Silver Rush 50, Part 4: The Anti-Climactic End to a Not-So-Perfect Weekend

This has been a longer-than-usual series for me, so I apologize that this drug out a bit more than anticipated. If you missed any of the first three posts in this tale, you can find part 1 here , part 2 here and part 3 is here. As with part 3, this portion of the story has two viewpoints to share. In order to distinguish each of these, Sam's thoughts will be written in bold type face, while G.E.'s will be in regular type. 
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I sat waiting for the lottery portion of the ceremony to begin, hoping (and frankly, pretty sure) that my name would be called. That is, until I suddenly realized things had changed this year. Apparently, the organizers decided that instead of using the computer program to randomize and select from the finishers, they were having people bring up a tag from their bib to put into a hat for a random pull.

The problem? I didn't have the tag. By the time I could get G.E. there with my bib, the drawing would be over, and I couldn't even remember if the piece was still on the bib or if I'd tossed it. For the life of me, I cannot figure out why a bigger deal was not made of this change. Someone had muttered something like, "Don't forget about the 100" when I picked up my packet, but since it didn't relate to the current ride, I thought nothing of it. I think a notice in the packet and/or on the main website would've been beneficial.

The moment that I realized I had no chance of getting in to Leadville this year, I started walking away. I knew I had only myself to blame. Post race, I did search through the packet, wondering if I'd missed an explanation, but there was nothing to be found... simply a tear-off on the bib with a smaller version of my bib number.

Earlier than anticipated, I received a text message from Sam that he was ready to be picked up. I was excited. I assumed this meant that he'd received a slot and we could start heading home while there was still daylight.

When Sam got in the car I asked smiling, "So.... did you get in?!" At which point he made the above explanation to me. Bummer. Big time bummer.

I know Sam was thinking that the entire ride and weekend was a waste, but I don't believe that is necessarily the case. True, he didn't get in to Leadville this year, and yes, the entire weekend had been one of the more challenging weekends in some time, but there is always a lesson to be learned. In this case, as we discussed later on the way home, I think the lesson is to enjoy the moment and not be so wrapped up in what is to come.

I realized that I am such a fool for not understanding that the lottery system had changed, but we were ready to go home. The bike had been perfect and fast. My body was not. I was running on no sleep and I was incapable of pushing myself the way that I should have (and would have) under normal circumstance. I backed off when I shouldn't have and I didn't even try for the coin at the start of Dutch Henri Hill. And, of course, I didn't keep that tiny little piece of my bib for the drawing with me.

As we headed home after what felt like the longest two days of my life, we were both hungry. We decided to stop at a spot for a sandwich and let the dogs out for a bit. We were losing daylight, so I didn't want to stop too long because I fear the dark when driving with no sleep.

Quickly, we got back on the road and on to I-70 which takes us down through the mountains and back in to the Denver metro area. As we were driving, we noticed a sign on the side of the road that said there was an accident about 4 miles ahead. Now, there are always accidents on the interstate, so neither of us thought much about it and assumed it would slow us down a bit, but we'd still be making decent time.

About a mile up the road, everyone was stopped. I don't mean the sort of stopped where we move a bit and then stop again. I mean we were stopped-stopped... as in not moving at all. This can't be good, I thought, but what could we do? My sleep-deprived, barely functioning brain was using all its power just to keep us in our lane and on the path home, and now I had to figure out what to do to avoid this chaos.

Truthfully, there aren't a whole lot of alternatives to getting around something like this. We were coming up to one of the possibilities in a couple of miles, but in the meantime, we had to just sit and wait. And wait and wait.

As the sun set behind us, I knew I was in trouble. We were losing light which meant that sleepy time and yawning were about to take over. I cranked up the air conditioner and hoped it was enough to keep me coherent.

The traffic had begun to move, but at an unpredictable and very, very slow pace. Eventually, we made it to the exit I knew we were approaching and in an instant realized that everyone was exiting here because they had shut down all the eastbound lanes on the interstate. That certainly explained a lot.

It also meant that we were in for a very slow route home - or at least until we got to our diverging point about 20 miles up the road.

I should also explain that there is a reason (beyond the fact that I was beyond tired at this point) I don't like to drive at night. My vision is not the best after dark and I cannot always tell if a car is in my lane or the one traveling in the opposite direction until we are very close to each other. It causes a lot of strain to try to focus well enough to be able to make adjustments as needed, and with no sleep this was feeling worse than usual.

At this point, Sam had offered to drive, but I figured he was probably far more tired than I was and I believed I could hold it together well enough to get us through.

As we continued along our slow slog home, I couldn't help but laugh about everything that had happened. It was comical to me in my state of mind. I was so lost in the idea of the ridiculousness that had taken place that I missed our turn off and ended up taking us entirely off course.

When we were finally heading in the right direction, I believe complete delirium had set in.

"What if this is all a dream?" I asked out loud, half believing it could be true. "What if we're actually asleep somewhere and none of this has taken place... or, what if we're upside down in a ditch?"

Sam is used to my ramblings, but even he seemed to be playing along, which only made me realize that he was in need of serious sleep as well.

"What if we get home and the house isn't there?" I continued. "You know in dreams, when you're struggling to get home and when you finally arrive it's something entirely different and it's so confusing? Maybe that's what is happening? We'll get home and it will be an ice cream shop or a 7-Eleven or something."

I couldn't help but get lost in this idea of being in a dream because, well, it honestly felt like a dream in that state of mind. I pretty well continued on in this manner until we reached home, where we discovered that in fact our home was exactly where and how we'd left it (which should be a surprise to no one because we weren't actually asleep). It had been a long, long 48 hours and it was coming to an end.

Sam stated, "I just don't think the whole thing was meant to be. From start - really before the start - to finish nothing seemed to go right."

I couldn't help but nod along. It did seem that obstacles were at every corner. Even though the dogs weren't that bad (excluding the incident with our Lab snapping at the other retriever early on race day), I realized that together, our two dogs just aren't cut out for adventures on the road and camping.

"Next time," I began, "I think you either need to go alone or we have to figure out another way to deal with the dogs. Unfortunately, they are just all-consuming and it's difficult to focus on anything else."

There has been talk since the ride about what Sam wants to do. There are a lot of possibilities within the region, but I think he just needed a little time to accept that he isn't going to race in the Leadville Trail 100 this year. I know he's disappointed, but I also know he is well trained (assuming he actually sleeps) to do whatever he chooses this summer and wherever he decides to race, I know, as always, he'll put our his best.

What's next? I'm not sure. There are a bazillion events this summer and I will be ready for the next one - whatever it is. Maybe it's an opportunity to try again in Flagstaff, Arizona for the 2017 LT100 and not do as horribly as I did the last time, or perhaps there is something else that makes more sense. I have a little time to figure it out.

Silver Rush 50, Part 3: Let's Ride! Who Needs Sleep?

If you missed either of the first two posts in this tale, you can find part 1 here and part 2 here. For this portion of the Silver Rush 50 story, there are two viewpoints to share. In order to distinguish each of these, Sam's thoughts will be written in bold type face, while G.E.'s will be in regular type. 
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After a rough night of being attacked by mosquitoes and not sleeping (well, the mosquitoes were getting me, even if they weren't biting Sam), Sam was preparing to finally race the Silver Rush 50. Even though the mosquitoes didn't really seem to be biting him it was hardly consolation when he was in pain and hadn't slept.

Sam prepared some oatmeal over the camp stove, and after taking a shower, dressing, and packing up the campsite belongings (let's face it, we weren't about to spend a second night fighting mother nature and everything else that seemed to be working against us), we were off to the starting line.

When we arrived to the preparation area, we split up. Sam headed for the start line at the bottom of Dutch Henri Hill, while the dogs and I went to the top of the hill. I've taken photos of Sam at the start line a couple of years ago when he did this ride, so I thought maybe it would be fun to get a different angle. Plus, our Labrador has issues with other dogs and I figured there would be fewer people at the top of the hill than at the start.

I was very wrong.

As we walked to the top of Dutch Henri Hill and found a spot away from any other animals, a woman walked up next to us with her young Golden Retriever. Our Lab gave no warning and suddenly snapped at him. {sigh} It was going to be a long day. I pulled our pup in closer and waited for the group at the bottom of the hill to get going.

Race day! I had been preparing for months. In fact, it's probably the most preparation I've done for any of the Leadville series rides to date. 

Originally, I had intended to race the group to the top of Dutch Henri Hill for an opportunity to arrive first to get an automatic entry into the Leadville Trail 100, but because of the exhaustion from not sleeping, I decided against it. After all, even knowing that I wouldn't place in the top of my division, I knew I'd have a decent shot at entry in the lottery at the award ceremony after the race.

The bike was ready to go, despite all of my changes at the last minute. I was barely alive, but functioning nonetheless. 

Twenty minutes prior to the start, I powered on the Garmin, but nothing was happening. Searching for satellites, and searching and searching. Unfortunately it was never able to connect with the satellites so it became an expensive timer that would tell me when I needed to eat.

Unfortunately, what Sam didn't know is that on a last minute whim, I had grabbed my Garmin on the way out the door at home thinking that if something happened with his, he could just use mine. I physically had it with me at the top of the hill and could fairly easily have passed it on to him, but neither of us knew what was taking place for the other until after the race.

These people decided to walk in front of me as I was trying to get a shot of racers climbing Dutch Henri Hill... Don't worry people, I didn't get here early or anything to get a decent place to take a photo... No, you just walk in front of me and disregard the barriers that the race staff have created. {sigh} I think I need to get meaner with people! :) 

At 9a, we started. I plodded up with everyone else to the top of the hill, being careful not to tweak a knee or roll an ankle. Once we were at the top, we all coasted for a bit because of the bottleneck right at the start. 

Hoards of people who had jumped earlier at the bottom of the hill were now falling over each other. As with the last time I rode here, I was trying to tell people to calm down and not clip in yet. I'm never quite sure why they do this when no one is really moving yet.

But, after all the falling all over themselves and dragging through, we get loose on to a slow but easy first mile or so before we started the 10 mile climb.

There are mechanical problems all around me. Left and right I hear people, noisy derailleurs, dropped chains, but fortunately for me, my gear was holding strong. 

After watching the riders take off, the dogs and I headed off for the first spot we'd be able to see Sam. I was completely exhausted and had no idea how Sam was going to survive this race, but I figured the only thing I could do was be in as many locations as possible in case he needed anything.

I think one of the most difficult things about the SR50, and why some think it is actually worse than the LT100, is that racers start out climbing 10 miles. Most of it is subtle, but it is consistent for that entire 10 miles. 

My first encounter was during that first mile of climbing. I had come in contact with one of the spinning riders who decided to unclip without warning right in front of me while we were all moving along. It was too late for me to unclip, and the guy behind me nailed me sending me off my bike.

I fall and land on a large, sharp rock while simultaneously bouncing my head on the ground. It feels like I have an open wound on my back, just below the scapula. I pick up my stuff, curse a few times, and keep climbing. I didn't have time to lay around and I was too tired to worry about a flesh wound.

There are numerous sections in nearly all Leadville events during which racers end up hiking their bikes. It's very nearly unavoidable. Everyone else starts hiking and there's no ability to pass, so we all have to hike. I find this to be completely torturous walking at 2.5 mph with a bike, in stiff shoes, uphill, with lots of rocks. But, I made it through this relatively well.

My plan is almost always the same with these races: I do my best to methodically start swallowing up groups or racers. Usually, during the first half, people seem to group up and my intention is always to slowly catch them and pass them until all the ones I can pass are behind me. I had collected the last one at around mile nine, so that was good, and I was actually climbing well, considering I was a zombie on wheels.

Around mile 10, we peak and get a well-deserved downhill/double track/fire road, which leads almost perfectly to the first rest stop at about 13.5 miles in to the race.

The dogs and I had been on our way to the first rest stop. I figured it would be the best first place to wait for Sam in case he needed anything. When we arrived, we had a long hike in because of the traffic at this particular area, but I loaded up my backpack with everything we might possibly need and started hiking up the road, two dogs pulling in two different directions.

As a side note, an observer might think that I never take our dogs anywhere and that they never get out of the yard based on their behavior. For the record, we have some of the most spoiled dogs who get to go just about everywhere from swimming to hiking and walking, and more. And, despite my best efforts with training and classes, they just don't seem to understand that I expect them to behave themselves, at least occasionally.

We finally arrived at the rest stop but there were so many people and a good portion of them had dogs. I could feel the anxiety coming from our Labrador. I tried to find a spot away from everyone, but this was no easy task. People with dogs continued to arrive and pretty soon I had nowhere to be that there wasn't another dog.

Perhaps it was just my sleep-deprived state of being, but I couldn't take it as people continued to come closer and closer with their dogs, knowing that our Labrador had already lashed out just an hour or so before. So, we had to hike back down the hill to figure out what to do.

As we walked, I remembered a cross over point on the road we'd just come up, so we went to that spot to wait for Sam.

At the rest stop, I don't bother to stop. I had everything I needed and I didn't see G.E. at the stop. I was feeling okay and seemed to be doing well (or at least I felt I was doing well). 

This is the point when we started to break down into groups with riders who have similar speed and capability. I settled in with them for the most part and kept riding.

It wasn't too long before I saw Sam coming up to the crossing where we'd settled, just beyond the rest stop area. I yelled to him, but I don't think he heard me. He continued along, pedaling his legs off and I assumed he must be okay.

Well, I thought, on to the next spot. Originally, I was going to go to the second rest stop, but after the overwhelming number of people at the first one, I went with my back up plan to go to a spot at the base of the climb up to the turn around/second rest stop.

I was surprised to arrive and find only a handful of people here. Maybe I had missed Sam? I asked one of the people standing around if most of the riders had come through and he explained that only those at the very front of the pack had come through. Perfect, I thought.

I listen to two guys talking about this race in past years and other races they have done over the summer. I watch a young girl nearly get run down by a racer because her parent wasn't paying attention. I help direct racers that seemed to be confused about where to go. Before I know it, Sam is coming down the road.

"Go Sam!!!" I can't help but shout. "Do you need anything?" I holler as he goes whizzing by. He shakes his head at me and I have to say, I'm pretty impressed that he's still upright and smiling. I didn't even feel like smiling and I wasn't riding. I decided to wait until he came back from the turn around not far away, just to make sure he was actually okay.

At the 25 mile turn around, I asked the crew of volunteers to refill my water and whatever the god-awful concoction is they have in their buckets. I swiped a few GU packs, drank a paper cup of lukewarm Coke (Exactly what I didn't want -- who wants warm Coke?) and I was off again.

In this race, the turn around is a bit of a low point so we have to climb to get back out. After I'm out of the dip and back on a downhill, it's time to head back to the first (now the third) rest stop.

The dogs and I watched as Sam came back down the hill he just climbed until he disappeared from sight. Now we'd have to figure out where to go to help him on his way back, if he needed it.

This is hell, and the lack of sleep is now catching up to me. There is a three mile stretch during which there is at least one more mile of hike-a-bike. I crashed two more times due to people who wouldn't move or that didn't warn anyone that they were going to stop in the middle of the course. During the final crash, I bent my already noodle-y rear derailleur which caused my shifting to be off the rest of the race. It wasn't enough to keep me out of the gears I needed, but enough to be a nuisance.

I headed back to the spot we'd waited in after having difficulty after the first rest stop and waited for Sam. I was trying to calculate how long it was going to take him to finish. He had trained so hard for this year's ride and I knew he wanted to finish somewhere in the early 5 hour range, but that was simply not going to happen. Finishing at all in his current state would be nothing short of a miracle in my mind.

Before too long, I saw Sam coming our direction. I yelled to him, but yet again, I don't think he heard me. He looked okay though, so I knew that all I could do was wait at the finish line and hope he would make it in okay.

At mile 40, I swear it seemed as though it took forever to get back to this point and would be more of a downhill portion of the race. On my way, I encountered a fellow who was having cramps, literally standing in the middle of the road. I asked if he needed anything (not that I had anything to really help, but I felt the need to ask anyway), but he said he just needed to rest for a bit. Even though he looked like a pro rider and as though he was prepared, he also looked like I felt. But, now I finally had my 10-miles-to-go marker and it would be down hill.

In case I haven't mentioned it in the past, I am lousy at down hill. 

During the entire second half and the downhill, I was either behind or in front of one individual with an Ironman tattoo on her calf. We spoke briefly and laughed about how badly I suck at downhill. I must have seemed crazy with my fully rigid bike (Yes, you will get hammered going down hill... something I should perhaps reconsider in the future). My hands were cramping often and horribly during this portion. It was wet, rocky, and it was now pretty hot for Leadville. Somehow, I have managed to avoid rain every time I've ridden in Leadville. 

I continued to chase "Iron Lady" as best I could and continued jack hammering myself on the rocks.

With about three miles left of the race, the route designers like to have some fun with the racers and bring us around right next to the finish, just to tease us, and then make us ride three more miles of single track. We can hear all of the people at the finish line and it's like a last little piece of torture. Ugh.

The dogs and I had been near the finish line for awhile now. I know how bratty and spoiled it sounds, but I'm trying to be honest here... I was really sick of standing around waiting for Sam to finish. I have no doubt that having two decent sized dogs pull me around all day, getting more mosquito bites throughout the day, and not getting sleep myself was not helping my mood. I gave myself a little pep talk, and reminded myself that we were here for a reason, but the heat was getting to me and I truly just wanted to just lay down and take a nap.

In my calculations, I figured Sam wouldn't make it in until about 6.5 hours, but there was still that part of me holding out hope that he had kicked it into high and would make it in before that time.

Without much fanfare, I came in around 6:26. It was okay, but certainly not great and definitely not what I would have expected with the training I've completed this year.

This hill is right at the finish line. As a side story, one guy came around the corner as Sam is in this photo and yelled out, "Oh, $#!^! I can't get down that!" and stopped dead in his tracks. Those of us at the bottom couldn't help but giggle, but warned him others were coming so he could get out of the way. Eventually he made it down, but not without saying to those of us watching, "No one saw that, right?" I just found it amusing that he thought that was the worst thing he'd encountered during the ride.

Despite my internal, child-like tantrum, I was excited to see Sam coming in at the finish line (and hey, my calculations weren't that far off, surprisingly). I felt bad that he wasn't going to get the finish time he'd hoped and trained for, but I was so glad that he'd made it in at all.

Right after the cut off time at 8 hours, the organizers start the award ceremony and lottery pull for the Leadville Trail 100. 

Because our dogs had been behaving so badly throughout the day, Sam and I had decided that I'd wait for him away from the award ceremony, just to keep anything from happening with them (well, one of them) and any other dogs. Sam headed over while I fed the dogs and tried to keep them occupied for a bit.

There were so many fast, amazing finish times in all of the age divisions. I was truly impressed! In my division, there were 20 regular coin slots (without dipping into the lottery). So many people had declined the coin that I actually thought I might have a chance to get in straight up without the lottery, but they finished just before calling my name. 

No need to worry too much though, I thought. There were a total of 50-75 coins to be given away randomly to finishers for entrance to the Leadville Trail 100 in August. 

**We're leaving off here for this installment, but the last in this series will be ready soon!

Part 4 is now up and can be found here.

Silver Rush 50, Part 2: Mosquito Pheromones Dripping From My Pores

If you missed part one of this post, you can find it by clicking here.
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As you will recall from the last post, we were on our way to the campground. I am not the best person when it comes to obtaining directions if I am at least somewhat familiar with a city. If I have a few anchor points or landmarks, I always figure that I can find my way just about anywhere. I'm not sure when it started, but for many years I have simply trusted my instincts when looking for a particular spot.

Occasionally, this doesn't work for me and I end up lost and completely confused as to how I got myself so twisted around, but as a general statement my directional instincts are pretty decent. Sam is the exact opposite in this regard. He could nearly get lost in our own backyard, so when I shared with him that I wasn't exactly sure where we were going in regard to getting to the campground, I sensed his concern.

Fortunately, my senses held up this round and we were on the right path, so finding the site was really very easy and not far from town at all. The roads, contrary to what I'd read in the reviews before leaving home, were actually quite nice. We had no problems traveling any of them and I wasn't sure what the reviewers had been talking about in this regard.

When we arrived, I went inside the main office to get registered and everyone was cordial, informative, and they even took the time to personally walk us to our site. I was convinced that the dozens of reviewers were completely crazy, or that they had been reviewing the wrong campground. Everything seemed great and I was excited to get to camping.

There were a lot of people on the grounds and some of the spaces seemed more cramped than others, but we were on a tent site and our neighbors were at enough of a distance that we didn't feel completely on top of each other. True, we could hear each other talking at regular volume levels, but that's to be expected when sleeping in a tent at a campground, I think.

We let the dogs loose on some attached-to-a-post cables so they could sniff around and still be within sight if we needed to pull them closer. As we started to take out all of the gear, I saw that a swarm of insects were following me. I was lightly brushing them away from my face when I suddenly realized these were mosquitoes.
These weren't little mosquitoes either. I have seen larger ones (not quite as large as Mosquito the movie - of course, those were infected with alien DNA), but these were definitely not the average sized version that we see at home... and they just wouldn't leave me alone.

Now, I get bit at home if I'm not wearing some kind of mosquito repellent, so I came prepared for such a situation, but I was amazed at the quantity of mosquitoes that were constantly landing or flying around my face. I doused myself in spray from head to toe a couple of times just to make sure they'd leave me alone, but they just kept biting.

I looked over at our Labrador and the mosquitoes were all over her face and legs. I use a Deet-free repellent that is made from oils and other extracts so I figured I'd put some on her as well as they were biting her. I sprayed her down, but they just kept landing. Neither of us could escape these little flying nuisances. Within a matter of no more than a couple of minutes, I had at least a dozen swollen, welting bites that were visible.

I decided I needed to distract myself and help Sam with getting the tent set up. We managed to get the tent upright, but I was swatting and slapping at mosquitoes the entire time. I kept saying out loud, "I don't know what to do. They won't leave me alone," but Sam didn't have any suggestions to offer.

As I glanced around the campground, wondering how everyone else was dealing with these pests, no one seemed to be mad swiping or even experiencing the mosquitoes. What gives? I couldn't help but wonder. Meanwhile, the mosquitoes were eating me alive. I couldn't even stand outside of the car without having dozens of them biting at me, and our Lab didn't seem to be faring any better.

So, we left Sam to fend for himself as the insects didn't seem to be biting him like they were us, and the dogs and I got in the car while I wondered how we were going to survive the night.

Sam had been busy bustling around the site, getting things together. We were doing our best to avoid the nightmare of bike races, camping, and dogs we'd experienced in the past and we really wanted everything prepared by the time the sun dropped below the mountains. That part was still going okay. Sam had gone into the tent to attempt to inflate our mattress and get the sleeping bag set up.

He had been in the tent for quite awhile when I started to wonder if he was okay. I really, really didn't want to exit the car though because the mosquitoes were everywhere just waiting to attack again. I had just decided to give it a few more minutes when Sam emerged from the tent.

He looked displeased.

As he strode over to the car and got in I asked what was wrong. He said that the air mattress wasn't inflating. We had brought a new set of batteries because we were pretty sure the ones we'd used the last time would be dead, but even the new ones weren't doing anything.

"I've tried everything," Sam stated with a look of defeat on his face. "I guess we're sleeping on the ground... or not sleeping on the ground more precisely."

My initial thought was to try and use the bike pump to inflate the mattress, but the connections were all wrong, so that just wouldn't work. Then, I thought that perhaps we should just go home as this really didn't seem to be going well. If we left then, we could be home at a somewhat reasonable hour, but then we'd have to be up again by 4a in order to get back up with enough time to prepare for the ride. Of course, that felt entirely wasteful and it just didn't make sense.

There aren't a lot of retailers or stores in Leadville. The population is small and doesn't require all of the typical stores available to those who live in moderately small cities all the way up to very large ones, but I thought maybe there was another option for us. I ended up pondering aloud, "I wonder if Safeway would have something that would work as a substitute? We might as well go and take a look. It can't hurt anything."

Sam agreed and we were off to see what we could find. We ended up at a dollar store that just so happened to have one air mattress tucked away in the back. Lucky us! With purchase in hand, we went back to the campsite.

On our way, I wondered if we should just set up sleeping quarters in the back of the car rather than in the tent. I was getting really concerned about these killer mosquitoes because I knew I wouldn't survive the night with constant bites. After attempting this, we realized that the back of our hatchback is simply not conducive for a queen sized air mattress, so we ended up going back to the tent to set up sleeping arrangements.

Sam had me go inside the tent to prepare the mattress and sleeping bag to get away from the bite-y creatures. I seemed to be safe once inside the zipped tent, so I was pleased to discover that I would not be eaten alive. Although, in many ways it felt too late as I was now covered in little itchy spots all over my arms, legs and back.

We were both pretty exhausted at this point and ready for bed. We didn't even care if we changed clothes at this point because everything seemed to be working against us. It was still fairly early (about 8:30p), but we both agreed that getting rest was important, especially with a tough ride the following morning for Sam, so we decided to call it a night and go to sleep.

It was a bit early for me personally to go to bed, but I really was tired, so I thought that if I counted sheep in my mind or told myself stories silently that eventually I would drift off. That did not happen.

Our tent seemed to be on a very slight slope and I continued to slip down toward Sam and he was getting pushed off the edge of the mattress on to the ground. Additionally, our dogs, who were nestled on top of us, refused to budge making readjustments nearly impossible. We were both frustrated and annoyed.

A new arrival to the campground had just drove in and they were attempting to set up. For what must have been an hour and a half (at minimum), we listened to the sound of stakes being hammered into the ground and people laughing and talking loudly. We realized it was still not horribly late, so we did our best to ignore it and hope that we'd drift off.

Then, just as the camper noises began to fade, the various dogs around the campground began to bark. It started with the dog two sites away from us and spread around the grounds until even our dogs were barking. This continued on until about 3am. Just as we would think we could drift off to sleep, another round of barking dogs started. At one point, some coyotes could be heard howling in the distance and that started the campground dogs barking as well.

Through all of this, we had continued to slip off our sleeping spot and poor Sam ended up half on and half off the mattress (which was not holding much air at all, so we were really laying on the ground regardless).

The night and early morning had become quite cool. We were down to about 38F/3C, which, while not technically a freezing temperature, is awfully close when one is not covered completely and/or is in an already uncomfortable situation. Our Lab had begun to shake uncontrollably, so I pulled her up to me, trying to keep her warm. As I pet her, she relaxed, but couldn't stop shaking. I tried to wrap her in part of the sleeping bag, but it was twisted in such a manner that neither Sam nor myself seemed capable of moving.

At about 5a, we gave up on trying to sleep. We both realized it just wasn't going to happen, so we decided to get up and get ready for the race. The camp/bike/dog trip we'd hoped to not replicate seemed to be happening regardless of what we did. Sam was in some pain. His back was not doing well from the position he'd laid (though not slept) in all night. I knew he was hurting, but the only thing I could do was tell him that I'd support whatever decision he made. If he wanted to ride, I'd do whatever I could to help him, and if not, we could go home.

His response: "If I wasn't going to ride we would have gone home and slept last night. I'm riding... Oh, I'm riding."

Okay then, I guess Sam is riding, I thought to myself, and we got about the morning.

**That's it for part two of the Silver Rush tale. Next time, we'll get into the actual ride (finally, I know). 

Part 3 is now up and can be found here.

Silver Rush 50, Part 1: No Escaping That Feeling of Impending Trouble

We returned just a few day ago from another trip to Leadville, Colorado because Sam was competing in the Silver Rush 50, as a potential qualifier for the upcoming Leadville 100 MTB race. Sam has his own tale from the race itself that will be incorporated into this, but the couple of days that should have been a non-event (other than the ride itself) somehow had a way of turning into what felt like an epic disaster. So, for your reading pleasure, I thought we'd share the tale start to finish... because, what fun is a disastrous weekend if you can't share it with friends?

The plan was simple enough. We were going to leave on Friday morning to head up to Leadville with plenty of time to mosey around the city and settle in before the race on Saturday morning. Then, after the awards ceremony, we would spend another evening in the city enjoying the peacefulness (and the much cooler weather) and take our time coming home Sunday morning.

A trial run with mounting the bike to the car's roof basket

The original plan also included having a friend dog sit for us so we could be care-free and know that the pups were being well cared for at home. This friend has watched the dogs in the past and she does an excellent job, so when we come home the dogs are happy, relaxed, and don't feel as though they've been abandoned. We could take them with us, particularly as we were planning to camp, but it's a lot easier to do things when two dogs aren't attached at our hip. Additionally, one of the dogs is quite cranky about having dogs she doesn't know come up to her which has created some hairy incidents in the past, and since there tends to be a lot of dogs in Leadville at the races and also at campsites, we decided asking our friend to watch the dogs was probably our best course of action.

As the event date grew closer, I started to wonder whether or not we should have our friend watch the dogs though, or if we should just take them with us. If Sam was going to do the LT100 ride, we'd have to have them with us (as we had no one to watch them), so maybe it would be a good trial run to see how things went?  I ended up telling her not to worry about it and that we'd just take them with us.

But, as things sometimes go, when we hit the week prior to the Silver Rush 50, I started to rethink that plan. Did we really need a trial run? Wouldn't it be nice to just have a couple of days away and be able to enjoy without worrying about what the dogs were doing or what to do with them to keep them entertained? We have very needy dogs and I wasn't sure I wanted to deal with them.

When I inquired again with our friend as to the possibility of having her watch them, her plans had changed and she was now going to be occupied that weekend. Completely understandable, I thought, and so, we went back to the plan to take them with us. Yes, we may have been able to talk someone else into watching them, but summers are difficult to find people to do this sort of thing as generally people make plans for the weekends well in advance of just a few days prior to needing someone.

Although I wasn't thrilled about it, I did still believe that it would be a good, short opportunity to test things out with the dogs and be able to modify whatever we needed to for the next round. Maybe it would be a good thing after all.

As we got closer to the time to leave, I started to have a bit of anxiety, but figured it was just fabricated, unlikely scenarios taking place in my mind; but, as Thursday evening rolled around, the ball of yarn began to unravel.

"What'cha working on?" I asked Sam as I passed through the bike work space area of the house. "Just tuning up your bike for the ride?" I could see the look of frustration on his face, but I let it go, thinking it was a temporary moment of annoyance.

"Yeah," was his short and to-the-point response. I decided it was best to leave him be and just continued on my way.

Unbeknownst to me at this juncture in our tale, Sam had switched out the wheels and cassette on his mountain bike just the day before. I had wondered what it was he'd been "testing" the day prior, but it all became clear when that information was finally shared later.

So, as Sam stood tuning the bike at 5:35p on Thursday evening, the evening prior to our departure, I began to get concerned.

"What if you just ran over to the bike shop to see if Paul can help you get it sorted out?" I began. It's SO handy to have a bike shop so close by. "Sometimes a second set of eyes helps when you're frustrated. The shop doesn't close until six, so if you go now, it may be quiet enough that he can help you figure it out."

Sam looked at the clock, looked at his bike, put on his shoes and walked out the door with bike in tow. I was relieved because I knew he was frustrated and hopefully they would find quick resolution.

At about 10 minutes after 6p, Sam walked back through the door without his bike.

"So, how did it go?" I asked. "Did you get it fixed?"

"I'm going to go back over in the morning when he opens. Paul had to leave, but he said he'd try to get in a little early so he can look at it before we leave tomorrow," Sam said.

Now, I am not a bike mechanic, but generally speaking a quick tune up seems to go fairly easily from what I've observed. Sometimes things just don't shift well or there's a broken part, but it seems that resolution - in whatever form it comes - tends to be pretty fast. I wasn't sure if I should be concerned or not, but I let it go.

The following morning we decided to go and have breakfast out early before people were out taking care of business or headed to work. It was quiet and calm -- What I hoped was a good omen for our impending trip. I was relaxed. Sam was relaxed. I was even ready to tackle (not literally) the dogs and their needy tendencies.

Speaking of tackling dogs... we had chatted about wearing them out before getting in the car to drive up to the mountains. They seem to do much better when they're a bit worn out, so the plan was for me to go and walk them and attempt to tire them out and Sam would go over to the bike shop and retrieve his bike. We assumed by the time I finished with them the bike would probably be just about ready, which would be perfect for our traveling-with-tired-and-therefore-quiet pair of dogs plan.

So, I went to work throwing tennis balls to play fetch with the dogs and then had the girls drag me around the city for a few miles. It's amazing how much work goes in to tiring out a couple of dogs. As we were headed back home, the dogs and I stopped off at the shop to see how things were going.

Paul had Sam's bike up in the rack and they were still fiddling with and musing over various possibilities. Sam was trying to stay out of the way and let Paul do what he does. There were theories at this point about what was going wrong with the shifting, but they were still trying to get it right. After chatting with them for a few minutes, I headed home with the dogs thinking that they needed water and it would give the guys a little more time to sort through the issues.

While I was home, Sam came back to the house to pick up another wheel and cassette. They had decided to switch things out to see if it would resolve the problem, so I said I'd walk back to the shop with him.

Truthfully, I felt bad for Paul. I knew we were putting unnecessary pressure on him with our very short timeline and I hadn't expected this to be such a difficult fix. He was doing everything in his power to get the bike perfect because he knew Sam was heading out to a race, but the bike just wasn't cooperating.

Meanwhile, time was ticking away. There was nothing we could do about it. Sam and I had anticipated leaving town by about 10a. We figured if things got delayed, we'd be gone no later than noon which still gave us plenty of time to get Sam's race bib, set up camp, and so on. It seemed like a reasonable timeline, but we were coming to understand that time was not our friend this day.

I was getting antsy about leaving. I knew we had time and there wasn't any rush, but I couldn't help but feel as though we would run into problems along the way and I really just wanted to go.

After several switches and fixes at the shop, we ended up leaving town closer to 2:30p, which wasn't ideal, but still gave us time to get to Leadville with daylight remaining and set up camp for the night. We thanked Paul for his help and Sam seemed to be satisfied that the bike would now do well.

The drive to Leadville is about two and a half hours (less depending upon traffic), but because it was a Friday afternoon, the normal traffic of weekenders getting away had begun. The sheer volume of cars was slowing down our travel speed, but eventually we were able to break free and we arrived with enough time to spare. Sam went to get his packet of information while I walked the dogs around the city for a bit.

It was nice to be back in Leadville. It was cooler (70F/21C) than down at the base of the mountains where we'd been experiencing temperatures in the high 90s F. It felt restful, relaxing, and I was ready to set up camp.

As we traveled to the campsite, I told Sam that I'd read some reviews about the site just prior to leaving and not many had much of anything nice to say about it. There were several complaints about the road leading to the camp stating that the terrain was nearly impassable, that there was no space on the individual camp site plots, and that the owners were quite rude.

"Oh, good," Sam mused with sarcasm dripping from his lips, "That sounds promising."

** That's where I have to leave off for today, but I'll have the second part prepared soon and ready to share.

Part 2 can be found by clicking here.

The Barn Burner Concludes (Part 3)

If you've missed part 1 and/or part 2, you can get back to them easily by clicking on the appropriate link, or you can simply read the end of the adventure here. As a reminder, anything written in plain text are Sam's thoughts, and anything in italics are G.E.'s.

LAP 3

Lap three began pretty much the way lap two had ended. I dove deeper and deeper into the cave of pain, trying to eat my way through it. I didn't bonk, which was great, but I was drained.

Back at the barn, I had picked up some Gu Roctane to refill my own version I'd had in my bottle. I downed about 30% of it before the second descent, and it actually brought me back a bit. I was averaging faster speeds and found myself tailing people for awhile. The cave returned shortly after that momentary reprieve, and no amount of Roctane or anything else was going to save me.

I was also starting to build some anger - anger over the people doing single laps around the course as part of the relay groups. Out of the 900 or so riders, only about 165 were actually doing the full solo/cowboy event. Every time I saw someone with a clean bike and tons of energy with a scarf tied to their seatpost (the scarf was the identifier for these riders), I was pissed - and not in a way that motivated me. It seemed wrong that I was in so much pain while they were happily completing their 26 miles.

After Sam left the barn to start his third lap, I wasn't sure how much time to give him for the third lap. He'd slowed down dramatically from his first lap (which was completely understandable given the circumstances), but I didn't know if perhaps he'd get a second wind and speed up, or if he'd meet his doom on this third time around. I decided to return to the barn area after about 2 hours just to be prepared if he sped up.

When I got back to the barn, I watched other riders come through. I was astonished that some racers were already through the ride. Amazing! Before too long, the ambulance that had been parked at the barn all day took off, lights flashing and sirens blaring. I hoped that everyone was okay and that nothing too serious had taken place. 

Suddenly it dawned on me that it might be Sam. In his weakened state, he may have done something that could've sent him off on a rock, off course, or any number of things. I started to panic. I was getting sicker by the moment, and before too long, I overheard some of the event staff talking about someone injured on the course pretty badly, and possibly a second individual as well. I asked them if they had a name, but they couldn't confirm anything at that point. All I could do was wait helplessly, hoping that it wasn't Sam.

Every rider that came in caused the pit in my stomach to grow. Where was Sam? Why hadn't he come through yet? I was convinced he was the injured rider out on the course.

Suddenly, disaster presented itself (but not for me). At about mile 23 on my third lap, a man wiped out hard just before a cattle guard. It probably happened about 5 minutes before I reached the spot, but he was in the hands of the EMT's and was unconscious. I gawked for about 30 seconds, but figured there was nothing I could do and it was better if I moved on to finish the lap and get out of their way.

Sam walks through the barn at the conclusion of his third lap

Rolling up to my lap three finish, G.E. was there and handed me a Luna bar, filled with estrogen goodness (G.E.'s note: I'll point this out again for anyone who may have missed it in the past, this is a joke in our house because of a comment made by someone to Sam about Luna bars having estrogen, which is of course completely untrue). She asked how I was doing (as she had every lap) and my answer was always, "Bad!" and deep down I was contemplating quitting right then. Seventy-eight miles is a really long ride on a mountain bike, in the mountains. Really, the thought had been rolling through my mind the entire lap and the format of this ride made the possibility to give up really easy.

My own reality took over at some point during these thoughts and I remembered that I don't quit. I just don't. No matter how painful, slow, or terrible I feel, I don't quit. I told myself I would take a break for 1 minute at miles 90 and 100, as a reward. I was also thinking I could ride 26 miles in my sleep, even if I was now fully engrossed in the pain cave.

Finally! I saw Sam rounding a corner not too far away. Thank goodness he hadn't been hurt. I knew that with each lap he was slowing down, and I was trying to figure out a good way to motivate him. I pulled out a protein bar and prepared to hand it off to him if he needed it. I also knew exactly what to say to light a fire under him (I hoped!). 

After handing off the bar to me, G.E. hollered, "Two hours and fifteen minutes will get you a 'big buckle' for the ride!" The announcer seemed to back this up, stating that the time cut off for the larger belt buckle finish had been extended by 35 minutes due to the accident. Apparently, not many riders after me were able to get through and they'd stopped everyone due to rescue services, including a helicopter evac. I had snuck through, though it did me no good time-wise.

G.E. was hopeful that I would finish in time to get the big belt buckle, but I knew there was almost no chance I would make it by 9:35... but, I was going to try.

LAP 4

I had just left Sam for his final lap. I was in a lot of pain, but I hoped it wasn't showing to him. Between not sleeping and my injury from the dog, I wasn't doing well. My feet and ankles were swollen and the burning wouldn't quit. I really just wanted to go to sleep and not be standing anymore. I hoped my shout to Sam about the big buckle cut off would see him to the finish, but there wasn't anything I could do to help him until he crossed the finish line. I retreated to our tent, packed everything up, and did my best to entertain the dogs for the next couple of hours.

I actually picked up the pace a bit on this final lap, knowing it was almost over. Everything was dry... except, there had been another downpour on the backside of the mountain that I'd just missed. The mud was back. Yay! Really, this didn't slow me down any more than my internal stuff was, but it sucked to be wet-muddy all over again, and all of those clean, happy, single-lap riders were still out there - mocking me silently with their freshness.

As promised, I stopped at mile 90 for one minute of rest. My time was looking pretty good, and I wasn't falling any deeper into the pain cave. Mile 100 rolled around and I stopped for my second one minute break. Time was tight, but there were four miles left, and I had about 12 minutes to make the 9:35 cutoff for the large belt buckle. In any other flat or downhill situation I think I could have made it, but the last 3-4 miles of this course are climbing - and not just regular stuff, but 4 mph climbing. I knew I would not make the cutoff - no way.

I didn't slow down, but I didn't break myself, knowing that no good would come of it. My only goal now was to do sub-10 hours, grab the smaller belt buckle and wait to see if I'd be randomly picked in the lottery for one of the LT100 slots.

I waited for Sam at the finish. I watched as the 9:35 cutoff time came and went. My heart sunk a little when I realized he wasn't going to make it, and I was bummed for him because I really thought he had a chance. Under normal circumstances, with proper sleep, I think he could've made it, but I also knew that just finishing today would be a victory. I really pondered what an incredible thing it was for him to even attempt this ride in the state of mind and condition his body was in. I am always amazed that he finds a way to power through, no matter what is going on.

Rounding the last corner to the finish!

About 20 minutes later, Sam was in sight. I couldn't believe that he was actually going to complete this ride. I smiled as I watched him round the corner and head for the barn.

Sam makes his final dismount at the barn/finish line

Well, well... I managed to reach the end with a sub-10 hour and a finish time of 9:58. Somehow, I didn't faint. I didn't waste any time getting out of the finish area, wrapping up the bike and changing into other cleaner clothes. The pain cave hadn't beat me.

THE AFTERMATH

Sam was excited to see that I'd actually managed to get everything packed up on my own (well, sort of - I couldn't get the tent back in its packaging, so I'd kind of just chucked it into the back of the car). I was incredibly proud of him for just finishing something that most probably wouldn't even attempt in his state of being. 

We had a bit of time until the start of the awards ceremony, but we decided to head over anyway.

Waiting is the hardest part. It was just after 5p and the awards ceremony was slated to begin between 6:15 and 6:30p, thirty minutes after the official cutoff time for solo racers. We got our folding chairs and plopped down in the "beer garden" thinking this could all be over by 7p, and we'd be on our way out before the sun went down.

Wrong. My biggest complaint about this particular event (beyond the mud camping, disorganization and lack of enthusiasm compared to other events held in Leadville, CO) is time management. The announcer didn't start the awards until 7p, and then proceeded to drag through with some confusion, bad paperwork and more stalling. Somewhere around 8p, they finished with the winners of each category (of course, I was not one of them).

Then, it was finally time for the lottery roll down. I knew this was my best chance to get into the 2015 LT100. Well, at least this early before the new year. I knew there were 55 coins left over to give to remaining riders randomly.

As the lottery names started to be called, I kept thinking to myself, "Say Sam's name, please! Don't let all of his torture be for nothing." I knew it wasn't really "for nothing," but I knew how badly he wanted to get into Leadville next year, and while he'd have other opportunities next summer, it would be great to know that he was in now.

It didn't take long at all after the lottery names were called for us to suddenly hear, "Sam..." and then a ridiculously long pause before my highly difficult [eye roll], basic, Italian last name was spoken.

I friggin' made it! We will go to the 2015 LT100!!

Hotel? Trailer? Tent? Who knows? I know I need to train like crazy over the winter though, and even harder in the spring. I am going to do the next round on a single speed (that isn't presently in my possession quite yet).

There are so many things I know I'm forgetting... so many details. I really, once again, could not have finished this without my best supporter and partner in life, G.E. I may convince her yet to participate in one of these races. : )

On to LEADVILLE!

The Barn Burner Begins (Part 2)

If you missed the first part of this report, and would like to read it, you can click here to find it; otherwise, feel free to read on.

As is often the case when I attempt to combine two different viewpoints into a single post, it can become a bit awkward, so hopefully it will make sense to point out that anything not in italics is written by Sam while anything italicized is G.E.'s thought on the race. Because Sam didn't have the opportunity to share his side of Friday, I've included that below. And with that...

Summer is drawing to an end and the thought of qualifying for the 2015 LT100 was on my mind. These ideas rolled through my mind as I thought about the Barn Burner in Flagstaff. How great would it be to qualify right out of the gate? Plus, I could do a fun, 104-mile race while in relatively decent training shape from finishing up the LT100 in August.

It seemed like an easy enough plan:  Drive out Friday, camp in the designated grounds for $10 and a canned food donation, race Saturday morning, and head home on Sunday. And, there was the possibility of qualifying for the LT100 and getting another belt buckle for my 2014 collection.

FRIDAY

I know G.E. already gave her version of the drive out, and mine follows along very closely since we were together. We roll - very early. Initially, I drove due to G.E.'s aversion to pre-7am functions. I got us to Raton, NM where she took over. The dogs were good, everyone was feeling fine. We were making good time and on top of it all, we actually gained an hour going into Arizona. We rolled into Flagstaff, a really cool city that seemed a bit out of place. Apparently, it had rained all day at higher elevations and mud was everywhere. This was the messiest, most disorganized situation I've seen since my time in the US Army. I picked up my racers packet and was given no information whatsoever.

Despite the mud, bad attitudes from those volunteering/working, etc, we were able to find a place to set up. We both ate a little something cooked on the camping burner and all five of us slept poorly in our wet tent. All told, I probably slept about 3 hours, and I'm sure G.E. slept even less. I think the dogs may have had more sleep than either of us. It was a bit ominous before a century/endurance/sufferfest kind of bike race!

SATURDAY - Race Day!

You know that nauseous feeling you get when you haven't slept enough? You stand up and feel dizzy or lightheaded and you have kind of a pit in your stomach. That was exactly the way I felt Saturday morning as Sam got up and dressed for the Barn Burner. I asked how he was feeling and if he was excited about the ride, but it was plain to see he was really in no shape to do anything except go back to sleep.

One of the amazing things about Sam is his ability to push through tough situations. I knew he was tired and not feeling great, but I had to give him props for putting his cycling gear on and acting like he was actually going to do this race.

Layered up in the cold of the morning.

"We can just pack up and go home, if you want," I said. "There's no law that says you have to do the race. If you aren't up to it, it's okay to let this one go." Even saying it I felt ridiculous. I knew there was no way he wan't going to ride. I felt like a bad partner for even thinking such a thing and swore to myself that it would be the last time I'd say anything like that to Sam on this trip.

The sky was starting to lighten, but the sun hadn't actually made its way over the horizon quite yet. We were both shivering and cold from sleeping in wet clothing and bedding overnight. The temperatures had dipped into the 30s F and apparently our tent had not been waterproofed (something we'd failed to realize until the evening mist began seeping in to our sleeping space). Personally, I was wrecked. I had no idea how I was going to function through another entire day without proper sleep, and worse yet, I couldn't imagine doing a 104 mile mountain bike race in this condition. I figured if Sam could get through that sort of punishment, I could manage to get up and deal with the dogs and make sure he had what he would need for the ride.

Normally, the Barn Burner begins with all of the bikes racked up. Participants race on foot to their bikes, jump on and begin the ride. However, with the massive amount of rain and the condition of the ground, the organizers felt it was better to just have everyone on their bikes at the starting line. I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed to not see the spectacle, but I also understood the mess and potential danger it could cause with mud getting stuck in cleats, shoes, and pedals.

As racers began to line up, instructions were repeated and some minor changes to the route were announced (again, due to rain). The skies actually didn't look too bad and everyone was hoping for a rain-free day.

My first problem after setting the bike at the start line was my Garmin. It was stuck on the start screen and wouldn't budge. It must've gotten damp sitting outside for the 20 minutes I left it to go and find G.E. I kept rebooting it (5 times, in fact), until finally it came up with the familiar "locating satellites" message.... thank GOD! It would've been really horrible doing a 26-mile lap with no information. It may have been tolerable, but still, I really am addicted to seeing the data as I ride.

There are several options for participating in the Barn Burner race. The course is a single loop of 26 miles, so an individual can ride solo for one lap, complete two laps, or the full 104-mile, four lap course. There is also an option for 2- or 4-person teams, in which the riders switch out every lap. In order to use this course as a qualifier for Leadville, however, the only option is to complete four laps as a solo rider.

The good news for me with a lap course is that I could stay in one spot and wait for Sam to loop back around. Having to deal with our pooches, keep them entertained and knowing Sam could deal with the 26 miles before he'd need anything would hopefully make things a bit smoother.

Sam waits to begin the Barn Burner

At 7am(ish), we roll. We begin the 104-mile scamper with the first 26-mile loop.

LAP 1

Mud and soreness were the only things on my mind. It's so muddy and my legs are ridiculously sore. I'm tired, but at about 10 miles in, I start feeling better. The course wasn't very technical, but it went something like climb-descend, climb-rock garden-descend, climg-descend/climb, finish at the barn.

The first climbs were long and slow, but not particularly steep. The descents were mild, but fun when there wasn't a ton of rocks... and here I thought I'd left the rocks of the Rocky Mountains behind.

I was pushing a bit on lap one and feeling pretty darn good about myself, even with the mud and my dizziness from lack of sleep and an 800 mile drive. I managed to come into the barn/dismount area in about 2 hours, which was right in line with what G.E. and I'd discussed prior to the race. I was having fantasies about finishing every lap in two hours - or better - and coming in at 8 hours or less.

As soon as Sam left the starting line, I was back to check on the dogs. I'd left them in the car with the windows rolled down a bit (it was still early and cold, so I didn't want them to freeze or roast). They were anxiously awaiting my return, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to wear them out when everything was a sloppy, muddy mess. I thought about just letting them run free (how bad could that be?), but I thought better of it. Instead, I pulled them out, one at a time and took them for another morning constitutional.

When I returned with each of them, I tried to figure out what I was going to do. I was not functioning at all, and I was feeling really bad for Sam who was out trying to race feeling the same way. Part of me thought there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to finish a 104-mile ride in this condition. Mentally, I prepared to deal with whatever would come. 

The bike rack on the back of the car became an anchor point for me to secure the dogs. We'd stopped in Albuquerque to pick up a couple of 30-foot nylon rope/leashes so that the dogs could run more than a couple of feet. I tied each to the bike rack and let the dogs loose. They seemed content with the idea that they could move, but they had limits to their freedom.

Bikes (and riders) coming in were absolutely filthy. This one wasn't as bad as many that rolled through.

At an hour and a half after the start, riders were already coming back around for their second lap (or to exchange with their relay members). Not knowing if Sam would find the energy to speed up, I decided to go and wait at the barn. Better safe than sorry, I thought. Dogs were loaded back in the car with windows down and off I went to wait.

One "rule" of this race requires that riders dismount their bike and walk it through the barn to the other side before continuing on after each lap. Despite the event staff and giant sign (and instructions they'd been given at the start of the race), riders really seemed to be struggling with this idea. Even as laps continued, I noted several who attempted to just stay on his/her bike as staff yelled after them to dismount.

Sam coming in to the barn, just finishing lap 1

Before I knew it, I spotted Sam coming in to the barn area. I was excited to see how quickly he'd been able to complete the lap. About two hours, for someone who was absolutely exhausted, was pretty impressive as far as I was concerned. He saw me and seemed to be okay, as he didn't really slow down, but headed right into the barn. I was glad to see him functioning so well thus far.

LAP 2

The good news was that the mud had actually dried up considerably. At this point, there were only a few puddles and the surrounding areas were dry. Unfortunately, this reality didn't remove the existing mud from my body or the bike, but at least it made things better.

The bad news was that five miles into lap 2, I was completely drained. The entire week had caught up with me - my lack of tapering, my insistence on continuing other workouts, combined with the lack of sleep - and I felt like I was climbing up Columbine in Leadville all over again. Except, this was 26 miles of it.

The lap itself was very uneventful, slow, and the same as most of the others, besides the pain cave I was sinking deeply into. The second lap ended up taking about 2:30 to complete. I realized I'd been 30 minutes slower. I was also making huge realizations about both my climbing and descending skills: they both suck. My energy was waning with every pedal stroke. I got through the lap, but I was not doing great.

When I'd left Sam at the end of his first lap, he seemed to be doing okay. I noted the time, and figured I'd come back to check for him in about an hour and forty-five minutes. I know when I ride, I tend to speed up after I've warmed up a bit, so I figured it was better to be waiting for him than to miss him entirely.

I went back to the dogs and decided that perhaps throwing a ball around for them would keep them amused for a bit. They were being surprisingly good for dogs that normally jump at the opportunity to misbehave. They had a few brief moments of barking at passing dogs, but beyond that, they were actually doing well. I was impressed. Still, it was a long time to try to keep them amused. Normally, they'd get their exercise in the morning and then they like to nap most of the day until evening, but their schedule had been completely thrown off. 

Balls were being tossed for them to fetch, and they happily did what retrievers do best. The terrier had little interest, but he seemed content to just rest in the shade. As I went to throw a ball for our Labrador, I expected her to run straight out to get the ball. You'll recall that they were tied to nylon ropes? Well, instead of running straight ahead, she decided to run behind me, stretching the rope to its limit and giving me the gnarliest of burns on my ankles.

One side of the burns from our fetching incident

Oh my god! I was in so much pain. The burning would not stop and I was convinced she'd taken out the tendon on the back of my left heel. I sat for a moment, hoping it would pass, but in reality, the burning would continue for two more days and I'd add ridiculously swollen ankles and feet to the list as well. I decided we needed a time out from fetching for a bit. They played with tennis balls on their own and then I realized we were getting close to the time I thought Sam might be coming back around from his second lap.

I put the pups back in the car with windows down and limped over to wait for Sam. I watched as riders who'd been just in front of him on the first lap came and went. I kept thinking he had to be on his way any moment. About two and a half hours after his first return, Sam lapped for the second time. It was plain to see he was exhausted. 

Sam rounding the corner to finish up lap2

"How are you doing?" I asked, as he came by. "Awful," he responded. One of the event staff chimed in stating, "Well, get through the barn and keep going!" It was easy for him to say, but I appreciated that he was attempting to keep Sam motivated. I wasn't sure what to say to him, honestly, and in my own sleep-deprived state, I couldn't form many intelligible sentences. I was starting to doubt that Sam would even be able to finish this race. I couldn't even handle what I was doing, so how would someone having to put forth actual effort be able to make it through?


That's going to wrap up things for this round, but the final post will be ready soon. I look forward to sharing the end of things at the Barn Burner.

The final of this series can be found by clicking here.

The Road to the Barn Burner 104 (Part 1)

The Barn Burner 104 is a Leadville Series race that takes place in Flagstaff, Arizona. Over the weekend, Sam and I ventured out that direction so that he could attempt to score a spot for the Leadville Trail 100 next year. After some investigating, we discovered that not as many folks seem to choose this ride, so we thought the odds could perhaps be in his favor to end up with a lottery spot (Sam was under no delusion that he'd be at the top in his category, so the random lottery for finishers was what he hoped to achieve).

*Image from Barn Burner 104

When he first broached this subject with me of going to Flagstaff, I wasn't super keen on the idea. Finding someone to dog-sit our three, four-legged family members is always a challenge and the thought of dragging them along on this long road trip, followed by the race and subsequent long ride back home seemed impractical. I see lots of people at bike races that have their dogs with them, but their dogs are good mannered, well-behaved, and don't seem to require much of their people.

This in no way describes our dogs. They are perhaps some of the most needy animals on the planet, and a couple of them really don't behave very well in public. Oh, they aren't out to mangle or hurt anyone, but they can be on the loud side at times and very rarely seem to listen. I imagined myself being pulled all over the place as our dogs attempted to smell, fetch, and hunt down whatever suited them in the moment. In between all of this, I would be expected to crew for Sam, making sure he had what he needed... and of course, I'd also need to get some photos to have documentation of the race.

Then there were the sleeping arrangements. We'd be camping in a tent in a parking lot, from my understanding - which is fine in and of itself. However, our dogs are highly sensitive to sound and throughout their history have been known to bark at any little noise that seems out of place. I imagined them barking all night as they listened to the commotion all around us, which I knew would present a problem.

All in all, I was not excited about the prospect of making a family trip out of this race.  After some discussion, I thought it would be best for Sam to head to Arizona on his own.

I could read the disappointment on his face when I uttered these words, so, sucker that I am, I agreed to give this a one-time shot to see if we could possibly make it work. This was the moment in time I was sure I would live to regret.

As the days grew closer to actually leaving, I really started to second guess my decision; but I had committed to going, so I needed to see it through. I tried conning my mother into coming out for a visit to watch the beasts, but she had too many other things going on. Instead, I knew I was going to have to make peace with the idea that it was going to be a hectic weekend.

Our plan was to leave early Friday morning so that we could arrive before the sun went down at the campsite in Flagstaff. This meant that I'd have to go to bed at a reasonable hour and actually get up before the sun. Not being at all a morning person, the thought of getting up at 4a was not exciting. Sam is quite used to being awake at this hour though, so he figured even if he had to clang together garbage can lids to get me up, he'd find a way to make it happen.

Of course, the night before departure neither of us slept much. Is there some sort of law of races that one must be in a lack-of-sleep fog for these events? I woke before the alarm went off, as I had several times over the last few hours, but I was definitely not in a state of awareness. I stumbled through the morning, attempting to get together the few things that needed last minute preparation, though admittedly, Sam did most of the work that morning.

To make matters worse, I was supposed to do the driving so that Sam could rest and prepare for the ride ahead on Saturday, but I was barely awake as we rolled out. Sam said he would drive, at least until I was more awake, and so we got out on the road.

As our bad luck would have it, rain had been falling all night and was still coming down in the early morning hours of our drive. I couldn't really sleep in the car because I felt uneasy about the driving conditions. Sam stayed behind the wheel until we made it across the Colorado/New Mexico state line, at which point I finally felt somewhat alert enough to drive.

*Image from Google Maps

From our home, there are actually three routes we could have taken to get to our destination. One travels south on I-25 through Colorado, into New Mexico, and across I-40 into to Arizona. The second heads west out I-70 through the beautiful Colorado Rockies, into a portion of Utah, south through Moab, and then into Arizona. The final option is to head in a south-west direction (also through the Rockies), traveling through Durango, Colorado, and ultimately down through the north eastern side of Arizona.

Neither of us have ever been to Durango, so we thought that route might be a fun choice. Not only would we be on our way, but we'd get to see another city on our list of places to check out. Because of the rain, however, we made a last minute switch and decided to head down I-25 and go through New Mexico. We figured we could always come back home through Durango, and this way we'd also get to see Albuquerque (we have been to Santa Fe, but never quite made it to Albuquerque).

Traveling with dogs meant that we were going to have to stop every 1-2 hours to let them out. It actually turned out to be a nice way to stretch and not feel as though we were just tearing through to get to Flagstaff. I was surprised to find that they were behaving pretty well in the car on the way as well. Really, two of the three love to go, but the third whines and cries the entire time in anticipation of some activity she thinks she's getting to do. I was shocked to see that they were all pretty much just looking around and/or huddling up together for a nap. Good pups!

For the most part, the traveling portion went as well as could be expected. As we drove into Flagstaff it was interesting to see such a change in geography/topography from most of what we'd seen. Yet another city neither of us had visited, we were surprised to see that it felt a lot like Colorado. There were lots of wooded areas, it was kind of mountainous, and as we rolled through the older portion of town, it could easily have been any of the many older communities at home.

The sun was starting to lower in the sky and I was anxious to get to the campsite to get set up before night fall. We believed that we were almost to the location, but as it turned out, we still had about a 45 minute drive in front of us. It was obvious as we drove through that massive rains had hit this area. The roads were sopping wet and the glare from the sun reflecting on the slick roads was so blinding we were seeing spots for hours afterward.

As we continued to wind through the mountainside, we came across the dirt road where we would turn. This road lead us to the start line of the race and our camping spot for the evening. The road was outrageously difficult to drive. Potholes don't even begin to describe the crater-sized holes in this dirt road. Not to mention that they were full of water from the rain that we had apparently just missed.

That isn't a river or a lake glistening in the remaining daylight - that is the campground we'd be sleeping on.

When we arrived at our spot, we realized that this was essentially a very large, mud pit. The car had a difficult time driving through it, so I couldn't imagine what it was going to be like to walk around in this mess. We found our spot, just as the sky was turning dark. The ground was a muddy, wet mess, but we looked for the driest possible location to set up (which wasn't easy).

They'd been out of the car for all of a few minutes and were already muddy.

The dogs were happy to be able to get out of the car and stretch, but of course, it would be time to hunker down for the night before they knew it. As Sam set up the tent, I worked on feeding the dogs and removing items that we'd need for the evening and early morning hours. Everything was filthy that had touched the ground or been exposed to the outside. Sam's bike already appeared to have been ridden through quite a mess, simply by being on the back of the car.

It didn't take long before the campsite was set up for the evening though. I will say this - we are definitely not camping people. I grew up going camping all the time in the summer, but in adulthood, I can count on one hand the number of times I've packed or unpacked a tent. It seems to be one of those things we always say we'll do and just never get around to actually doing. Because we don't camp, we don't have proper camping equipment, so instead of sleeping bags, we take blankets from the house, and we forget that we'll be outdoors all night and don't pack the proper, warm clothing either.

We went to bed early, knowing that the morning would arrive quickly. It was difficult to sleep though because, as I'd predicted before we'd even arrived, people were up laughing, talking, and having a good time (nothing wrong with that - this is advertised as a party ride of sorts anyway). I waited for the dogs to start barking, but something magical happened: they remained quiet. Maybe they were scared we were going to leave them there, or perhaps they've just matured since our last camping adventure, but either way, I was happy to have them behaving like well-mannered dogs - even if it was just an act.

We both should have been exhausted, as neither of us really slept the night before. I'll re-phrase that - we were both exhausted from not sleeping the night before. It's difficult to remember what it's like to sleep in a tent when we only do it once every 4-5 years. People were chatting most of the night, some more loudly than others. Cars continued to pour into the camp well into the late evening hours. Animals and insects were making their typical noises. With all of the sounds, it was difficult to get any kind of sustained sleep.

By morning, we hadn't slept for long, but it was time to get up and get ready for the big race.

And... that's where we'll pick up the next time. You can look forward to more of Sam's thoughts during the race for the next installment, though I definitely have my own side of the story as well. :O)

Part 2 of this series can be found by clicking here.