The Dangerous Summer Chapter 6 The Beginning of the End Part One: LOTOJA Classic

As I understand it, mountaineers who climb Everest spend several years training (obviously) but the actual ascent takes weeks, even months.  Much of that time is spent bivouacked at base camp, giving their lungs, cardiovascular system and muscles a chance to acclimate themselves to the new environment, preparing themselves for that last huge effort to make the summit.  Without those crucial weeks of physical adjustment the actual climb would be near impossible.  At the risk of overstating our various past accomplishments and training*; these past three months have felt like living at base camp.  It's now time to draw on the conditioning we've worked so long and hard to achieve and make that last big push to the top.

*This is far more applicable to Jennifer than to me.  I've trained and I've been smarter about my training but I've also not allowed it to cause me mental stress or (to my detriment) make any huge noteworthy strides in performance.  I've never done the Triple Crank before, but I've done LoToJa and I know what it takes to get over that hurdle and that's what I've prepped for.  No specific finish time goals just a good effort, get it done and try to have a good time. I've also pretty much followed my basic exercise ethos:  ego manducare ergo fungor  (I eat, therefore I exercise).  Jennifer, on the other hand, has been a training zealot, nutrition maven and physical dynamo.  More on this in the write up of her day to shine (Bear Lake Brawl Half Iron(wo)man).  Let's just say for now she is not the same forty-something woman that she was when she started her quest.

Which brings us to:

Forever?  Really?  Is that a promise or a threat? A curse?  All three?  If the Catholics are correct and purgatory exists, is LOTOJA what cyclists will do in the hereafter until some kind soul secures them absolution for their indiscretions in this life? As I contemplate the answer to these transcendent questions I'm forced to confront the fact that I swore this race off, forever!* just two short years ago and yet, here we are: somewhere around 3am on an early September morning, dressed in spandex, grinning like a fool (fool I say) and getting ready to drive 100 miles just so I can ride 200 more.  Will I ever learn?  And if I do, will it even matter?**

* I guess they were right
** See above, ans:  No.

6am, September 7th 2013, Logan, Utah.  The intrepid support crew of team Larsen (3/4 of them anyway) are bright eyed and bushy tailed* and ready for a day of bike racing action and excitement.

*tails not pictured

I said I didn't let this race stress me like it has in the past and it's true.  Generally at the start of a race my heart rate monitor pegs me in zone 2/3 (115-125 beats a min) before I even turn a crank. Not today though, today I feel relaxed and ready.  I signed up to race this event.  New for this year is the cyclosportive class, a timed but not competitive Gran Fondo group who will stagger start times with those who are competing.  Given my attitude going into the day, my heart (and probably my conditioning level) belongs with them but by licensing and registering as a racer I get the benefit of starting earlier and riding fewer* miles as they have routed racers past the Preston feed zone to keep them from trying to pass slower cyclists on narrow, unevenly paved farm roads.  Throw in a pickup truck or some farming equipment on the same stretch of road and you have the makings of a tragic day of cycling.  I applaud the change in every regard.

*actual race distance for competitive cyclists is now just under 202 miles and if you think not cycling those last 3(+) miles is insignificant, you have clearly never ridden your bike for 200 miles.  The 202 mile distance had me grinning all day.

My race group is Masters 45+ (group A) which means we should all be at least 45 years old and experienced.  I look around and almost without exception the latter fact appears true of everybody in my race group, the former looks true of almost nobody.  One thing I've noticed about cycling (I'm sure the same holds true of runners triathletes etc.) , it may not be the proverbial fountain of youth but those that do it avidly appear about ten years younger (on average) than their calendar age.  So when I look around what I see are a bunch of physically fit thirty somethings charging hard through Cache Valley, very focused and at this point there's little or no communication, just head down, concentrating on the wheel in front of you and pedaling.  I already feel a bit outclassed in this group, that's par for the course for LOTOJA, most of these guys have been doing this and doing it well, for a long time.  Outclassed or not, the first thirty or so miles are mostly flat and if there's a wind* it's just about unnoticeable.  In these conditions even a novice cyclist would find keeping pace imminently doable.

*This was the case pretty much all day.  I can't tell you how refreshing that was, you would be hard-pressed to draw up a more perfect day for a bike race.

We cover the first 34 miles pre Strawberry summit climb in about an hour and twenty minutes.  Not burning up the road, but not burning matches either.  It's a good pace, maybe perfect.  Just outside Preston we encounter our first Cyclosportive, Relay and Fun riders.  Unfortunately we encounter them on the first big two mile 6% negative grade descent.  The mustering of cyclists slows what should have been a fast and worry-free downhill and generally makes it less enjoyable for everybody, racers and non-racers alike.  The run-in with the fun ride cyclists gives me my first glimpse of the rider I'll call* Gym Shorts.  He looked like he was about 6'4", 180 lbs and was wearing a loose cotton V-neck t-shirt, the kind you might wear to wash your car or paint your den, and polyester gym shorts.  Near as I could tell he was riding an 80's vintage steel framed bike and may or may not have been using toe clips.  I couldn't help but grin and make up stories about him (doing it on a dare? personal joke, sticking it to all the rest of us who are taking ourselves so seriously? maybe really loves cycling but has to do it on a budget?)  The rest of the day I would pass and be passed by Gym Shorts at least three more times.

*On a bike race of any size you will 'meet' dozens of new people.  those meeting will generally last a minute, two?  Maybe ten miles?  an hour if you're trying to stay together.  Rarely do you spend enough time together to talk and if you do talk the introductions are often never made, so you make up nick-names to keep them straight in your head.

If you look at the elevation map you will see that the first big climb is exactly that a BIG climb.  It never gets too intense, maybe 7% grade at the most but it goes on for a good twenty miles if you count the pre-climb rollers (and I most definitely do).  Bottom line is, it's going to take you (me) four hours to cover the 80 or so miles to Montpelier, even if you kill yourself, and I don't plan on killing myself.  "Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof."  I've never really understood that scripture from the book of Matthew but in the context of LOTOJA it makes perfect sense to me.  There are many saddle hours in your sit bones' immediate future, many, many more vertical feet of climb for your calves and quads to contend with and many, many, many more miles of imperfect pavement for your wheels, tires and tubes to roll over.  Lots of opportunities for mischief of all sorts, no matter how well you've prepared.  I've got a long day ahead of me and in light of past performances I should focus on eating, drinking and pedaling, pretty much in that order of importance.

In the four hours it does take me to arrive in the bucolic Idaho metropolis known as Montpelier (we pronounce it mont-pell-ee-ay when it's mentioned in conjunction with the LOTOJA Classic, and I don't care what the locals call it) I manage to consume four baked potatoes, three energy gels, an orange, a fistful of Swedish Fish, a power bar and four bottles of water/sports drink.  Trust me when I tell you that this is already a partial victory for me.

While I was eating and drinking and pedaling my crew was: driving

(and driving and driving)

 rest stopping above Bear Lake

 (home of the Half Iron(wo)man Brawl Jenn will do in one week's time),

 parking roadside and snapping photos of cyclists who weren't me,

playing football in the park

and generally waiting around, 

which is lot of what riding LOTOJA support is (riding and waiting).

All of that inactivity comes to chaotic halt once your rider arrives.  I told Jenn, depending on how I was feeling, that I was going to try to minimize stoppage time this year.  I've trained enough that I shouldn't need a powder break to collect myself, and in my experience, the longer you're off the bike in this race, the harder it is to get back on.  Muscles that have been called upon constantly for three or four hours straight are only too happy to go on lock down as soon as they get the chance.  Getting those muscles up and running again is like getting my youngest son nathan out of bed for school in the morning, a lot of kicking, crying, complaining and cajoling.  In other words a lot of unnecessary work (and I've got work enough to do ... e're the sun goes down).

Kudos again to a prepped and efficient support team.  In the past Jenn has done this all herself but she makes good use of the extra sets of hands.  Jenn clears pockets of garbage and partially eaten food, Mathis is on power bar and energy gel duty, nathan has replacement water bottles and potatoes, Elaine passes peeled bananas with one hand while snapping photos with the other.  Jenn swaps out bottles and gives a quick quad massage (sorry Rodney, it happened ... I feel so dirty).

one last bite of banana, shed the arm warmers (borrowed from once 'The Proselyte', now 'The Rookie' Zach, thanks Zach things got cool on top of the Strawberry pass and the warmers were handy on the descent) and toss back a belt of pickle juice (yeah, I'm a believer) and I'm off.

What can you say about the Geneva Summit climb?  It's four miles of unattractive uphill road, not terribly steep, not terribly challenging, but always grim, mainly because you just did a twenty mile hill climb and you know after this summit there's another waiting behind it.  The day that was overcast is now cloudy and threatening.  The pavement still shows evidence that it has rained already and probably will again (soon).  I run into my first chatty (anonymous, didn't even nick name him) cycling companion.  We become 'besties' for about two miles.  He opines that we will getting wet soon.  I think "The forecast is for scattered thunder storms, there are gray-black clouds in the sky for as far as I can see and we're about to cross the border into Wyoming.  If all we get is wet we will have to call ourselves extremely lucky".  Wyoming weather from the safety of a car can be downright frightening, on a bike?  Well, things may be getting dicey real soon, hope it's not while I'm in a tuck at fifty mph on the descent from one of these mountain passes.

The climb (made less grim by the chatty cyclist with no name, thanks anonymous cyclist) and the descent pass without incident and I slog through the most depressing fifteen miles of this race, that would be Geneva, ID (sounds pretty doesn't it? let me save you the trip, it's not) to the Wyoming border and then the pre-climb slog to the base of Salt River Pass and the beginning of our King of the Mountain Climb*  It's at this point (and really I shouldn't complain because it's the only time in the day that it happens) that the clouds break up and the sun makes the most of its brief moment to shine.  Only shine seems too benevolent a word.  On a bike, on a mountain, a century ride on the odometer and staring down the barrel of another hundred miles of road before we're done (and while wearing an all-black bib kit) ... well it feels as though the sun has taken my hubris at making this attempt personally and is focusing all its energy on stopping me in my tracks.  I'm reminded of mischievous pre-teen boys armed with magnifying glasses on summer afternoons and I'm the ant, one of many actually all of us threatening to go up in smoke on this hill climb.  The fact that I'm not alone in my suffering is only mildly comforting.  This does mark the only moment in the race where I want to get off my bike and regroup for a minute, let my legs take a serious look at the effort they're putting out and decide if they've got what it takes to finish this thing ... and maybe puke a little, cause it seems like a 50/50 proposition at this point and admitting the possibility somehow makes it feel a little less threatening.  Were it not for the time chip on my ankle and the impassive and pitiless  KOM speed trap at the base and summit of this climb I would have done exactly that.**

*The race within the race, see who can get to the top of this mountain the fastest, even though you're already 105 miles and 6000 feet of climb into your day.  If the idea sounds diabolical, it is exactly that.

** "Vanity kills (it don't pay bills)" - ABC

Beyond the very extreme of fatigue and distress, 

we may find amounts of ease and power we never

dreamed ourselves to own; sources of strength 

never taxed at all because we never push through 

the obstruction.  - William James

Thanks Bill, I love that quote (and I do believe it's true).  Jenn has a book chock full of others just like it.  When we read them to each other at bedtime, while scheming our next event/race or contemplating big-ticket achievements like marathons, Ironman Triathlons and Triple Crank awards, they are more than inspiring, they seem like Gospel Truths or if not that at least some enlightenment that's both physical and spiritual and only understood by those individuals willing to pay the cost in sweat equity to gain that insight.  I wish I could say that's what I found at the top of Salt River Pass, some Zen-like font of energy and heretofore untapped strength both mental and physical whose existence I would have otherwise never known.  I didn't, what I did find was a well stocked feed zone, helpful volunteers/cheerleaders and lots of cold water.  That plus three miles of downhill are not a bad substitute for spiritual enlightenment and at this point I'll take whatever is offered and count myself fortunate to have it.

The next twenty or so miles into Afton are either downhill or flat.  If the race thinks these twenty miles will make up for what it's just put us through, well it better think again.  Those wounds are still raw and they are going to take some time to heal.  On the upside the miles pass mostly without pain or drama, the exception being a serious appearing accident involving two cyclists (one face down and immobile) just outside of town. Police on scene and ambulance arriving, lights and sirens.  I've done LOTOJA three times and all three times I've seen similar scenarios play out, always in Wyoming (always).

Afton, Wyoming one hundred and twenty miles and ~ seven hours on the books, ~80 miles and +/- four hours to go.

This is not a bad photo ... I take that back, it's a terrible photo, but it is not a deceptive photo, I really do feel exactly as unsteady as I appear.  I've just been triple-cranked by LOTOJA's back to back to back mountain passes, none of which by themselves is terribly challenging but taken all together in the context of a race, well, they leave you looking as though you've aged seventeen years in seven hours time.  Also, in the last three hours I've put away 2 1/2 potatoes, 2 gels, a power bar, an orange and 3 bottles.  Not bad but probably not sufficient either so I will now frantically try to make up the calorie deficit in the 5 minutes I'll be standing roadside:

Mathis is on watermelons and grapes, nathan has yogurt and water bottles, Elaine snaps photos and dishes almond joys and Jenn force feeds me pineapple, then reapplies sunscreen (Sun still acting as though it feels it has something to prove, "Thanks Sun, I got it, you're the boss.")

A sports tap and I'm rolling again into the rest of Star Valley, or as I like to think of it the place where all the wind in the world* goes to die (and tries to take a few cyclists with it along the way).  Only today is different, blessedly so.  If there has been any wind it has been single digit speeds and has had minimal if any effect on the cyclists' performance.  I brace for Star Valley to change that but thankfully it doesn't.  There's a slight cross-wind but nothing that you would call strength sapping or demoralizing.

*See also 'the entire State of Wyoming'

It's in Star Valley that I first encounter the the rider I call Big Pink (aka: King Salmon and Big Fish).  More on him later.

I cover the next thirty four miles in just under ninety minutes, bridging gaps to faster riders when it looks like a safe bet/worthwhile use of my energy and hanging back and waiting for faster riders to catch me (and there are no shortage of wheels, fast and not as fast) so I can jump on.

Alpine,  Wyoming  Tale of the tape:  Eight hours thirteen minutes of saddle time, one hundred and fifty five miles done.  If it weren't for the 30 minutes my Garmin Auto Paused off my race time, I'd be feeling pretty good about now.   Actual race time is just under Eight hours and fifty minutes.  If I hustle (maybe not 'Herculean' hustle, but close) I can cross the finish in under eleven hours.  That would be a feather in your cap moment, maybe not for some, but definitely for me.

A few factors argue against the possibility of finishing in the next two hours & ten:

One:  the wind (or lack of it).  It's generally at this point that no matter which way the gusts have gusted they are now consistently at your back up the canyon.  As I roll into Alpine I notice that the flags are in complete repose, not even a breeze.

Two, nutrition.  Jenn checks my pockets at the feed station and finds most of what she put  there back in Afton.  I've been busy, chasing down fast groups, bridging gaps and covering ground as fast as possible.  It's only been ninety minutes, since last we met but I've also only eaten a potato and drank one bottle, not enough.  I know it, she knows it and that fact alone probably decided how the last miles of this race will play out.  LOTOJA is among many other things an endurance event.  It's unlikely that anybody who signed up for it didn't train for endurance but you just don't go for 10-12 hour bike rides in training.  I don't anyway and to maintain the level of performance you need to for that many hours you have to eat, constantly. You just have to.  I've proved that fact to myself (twice already) and while the difference between my nutrition in LOTOJAs past and this time is so stark it almost doesn't bare making the comparison, it still hasn't been enough.

Three:  the distance, there are still forty seven miles to cover, the first thirty all climbing.  On fresh legs with a tailwind it would still be a tall order.

Does that mean I won't try at least?  Of course not.  My office manager recently gave me a questionnaire to fill out for a birthday spotlight, it asked for words that best describe me, I put the question to Jenn and the first word she came up with was quixotic ... yep, that sounds about right

This is my quest, to follow that star,

No matter how helpless, no matter how far ...

So I mount my trusty steed: the talented Mr Ridley/Rocinante, get a running push on the bum from the lovely Dulcinea/Jennifer and as I hum a few bars of The Impossible Dream I'm off to tilt at the windmill I call  'la Culebra*

*'the snake', aka Snake River Canyon.

Snake River Canyon, I really can't do it justice but I will say it's worth driving into Wyoming, just to see it.  I guess you have to know how I feel about 'the Equality State' for that recommendation to have meaning. Let's just say I would rather visit any of the other forty nine in the union (including Nevada) before going to Wyo. The road into Jackson however?  A dreamscape and now a payoff for the last ten hours or driving and roadside support put in by team Larsen.

Happy Elaine.  When Elaine's happy I'm happy

I included this photo, not because they look like they are having fun but rather because they look like they were pulled from their beds in the middle of the night and driven hard for hundreds of miles ... in their pajamas.  Which is pretty close to exactly what happened.

Mathis, looks beat.  LOTOJA is hard on a rider but it's far from a day at the beach for the support crew.  It is a road wearying day for everybody.

Through some odd Snake River Canyon, time-warp magic Jennifer meets up with her fifteen year old self (and gives her a hug).

About five miles into the canyon I finally catch up with Big Pink.  I ride with him about a mile and then I have to get his stats.  He gives them up almost before I finish the question, the topic has come up before, for obvious reasons.  "Six-five and 265 but I tell everyone 250 cause that's what my wheels are rated for."  Is his ready response.  I immediately think of Rodney(Rodzilla)'s recent wheel troubles and can't help but laugh to myself.  And not for the last time, Big Pink is a veritable one-liner machine, or maybe I'm just that tired. Probably both.

If you have a choice between drafting behind the average sized cyclist vs the uber-cyclist ... duh.

I use my special gift for tact and subtlety* to get Elaine to snap a photo of my new found friend/ride companion mainly for Rodney(who has sworn off LOTOJA till he gets down to something ridiculous like 220 lbs)'s benefit.  See big man, it can be done in the 260's.  I point (literally) to Big Pink as Exhibit A proving that fact.  Rodney?  I will plan on seeing  you in Logan, September 8, 2014.

*I did everything short of yelling: "Hey get a load of this guy, you getting this? (!)"  I actually may have yelled that.  Hard to say, it was late in the race and decorum went out the window back when I applied a palm-ful of D'Z nuts in the middle of the crowded Afton feed Zone, so anything is possible.

Big Pink: (veteran of multiple LOTOJA finishes) "It's weird how you're going down hill the whole time in this canyon and yet you're going upriver."  For some reason I agree with this inane statement, but I don't find it truly funny until we drive down the canyon the next morning and then I laugh.  I always do.  More mysteries of Snake River enchantment, it's a climb, pretty much constantly, for almost thirty miles and yet you don't feel it in your legs.  Maybe it's the striking aesthetics, the cool, thin mountain air, the fact that the punishment of this ride has gone on pretty much unabated for nine hours and this is the first sign of it relenting, or maybe just finally being able to wrap your mind around the mileage you have remainiing, what ever it is, Snake River Canyon feels like a gift.  It's also about this time I start thinking of Big Pink as King Salmon, fighting his way up the river.  Until he gets there I'm happy to ride in his plus-sized wake. He pushes as much air out of the way as three averaged sized riders.

Rodney: "You're smiling in that picture, does that mean you could have gone faster?'

Me:  "Uhhhhhh ..."

We make it (now as a fairly large group of cast-off cyclists from several different race groups) to Hoback Junction in almost exactly an hour.  I've covered twenty one of the last forty seven miles, leaving me seventy minutes to knock out the last twenty six.  It's just not in the cards, not today anyway, and maybe not any day.  Despite the futility of the effort I skip the last feed zone in Hoback.  It's not going to get me to the finish line before 5:39 pm but stopping certainly isn't going to help my cause either.

Before I write off the Hoback Feedzone completely I do a quick inventory, most of a bottle of water, two gels and a Mojo bar Jenn gave me at the last minute.  Twenty six miles to go ... it should be enough.  I roll through the (new) roundabout at Hoback Junction and head into the final stretch.  Around eighteen miles out I cross a bridge decorated in flowers, wreaths and other mementos and memorials.  It was on this stretch of broken pavement last year that a cyclist lost control, hit the guard rail and fell to his death in the Snake River below.  I send up a silent prayer for his wife (who I later learned came back this year and rode these last miles to complete what her husband started but never had a chance to finish) and for the safe passage of all LOTOJA cyclists.

Maybe because I told her not to put any more potatoes in my pockets (I'm done with potatoes), maybe because she saw that I skipped Hoback or maybe because she just knows (probably because she just knows) Jenn stops at the crest of the 185 mile hill, just on the outskirts of Jackson to make sure I'm still doing OK.  Other than worrying I might toss my cookies in Afton she hasn't worried about me (finishing at least) all day.  It's a refreshing change from LOTOJAs past.

Still, it's always good to see your rider crest the last significant climb of a ride.  All downhill and flat from here on in.  It's still sixteen or so miles though and I'm down to two empty bottles and a gel.

She must have read my mind and fills a bottle with the last of the ice and water and hands it up 

(she's so good to me, and her timing is impeccable).

Who was he throwing that to?

She also gets a chance to see my bottle chucking skillz firsthand.

At mile 186.1, my Garmin that told me it was about to die five miles ago makes good on the threat.  I finish the last fifteen miles flying blind.  Just before the 5km marker I get passed by a huge convoy or riders that includes Big Pink (stopped at Hoback) and Gym Shorts (haven't seen him since the Salt River Pass).  I have no Garmin but it feels like I'm going about 18-19 mph, they are going considerably faster than that.  I hesitate a split second too long and they are gone before I can hook up.  No matter, it's 5km, 3.1 miles, almost time to stick a fork in this roast turkey.   

These victory beverages aren't getting any colder, time to finish this thing.

Can do, after trying various mental math tricks to occupy the final kms I finally just tuck my head and pedal with what I've got left.  It's strangely quiet (still no wind) and I can hear riders closing in on me so I give the last 200 meters my best sprint move mostly to make sure I get the vanity* solo finish line photo (check and check).  And we're home.  I'm sure PA man announced my arrival but I don't remember hearing it.

*It may not pay bills but it makes for more satisfying pictures

Through the chute and onto the footpath.  I've been wanting to do this ... pretty much since Montpelier.

Problem with going to ground is ... well you're down, an exit strategy would have been wise.

Team Larsen support comes through (one last time)

Finished.

I said I didn't cramp, not completely true, I had hot-foot that made the toes on my right foot involuntarily curl up in my shoe any time I put serious pressure on it pretty much since the middle of Star Valley, this cold stream they had the prescience of including?  Brilliant.

The Sun sets on Teton Village and on my LoToJa 2013 ride.  It's a beautiful thing, Jackson Hole, Teton Village, the Sunset and especially being done in time to see it.

The next morning at the awards ceremony, Jackson Hole High school.  I love this picture. love the look on Jenn's face, somewhere past satisfied, but short of smug, somewhere between content and relieved, proud but not the least bit surprised.  I love that in the photo she has my back, just like she has ... well since we've been married but specifically this past summer, these past three LoToJas, and pretty much every day in the past five years since I told her I was tired of being fat and out of shape and decided to buy a bike and start riding.  This is good moment ... for both of us.

The Triple crank award was downgraded this year from a custom Rockwell watch to a window sticker and an engraved keychain.

I'm not bothered by this fact, in fact I appreciate the poetic justice of it.  The recognition, the award is merely a token, the real reward is the accomplishment itself, the training that went into it and the knowledge that this capacity is part of who you are.  Look at you!  You did this!

Once you do it you do it forever?  Is that what we decided?

As we pack into the family van for the long (somehow feels longer than doing it on a bike) ride home Mathis tells me he wants to do LoToJa, maybe before he turns eighteen and goes on a mission.  I promise him if he continues to train (he's begun bombing the Park Village climbs and descents on Raechel's hybrid road bike) that I'll do it with him.  And I will.  Of course I will.  Jenn has probably already started making [preparation] lists for it.

The End (of the Beginning of the End Part One)

Next up Part Two:  The Bear Lake Brawl.  So check back with us next week (summer's almost over).