with evidence otherwise, why not roll with it?
I noted in my warmup that the wind was very strong and directly out of the south. The rail line that comprises the first few miles of the course heads directly south. I knew that if I was playing leader (as usual) I’d be unlikely to get away.
I led the start out. Climbing the first hill was the only chance to shrink the lead group before the wind. So I dug into the pedals a bit to see how everyone would respond. It lasted all of 30 seconds. The course markers said to turn right but we were faced with a closed gate.
After a confused moment I unlatched the gate, dropped it and continued riding. I had a slight break but knew it would not last as we were about to turn into the wind. I switched lines on the 2-track just for fun–to play with the guys behind me. No one wanted to pass me, which was fine. I got to set the pace. I kept it moderate, surprised that no one went for a break.
I slowed down enough that the group got bigger. I looked back and saw at least 20 on my wheel. As we turned west I slowly ramped up until I was suffering. The group splintered. After sucking my wheel for a good distance, #2 went around. I kept him in spitting distance, then #3 pedaled around me in a muddy section.
After riding with these guys for a few miles I had a good feel for their strength and effort levels. When we hit a climbing mud section I could feel how much slower my bike was than theirs. I could tell by the way they pedaled ahead of me.
When we hit Blue Ridge my suspisions were confirmed as I watched them pedal away from me as my bike locked up in the mud. I stayed in the race as long as I could, but my wheels would not roll, let alone pedal. It took a while for people to catch up, but soon I was carrying my bike amongst a big group of frustrated mountain bikers.
I watched people shear their derailers off in front of me. I decided to not try riding until the downhill. I also hoped that the soil/wetness would be different on the other side of the mountain.
Not so. It was worse. I couldn’t roll more than a few feet. People were passing left and right. Some were able to roll, others weren’t. As I stuck my fingers into my frame for the 10th time i realized this is exactly not what I need to be doing with my hands. The race was over.
Actually, I was rather happy about it. Now at least I wouldn’t hurt my hands riding the full 66 miles. Even if the trail got a lot better I’d still be out on the bike for 7+ hours. I can’t do that.
I got to see several friends out there. Lee passed me, chatted up a bit, then took off at a strong hiking pace.
We kept walking and frustration set in for just about everyone. I carried my bike towards a road crossing where 25-30 mountain bikers sat broken. The only explanation my mind could come up with was that the race had been called. I don’t know what was said to me as I walked up, but I heard, “they called it.”
I talked to a few people then looked for Lee. “Wait, where’s Lee Blackwell?” “He kept going.”
Oh, so the race is not over, everyone’s just dropping out. Normally I’d try to talk people into continuing, but with my hands I knew I was out, and with 95% of the field dropping out I wouldn’t look like such a wimp. Stupid thinking and now I wished I’d have encouraged more people to continue on. I’ve never been very effective against group mentality, anyway.
I saw Holly Bushorn and Rudi Nadler ride up and continue on as if nothing had happened. Good for both of them. I still don’t understand why those in positions 1,2,3 decided to stop there and drop. You’re leading the race for crying out loud!
Conditions improved drastically after that point. Lee said he found himself cruising along on nice trails laughing about how all us guys back there didn’t know what we were missing.
So I rode back on the pavement, chatting with Troy and Brian about the AZT. I spent the rest of the afternoon eating, getting sunburnt and waiting for Lee/Rudi to finish.
My hat is off to anyone who continued on beyond that dropout point. It shows not only mental toughness, but critical thought and the ability to make decisions despite what the majority is thinking/doing. This is part of what riding a bike is about, for me.
Rudi came in at 8:30, almost 2 and a half hours slower than his time last year. He was followed by my riding buddy and partner in crime, Lee Blackwell at 8:55. I am really glad I wasn’t out there that long. But I’m also sorry that I missed it.
My hands were feeling great, so the next morning I went out for a 20 mile ride in the Buena Vista area. I rode some nice dirt roads and some short sections of techy singletrack.
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