The Tour of Utah Ultimate Challenge
(and uber-long tri-training run)
Saturday August 10th was the Tour of Utah Ultimate
challenge, one of the three events that comprise the Triple Crank, a special
award given to any cyclist that can complete the three toughest Utah races:
Rockwell Relay (done & done on June 10-11 of this year, watch for
that race report on the Cyclingwithrodzilla blogsite) The Tour of Utah Ultimate
Challenge and Logan to Jackson (LOTOJA classic) in the same calendar year.
The Tour of Utah claims to be the toughest stage race in America and the
Ultimate Challenge provides an opportunity for local cyclists to experience the
toughest stage (the Queen stage) of the nation's most punishing cycling event:
113.9 miles, 10,600 feet of vertical climb, alpine roads
with double digit gradients for miles on end, a mountain pass summit above the
tree line and a finish at the top of the most notorious (and diabolical) canyon
climb in the state.
If your first thought upon reading that last paragraph was
"The line of people signing up for that must be quite short.", then you don't know cyclists. We tend to be a masochistic lot,
always searching for new and inventive ways to suffer. This year race
organizers easily filled all 500 slots available for the event long before race
day. Misery always loves her company and the cycling community seems to embrace
that principle with gusto.
Jennifer is still training for her half Ironman, so we
combo-ed the day trip (we've had to be efficient in our training, since
entering races and competing is not our job or our lives). Jenn drove me
to Snow Basin Ski resort at about 6:30 in the morning and dropped me off
to do my best.
 |
| Team Infinite Cycles. You know them, they're the lean, mean, green and black machine that flies past you any Saturday you're out riding in the Southwest corner of the valley. If you feel like you're in pretty good shape, just try to stay on their wheel. Or better yet snap a photo in a group of them and try not to think of the doughnut craving you indulge on a weekly basis (twice weekly?). I always used to say that I exercise so I can eat what I want. Diets, even minimally restrictive ones, don't set well with me. That's not to say I haven't changed my habits since starting cycling, I have but I've plateaued. To take it to the next level you have to be vigilant, dedicated, willing to sacrifice. I just haven't been ready for that sort of commitment but I've spent this entire summer listening to Jennifer talk the talk and watching her walk the walk. The results have been striking. Maybe it's time to bump things up to the Infinite Cycles/Jenn training for her Iron(wo)man level of performance ... but then there's doughnuts. Hm. |
She then drove down the mountain to Pineview reservoir.
A large part of this route comes from the Ogden marathon that Jennifer
hopes to run in May of next year, it's a qualifier for Boston ... stay tuned,
more to follow on that I'm sure. She mapped out a 15 mile* (!) circuit
run, filled her water belt bottles and set out for a leisurely** 25 km jog.***
*That's the problem with getting into shape, it becomes
harder to surprise yourself or anybody who has been paying attention to your
training. Fifteen miles seems like a really long way to run, in fact it's
the longest distance Jenn has ever run but at the same time it seems imminently
do-able (for her, not for me). Jenn can do it, of course she can.
If I weren't busy with milestone challenges of my own I would take the
time to be duly impressed.
**If you consider a 9:10 pace leisurely (and I
don't)
*** Yep, I used the J-word, just to bug you and your
Beautiful morning for a ride and a run. Cool (below 60
degrees f at the start) and just enough wind to cool you off.
Jenn took her time and enjoyed the scenery, the flora
& fauna
(she even snapped a photo of a bald eagle).
Despite the personal best distance, the only real challenge
Jenn faced the entire run was the bathroom debacle. Along with distance
and climb, she mapped out bathroom rest stops (I'm assuming that's what the
pleasant looking little yellow man icon is on her run map above). The
reality she ran up against was a state park bathroom that had stood its ground
for eight weeks of record breaking Utah heat with attendant Utah crowds looking
to beat said heat with a day trip to the reservoir. The results of those
circumstances on an outdoor bathroom were everything you would imagine they
would be, plus flies. Lots and lots (and lots more even than that) of
flies. She probably cost herself 5 minutes in finish time as she debated
braving the swarm or trying to cover ten more miles with a full bladder.
"They're just flies. They're just flies. They're just flies ..." -Jenn (to herself in one of her
more odd exercise pep talks)
My race (actually a ride) was really enjoyable at first.
About five hundred cyclists being released form the starting line in
waves on a long ride with huge climbs ahead of them; a legitimate Gran Fondo by
the strictest definition of the term. The relaxed atmosphere (despite the
violence that awaited us) was refreshing. No race legs, no hyperventilating
and no crazy-rapid heart rate (My usual race day bugaboos) to vex me.
Just a (-n extra-long) Saturday bike ride.
 |
If you're not starting with a group you can leave
whenever. The two cyclists in the photo are half of team HalfFast.
I started with them and rode in their slipstream in some capacity or
another for almost 65 miles. Good guys (and more than half-fast no
matter what it says on the seat of their bibs).
|
The first 2/3 of the ride into Park City were the embodiment
of everything I love about cycling, moving at speed and covering huge chunks of
real estate with minimal* effort because you're working with dozens of other
riders and borrowing the collective power stored in everybody's legs, just a
real adrenaline rush. The original plan was to meet Jenn at the 60 mile
mark and have her drop me off some cold beverages and extra nutrition before
she went home to shower and get the boys. However, I hadn't anticipated
how fast we would be able to cover that ground and by the time she got back in
the van and started chasing us to somewhere near Coalville we were already on
the final approach to Park City.
*It's all relative I'm sure, you can't fake your way
through 75 miles and 4000 feet of climb, but it would have been impossible to
move anywhere near that quickly on my own.
On the climb through Brown's canyon I pulled off and sent
her a text to go home, get the kids and meet me on Wasatch blvd between Big
Cottonwood and Little Cottonwood canyons.
I mentioned that the first 75 miles were a pleasure, the
last 40 or so were a different story altogether. Just out Park city the
road pitched to double digit grades with sustained stretches of 15% or more for
kilometers at a time. I've done it before on fresher legs and it was
still painful and the kind of climb that makes you question your motives. I
thought of the pros that would be racing up these roads a few hours later and
idea of it seemed incredibly sadistic.
We amateurs took to weaving back and forth to maintain
forward momentum on the climb never done that before but it worked for a while
anyway. Eventually riders began to crack, first tightening their weave,
then wobbling, then frantically popping out of their pedals before dumping
themselves and their treasured bikes on the uneven asphalt. Once out of
the pedals you were left with the question of how to get back in. A
certain amount of force is required to pop into your pedal, and a certain
amount of momentum is required to stay upright. Pedaling uphill works if
you get lucky and pop right in, turning and going down won't work, you can't
pedal down with any force on an 18% negative grade and every meter you travel
down the hill you will just have to turn around and cover again (again).
Best to go back to the left/right weave, even if it lengthens your ride
to beyond the 114 mile mark.
At the top of Empire Pass we dropped down a few hundred
meters to the Guardsman Pass climb: two miles of 9.8% avg grade on roads that
thoroughly loosen the definition of the word 'paved' Chip seal over tire
ruts and potholes mostly, and now at 9500 feet above sea level. Not a lot of O2
in the air at that altitude. More carnage, more cyclists standing glumly
roadside next to their mounts, like lycra-clad deserters of a Calvary battle
with bikes instead of horses. They even had the empty, traumatized look on
their faces of somebody who has somehow survived a harrowing event but knows
that though they dodged a fair number of bullets, their number is bound to be
up soon, that they may never get off this mountain and even if they do, things
aren't ever going to be the same.
As luck would have it, the clinic I work for was having
their annual employee appreciation BBQ at a campsite in Big Cottonwood Canyon.
I had schemed with some co-workers to have them meet me on Guardsman
pass, ostensibly to hand over a magical pulled pork sandwich, the rejuvenating
qualities of which would power me to finish. I knew there was no way I
would be choking down a pork sandwich at that point in the ride but I hoped for
maybe a spray down with cool water and some shouts of encouragement. As I
passed the KOM* sign I was blasted by some really cold air. Like the air
temperature dropped 25 degrees in 25 meters. Once again I had
miscalculated how long it would take me to get to this point, beating my
estimated split by more than thirty minutes. I took a few minutes to
confirm my crew was not lurking among the mountain bikers and day hikers at the
summit and then mounted up for the descent.
*Again, you're seriously making riders race up this?
If this were a war the race promoters would have a court
date at the Hague in their future
Eighteen miles of white knuckle descent down Guardsman pass
and Big Cottonwood Canyon and you're at the intersection with Wasatch Blvd and
the 7/11 hill, a mile long 8% grade that starts at the eponymous convenience
store and mocks your belief that the last 30 minutes of coasting have brought
your legs back, if anything it has cooled them down and then put them to
bed. The transition to climbing a hill like that is like getting woken up
by a fire alarm. Just as I was chastising myself for not bringing some
cash for a slurpee (the temperature was back up, way up, 95-ish degrees up) My
buddy Zach (the proselyte) rolled onto the scene. He has a habit of
showing up at the perfect time, like on the Rose Canyon descent when I was just
going to have enough time to sprint home and shower before work and then:
puncture, no CO2 cannister, better call the clinic and tell them not to expect me anytime soon ... up comes Zach, CO2 aplenty.
 |
Zach the Proselyte shows up in time to save my bacon (again)
On this occasion he and his wife Julie have been trying to
track down since passing me halfway up Big Cottonwood. Zach goes into
full, support crew mode "He needs carbs! He needs food! He needs
something to drink!" He hands over the mtn dew he's been drinking
(probably diet, but cold so I'm not complaining) and Julie scrounges around the
car looking for anything edible. They have boxes of baguettes for the office
picnic, the kind of bread rolls you can soak in au jus for five solid minutes
without them getting soggy, I try a bite ... not happening but I'm touched by
the thought and gesture. What Zach does have is 24 ounces of ice water in
his camelback waterbottle. I take a sip and empty a quarter of it on my
head and neck. Nirvana. I mount up and attack the 7/11 climb,
setting a strava PR in the process, not that I'm moving terribly fast, nobody
is at this point. There are still dozens, even hundreds of cyclists on
the road, none of them are pedaling with anything resembling alacrity. If
zombies rode bikes they would look something like this. I reward the
riders that do pass me with a blast from Zach's magic waterbottle of happiness
to their backs and necks. It just felt so good I couldn't help sharing.
I arrive at the mouth of Little Cottonwood, still far ahead
of schedule. I figure if I'm done before 3 pm I can safely beat the
vanguard that will clear the road of motorists and cyclists in preparation for
the arrival of the professionals. I'm fairly certain if I get swept off
the road in the canyon that's where my day will end, all the wind out of my
sails and all the gas out of my tank. I spy Jennifer (and all my kids
except Raechel) waiting for me with liquid refreshment and words of
encouragement (also a sports tap or two).
 |
| Rodney in da' haus! (this event just became a party) |
Little Cottonwood is a beast to deal with on a day when
that's all you have planned. Doing it after riding 106 miles and climbing
8000 feet seemed ... imprudent. When Rodney showed up on his motorcycle
to offer roadside support I actually felt quite fresh, legs weren't dead and I
didn't feel like a ghost, mostly cause I had eaten everything I'd brought and lots
of what was offered at the feed stations. The boost in my spirits and
energy level that seeing friendly faces provided burned off all too quickly and
I was left with the long torturous grind up the canyon to the finish.
*there is no such thing, but maybe there should be?
By end of the ride well wishers, family members and just
cycling aficionados waiting for the pros (who would start 4 hours behind us and
close the gap by a full three hours before I finished) were all pouring cold
water on me and giving me helpful (they don't know how helpful) pushes up the
hill.
|
By the time I hit the 1km mark, one km was all I had left
and not a meter more. Fortunately the last 300 meters were a downhill
drop into the snowbird parking lot. Done and done (in 7 hrs and 24
minutes of ride time, ten minutes before three o'clock and almost an hour ahead
of the sweep) not even enough energy left to raise both hands in victory.
As I walked my bike down the chute past the vendor booths I overheard a
couple of riders comparing calories burned per their various power taps (~4500
if you're interested) and discussing their plans for the remainder of the day
(beverages they were going to consume, cravings they would indulge). A
third cyclist interrupted them with "All I'm going to do is curl up in a
corner until somebody comes by to hold me and tell me everything is going to be
OK." It sounded like a good plan to me. I found a place lean my bike
and another to plant my bottom and that's where I stayed.
I called Jenn to tell her I had stopped moving and where she
could find me. She ran (after already running 15 miles today, I mentioned that,
right?) to find me in the post ride melee and brought me a change of clothes,
some chocolate milk and a victory kiss (but no hug, I was still at the 'soaked
in sweat' post-race stage).
I got changed and we wove our way back through the
carnival crowds to the roadside spot Rodney and co. had been camping in all day
and watched the pros summit the climb and sprint (sort of) to the finish.
I took comfort in the fact that to a man they looked as though they had
just escaped from a refugee camp, that sort of 'seriously, what just
happened ... and why?' look. I was very familiar with that
state of mind, having finished my latest episode of it just moments earlier.
Even with the race over we couldn't leave. The only
road in or out had been shut down for about an hour and everybody who wanted up
was coming up the same with those who wanted down. That was OK with me, I
welcomed the opportunity to sit in one place after perpetually moving for
almost 8 hours.
So two down, one to go for the triple crank.
Four weeks to LOTOJA.
Five weeks to the Bear Lake Brawl Half Ironman.
Check back with us once in a while. We'll be here,
all summer.
