Colorado Trail Race – 2011

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8 Days 5 Hours 16 Minutes

That’s how long it took me to complete the Colorado Trail Race.  Good for 30th place and a big fat smile on my face that will last until I get to make the first ski turns of the coming  season.  Everyone wants to know what it was like.  Pictures help.  So do stories. But they all seem to fall short for some reason.

Maybe it’s because you can’t get through something like the CTR without changing as a person, and that’s a tough thing to put into words.  For me, this was my first mulit-day ultra-marathon that I completed. It wasn’t about the distance (496 miles), or the elevation gain (65,000′). It was about digging deeper into myself than I’ve ever gone before.  Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.  The Elk Mountains Grand Traverse is – for me – more dangerous, but the multiday nature of the CTR forced me to strengthen nearly everything about myself.

There’s a commercial out now for running shoes that says something like “strong is what’s left when you use up all your weak” – man that just hits home.

I ran out of weak just below the pass on the west side of the ten mile range.  I went over the bars and landed on my arm. HARD. Not knowing if it was broken or not, I laid there, face down, way above tree line, in the rain, scared. As soon as I had my wits about me I saw that my left arm was bleeding pretty badly.  I could see a little yellow and deep red in the wound. Fat and muscle.  Awesome! So I grab my first aid kit, clean up the wound and get it bandaged. I also learn that there are 2 deep bruises on my left quad that scream at me every time the muscle contracts.  But I still have to get down this mountain before the main storm hits! With over 30 hours of racing behind me, I’m pretty wrecked, this is going to be hard.

Back on the bike I realized I can’t grip the handlebar with full strength, in fact, I’m only about 50%, maybe even just 40%. This is a pretty serious descent on a 4 inch travel bike and my confidence is shot.  I’d rather not crash again and I definitely don’t want to re-learn how scary lightning storms are. So I put my tail in between my legs and start pushing my bike.

With almost no confidence, I stick with the plan and make it down to the Conoco at Copper so that I can eat and re-stock my food supplies – sometimes pushing, sometimes riding. Each bump makes my arm hurt to point where I can barely hold the grip. The folks at Conoco were great! They knew about the race and were quick to help out with NOAA weather reports on their laptop and kind words of encouragement.  It looks like there’s one more burst of rain, but once these clouds role through we’ve got a pretty nice window, maybe enough to get to Camp Hale?

A little more inspired I get back on my bike and start heading up to Searle Pass.  I’m moving so slowly! My quad hurts on the uphill. My arm hurts on the downhill. And my lack of confidence has me gingerly rolling along the trail at turtle speed.  All the demons start talking in my head.  All the doubt starts flooding my brain. I’m just wrecked. Maybe I need a little break? Will a couple of hours of sleep pull me out of this funk? It’s worth a shot. So I pull out the ground cloth and sleeping bag and promptly fall a sleep in 0.2 seconds.

I wake up 20 minutes later to rain. REALLY? Where’s that big window of weather I saw on the NOAA radar? I’m just not ready to start moving again so I pull out the emergency bivy and huddle in the deepest corner of my sleeping bag and fall back to sleep. A couple hours of shut eye later (8pm) I wake up to a full on rain storm and my down sleeping bag is getting wet.  Not much to do now but start moving.  I pack everything up and get back on the bike. My rain gear seems to be working well, but I just can’t stay on the bike.  My legs don’t have enough strength for this climb in the dark and my coordination is off.  I keep stumbling on every rock and root, and there’s lots of them.  I’m spending more energy trying to stay on the bike then I am on upward progress.  So I start pushing the bike.  My left quad hurts with each step and my left arm is just plain weak. And it turns out my neoprene shoe covers aren’t waterproof, at least my feet are warm.  I put my head down and push my bike through the rain and the dark for the next 2 hours.

Finally the rain stops, so I stop.  I need some sleep. I’ve had 6-7 hours of sleep/rest and I’ve been racing for 40 hours. I don’t want to get my down bag any more wet so I slip into the emergency bivy sans the sleeping bag and fall asleep.  A couple hours later I wake up… with hypothermia. I’ve got the shivers badly enough to know that I’ve got to do something about this now. I try starting a fire, but everything is so wet that it’s not going to happen without a serious effort. So I dig out the sleeping bag and wrap myself in it and just stand there until the shivers are gone. MMMMMMMMM warmth. Down makes me happy. OK – an hour later with the shivers gone what should I do? Sleep? Or continue on?  I simply don’t have the cajones to try riding right now. Weak arm, bruised quad, bad night time coordination, and I just recovered from hypothermia… I’m no hardcore dude, I’m just trying to survive the night. So I slip the now wet down bag into the wet bivy and fall asleep knowing that I’m gonna have to deal with drying everything out later.

4′ish am – OK I made it through the night.  What now? Do I dare continue? Do I really have what it takes to finish this beast? I could roll down the mountain and be eating breakfast at the log cabin in Frisco in 2 hours.  Damn. Dropping out again? Really? No more strength. Period. I’m done. There’s nothing left. Wet.  Hungry. Sad from memories of losing my pup Homer this past spring. Missing my wife and daughter. Basically I’m manifesting all things pathetic in a single moment of life. How glum is this?

Screw it! I can still put one foot in front of the other, I’ll figure out pedaling later.  Time to re-program my brain and get on with this race.

By 7:30am my gear was dry(er), packed, and I was pushing my bike up to Searle Pass. The sun was out. The sky was blue. I was warm and life was getting better. At some point I even got back on the bike and started riding again. I had just learned what the word strength really means.  It’s not what you are when everything is going your way, when you are full of confidence and ready to win. Strength is that force inside that helps you take one more step when all other forces in the universe are trying to keep you from doing just that. Like the commercial says, “strength is what’s left when you’ve used up all your weak.”

6 mornings later I would end up in Durango. Charging down the final slopes with a shit eating grin on my face, many pounds lighter, with an animal like glow in my eyes.

Check out the slide show Bob made for me. Pictures are from a both 2011 and 2009 when I road the trail with support from Jen and Homer. It’ a big file, so be patient while it downloads:

Slide Show: Colorado Trail Race – 2011

Front Range 60

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So my XC bike is ready for trail life.  Not quite ready for the pasture, but it’s racing life is over.  I tried buying a new complete bike, but the local bike shops didn’t have the one I want.  Which was fine, because I really should build a bike with all my sponsor parts anyway.  I was just being lazy.  It’s a total pain in the ass collecting all the right parts.  It’s fun building the bike, but getting all the parts… man… it makes me want to drink heavily!  I order the frame almost 7 weeks ago, I still don’t have all the parts from sponsors yet.  Whatever, I need to ride this bike now! So last Thursday (the race is Sat morning) I decided use the sponsor parts that I have and just pull parts from other bikes to make it work.  I worked on it until 10pm and was nearly finished, but still had a couple hours of work left.  So friday roles around, I finish work, drive straight home and take the new dog (Elmer – he was a stray living in a corn field and we think he hunted rabbits) to the vets.  We grab a burrito for dinner and I’m home around 7′ish.  Damn! I still need to finish this bike.  It’s done by 9pm – I take it for a little 2 minute spin and ratchet through the gears.  No time.  I pack the jeep with the race gear and go to bed.  Next morning I wake up at 5:15am and get the show on the road. Jen, Dari, and I are in the jeep and moving at 6am, registration opens at 6:30am.  We get there, I register, and I take all the stuff Jen needs to support me up to a shady tree.  This is my first time riding the new bike on dirt :-)


I mean really?  I know better then to race on a bike that I’ve never ridden before! WTF am I doing?  I humbly resign to not imploding if end up dropping out with a mechanical.  Time to purge these negative thoughts though and get the good mojo following.  I meet Jen and Dari near the staging area, calmly put sun screen on my head and arms (oops I forgot about my legs), eat a gu, kiss the ladies and line up at the start!


Bang.  The race starts, I’m with roughly 100 riders in a mass start.  It’s a true peleton start with a little 1/4 mile promenade on some pavement for the spectators to get a good look.  Riding in a mass of bikes like that with amateurs is difficult.  Pros make it look simple. But amateurs get anxious and some make impulsive decissions, but mostly, they just try too hard.  So within the first mile there’s a total train wreck, luckily I avoid the carnage and sneak by without harm.  The first lap on the new bike is going ok. Perfect shifts. Agressive, but stable at high speeds. Cornering monster! The wide bars and oversized stem are stiff as hell and allow me really attack the turns. The bike is drifting corners like a DH bike! friggin awesome!  Let’s keep it under control though.  There’s section on the course that I’ll be hitting 30-35mph on skinny single track, can’t get cocky.  So the first lap goes by and I’m just focusing on my bike really.  Don’t really care about were I am in the pack yet.  There’s still 50 miles to go.


I come through feed station at the end of the first lap and Jen’s there with Dari in an ErgoBaby holding a big water bottle.  The big bottle means that Jen is going to go feed Dari and won’t be there to hand off a water bottle on the next lap.  Go Jen! We’ve got this shit figured out!  I grab the big water bottle and start to motor.  My clothing is perfect.  Not too hot, and just a smidge cool on the descents. Let’s keep the pace honest, but not too high, and really focus on efficient pedaling! No bobbing the head and shoulders, just focus all your energy into the pedals.  The miles start rolling by. I’m getting my gu on the safe sections and drinking perpetum as needed.  The climbs are easy and my speed is respectable.  I catch up to a large group of guys on a climb.  We finish the climb single file and descend likewise.  But after the descent it turns into double track and all bets are off.  The riders with the energy start making moves and passing other riders.  I’m feeling great, time to jump on the break away.  We start rolling fast.  I mean really fast.  So fast there’s a dust cloud coming up from us.  I’ve only seen the pros do this. But I’m able to hang on and we just destroy the rest of lap 2 like a freight train.  Friggin awesome!


I role through the feed station and there’s volunteers handing out water bottles.  What the hell, I grab one, take a few swigs and toss the bottle just past the feed station.  In that short amount of time the break away was gone!  Really? WTF? I can’t get a drink?  Apparently not.  OK, I’ve got to catch back up to these guys.  I take a hit of gu, some perpetum and motor.  bbrrrrrraaabbbppppppp!  I catch up to a smaller group on the next climb and mistake this group to be break away.  I hang on the back for the next few miles and start to figure out that this is the wrong group.  Where’s the dust?  So I make my move and pass them on a climb. After another couple miles I catch “a” group on the biggest climb of loop. It’s not really worth my energy to try and pass on this climb in most places because it’s so narrow, so I really have to be strategic about my passes.  I make 2 passes and catch a group on the downhill.  We hit the double track again and we’re off to the races.  30-35mph = dust!  I’m back on the breakaway! We crush the rest of the 3rd lap and I do nothing but breathe dust the whole way, what a total hoot!


I hit the feed station, water bottle empty, grab a volunteer bottle get a swig, and toss it, see Huey/Dari, toss my perpetum, grab the new one, and hit the hammer! I’m not loosing these guys this time!  All of a sudden I’m on auto pilot, and passing lots of people.  30 miles done, 30 to go, and I’m feeling great.  Literally I could not be more stoked!  A lot of those guys in the breakaway are cracking.  I end up passing 20-30 people on the 4th lap.


By the time I hit the feed station I’m all alone.  Certainly there’s a group of studs in front of me, but the main group that I was with has vanished.  I grab my water bottle from Jen/Dari and cruise.  I’m starting to feel it a little now.  My neck is sore, my left foot is sore, and I’m hot.  I mean really hot.  My jersey is unzipped and I’m just baking on the climbs.  Sweat is dripping on my bike and sunglasses.  I’m totally covered in sweaty, salty dirt.  Oh man, my stomach is getting queezy.  Fuck. I didn’t do a good job fueling on the last two laps.  I would later realize that I was only drinking at most half of the water bottle on laps 3 and 4.  I also thought I was doing good on the gu, but really wasn’t!  Shit!!!  Well let’s start getting the fluids in me.  I hit bottle as hard as I can, which is like a 3 ounces in 10 minutes.  All of sudden I’m realizing that all my speed is gone.  The corners are no longer risky, I can just cruise through them, unconcerned about whether or not I’m gonna make them. Really??? People start passing me. I get back on the water bottle.  Fuck!!! I’m totally nauseas.  I can’t consume gu.  I can barely consume perpetum.  And the heat is just getting hotter, the sweat just keeps rolling off.  The pro women are lapping me (the men did that a long time ago).  The crowd is supportive and sees that I’m suffering, their cheers help a lot! A get a chest shot of water from a racer that’s already finished! I’m feeling the love! But my body just wants to shut down.


Coming into the feed station for my 6th and final lap I want to quit.  I fought the good fight, but I screwed up my nutrition, and now body is done.  There’s nothing left in me. For a moment I have nothing to prove, even to myself.  But then something Lance Armstrong said came into my head… “Pain is temporary.  It might last for an hour. A day. A week. Maybe even a month or a year. But eventually it will go away. Quitting lasts forever.” Suddenly I didn’t like the idea of living with myself knowing that I quit because I was hurting.  Nothing in my life is anything less then awesome, why disrespect everything that I’ve been blessed with by quitting.  So I toss my nearly 3/4 full bottle and grab a new one.  I try to choke down a mouth full.  I nearly vomit, but somehow keep it down.  I start doing chi gong breathing exercises to calm my stomach down.  It’s working. But all my speed is gone.  The hills I was once climbing in 4th or 5th gear I’m now suffering through in 1st gear.  Every pedal stroke sends radiating pain from my left foot to my mushy brain.  I can seriously barely keep my head up.  The new bike has a different geometry then I’m used to and I’m more stretched out, so I’m using neck muscles that I’m not used to.  I take a sip and have to spit it out. Fuck. really??? I’m gonna have another 8 miles with 5 climbs where I can’t drink anything.  Hopefully this will pass.  The legs just start burning.  But no big deal.  I’ve learned how to ignore them over the years.  I can’t make them go fast when I’m like this yet, but I know I can get through it. The miles creep past.  Each pedal stroke literally means pain. People are passing me.  I encourage them. I know they are suffering too, just less then me that’s all.  I try another sip.  Nope.  Spit that out too.  Oh well.  Just put your head down and pedal. Heat. Pounding into me. Sweat. Dirt. The muscles in between my ribs are aching on the descents now.  Each rattle of the bike means my whole core contracts in pain.  Dude this is brutal.  When can I just lay down? I want my feet to stop hurting. I want to relieve my neck! Pedal dude, just pedal.  Stop thinking about everything else.  If it’s not pedaling, don’t think about it.


I pull into the finish line.


Humble.


Physically wrecked. Mentally none existent.


I kiss Huey and Dari.  Dari is ready to eat, so Jen kisses me heads for the jeep.  I get off my bike and nearly fall.  A pro that rides for primal wants to talk bikes with me.  I can barely form a sentence.  I need to lay down.  Where is that tree with the seat/food/cooler?  Oh yeah over there.  There’s too many people to ride my bike, I’m gonna have to walk.  Each step is so painful.  I make it to the shade and just crash.  20 minutes later I join reality.  Head to the feed tent for some oranges and make my way back to Jen and Dari.


What a day dude.  What a day!