It's been far too long since I've updated this blog, not for lack of great things to mention, but I suppose more for lack of enthusiasm brought on by Winter moving in... So here it goes.
July, 2011...
Three weeks after completing the Mono Lake to Reno bike-packing trip I signed up for the Tahoe Trail 100k race. This was to be the longest race I had ever done, and only my 4th race ever. The previous were: two small eight to ten mile loop courses with a variety of skills and ages from some junior high kids to grandfathers out to relive their youth, and the other was the Pine Nut Cracker back in May, a 30 mile loop race that all but defeated me. The mixture of the rolling hills covered in a slurry of sand and gravel, the heat and my lack of caloric and water intake, my single speed gearing choice of 32-19, and my general naivety of it all hit me hard... I was the third from last person on course, only to arrive before my friend Coach, and a guy I passed about 5 miles back on course who suffered from 4 flats during the race and resigned to carrying his bike rather than feeding it more rubber.
I lined up for the Tahoe Trail 100k at Northstar Village on a brand new bike that I had built from the frame up. I chose the components with weight in mind, but also with keeping my budget in mind. The frame, a Tomac Flint 29er, gave me the ability to run it single speed with it's eccentric bottom bracket, and I did exactly that. For wheels I chose the Easton XC1ss; light, flexy, and relatively cheap, and in which I wrapped some Maxxis Crossmarks. For the rest of the components I chose a mixture of Thomsom, Woodman, WTB, and Truvativ. The complete build was just under 24 pounds.
The course was two laps of 31 miles, with just over 3,400 feet of climbing per lap. Mostly well groomed fire roads with several miles of technical single track climbs and switchback laden downhills. It was a mass start event, with 200 plus people all chomping at the bit to warm up as the fog still socked in the mountain at 7am for the race start. The gun shot released us, and up we went. The first 2.7 miles were straight up, shooting us to over 7,200 feet in only minutes. The 900 foot climb was made more difficult by small segments of over 10% grade mixed amongst the gradual climb. With no choice of downshifting, as I was committed to my one gear combination of 32-20, I was forced out of the saddle only minutes in. Passing those granny gearing up the climb, with looks of both astonishment, and smirks of those accomplished riders who can pick the rookie endurance racer out on climbs like these. Judging those inexperienced riders who start at a faster pace than they can maintain for the long haul. It wasn't my ego, or my eagerness that was pushing me up the grade, but rather a simple lack of options. Six miles in and dozens of people passed, the climb was forgotten as a three mile downhill rewarded the effort.
Then came the single-speeder's nightmare, flat ground, six or seven miles of it. Gently rolling fire road gave way to tight and flowy single-track. I maintained a comfortable pace, sacrificing several positions to those who were able to push a bigger gear. The first checkpoint and aid station came about 15 miles in, and from the talk of the pit workers and the racers beside me, we were only about 40 back of the leaders. The news of this, and the caffeine from a gel pumped me up just in time for another five mile stretch of single-track. Quick and technical track gave way to another fire road climb. Steep and shaded, it hid several patches of snow and mud that still lingered from the late Winter of last. Up and down the course went, before finally making one last climb up to what next time around would be the finish line. I made a quick pit stop, swapping water bottles for those I had sitting in my drop bag, pre-mixed with Perpetuem, and shedding the arm warmers that had been dangling around my wrists since early in the first lap. Back on course in under a minute.
Lap two was much of the same, sans the giant climb, as it was sort of a popsicle course, thankfully. I passed more people on the climbs, only to smile at them again as they slowly turned over their cranks on the flats, humored by my efforts to spin fast enough to keep up. I choked down more calories, knowing what lurked ahead at mile 46. The same daunting climbs that I had already conquered, and would now have to face again, now with thirty extra miles in my legs. Climbs like that can either destroy you, or build you up. Getting the frequent "Good job!" or "You're nuts!" from those walking their bike up the road as I mashed the pedals, shifting all of my body weight from the left foot to the right foot, provided me with the latter. This was my first true insight into the world of racing, and I knew now what it felt like to be a racer. The competitive ambitions of others never give way, but yet can be set aside for brief moments when they too are on your side.
Pushing all the way till the route dropped me once again onto the Northstar Downhill Course which would lead me to the finish line at the Village. I refused to use the brakes, despite the likelihood of a last minute spill on the banked turns was ever-present. Putting my time before my humility, I continued to push until I coasted across the finish line where my parents were setback, cheering. A glance over my left shoulder revealed the digital red font of the race clock. 5:08:20. I hung the bike on a nearby rack, and grabbed a fresh bottle of water and sat down on the nearest bench I could find.
The results were being hung occasionally, printed plainly on white paper, and stapled to a green sheet of plywood. I eventually made my way down there, the loudspeaker a constant chatter of race announcers translating bib numbers and dirty faces of those crossing the line, to names. Also frequently mentioning how the Leadville qualifying worked, something I wasn't entirely aware of heading into this race, nor something I truly paid much attention to, as I had no intentions of being on that level . Rather than racing against only 4 other single-speeders, I opted to race in the larger pool by age group, 19-29, which had about 30 people in it. As I approached the easel, I fingered my way from the bottom of the age group page towards the top. There I was, sat surprisingly only 5 lines down from the top of the page... I confirmed with one of the race organizers, the top 5 from my age group were qualified for the Leadville 100 only three weeks away.
I sat in a whirlpool of emotion, somewhat shocked, and even more amazed at what I just accomplished. I spoke with the parents about what it meant, and what a privilege it is to race Leadville. I called my friend Larry to run it by him, and more importantly, to ask him if he was on board with it, and with me. Another few minutes passed before I made the commitment. Payment was due that day to lock your spot in to race Leadville. I sat casually at a picnic table with one of the Leadville ladies who entered my info into her laptop, trading my ticket for the opportunity to pay hundreds of dollars, but with that, entering the race of a lifetime. I was Leadville bound...
20 days... 100 miles...
One week away. The room was booked in Silverthorne, as everywhere in Leadville was full. The last of the bike parts trickled in from QBP. The jerseys and shirts were at the press. The bank account was nearly empty. But it was a go. Jonathan, my step-dad, and friend Larry were along for the ride, offering to join me for the trip, and act as my pit crew for the race. Without them, I couldn't have done it. 
