Now that all the Kansas dust has been washed off everything and my mind is returning from its post race fog but before I forget all details let me recall this epic ride.
I arrive in Emporia, Kansas on Thursday evening. I am dropped off at the Motel 6 on the outskirts of town by my sweet teammates, Marina and Nicolas. I set out to find some dinner, get unpacked and put my bike together. There is a burger joint next door to the hotel. It is the worst burger I have ever had, enough said. But while I was picking it up I grabbed some extra salt packets to put in my pack. They would come in handy later. After eating half of the burger and some fries I get down to business. Get the bike assembled and sort everything out. Friday was going to be a busy day. Pre-ride to make sure the bike worked, gravel expo, race packet pick up, and pre-race meeting to attend. It sounds exhausting as I write this but it was a really fun day. But back to unpacking. First I’ll pump my tires up, then assemble the bike. You deflate the tires a bit before flying with them so they don’t explode from the air pressure in the cargo hold of the plane. Murphy’s Law kicks in and my fairly new, tried and tested bike pump is not working. The rear tire is going flatter, flatter, flat. I won’t dare try it on the front tire, which still has half the amount of air in it. I am close to tears. All of a sudden my big adventure feels as deflated as the tire. I know I can get it pumped up tomorrow but I want to do this now. I want to be ready and organized. I feel so alone and miss Erika tremendously. I pull myself together and put on some soothing Mary Chapin Carpenter music. There is really nothing left to do but leave the tire for now and put the rest of the bike together. Slowly and patiently I get it back into one piece. Now, on to unpacking everything else. Even though I had sorted and organized everything before I packed it was now all in a tumble in the suitcase. It felt so overwhelming to sort it all out again. Little by little I get all the bits and pieces into the proper pack or drop bag. Before I go to bed I decide to give the tire one more try. This time it works and I’m able to go to bed at peace knowing everything is going to be alright.
On Friday morning I pre-ride the first and last ten miles of the course with teammates Jamie and Mark. It’s a beautiful morning, not too hot yet but warm enough to not need a jacket or arm warmers. I didn’t really know what to expect Kansas to look like even though I have seen plenty of pictures of previous races. It reminded me a lot of where I grew up in New York. Rolling hills and green pastures dotted with groves of trees. No mountains anywhere. The ride is a delight, just a hint of humidity in the warm air. The gravel roads were in great shape and the pace relaxed. Both my tires and I are pumped for the big race!
The alarm goes off on race day morning and I dread getting up. This is it, the day I have looked forward to for months. It’s all I’ve been able to think about, every waking hour. Now here it is and in the dark of morning I didn’t want to face it. At that hour, really 2:00 a.m. to my body, Seattle time, I wasn’t hungry. I know I have to eat something before the start so I choke down a slice of bread with almond butter and a stroopwaffel that had come in my race packet. Breakfast of champions. Time to ride with Mark and Jamie to the race start. We each pick a time slot to line up in according to what time we think we will finish. I line up by myself ( well, no teammates) in the 18 hour time slot. Not that I have any pretensions of finishing in this time. I just didn’t feel like being totally in the back like I usually do. Most of the time that leaves me feeling defeated right from the get go. Today I want to feel like I have a chance. I feel lonely not lining up with anyone I know. This opens up space for the nerves to creep in. Great, I don’t want this feeling in my stomach right now. A woman next to me says hi and we chat in the dawn. Then I spot my teammate John, surprised to see him this far back and the nerves creep back into their dark hiding spot.
Before I know it we are off, all 1186 of us. Being so far back it isn’t crazy at all. Nothing feels sketchy in the riders around me, I am holding my own. A comfortable roll out, passing people, getting passed, I know I have to stay true to my pace. So when the line in front of me slows down I don’t feel bad about shifting my position to move up. Left then right then left again, like a dance. The birds provide the music. The sun is an intense orange ball as it sits low on the horizon. The saying goes “red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” Thunderstorms are forecast for the afternoon but at the moment it’s a beautiful day.
Everything feels good except one thing. For the last few months I’ve been having saddle issues, finding the right one. And while I’ve heard of saddle sores I’ve never experienced one. So when I started having some issues in my nether regions it didn’t occur to me that it was saddle sores. I thought I was just having adult acne in a strange place. I discovered a new painful bump on Friday night before the race. All of a sudden I get it, it’s a saddle sore, not great before I have to spend 200 miles on my saddle. So I was feeling it this morning but trying my best to ignore the pain. Then about a half hour into the ride I have to pee. There is no way I’m going to stop now and let all these people behind me roll on by. Right now I’m going at a good pace and moving up, I’ll wait.
Just the like race directors said the roads change at mile 27 and the gravel gets rougher. Anyone who knows how I ride knows that I’m very cautious and chicken on descents. I feel like I should have put a sign on my back warning people “Slow Rider”. My loud squealing brakes give everyone plenty of warning though. Even just coasting they squeal. I have to keep the pedals turning to keep them quiet. I don’t know what’s wrong, maybe I had put the wheel in wrong but I don’t stop to check. Along the rough roads we go and at the bottom of one nasty hill there are flashing lights, a woman lying on the side of the road moaning in pain and aide people around her. This just reinforces in my mind that I will have no shame in taking it slow on the downhills, just as long as I don’t crash.
The morning rolls on, the birds keep singing, the need to pee gets stronger but I won’t let myself stop. “ At the checkpoint at mile 64” I tell myself; when I actually have to get off the bike. I notice that I don’t feel the saddle sore any more. I don’t know what’s going on down there but I don’t question it. And somehow I’m making it to mile 64 in good time, a 13+ mph pace. I roll into the checkpoint just ahead of five hours. This is good for me and I have a quick thought that I could surprise myself and maybe finish before midnight, but I don’t want to jinx myself so I push the thought out of my head.
At the checkpoint I get my brakes checked and chain lubed. While the mechanic is working on this I fill up my water and fill my bag with new gels and bars. I discover that I’m missing one bag of electrolytes, the one for the water fill up at mile 121. Glad I have the salt packs from the burger place with me. Get my bike back, nothing wrong with the brakes, probably it’s just that they are new and haven’t seated themselves in yet. Sorry everyone for the noise. I don’t see any port-a –potties around and inquire. Turns out the bathrooms are in that building way over there. Too far to go, I don’t want to waste any more time and that would be backtracking. I’ve held it for five hours, I’ll hold it a little longer and find somewhere out on the course. So I’m off down the road onto the next leg and in search of a good tree or road intersection.
At this point desperate people can’t be too choosy. There are not many hiding places out on the prairie, all less so with hundreds of people out there with you. A few blades of grass will have to be enough to “hide” me while I do my business. I hope there isn’t a snake in the grass. I find that I actually look forward to having to pee because it is the only time I let myself take a micro break.
Somewhere after mile 64 my triceps start hurting from holding on through all the rough gravel. In order to relax them I can’t pedal as hard. So much for all the core work I’ve been doing, it’s more than my body can concentrate on right now. It’s mostly pedal and flex my arms once in awhile, got to keep moving.
The day starts to really heat up. Every time we came to a stream crossing I don’t even think about trying to ride through. I want to get my feet wet. Some people were even sitting in the stream but I have to keep forward motion. Back at the first checkpoint I had eaten a caffeine gel. I don’t consume caffeine anymore but these didn’t have too much in them. I remember the nice boost I used to get from caffeine when riding so I took a few caffeine gels along for this ride. This first caffeine gel gives me just the right amount of pickup I am looking for. Nothing big, just makes the aches less and the effort seem easier. I decide to eat another caffeine gel a couple of hours later and this is a big mistake. I get jittery and my heart must be racing, although I don’t ride with a heart rate monitor. I worry that if I don’t take a break I’ll get into trouble. I don’t want to stop and sit though for fear of not starting again. I just walk slowly up a hill. As long as I keep moving forward it’s okay. There were actually more than a few hills that I walked up. It’s not that the hills were steep or long. On a normal ride they’d be a piece of cake, but with this many miles and in the heat it was just sensible not to push it sometimes. I don’t actually know how hot it got but I’m guessing in the lower 90’s.
It was 57 miles from the first checkpoint to the next water stop at mile 121. I was being very diligent in drinking my water. So at mile 100 I had finished off the 2.5 liters in my hydration pack from the refill at mile 64. I still had two bottles of plain water for the next twenty miles, and hoped that would do. Suddenly I notice a lot of riders pulled off to the side, and a pink shelter tent. It was a pop up water oasis that some group had set up in a shady grove for everyone. They even have icy cold wet bandanas that they tie around our necks. I gulp a ton of water and pour one of the salt packs straight into my mouths. I also fill my hydration pack. As I left this little miracle spot I thank them and tell them they are angels. They laugh like it is the most amazing thing anyone has ever said to them.
Onward I go, it’s all a blur of green rolling hills and gravel. Passing people, being passed, ticking off the miles. A few people want to chat but I’m not in the mood. I have no energy to expend on small talk.
When I get to the water stop at mile 121 I step off my bike and feel very strange, woozy and faint. It had been my plan to not take much of a break at each checkpoint, just do what I need to do to get restocked and get out of there. My body is having none of that. I will need to rest here until my body reaches equilibrium again. I drink lots of water, consume another salt pack and pour bottles of water over my head while I sit on the cool grass in the shade. I am a bit worried I’ll have to call it a day if I don’t start to feel better. I sit for 10-15 minutes and start to come around. It’s 5:30 and I knew it would be cooling down now so I decide to go on. Only 30 miles to the next checkpoint. I’ve got this. I continue to eat my steady diet of gels and energy bars every 30 minutes, whether I want to or not, and by this time I really don’t want but do it anyway.
I roll into checkpoint 3 in Council Grove around 8:40 p.m. I’ve never been so pampered in my life. The volunteer crew takes my bike from me, sits me down in a chair, gives me a cold wet washcloth for my face and offers me pizza. No thanks I say, I know better than to stray from my own race food. But I am a bit bored by the gels and bars. Pretzels always go down easy, so I eat one. It is sawdust in my mouth, never mind, I’ll stick to my stuff. While the volunteers are refilling my water and lubing up my chain I put on dry socks and shoes. I attach my light to my helmet and shove off at 9:00. Only 50 miles left.
It turns darks quickly after leaving this stop. I don’t enjoy riding in the dark because I don’t see as well. I have great lights with me but with the rough gravel and all the dust amplified in the headlights it takes all my attention to focus on seeing the best line in front of me. I’ve never had 50 miles go by so slowly. Each time I look down at my bike computer I’m depressed by how little distance has gone by. Red taillights ahead of me, strung out up and down the hills, near and far. Crickets and katydids replace the bird song. Always the constant crunch of gravel. All day long I kept trying to sing myself a song but I could never finish one. All my thoughts had to stay on the good line in the gravel. Will this ride never end? I have to keep reminding myself that by this time tomorrow I will be home in my bed in Seattle. Small comfort. I also keep comforting myself with the fact that the last ten miles are flattish and with some pavement. The town of Americus marks the beginning of the last ten miles, just let me get to Americus and I’ll be home free.
Out of nowhere I see a sign by the side of the road, “Are you chasing something”. The Salsa chaise lounge photo op. I had forgotten all about this little highlight and it brings a big smile to my face. I am more than happy to stop for a picture on the chaise lounge in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. Then I’m off again chasing down the finish line. Barring any disaster I know I will make it before the 3 a.m. cut off. I start to follow a guy on a fat bike. He is going a good speed and picking good lines and by this point I am finding comfort in being near another human. This doesn’t last too long though because he slows down or I pick up my pace. Just before Americus I catch up to another rider. I fall in line behind her; she is also going my pace and picking good lines. As we head out of town and onto another gravel road I pull up along side her to warn her about this next road. There are deep ruts in it I tell her. After we get pass the ruts Meghan from Iowa and I end up riding side by side, chatting and comparing upcoming directions. Just a few miles until the finish, now it’s nice to have some company. And here we are, back onto pavement and going through the Emporia State University campus. Up one last hill and into the finish chute.
Even at 2:00 a.m. there are still some people by the finish chute cheering us on. Throughout the last half of the ride I kept imagining the few choice words I would have for Jim Cummins, the race director. Instead I find myself gratefully accepting his hug and thanking him profusely for a wonderful event. He places my finisher pint glass in one hand and one of the teenage volunteers offers me a recovery drink, vanilla or chocolate? Who can make a decision at this point. Our hands full, Meghan and I clink empty pint glasses to congratulate each other.
All through this ride I never thought it was fun. It was something I wanted to do, but I couldn’t remember why I always think these long endurance rides sound exciting. Reliving this ride today while I wrote this it comes back to me. After all the pain the day after the ride and even today, the second day after the ride the endorphins are kicking in. The euphoria is here and I almost want to go do it all again.
A HUGE thank you to all my family, friends and teammates for all the support and encouragement. That was another thing that kept me going through the ride, all the gratitude I felt for each and every one of you!
Annie Bikes 