Here's a little re-cap of Grandma's weekend, one of the best weekends of the year in Duluth, Minnesota.
This year's G-ma's was an Olympic qualifier, so it was pretty sweet watching some of the planet's best runners FLY by. Duluth native and Olympian Kara Goucher was running the half and she crushed the field, setting a course record as well. It was pretty impressive watching her run past (see video below). My wife, Amy was just a little bit behind Kara, but had a good race nonetheless. Early stomach issues had Amy running a bit slower than she would have liked, but once the tummy settled down she went into "catch up" mode, turning over faster miles than she wanted to. In a nutshell, it wasn't a year for her to get a PR, but a year where she settled into her average half marathon time, which is just fine.
I played support crew for about a tenth of a second as Amy bounced a used water bottle off my chest, which I effortlessly caught on the rebound, creating a small cheer from local race supporters, it was pretty slick I must say.
Watching the lead marathon runners finish was super cool. Then, it was home for a big fat nap in order to prepare for the night's post race celebration down at the "tents".
Here's a photo BLAST:
Kara Goucher crushing the women's half marathon record.
As I slid my index finger between the rim and the bead of the tire pain coursed through my whole body. The sharp edge of the bead opened the wet, dirty skin of my finger like a hot knife going through butter. A deep breath was all I had to ward off the feeling. I had to keep working the problem, I had to solve the problem. The sun baked my back as I contemplated the state I was in. My world was reduced to a completely destroyed rear tire and the Kansas flint rock strewn about me. I was 80 miles into possibly the most rugged and challenging gravel road race the country has to offer. I was deep into the Dirty Kanza 200 and I was in trouble.
This would be my 3rd "go round" with the Flint Hills of Kansas. The first two efforts saw me finish the event, but barely. The unbearable heat brought me closer to physical destruction than I had ever been. Yet, for some reason I was going back. I'm not really sure even now why I wanted to go back. I guess I felt I had something to settle in Kansas. I couldn't leave it the way it stood, with me against the ropes taking punches. I needed to work out of the corner and back into the middle of the ring. This 3rd attempt would leave me satisfied, I hoped.
Early morning sunrise
I came to Kansas rested, but was somewhat unsettled in my head. I was nervous. The DK is scary to me and with good reason. It has a rough personality and isn't very friendly. Easing into the race as quietly as possible was my plan. Keeping my goals for the day to myself was my way of hopefully not upsetting this unpredictable "personality". Almost as if talking out loud about my hopes would result in the DK saying, "Oh yeah, we'll see about that." So, while the rest of the boys discussed their strategies I kept to myself for the most part. I'd keep my secret buried down deep. I wanted to knock this thing out in under 14 hours. I knew I had the legs to do it, but I wasn't sure which way the tables would turn. So, I taped the times I needed to hit the check points to my top tube. If I could get in front of those times I'd be ensured a sub 13:40 finish and that might allow me to let the final bell ring on my fight with DK.
My game plan
The start always seems to go off like a rocket with guys flushing their systems of nervous energy. This year I'd let that all play out in front of me as I knew burning unnecessary matches early never turns out well. However, I was quickly falling more and more behind the leaders. I decided it was too much, so I pushed up closer to the "red zone" for just a bit. The "red zone" never seemed to come, I was feeling strong. One of the most elemental rules in racing is, "when you're feelin' it, go with it". I went with it, jumping into a fast moving group I found that I fit in just fine. I was even earning my keep with some long pulls on the front. At one point I even wondered why one of the riders had the number 1 on his plate. Was I actually sharing pulls with a two time champ of the Dirty Kanza? I was and it didn't even hurt. We seemed to move through other small groups until there didn't seem to be anyone in front of us any more. I assumed the lead group was really putting the hurt on us and they were off the front. This was not the case, the early leaders had missed a turn and were now fighting to get to us! However, the confusion of early attacks and the chaos of the race had me thinking I was in about 20th position. I was wrong.
Paul from the U.K. (with Camel Back) and Joe Meiser
My friend Ryan Horkey who had raced the DK with me in my two previous years was attending, but this year he would serve as support to all in Salsa kits along with Lelan Dains. Lelan was instrumental in my survival last year. As I pulled into check point 1 I instantly heard Ryan's voice calling out with a sense of urgency and possibly surprise..."Eki, over here!". I located Ryan and rode to the pit area he had established. As he worked to replenish my supplies I removed a base layer as the temperatures were rising. Ryan moved with a deliberate style that gave me confidence that I was in good hands. It was getting to be time to leave the C.P. when he told me, "You're the first Salsa rider to get here." (7th overall) I was surprised to say the least.
Heading out of the check point another rider asked, "Are you Eki?" "Yep", was my reply and apparently that was enough for us to hook up and begin riding together. It wasn't long before we were joined by the guy with the number 1 on his bike. The three of us began to work together, but the reigning champ's pulls were beginning to hurt. Soon my new friend was coming off the pace while I tried to hold the wheel of the fast moving rider who was clearly heading toward his own goals, winning! I sat up, wishing him luck in my mind, now I'd ride my race.
Shortly after the first check point I began to absorb my surroundings. I set the race aside and marveled at the vast expanses laid out before me. Reaching back for my camera was when I heard the unsettling sound of air leaving my rear tire. I guess the pictures will wait, I thought. Now, to my thinking one flat in this race is a given. I happily changed out the tube, but took notice of a cut in the side wall, this tire needed a boot. I had what I needed and repaired the maimed tire and I was on my way in 10 short minutes. But, Battle Creek Road was ahead and I had no idea what this section had in store for me.
Gettin' it done
Calling Battle Creek Road a road is quite a stretch. This is more of a jeep trail than a road. Picture a creek bed with flint rock scattered about in a scree like fashion and you have Battle Creek Rd. One must choose their lines carefully here as this section is just dying to take a bite out of some DK riders. It turned out I was the rider it wanted most. Not two blocks into the section and my rear tire let go again. Another tear in the side wall. No worries, I would boot this one too. It wasn't until I was completely inflated and ready to go that I noticed a disturbing bulge, the tube forcing it's way out of a separate cut that I hadn't seen. "Oh No!", I thought as I let the air out and began the repair process again. Finally, ready to go. I hopped on and gingerly rode down the trail for not even one minute, until the deafening sound of air releasing from the tire happened again. Another flat! I was in trouble. Running low on supplies, getting very hot, and very frustrated, I yelled out "WHY?!!". My DK was and had slipped away from me. I no longer would meet my secret goals. My thoughts began the cascading process of negativity. I deeply considered quitting. I had the phone in my pocket, but I probably wouldn't get cell service. Well, I could fix the tire the best that I could and ride easy or walk into cell coverage, then Ryan could come to get me. My 3rd Dirty Kanza was over.
I worked on the tire, inflating and deflating as I discovered more problems over and over. An hour had passed without me moving forward. My mental status was in a very bad place. Then it came to me. I flashed back to my early days of endurance racing when all I ever wanted to do was finish. I never had aspirations to be near the front of the race, those things have just come to me over time. I thought about why I do these things and the answer was and has always been, "to see what you're made of". Just then everything turned and I was determined to see exactly what I was made of. In this moment is when a savior of sorts came upon me, Bobby "All Day" Wintle.
My savior, Bobby Wintle
Bobby has been a part of my Dirty Kanza experience every year. He is one of the most positive people I have ever met and one of Kansas' best. His arrival turned the entire event around for me. We began to ride together and told him of my plight. Without hesitation he excitedly told me, "I have a brand new set of tires at the next check point and they're yours!". My spirits went straight to the sky. Not only would I finish, I was back in the fight, working my way off the ropes. Bobby and I would ride together for the next 16 miles. He was there to assist me when my front tire blew a short time later marking my 4th flat of the day. He kept me smiling as he called out "ALL DAY" whenever he heard something he liked or agreed with. When I think of Bobby, I say "All Day!"
Finally, I limped into the C.P. and heard Ryan calling to me. I responded that I needed mechanical help, I needed a complete tire swap. Now, as luck would have it there was a brand new set of tires in Lelan's truck and Bobby's offer was not needed. I actually had a choice as to which tires I wanted to run. With Ryan and Lelan's help we decided to go with the set Lelan had. I began the next leg and longest leg of the race with a brand new set of tires, a brand new goal, and a brand new attitude. I would race the sun...
Ryan (back ground) and Lelan swapping my tires.
My first two attempts at this race had me finishing in the dark. I wondered what it would be like to finish without using the lights, would the finish somehow look different? I was determine to find out.
I pulled away from the 2nd C.P. after Ryan convinced me to take a 4th water bottle. He pushed me up to speed and I called to him, "I'll see you at C.P. 3". My solo effort began. I had lost so much time to mechanicals that I was no longer riding among riders of a similar pace. Therefore, I would catch and move past racers for the next 6 hours, never latching onto a group. I accepted it as a test. Could I time trial the remainder of the race? I switched my gps to map mode so that I could confirm upcoming roads and be assured that I was on course compared to the map of the race mounted to my bars. I paid no attention to the myriad of information the gps held for me, I simply looked to the sky, noting the arc of the sun as it was now my only competitor. My legs felt good, my head felt right and I was doing well, but the race against the sun was going to be close.
Kansas 'B' Road
The heat of the afternoon began to wear on me as the temperatures were settled in the mid 90's. I unzipped my jersey only to allow a bee inside. Suddenly, I felt the bite of what can only be compared to someone grabbing a bit of skin with a needle nose pliers and twisting. I yelled out, "AHHHH". I looked inside to see a fuzzy bee walking around on my left side. Quickly I opened the bottom of my jersey giving him an exit point. The pain was insane, so much that I pulled over to see if his stinger was in my skin, it wasn't, so I pushed on.
Ryan told me at check point 2 that I had a 4 hour leg in front of me, but I completed it in about 3:40 or so. I was happy with the effort and I tried to eek some compliments out of Ryan at C.P. 3 as I boasted about my fast leg. In an effort to balance my comments about the last section I mentioned being a bit tired. Ryan questioned my fatigue as if I was getting soft on him. It was a light hearted moment, but he made sure that I didn't linger too long, as he politely told me that most people weren't really sticking around the C.P. and that "time was of the essence". He was right, I needed to move. Appreciating his candor I mounted up while Ryan placed his hands on the small of my back and got me up to speed one more time. "See you at the finish buddy", I yelled. As I rolled out of town I thought about his comments about how long it would take to complete the final leg. I told myself I needed to be above 15 at all times. The sun was beginning to drop fast.
I knew sunset would be around 8:40 p.m., I decided to take a peek at the time. Changing screens on my gps told me it was 7:30 p.m. I had been on the bike or at least out there doin' it for 12 and a half hours. My thinking was becoming more confused and I was having a lot of trouble reading the road signs. I questioned my vision as I was really having difficulty seeing or more accurately reading. I committed to being diligent with my navigation. A wrong turn now would destroy my chances of beating the big bright ball in the sky.
The setting sun. Not much time left.
I stayed in the drops for the next hour and I no longer seemed to be passing riders. Perhaps I had reached the point where the competitors in front of me were going my pace or faster, it didn't matter, I was alone and it was o.k. Experience with the course told me I was getting close. One more turn and the gravel would be ending. I would enter Emporia on tar roads. The sun was touching the tree tops in the distance, I still had a few minutes! The feeling of smooth tar was foreign to me, but nice. I stayed on top of my pedal strokes as the excitement of the finish built inside. I exited the college campus which told me Commercial St. was just ahead. Commercial would be my last road of the Dirty Kanza. A police man waved to me from his patrol car as I made the final turn. Cars began to honk and drivers yelled from their windows as they watched a filthy, battered rider enter their town. I heard their cheers and I felt their welcome as I came into downtown Emporia. My lights stayed off and I took one more glance over my shoulder to the setting sun and said, "gotchya". Into the finish and into Emporia's open arms I rode.
Jim Cummins, race director and me at the finish.
Thank you Jim Cummins for this incredible experience. I know you see the joy you've given people and I hope you see mine. Thank you Ryan Horkey and all the Salsa crew. I hope you appreciated my stories after the race. Thank you Bobby Wintle, I know the cycling Gods sent you to look after me. Lelan, you know...Thanks buddy. Randy Smith, your generosity is unmatched. Thank you for giving a bunch of dirty bike riders your home for three days and for giving me your tube out there on Battle Creek Rd. Finally, thank you Emporia Kansas, you set an example of embracing cycling that the whole country can follow.
The only thing handling the heat this weekend was the Mama of these eggs. She was camera shy though.
What a weekend! Another trip to Green Bay with the focus being Amy's half marathon. The weather was supposed to be HOT, with some thunderstorms. The rain never came, but the HEAT, MY GOD THE HEAT!!
My road ride would turn into way more of a battle than I ever intended. I went into what was supposed to be a 5 hour road ride, only to have it turn into a monumental BONK FEST! High winds, and 93 degree heat beat me to a pulp.
Great views were the only saving grace.
This barn looked like I felt.
I saw a lot of these guys as I tried to sneak in 100 miles on the day. The last 14 nearly broke me!
Now on to Amy's day. The race directors allowed the full marathon runners to opt for the half marathon while on course if they decided it was just too hot. 49% of them did just that. Only 10 full marathon runners would complete the course before the directors pulled the plug on the event.
The elites were flyin' for the time being.
Doin' my best as support crew. The "hand up" was flawless.
Check out that number - "Preferred Start" Gotta love it!
Here's the post race report.
We had a blast. The weather is always the wild card as we all know. Mother Nature will always have the final say.
The Wisconsin Endurance Mountain Bike Series kicks off with what used to be known as the 12 Hours of Northern Kettles (about an hour south of Green Bay). The format has changed to 100 miles, rather than 12 hours. I wasn't complaining about the change, I'd much rather race a distance than a clock.
My home base. The Spearfish waits in the back ground for the 2nd half of the race.
Traveling has been the name of the game for me lately with 3 out of 4 weekends being spent in Green Bay I've come to know the route well. I just couldn't miss this race. The format may have changed, but the course hadn't and I love this course! As a "blue collar" racer I'd be the "racer" as well as the "pit crew". My wife, Amy thought about coming with me, but I never feel good about knowing she's just sitting there all day watching people go round and round on bikes. It doesn't seem fair. Typically, she gets out for her own workout or heads into town, but since Green Bay seems to be our home away from home, I didn't mind that she chose to sit this one out.
Juggling both roles takes a lot of planning. I made sure everything was set in order to minimize my stopped time. Also, my plan included switching bikes at the half way point of the race, so I knew that pit stop would be more substantial. I wanted things to go as smoothly as possible.
Post Race: My hand has devolved into a claw.
I'm going to keep the "race report" aspect of this writing short as there really isn't much to tell. And, as you know I'm not a fan of boring you with the intricate details of gear ratios, tire pressures, race strategies, etc. In fact, I'll give you my race strategy and show you how complex, uh, I mean simple, it was for me.
1. Try to stay with the leaders.
2. Keep "racing" the whole race.
3. Minimize pit stops.
4. Switch bikes at the half way point.
5. Enjoy what you're doing.
You get the idea, not a lot to it.
The legs, shriveled and filthy.
This race took on a different feel within two minutes. In a nutshell, Randy Wegener, and Chris Schotz kindly spit me out of their little two-some as if they really didn't want me around. I tip my "helmet" to them as those guys were absolutely rippin'. I went deep to stay with them, but quickly did the math and chose to not bury myself in trying to match their pace. I knew it would be a long day and I've made those early mistakes before. Sometimes the best race tactic is to know yourself and know when you're simply out gunned. These guys showed up to the fight with Howitzers and I had a knife. I watched them ride away. They continued to put time into me on each lap from that point on. I'd fight the good fight alone. In hindsight, I didn't mind it. I had my head in a good place and I was really enjoying the rubber and metal dancing underneath me. "Stay on top of it, Ride hard..." became my mantra. I tried to focus on lap times and practiced being a better mountain biker. I may not have been keeping up to Chris and Randy, but I honestly felt like I was riding fast and it felt good!
Doesn't look like it, but inside I'm happy. Little did I know my rear tire was going down, flat by the time I got the bike home.
The animal I chose to start the race on was one I know well, my Salsa El Mariachi Ti. We have come to an understanding on the trail. She behaves exactly the way I expect and I believe the feeling is mutual. I stayed on my toes and let her float over the rocky single track, consciously centering myself over her back in order to avoid the super hard hits. She seemed to appreciate it as I gathered more and more speed through the rough stuff. "We're getting long pretty good today", I remarked as I cleaned a rooty, rocky section that used to give me fits. Gears were snapping into place as soon as my finger hit the lever. I jumped up climbs with less effort than I knew was required. I recall thinking about how I'm not one to name bikes, but when I'm on the El M. T. the word Ripper just always come to mind. "You are a RIPPER", I thought to myself as she performed flawlessly. But, once lap 5 was in the books, she'd be locked up to the tree and the new Spearfish 1 would be brought out of the weeds. I was anxious to get to know her and to see how we'd get along.
A well run race!
Right out of the gate the Spearfish felt different. There were subtleties that I'd come to accept. I felt the different geometry, the handlebar height, the grips, the saddle, and mostly the full suspension. "Just give it a lap", I told myself. I rode easy, gradually letting her run. She seemed to fight me as if she didn't want me on her back. In fact, on a few occasions she even tried to buck me off. I squeezed a little tighter reminding her that we were in this thing together and I wasn't going anywhere. She spit and snarled at me as I forced shifts that were no good, as I grabbed too much brake instead of letting her flow. Was I fighting her or was she fighting me? Maybe a little bit of both. Then it happened, I felt her float as I seemed to rise above a rock garden, just lightly tapping the tops of the boulders. A smile crept across my face. I loosened my fingers a bit and started spinning a little smoother, she had accepted the bit in her mouth. I let her run!
L-R: Me (3rd), Rich Lytle (4th), Randy Wegener (2nd), Chris Schotz (1st)
These three guys to the right of me can flat out RIP!
Soon, we were operating as one, but my body began to tire. I no longer could giver her all that she needed. That old familiar feeling of deep fatigue had crept into my legs, arms, and lower back. I became painfully aware of how much of the race was left. Looking more and more over my shoulder, hoping we wouldn't be caught, I pressed on giving the Spearfish all that I had. I cursed myself as the lulls took hold of me and I noticed a period when I was riding without intensity. "Focus on the clock, keep the laps as close to 50 minutes as you can, every little bit helps, STAY ON IT!". These were the words that kept me going.
I knew Randy and Chris were gone, I had already wished them well in my mind. But, I also knew Rich Lytle would not hand me 3rd place. He's hungry and he's tough. This guy doesn't know how to quit. Not to mention I saw the rig he'd be riding this day, a super sweet Specialized S-Works "single track killer". This thing looked like they built it for Rich. I had to keep pressing on.
One lap to go. All I had to do was stay safe. There was no one around me most of the time and I felt confident that if I could just get in I'd be o.k. However, 3 hour racers as well as 6 hour racers now controlled the course and occasionally paid me a visit. Fresh riders buzzed by me and I moved through slower riders. My addled brain struggled to handle this new variable.
Then, without warning, over a seemingly innocent piece of trail I felt the familiar heavy clunk of rim hitting rock. "Uuuggghhh, I hope that isn't a pinch flat!" In prepping for the race I had no time to switch the wheels of the Spearfish to a tubeless set up. I was worried, but after 5 minutes, no flat, "I must be o.k.", I thought.
I pulled through the start finish area for a 3rd place overall. I was satisfied!
Now for some post race relaxation!
Thanks to the great folks that put this race on, it was awesome! Thank you to Schwalbe tires, the Racing Ralphs are like Velcro on single track. Thank you to Salsa Cycles, you guys breed 'em well.
First off, let me start by apologizing for the lack of pictures. Trust me, I kicked myself over and over for not having my camera while on this ride. So, in consideration of the fact that I have no visuals for you I will do my best to paint a picture in your mind.
Here's the scenario from a practical stand point. I have a 100 mile mt. bike race this weekend and I was really hoping to have the Spearfish 1 built and ready to go for this race. As you know there's a lot more that goes into getting a bike ready to race than just building it. In some ways the building is the easy part. It's the tiny adjustments, shock set up (i.e. pre-load, compression damping, rebound damping, etc.), brake lever reach and position, saddle height and position, grips, stem length correct?, it just goes on and on. I have found that sometimes it can take many rides before I've decided the bike is "ready". If one adjustment is bothering you, it can play with your head or make you sore in some way as you plow through miles and miles of a race.
Well, the bike was built and after about 40 laps around my house, ruining the lawn, I felt I had the suspension close, but I needed to get it out on the trail to be sure. Cut to yesterday after work...
The second I walk in the house, "Hi honey, I'm going to turn a couple 'hot ones' in Piedmont, be back in a few, gotta check the bike out." Piedmont refers to the "Piedmont Trail System", which happens to be a 3 minute ride from my house (I LOVE DULUTH). I grabbed a spare tube, couple CO2's, allen wrench, and I was out the door. The plan was simple, ride WIDE OPEN for several minutes at a time while conscious of the bike's handling and note any changes needed. "Piedmont" is notoriously rough, it would definitely test the full suspension of the bike. It was a business trip. Cut to me as a little boy...
"Dad, my favorite day of the year is when the leaves first turn into leaves." My Dad simply replied, "Yeah Tim, that's when the woods wake up from a deep winter sleep ... I love it too." It's been my favorite day of the year ever since.
I started turning my laps when it donned on me...it was that day! A lush green color surrounded me, fooling my eyes, as they were accustomed to the shades of gray they'd been processing for the past 6 months. Soon, I reigned the bike in, so I could absorb the changes that seemed to be taking place at that very moment. The sun was beaming through a loosely knit canopy, the ferns that usually blanket this section were straining to fill the lower two feet of the forest. The baby leaves, ultra green, fresh and filled with strength, were fighting their way into the open air. I could smell them...it was good.
A distant voice came to my ears, "Heads up, someones on the trail ahead", I said to myself. Then, a middle aged English Setter came dancing up to me. Hot on her heals was a young pup of the same breed. The toddler seemed to be laughing hysterically as it followed her older mentor through the open under brush. Just then, a good natured guy called them close in a manner that showed me he wasn't worried about their behavior or mine for that matter. As I slowly rolled past him I remarked, "Looks like you got a 'fresh one' there." A grin crossed his face as he stated, "Yeah, she's a rookie." A few pedal strokes passed and I picked my eyes up from the trail, taking in the longer view and thought ... just like this day.
Don't forget to look, it's goin' on, all around you.
