2014 Whiskey 50 - Survivor Edition
How do I even start the EPICNESS that was the Whiskey this year?
SO the Whiskey Off-Road Race. For those of you who don’t know…Google it. It’s big, it’s popular, it’s an all weekend mountain bike party fest and it’s one son of a tough course. From the pros to the poor beginners some jerk friend conned into competing, there are nearly 2000 riders of all levels. You can start to understand just how hard this course is by stabbing yourself in the legs with a butter knife.
Not knowing if I could compete this year due to work, I held off signing up. At the last minute I found I could make it but the only opening was the 50 miler. Oh my. It's brutal, you guys. I mean this race is on many bucket lists out there. Last year I barely survived my first Whiskey 25 miler. Decisions, decisions...oh God shut up brain, have a beer and do it. Forced challenge accepted.
The Wednesday before I started seeing posts about the weather. The five day forecast for Prescott went something like this - Beautiful, Beautiful, Shit, Beautiful, Beautiful. Meh, those weathermen don't know crap. The site I was checking said 44 degrees, 90% precipitation, and possible snow above 7,000 ft which was above us. Oh c'mon this was by an AZ weathermen, 90% is more like a couple sprinkles. We here in AZ are just so damn shocked that we may have a chance to get a sprinkle in April that we up the % for wishful thinking. I was sleeping in my new ride Friday night and the rain started about 2am and it. didn't. stop. Ruh Roh.
Getting ready that morning, I struggled with what to wear. Mid-40's isn't too bad if you're riding hard, but mixing it with rain and no sun may be a different story. I don't know, I'd never been in these conditions before let alone for a 5 hour race. It isn't like this Arizonan has a ton of rain and winter gear. I had to dig around my house just to find what I thought was a rain jacket. In the end I let go of my weight weenie mindset, put my elbow and knee pad g-forms, rain jacket, and went with my bigger pack to derobe in case it cleared up. I tried to MacGyver plastic wrap around my hands and feet but it wasn't working out. I was running late and flustered. I just had to accept that most of me is going to get drenched. Oh but wait, one more thing I remembered. Beth Utley told me to get a shower cap and put that on over my helmet. BEST. ADVICE. EVER! Thanks, Beth!
Before the start, my gut started freaking out and I had to rush to go tend to that. I mean RUSH. For those who don't know, I had a lemon gall bladder that needed to come out. It liked to be nasty at the most inopportune times. I barely pulled up to the start in time and WTF, where's my race plate? It started raining harder as I flew down to my car to find it. Have I not learned already to put this crap on the night before? Apparently not. I hear the gun go off. Finally, I get it on through the increasing wind and rain, hands already shivering. I rush back to the start and have to ride on the sidewalk as they've already closed the area. LOL OOPS!
Being late settled me down a bit as I reminded myself this is just survival. Your goal is to survive rain or shine. It was about this time I realized I had my regular glasses on instead of my Oakleys. Oh my. What else can this space cadet forget? I hope to God I get better at this race preparation crap. I remembered that I went a year without sunglasses. I can do this. It may have been the best in the long run as it just kept getting darker and darker as the ridiculous weather got worse. As I'm beating myself up for this and being late, I started catching the back pack. I didn't expect to. My mindset became competitive. Get in front of these folks before the single track. Last year, although I tried my hardest, my climbing skills lacked especially on the road and it was like waiting in line at Disneyland to ride every little tech section. I passed many but not enough to really matter. The wind and rain picked up as we climbed higher.
As soon as I got to the single track all hell broke loose. The wind picked up like crazy and the rain turned to a sleet/hail mixture. Ouch, ouch, ouch - my exposed legs, my face, even some flying into my eyes...like little sleet bullets. My glasses were already caked with mud and rain so I ended up looking over the tops of them anyway where sleet and mud were blowing straight into my exposed eyes. I remember thinking, almost panicking "Well shit, what do I do? I can't see. It's blurry either way." I coaxed myself and thought "It's ok, you'll be ok. You're a decent rider now, no longer a newb, stop freaking out. Not even those with 20/20 can see through this shit. Feel the trail. Just like you do when you try to get a quick ride after work and refuse to bring a light knowing you're going to get caught riding back in the dark. Dumbass." I start chuckling. CONCENTRATE. I tried to focus on the outlines of what was now white hail soon to be snow outlines. "Stay within the mud. Stay within the mud. Watch the wheel in front of you to see what it does." All I can hear is the insane wind and the loud sounds of brakes.
Suddenly we come to a dead stop. Holy hell, did the temp drop 40 degrees or something? It was so cold standing still. Though last year we stood in line for a couple sections, the slipperiness and zero visibility this time had everyone walking EVERYTHING. As I'm waiting I caught a glimpse of the pine trees almost bending what seemed to be almost 90 degrees. I thought, "Whoa, one of them is going to snap on us at any moment."
Between the still worsening conditions, my body going numb, knowing I had 42 miles left in this, and the growing fear and contemplation in people's faces, this is the moment it became mentally hard. Every time we would stop I vividly remember looking into the eyes of the people around me. Faces caked with ice, mud, completely soaked and shivering hard. We all seemed to share the same thought without words - what should we do? I mean all of these folks signed up for the 50 so they have to be pretty dang tough already. It takes a long time to build your mental and physical strength for this race in good conditions even. Seeing worry in the eyes of the toughest bikers out there freaked me out a little, ok A LOT. We were prepared to a point but not for this; not to be soaked to the bone at the start then get caught in a blizzard.
Here's a short video of the conditions. Another longer one at the end of this post.
We get past the trouble tech section and are back on our bikes for a bit with intermittent stoppage. Each stoppage is excruciating and adds to the numbness. My soaked feet feel like they've fallen asleep and each time we stop, I can't "feel" the click of clipping in and I certainly can't hear it. Others are having the same trouble and this causes several crashes around me. At the same time my hands are suffering the same effects and getting worse. My forefinger has gone completely numb and the others are starting to follow. I mix it up and brake with different fingers but eventually I can't tell how hard I'm pulling on the lever or if I'm on it even. I had to go by feel of the bike and the loud sound of my squealing brakes. In steady sections and climbs I clinch my fingers in and out keeping my grip loose and blood started moving through them again.
There are now people on the sides of the trail huddled together, shivering, stretching, trying to get their hands warm. Some are heading backwards. They had enough. It became even more difficult with two-way traffic. Finally we started heading downhill to the Copper Basin Road crossing. Although I love descents, after a few moments I couldn't wait for another climb. I know, crazy talk. The speed made the wind extra cold and every inch of my body would go numb. On top of not being able to properly brake again, I started shivering beyond control on the bike. Between this, low visibility, the hail and sleet being thrown into my eyes at speed and dodging folks on the trail, I'm not sure how I made it down to the road without crashing. Suddenly, I pass some spectators cheering from the side of the trail. I couldn't see them until the last minute. Holy crap, what are they doing out here? How awesome! It was rejuvenating. Thank you!
The Copper Basin crossing looked like a rescue war zone. There were a ton of people stopped and huddled, incoherent, bikes everywhere, people warming bikers up, I think I saw an ambulance, vans, cars and others getting help. A guy yelled and told us which way to go to get back. I thought at first we weren't allowed to go on. So many of us were just peddling slow not sure what to do. Someone asked can we keep going and they were confused like "sure if you want."
As I kept trucking on to the next section, I was getting use to the routine I had to go through to keep myself from going numb and the trail was more up than down which helped. The little drop the photographers love came up and despite conditions I went ahead and did it. I figured if I got hurt then I'd get an excuse to go back down to the beer.
I had no clue where I was in relation to the water bar climb and suddenly I turn and here it is. Now I'm not sure if it was here or a bit back but I saw Shandra and Darci headed backwards. I was wondering about them and my OVB crew, hoping they were ok. They were thank goodness and I'm glad that these girls were together and safe. They were ready for some beers instead. Drink one for me in my memory, ladies!
The waterbar climb proved too much with no visibility and too slippery for many to get up the steep sections. Caught in a line of about 30, I had no choice but to walk and that was ok with me. I kept my head down and kept the elements out of my eyes. It was difficult because if I had a huge mud or sleet ball get into them it was not like I could wipe it out. My gloves were filthy and nothing on me was dry or clear of debris. I had to "blink it out" several times. Mixing up walking uphill and riding was bringing life back into my feet as well. It was the weirdest feeling walking on stumps. I couldn't tell where my toes were and at first tripped a lot tweaking my ankles a few times. I had to kind of walk like I had flippers on. The water bar descents between were rough at first not being able to clip in half the time and slippery, but then I got use to it, sliding around, trusting my senses besides sight. I started having some fun and hucking off the water bars splashing into puddles and mud. Weee! I tried not to smile because mud would flip up into my teeth.
It's hard to describe the mental anguish and fight you have during a time like this. That competitive athlete that wants to meet whatever goal you set no matter what, screaming YOU CAN DO THIS. But then the negative paranoid counterpart in your mind is telling you that you're going to get frost bite, potentially die out here, or fail. Total double personality, sometimes triple in your mind. You go over limits and "what ifs" in your head, "ok if I get to this point of numbness or hurting, I will stop." Then you get to that point and it's not that bad you just can't feel anything so the athlete goes "aw that's not so bad just keep pushing, you're almost to this section or aide station, it'll all be good if you make it there, feeling will come back on this climb or get off your bike and walk if you have to, or your feet will come back. Besides it's just as far going back now than it is for you to push forward to the next potential rescue area. Look at all the girls you saw not finishing, you may be the only one who finishes and you'll drown in podium swag. DON'T GIVE UP!" You play these games in your head while mindlessly biking and suddenly you're 3 more miles in. Time flies when you're going insane.
I can say that on the water bar climb and descents when the storm was bad I was at a point of deliriously focused. I felt like I was going insane but yet determined. The mental struggle was at its highest and if you were talking to me, it'd be like talking through someone. BUT biking has become so second nature that the riding right then was purely instinct. A Zombie on a bike, yeah that's it. "All I want is to get to the brains..." in this case the aide stations then the finish. Those little specks of mud and snow flying in my eyes I didn't feel anymore, the numbness was there but gone, and my worry about the dangers disappeared at this point. Maybe this is a bad physiological sign, possibly I was hypothermic, but I had reached the point where my mind became numb.
The climb before the aide station we hit some more sleet but the worst part of it seemed to be over. I finally came upon the station and it was seriously like winning the lottery. All I could think of were "PICKLES!" I can't remember much but people were trying to talk to me and it seemed like it was in another language. I think Stephen Jordan was there asking me something in what seemed like a Charlie Brown adult voice "wa wa wa" and all I could belt out was "I don't wanna talk." Sorry, Stephen, I just wanted pickles. I'm surprised no one stopped me from continuing now that I look back. I do remember thinking how awesome it was all these folks were still out here helping us braving the elements as well. Thank you!
Heading down to Skull Valley was tough even though the bad weather had subsided and the sun was trying to come out once in a while. Going 25/30 mph downhill with a stiff headwind and being wet still, it was extremely cold and things were starting to go numb again. My tire was rubbing and my chain started coming off on the little climb in between. Dang. What else you got for me? Trying to stay positive and barely able to see through muddy glasses, I looked around and it. was. GORGEOUS. The sun had come out, the clouds were awesome looking, you could see mountains and lower elevations for miles. It was spectacular. This was my first time down there.
Now I know some of you aren't religious and neither am I really, though I have Christian roots and have remained spiritual in a sense. Studying many philosophies and religions, I ventured from organized religion molding my own beliefs from all that I had researched and learned. I call it Morelockology. I tend to lean towards the spiritual ideals of energy healing, spirit guides, meditation, chakras, etc. At this moment I had a thought of my Uncle Thad. He was a generous, athletic, incredible human being that helped and touched so many lives. He's the type of guy who you'd think - what a shame the world had to lose someone like him. We were extremely close. He died at the age of 29 when I was about 19 of spinal/brain cancer. Ever since then, I felt he has been a part of my life, a spirit guide or angel of sorts. I felt that he was proud of me in this moment. I've done some things I'm not so proud of and as human beings, I think we tend to dwell on those moments more sometimes. But this time, this time I felt I've done something worth being proud of myself for, for once. As I'm having this thought and feeling his presence, I look off into the beautiful landscape where the sunlight finally pops out and lights up the top of this hill that has a cross on it. I mean how random, a cross out in the middle of nowhere. It becomes so bright it nearly blinds me. It was incredibly moving especially in my emotionally drained state. He went through so much adversity. When he was diagnosed at age 24, he became paralyzed from the waist down. But guess what?...he eventually walked when they said he couldn't. He had another child when they said he couldn't. He defied all odds. Yup, A KID, in the traditional way mind you, when he was paralyzed. Put that in your hat and smoke it, science. In this moment I felt the pride from him in me and his smile, and the feeling was indescribable. Way to go, kid! My Cashhiiiiaaa! (He used to call me that in a Chinese like accent)
Ok stop crying, back to it. Getting into Skull Valley all I remember is smelling poop and thinking "who in the hell would live here?" But then I remembered the gorgeousness of what I just saw. These people get to experience that everyday. Ok, I suppose I can see. You'd get used to the poop smell.
The ladies and gents were great at the aide station down there. They held my bike as I went tinkle. Note to self and others: It's really a difficult decision to apply chammy butter when your hands are wet and dirty. I mean you desperately need it but eww and ouch. Clean them first or try if possible. The last thing your bits need is sand and dirt in them.
The climb back up wasn't so bad as I was taking it slow but when it got steep my chain started going nuts again. Something would just make it stop where I couldn't pedal. I didn't know what was going on and despite all efforts, I couldn't fix it. I had to walk quite a bit. Someone passing me as I fell for the 50th time told me to wash off my chain and lube it up at the aide station. Cool thanks. So I struggled up to the aide station and did just that. The difference was amazing. Now that I look back, I think DUH, your drive train doesn't work with dirt and grime caked in it.
By this time I'm in my granny spinning my butt off no matter what the grade as I'm playing the "please don't cramp" game. I had to pee bad but there is no place to go on the way up to the top aide station. I couldn't take it anymore and dropped my pants on the road as no one was around me. Suddenly a car comes around the corner and another biker. OF COURSE right when my white ass is completely exposed. Guys, you have it so easy able to pull over and discreetly whip it out to relieve yourselves. We don't have a lot of options except if I get a Go Girl (Google it). I just might. I pull up my pants and apologize to them both with a "oopsie" face and shrug. Really though, I'm so exhausted, I didn't care. Everyone's got a butt.
Soon after I get to the intersection before the last aide station, I noticed riders flying up the other road connecting with the one I'm on. I'm delirious and not sure what was going on but just stayed to the left. It seemed like a million of them were passing me and fast. Every other rider would start cheering for me and say great job. I didn't know for sure who they were or what was going on though they had race plates. I figured they were 25ers but they should have come up on the same road as us. Whoever they were, I almost cried from them cheering me on. I was seriously running on fumes physically and mentally by then and that little bit of verbal support gave me a well-timed boost. Little did I know the 25ers started way later and they rerouted them to skip out some of the first part where the trail was beat up from the storm and all of us 50ers. I had to turn off my brain and just wait to get answers at the aide station.
Finally there, I had a difficult time getting off my bike all wobbly. I assured them I just needed some Gatoraide and a breather. The 25ers were flying up the hill as if they had anxiously waited through numerous delays and didn't have that first brutal part of the Whiskey to tire them out. I admit, I was pretty scared to get going again on the single track as there was no break between how many of them there were. How was I going to squeeze between them all to get going as slow as I knew I'd be? Not to mention this latter part of the Whiskey was FAST. I mean, I'm pretty decent at the XC downhills but at this moment, I felt like I was 20 beers deep. Not that I know what 20 beers deep is like, maybe 11 Tequila shots deep or back in the day a bottle of SoCo deep but yeah, never mind. Anywho....try riding completely unbalanced mentally and physically with people coming up on you fast, tailing you and/or flying past you on a super fast, loose, somewhat rocky section. I was nervous. Here we go.
The steep part I made and almost cramped. I was hoping people would see that I was a 50 miler and be nice, which most were, but there were a few relentless ones. I get it though - waiting all day plus the annoyed ladies passing me were in the running for the podium I found. I was still going a decent speed for my stability and not cramping, so I was happy. All I could do is apologize to those who had to wait behind me and just take a happy medium on when it was safe to pull over to let folks by. I thought about those 24hr solo riders and how this must be what they feel like when they're completely out of it and other non-solo racers are dicks to them. From this experience, I will be more mindful of my actions when racing with those long distance racers who may be completely wiped out.
So get this, I got through cramp hill with out cramping. I may have pissed some folks off going so slow and holding up the line, but I didn't cramp. I also powered down the next downhill fairly fast and stayed with the flow. Coming up on the creek crossing, I heard someone go "here comes another one" and the crowd went berserk. I think they had meant "here comes another 50er who was alive." With that boost I barreled on through and didn't miss a beat. It took me a sec, but I realized Vernie was taking pics and cheering at some point between the creek and the road. I flew through this last part even passing another 50 miler woman who passed me on the Skull Valley climb when I my drive train was freaking out. I only struggled on one part as I took a weird line and pissed some dude off having to unclip. All my inhibitions were gone and as he shoved me over, I go "Give me a freaking break, asshole. I'm surviving here!"
Oh my heavenly baby Jesus, there's the road! I think I may have turned around and flipped off the trail! Then I thought "Shut up, don't jinx it idiot...you still got a few miles on the road." I had visions of how shitty it would be for my bike to suddenly unhinge everywhere, pieces flying off, and me hitting the ground with only my handle bars in hand like in the cartoons. That would blow. As I thought about this cartoon type scenario, it made me laugh out loud and the people cheering me on looked at me weird. I had totally lost it.
On the road I just concentrated on keeping a good cadence and not cramping. I was worried about the 50 miler woman catching me. Playing what I call the "cramping game" made the road miles fly by. The cramping game is when you push yourself to the point of cramping then back off, then do it again then back off. How much can you get away with pushing your body before you exhaust it to failure? What a game, huh!? So fun!
Coming around the corner was an amazing experience. Everyone was cheering even louder than the year before in almost disbelief that another 50 miler had made it. The overwhelming emotions led to tears and a frog in my throat as I came upon the finish line dirty as hell and smiling with my goofy ass shower cap on. It seemed like a dream almost as I had finished my first Whiskey 50 in unreal conditions. That finish line was my nemesis and I crossed it with a big FUCK YOU!
PS. I said fuck a lot more during this race but I just didn't write about it. Sometimes I'd say it out loud, sometimes inner voice and then there was a certain point I wasn't sure if I was said it out loud or inside. Lovely.
PSS. Little to my knowledge after the race, as I was shoving my face with beer and food at Linner (Lunch/Dinner), I found I came in 5th place and had to run from the restaurant down to the awards area. Our medal was a Whiskey flask and we got some swag too. If I ever win any more Whiskey flasks from here on out, I don't think they will be as meaningful as this one where I was competing with mother nature and myself more than I was with my competition.
SO the Whiskey Off-Road Race. For those of you who don’t know…Google it. It’s big, it’s popular, it’s an all weekend mountain bike party fest and it’s one son of a tough course. From the pros to the poor beginners some jerk friend conned into competing, there are nearly 2000 riders of all levels. You can start to understand just how hard this course is by stabbing yourself in the legs with a butter knife.Not knowing if I could compete this year due to work, I held off signing up. At the last minute I found I could make it but the only opening was the 50 miler. Oh my. It's brutal, you guys. I mean this race is on many bucket lists out there. Last year I barely survived my first Whiskey 25 miler. Decisions, decisions...oh God shut up brain, have a beer and do it. Forced challenge accepted.
The Wednesday before I started seeing posts about the weather. The five day forecast for Prescott went something like this - Beautiful, Beautiful, Shit, Beautiful, Beautiful. Meh, those weathermen don't know crap. The site I was checking said 44 degrees, 90% precipitation, and possible snow above 7,000 ft which was above us. Oh c'mon this was by an AZ weathermen, 90% is more like a couple sprinkles. We here in AZ are just so damn shocked that we may have a chance to get a sprinkle in April that we up the % for wishful thinking. I was sleeping in my new ride Friday night and the rain started about 2am and it. didn't. stop. Ruh Roh.
Getting ready that morning, I struggled with what to wear. Mid-40's isn't too bad if you're riding hard, but mixing it with rain and no sun may be a different story. I don't know, I'd never been in these conditions before let alone for a 5 hour race. It isn't like this Arizonan has a ton of rain and winter gear. I had to dig around my house just to find what I thought was a rain jacket. In the end I let go of my weight weenie mindset, put my elbow and knee pad g-forms, rain jacket, and went with my bigger pack to derobe in case it cleared up. I tried to MacGyver plastic wrap around my hands and feet but it wasn't working out. I was running late and flustered. I just had to accept that most of me is going to get drenched. Oh but wait, one more thing I remembered. Beth Utley told me to get a shower cap and put that on over my helmet. BEST. ADVICE. EVER! Thanks, Beth!
Before the start, my gut started freaking out and I had to rush to go tend to that. I mean RUSH. For those who don't know, I had a lemon gall bladder that needed to come out. It liked to be nasty at the most inopportune times. I barely pulled up to the start in time and WTF, where's my race plate? It started raining harder as I flew down to my car to find it. Have I not learned already to put this crap on the night before? Apparently not. I hear the gun go off. Finally, I get it on through the increasing wind and rain, hands already shivering. I rush back to the start and have to ride on the sidewalk as they've already closed the area. LOL OOPS!Being late settled me down a bit as I reminded myself this is just survival. Your goal is to survive rain or shine. It was about this time I realized I had my regular glasses on instead of my Oakleys. Oh my. What else can this space cadet forget? I hope to God I get better at this race preparation crap. I remembered that I went a year without sunglasses. I can do this. It may have been the best in the long run as it just kept getting darker and darker as the ridiculous weather got worse. As I'm beating myself up for this and being late, I started catching the back pack. I didn't expect to. My mindset became competitive. Get in front of these folks before the single track. Last year, although I tried my hardest, my climbing skills lacked especially on the road and it was like waiting in line at Disneyland to ride every little tech section. I passed many but not enough to really matter. The wind and rain picked up as we climbed higher.
As soon as I got to the single track all hell broke loose. The wind picked up like crazy and the rain turned to a sleet/hail mixture. Ouch, ouch, ouch - my exposed legs, my face, even some flying into my eyes...like little sleet bullets. My glasses were already caked with mud and rain so I ended up looking over the tops of them anyway where sleet and mud were blowing straight into my exposed eyes. I remember thinking, almost panicking "Well shit, what do I do? I can't see. It's blurry either way." I coaxed myself and thought "It's ok, you'll be ok. You're a decent rider now, no longer a newb, stop freaking out. Not even those with 20/20 can see through this shit. Feel the trail. Just like you do when you try to get a quick ride after work and refuse to bring a light knowing you're going to get caught riding back in the dark. Dumbass." I start chuckling. CONCENTRATE. I tried to focus on the outlines of what was now white hail soon to be snow outlines. "Stay within the mud. Stay within the mud. Watch the wheel in front of you to see what it does." All I can hear is the insane wind and the loud sounds of brakes.
Suddenly we come to a dead stop. Holy hell, did the temp drop 40 degrees or something? It was so cold standing still. Though last year we stood in line for a couple sections, the slipperiness and zero visibility this time had everyone walking EVERYTHING. As I'm waiting I caught a glimpse of the pine trees almost bending what seemed to be almost 90 degrees. I thought, "Whoa, one of them is going to snap on us at any moment."
Between the still worsening conditions, my body going numb, knowing I had 42 miles left in this, and the growing fear and contemplation in people's faces, this is the moment it became mentally hard. Every time we would stop I vividly remember looking into the eyes of the people around me. Faces caked with ice, mud, completely soaked and shivering hard. We all seemed to share the same thought without words - what should we do? I mean all of these folks signed up for the 50 so they have to be pretty dang tough already. It takes a long time to build your mental and physical strength for this race in good conditions even. Seeing worry in the eyes of the toughest bikers out there freaked me out a little, ok A LOT. We were prepared to a point but not for this; not to be soaked to the bone at the start then get caught in a blizzard.
Here's a short video of the conditions. Another longer one at the end of this post.
We get past the trouble tech section and are back on our bikes for a bit with intermittent stoppage. Each stoppage is excruciating and adds to the numbness. My soaked feet feel like they've fallen asleep and each time we stop, I can't "feel" the click of clipping in and I certainly can't hear it. Others are having the same trouble and this causes several crashes around me. At the same time my hands are suffering the same effects and getting worse. My forefinger has gone completely numb and the others are starting to follow. I mix it up and brake with different fingers but eventually I can't tell how hard I'm pulling on the lever or if I'm on it even. I had to go by feel of the bike and the loud sound of my squealing brakes. In steady sections and climbs I clinch my fingers in and out keeping my grip loose and blood started moving through them again.There are now people on the sides of the trail huddled together, shivering, stretching, trying to get their hands warm. Some are heading backwards. They had enough. It became even more difficult with two-way traffic. Finally we started heading downhill to the Copper Basin Road crossing. Although I love descents, after a few moments I couldn't wait for another climb. I know, crazy talk. The speed made the wind extra cold and every inch of my body would go numb. On top of not being able to properly brake again, I started shivering beyond control on the bike. Between this, low visibility, the hail and sleet being thrown into my eyes at speed and dodging folks on the trail, I'm not sure how I made it down to the road without crashing. Suddenly, I pass some spectators cheering from the side of the trail. I couldn't see them until the last minute. Holy crap, what are they doing out here? How awesome! It was rejuvenating. Thank you!
The Copper Basin crossing looked like a rescue war zone. There were a ton of people stopped and huddled, incoherent, bikes everywhere, people warming bikers up, I think I saw an ambulance, vans, cars and others getting help. A guy yelled and told us which way to go to get back. I thought at first we weren't allowed to go on. So many of us were just peddling slow not sure what to do. Someone asked can we keep going and they were confused like "sure if you want."As I kept trucking on to the next section, I was getting use to the routine I had to go through to keep myself from going numb and the trail was more up than down which helped. The little drop the photographers love came up and despite conditions I went ahead and did it. I figured if I got hurt then I'd get an excuse to go back down to the beer.
I had no clue where I was in relation to the water bar climb and suddenly I turn and here it is. Now I'm not sure if it was here or a bit back but I saw Shandra and Darci headed backwards. I was wondering about them and my OVB crew, hoping they were ok. They were thank goodness and I'm glad that these girls were together and safe. They were ready for some beers instead. Drink one for me in my memory, ladies!
The waterbar climb proved too much with no visibility and too slippery for many to get up the steep sections. Caught in a line of about 30, I had no choice but to walk and that was ok with me. I kept my head down and kept the elements out of my eyes. It was difficult because if I had a huge mud or sleet ball get into them it was not like I could wipe it out. My gloves were filthy and nothing on me was dry or clear of debris. I had to "blink it out" several times. Mixing up walking uphill and riding was bringing life back into my feet as well. It was the weirdest feeling walking on stumps. I couldn't tell where my toes were and at first tripped a lot tweaking my ankles a few times. I had to kind of walk like I had flippers on. The water bar descents between were rough at first not being able to clip in half the time and slippery, but then I got use to it, sliding around, trusting my senses besides sight. I started having some fun and hucking off the water bars splashing into puddles and mud. Weee! I tried not to smile because mud would flip up into my teeth.
It's hard to describe the mental anguish and fight you have during a time like this. That competitive athlete that wants to meet whatever goal you set no matter what, screaming YOU CAN DO THIS. But then the negative paranoid counterpart in your mind is telling you that you're going to get frost bite, potentially die out here, or fail. Total double personality, sometimes triple in your mind. You go over limits and "what ifs" in your head, "ok if I get to this point of numbness or hurting, I will stop." Then you get to that point and it's not that bad you just can't feel anything so the athlete goes "aw that's not so bad just keep pushing, you're almost to this section or aide station, it'll all be good if you make it there, feeling will come back on this climb or get off your bike and walk if you have to, or your feet will come back. Besides it's just as far going back now than it is for you to push forward to the next potential rescue area. Look at all the girls you saw not finishing, you may be the only one who finishes and you'll drown in podium swag. DON'T GIVE UP!" You play these games in your head while mindlessly biking and suddenly you're 3 more miles in. Time flies when you're going insane.I can say that on the water bar climb and descents when the storm was bad I was at a point of deliriously focused. I felt like I was going insane but yet determined. The mental struggle was at its highest and if you were talking to me, it'd be like talking through someone. BUT biking has become so second nature that the riding right then was purely instinct. A Zombie on a bike, yeah that's it. "All I want is to get to the brains..." in this case the aide stations then the finish. Those little specks of mud and snow flying in my eyes I didn't feel anymore, the numbness was there but gone, and my worry about the dangers disappeared at this point. Maybe this is a bad physiological sign, possibly I was hypothermic, but I had reached the point where my mind became numb.
The climb before the aide station we hit some more sleet but the worst part of it seemed to be over. I finally came upon the station and it was seriously like winning the lottery. All I could think of were "PICKLES!" I can't remember much but people were trying to talk to me and it seemed like it was in another language. I think Stephen Jordan was there asking me something in what seemed like a Charlie Brown adult voice "wa wa wa" and all I could belt out was "I don't wanna talk." Sorry, Stephen, I just wanted pickles. I'm surprised no one stopped me from continuing now that I look back. I do remember thinking how awesome it was all these folks were still out here helping us braving the elements as well. Thank you!
Heading down to Skull Valley was tough even though the bad weather had subsided and the sun was trying to come out once in a while. Going 25/30 mph downhill with a stiff headwind and being wet still, it was extremely cold and things were starting to go numb again. My tire was rubbing and my chain started coming off on the little climb in between. Dang. What else you got for me? Trying to stay positive and barely able to see through muddy glasses, I looked around and it. was. GORGEOUS. The sun had come out, the clouds were awesome looking, you could see mountains and lower elevations for miles. It was spectacular. This was my first time down there.Now I know some of you aren't religious and neither am I really, though I have Christian roots and have remained spiritual in a sense. Studying many philosophies and religions, I ventured from organized religion molding my own beliefs from all that I had researched and learned. I call it Morelockology. I tend to lean towards the spiritual ideals of energy healing, spirit guides, meditation, chakras, etc. At this moment I had a thought of my Uncle Thad. He was a generous, athletic, incredible human being that helped and touched so many lives. He's the type of guy who you'd think - what a shame the world had to lose someone like him. We were extremely close. He died at the age of 29 when I was about 19 of spinal/brain cancer. Ever since then, I felt he has been a part of my life, a spirit guide or angel of sorts. I felt that he was proud of me in this moment. I've done some things I'm not so proud of and as human beings, I think we tend to dwell on those moments more sometimes. But this time, this time I felt I've done something worth being proud of myself for, for once. As I'm having this thought and feeling his presence, I look off into the beautiful landscape where the sunlight finally pops out and lights up the top of this hill that has a cross on it. I mean how random, a cross out in the middle of nowhere. It becomes so bright it nearly blinds me. It was incredibly moving especially in my emotionally drained state. He went through so much adversity. When he was diagnosed at age 24, he became paralyzed from the waist down. But guess what?...he eventually walked when they said he couldn't. He had another child when they said he couldn't. He defied all odds. Yup, A KID, in the traditional way mind you, when he was paralyzed. Put that in your hat and smoke it, science. In this moment I felt the pride from him in me and his smile, and the feeling was indescribable. Way to go, kid! My Cashhiiiiaaa! (He used to call me that in a Chinese like accent)
Ok stop crying, back to it. Getting into Skull Valley all I remember is smelling poop and thinking "who in the hell would live here?" But then I remembered the gorgeousness of what I just saw. These people get to experience that everyday. Ok, I suppose I can see. You'd get used to the poop smell.
The ladies and gents were great at the aide station down there. They held my bike as I went tinkle. Note to self and others: It's really a difficult decision to apply chammy butter when your hands are wet and dirty. I mean you desperately need it but eww and ouch. Clean them first or try if possible. The last thing your bits need is sand and dirt in them.The climb back up wasn't so bad as I was taking it slow but when it got steep my chain started going nuts again. Something would just make it stop where I couldn't pedal. I didn't know what was going on and despite all efforts, I couldn't fix it. I had to walk quite a bit. Someone passing me as I fell for the 50th time told me to wash off my chain and lube it up at the aide station. Cool thanks. So I struggled up to the aide station and did just that. The difference was amazing. Now that I look back, I think DUH, your drive train doesn't work with dirt and grime caked in it.
By this time I'm in my granny spinning my butt off no matter what the grade as I'm playing the "please don't cramp" game. I had to pee bad but there is no place to go on the way up to the top aide station. I couldn't take it anymore and dropped my pants on the road as no one was around me. Suddenly a car comes around the corner and another biker. OF COURSE right when my white ass is completely exposed. Guys, you have it so easy able to pull over and discreetly whip it out to relieve yourselves. We don't have a lot of options except if I get a Go Girl (Google it). I just might. I pull up my pants and apologize to them both with a "oopsie" face and shrug. Really though, I'm so exhausted, I didn't care. Everyone's got a butt.
Soon after I get to the intersection before the last aide station, I noticed riders flying up the other road connecting with the one I'm on. I'm delirious and not sure what was going on but just stayed to the left. It seemed like a million of them were passing me and fast. Every other rider would start cheering for me and say great job. I didn't know for sure who they were or what was going on though they had race plates. I figured they were 25ers but they should have come up on the same road as us. Whoever they were, I almost cried from them cheering me on. I was seriously running on fumes physically and mentally by then and that little bit of verbal support gave me a well-timed boost. Little did I know the 25ers started way later and they rerouted them to skip out some of the first part where the trail was beat up from the storm and all of us 50ers. I had to turn off my brain and just wait to get answers at the aide station.
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| Thanks for the pic, Vern! |
The steep part I made and almost cramped. I was hoping people would see that I was a 50 miler and be nice, which most were, but there were a few relentless ones. I get it though - waiting all day plus the annoyed ladies passing me were in the running for the podium I found. I was still going a decent speed for my stability and not cramping, so I was happy. All I could do is apologize to those who had to wait behind me and just take a happy medium on when it was safe to pull over to let folks by. I thought about those 24hr solo riders and how this must be what they feel like when they're completely out of it and other non-solo racers are dicks to them. From this experience, I will be more mindful of my actions when racing with those long distance racers who may be completely wiped out.
So get this, I got through cramp hill with out cramping. I may have pissed some folks off going so slow and holding up the line, but I didn't cramp. I also powered down the next downhill fairly fast and stayed with the flow. Coming up on the creek crossing, I heard someone go "here comes another one" and the crowd went berserk. I think they had meant "here comes another 50er who was alive." With that boost I barreled on through and didn't miss a beat. It took me a sec, but I realized Vernie was taking pics and cheering at some point between the creek and the road. I flew through this last part even passing another 50 miler woman who passed me on the Skull Valley climb when I my drive train was freaking out. I only struggled on one part as I took a weird line and pissed some dude off having to unclip. All my inhibitions were gone and as he shoved me over, I go "Give me a freaking break, asshole. I'm surviving here!"Oh my heavenly baby Jesus, there's the road! I think I may have turned around and flipped off the trail! Then I thought "Shut up, don't jinx it idiot...you still got a few miles on the road." I had visions of how shitty it would be for my bike to suddenly unhinge everywhere, pieces flying off, and me hitting the ground with only my handle bars in hand like in the cartoons. That would blow. As I thought about this cartoon type scenario, it made me laugh out loud and the people cheering me on looked at me weird. I had totally lost it.
On the road I just concentrated on keeping a good cadence and not cramping. I was worried about the 50 miler woman catching me. Playing what I call the "cramping game" made the road miles fly by. The cramping game is when you push yourself to the point of cramping then back off, then do it again then back off. How much can you get away with pushing your body before you exhaust it to failure? What a game, huh!? So fun!
Coming around the corner was an amazing experience. Everyone was cheering even louder than the year before in almost disbelief that another 50 miler had made it. The overwhelming emotions led to tears and a frog in my throat as I came upon the finish line dirty as hell and smiling with my goofy ass shower cap on. It seemed like a dream almost as I had finished my first Whiskey 50 in unreal conditions. That finish line was my nemesis and I crossed it with a big FUCK YOU!
PS. I said fuck a lot more during this race but I just didn't write about it. Sometimes I'd say it out loud, sometimes inner voice and then there was a certain point I wasn't sure if I was said it out loud or inside. Lovely.
PSS. Little to my knowledge after the race, as I was shoving my face with beer and food at Linner (Lunch/Dinner), I found I came in 5th place and had to run from the restaurant down to the awards area. Our medal was a Whiskey flask and we got some swag too. If I ever win any more Whiskey flasks from here on out, I don't think they will be as meaningful as this one where I was competing with mother nature and myself more than I was with my competition.
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