Barn Burner 2016: A Lone Cowboy

******As mentioned recently, Sam raced in the Leadville Series, Barn Burner MTB race in Flagstaff, Arizona. He has prepared his thoughts on matters before, during and after the race, but I couldn’t help but throw in a few thoughts from my end of things about 800 miles away. So, Sam’s thoughts are in regular type, while G.E.’s thoughts are in italics throughout the tale below to help make sense of the transitions from one person to the next. Additionally, there aren't a lot of photos since Sam was riding and therefore only took a few photos before the race, so the remainder are available courtesy of the photographers at the race.******

Tempting the gods, once again
If it hasn’t been clear, this year has been a wreck for me as far as the Leadville series goes. At the end of 2015, I entered the standard lottery (which is an opportunity for anyone to put his/her name and $15 in a virtual hat and take their chances with having their name pulled to be a participant in the Leadville Trail 100 in August without having to actually race as a qualifier).

My name was not chosen.

There used to be a couple of in-state options that were qualifiers for the LT100, but there is currently only one (unless a person wants to pay to play or do the stage race series just prior to the official race): the Silver Rush 50. This race takes place approximately 3-4 weeks prior to the LT100 and I had placed all my eggs in the SR50 basket. That race went okay, but I of course blew it when it came to the coin kickdown, realizing too late that the system rules had changed.

So, a couple of weeks prior to the Barn Burner, I decided I would try to shoot for the 2017 LT100 by racing in Flagstaff. There seems to be better odds at this race because there are fewer people, and fewer still who actually race the entire course. While I was at it, I figured I would do it single speed – because - why not?

Unfortunately, this trip would be a lone one because G.E. had to work and I had to head to Las Vegas the morning after the race. So, I made the drive solo. [G.E.’s Note: Beyond what is mentioned, we have not had the best luck on these trips taking our dogs either, so it was just easier to have Sam go on his own to ensure he’d actually get rest prior to the ride.]

The Barn Burner is a 4-lap, 100 mile race and gains about 8000 feet over the course. That is, for those who are racing the full course. There are other options for riders to do 4-person relays, 2-person relays, and partial course options.  None of these qualify a racer for a chance at Leadville, however, so I would be attempting the full course on my own.

Lap 1
We started the race in a “Le Mans” start, basically standing about ¼ mile from our bikes and then running to the bikes after the gun went off. This actually went better than I would’ve thought. No one was trampled and it allowed the herd to separate out a bit.

*Photo courtesy of Athlinks

I was blazing. Seriously, I was feeling good. The weather was perfect and it wasn’t anything like my last attempt at this race two years ago.

The start is rolling, but mostly downhill until about the 10-mile mark, at which point we had our first sustained, albeit short, climb. This was where I first encountered one of the other single-speed guys.

He was fast and leading in front of me, so I decided to take advantage of this and held his wheel. He had a nice, rigid, carbon-framed bike with a fat tire on the front.

He refused to interact with me.

I held his wheel until about mile 17, where the second, longer, sustained climb begins. For some reason, he backed off at this point and I went around him. He seemed to be looking at his heart rate monitor, but I couldn’t quite figure out why he’d slowed down.

Around mile 22, there is a very short, ultra steep climbing section before we begin a super long downhill. All I could think was that I knew where the guy I’d been tailing was and regardless of his position in the race, I needed to keep him behind me.

This worked well for about another mile until he suddenly appeared again and blew right past me, just before we finished up lap one.

Crap.

At any rate, lap one went well and I finished in sub-2 hours (1:49, more exactly), and I was starting to think I could roll the whole race in around 8 hours (ha, ha – such a foolish thought!).

At this point, I was just sitting down in front of the computer to take a look at where Sam stood in the pack of racers. Even though I wasn’t able to travel with Sam, I was free during the actual race time, so I wanted to try to keep an eye on things as the series has set up an online system that allows people to see where racers stand after each lap. It’s not ideal, but it at least gave me some idea of where he was during the race.

As I checked in, I could see that Sam had come in at under two hours for the first lap and he was in fourth place in the single speed division.  Not too shabby, I thought. 

Then, another thought slipped into my head… Sam could actually place and get on the podium. Wow! That had never even been a remote possibility in past races, but I didn’t want to jinx things, so I let the thought go quickly.

*Photo courtesy of Athlinks

Lap 2
Reality bites. I didn't stop at the start/finish aid station. I figured I could hit the alternate option out at the half way point on the course. Shortly after I passed through I realized I had lost my second water bottle. I seem to have a real issue with this because of my small frame and the fact that my second mount is placed under the downtube, so I often lose bottles on rocky descents. I should have stopped, but it was too late now.

At this point, I was still chasing the fat-front-tire, single speed guy (To this point, I had seen no others), and he was still strong. However, we were all slowing down.

We went through the couple of sustained climbs, rocky downhill, and a quick rest stop. Then, back to the super short, nasty uphill.

We arrived to the same spot where fat-front-tire had nailed me on the last lap and he backed off again. I took advantage and poured it on as much as I could without having gears or much energy. We were now about 45 miles in and the temperature weather-wise was starting to heat up. Again, I thought to myself that I had to keep him behind me and I couldn't stop unless I really, really had to.

At about this point, Sam's mom and I were conversing via e-mail and virtually watching in our respective locations for Sam to come in from lap two. I was sharing that if he was able to speed up just a bit over lap two, that he could move into third place, which would give him a spot in Leadville next year without having to sit through the after-race lottery to see if he'd get a spot.

However, the big problem was that no one was there at the race to tell Sam that he was so close to moving into third place, and therefore he would have no idea where he was in the standings. I tried to explain that this is what is so difficult about going alone and that all we could do is just hope that he did his best. 

I ended lap 2 at just over 2 hours, making the half-way finish time about 3:55. I was still on-track to finish sub-8 hours (at least in theory). I knew that in reality I needed to be further ahead than I was though in order to make the 8 hour estimate, so my guess was that it just wasn't going to happen. I could just tell at that half way point. Plus, the temperatures had warmed and I had only one bottle, not to mention I had not ridden my single speed mountain bike at all this year.

As I waited, watching the monitor to see when Sam would come in, results suddenly updated. Sam was in THIRD! I cried. Not a bawling sort of cry, but an out-of-happiness-slightly-teary kind of cry. I was so happy to see that he was able to move up into the third spot and started to think again that he really had a chance of qualifying for Leadville without the trickle down from the lottery pull at the end of the race. I just wished that I was there so that I could tell him that he had moved into third place and to encourage him to keep moving. I was nearly certain that he had no idea where he stood, which could mean trouble as he became more tired toward the end of the race.

*Photo courtesy of Athlinks

Lap 3
I hadn't seen fat-front-tire guy, but I kept thinking that I didn't want to stop and give him an opportunity to pass me again.

The course was becoming all-too-familiar. In some ways, it's nice to know what is approaching, but in others it is very draining to know what I'm in for as I continually looped around this course.

At the half way aid station, I made a single, frantic stop to refill and then kept rolling. Shortly after pedaling away, I saw a new-to-me single speed competitor, and he was strong!

We spoke briefly and mused about gear ratios before he took off and passed me easily near the end of the third lap.

I had things to do during the day, so I wasn't plastered to the monitor all day. I had an idea of how long each lap was going to take Sam, so I could step away and do the tasks I needed and come back to check on him at about the every-two-hour mark. I knew he would slow down for each lap more than likely, based on prior races, but there's always that little part of me that thinks somehow he will speed up. Of course, deep down, I know how tired he would be and that the same is true for most anyone as the race goes on. The pace, in reality, is going to slow.

As I waited for third lap results, I hoped that Sam was able to keep his position, or possibly even move up. When the second place person came in and I saw that it wasn't Sam, I just hoped he'd be able to maintain the third spot.

End of lap 3 finish times and standings. I will point out that the number one single speeder was ridiculously fast! He had already finished as the rest were starting their final lap.

I quickly saw that Sam had dropped out of third and back into fourth, but he was only 34 seconds behind for that lap. Agh! I wished more than ever that I could get to Sam to tell him that he was SO CLOSE and not to give up on the final lap. But, all I could do was wait and hope that he had some inclination as to where he was in standings.

Lap 4
Don't stop to pee. I kept telling myself that, but I had to stop.

Some way, some how, the other single speed guy was behind me (I wasn't sure how this happened). I took off from the aid station in the hope of keeping him near me (or behind me as was the case at the moment), but after a few miles near the middle of the lap, I knew there was no way to keep with him. He seemed so fresh!

As I would discover after the race, he was part of a duo racing single speed and was not my competition at all because he was riding half the course, so I was chasing him in vain.

Lap four continued without much drama. I was dead tired and as usual I didn't want to eat any more GU.

Come on, Sam. I know you can do it. I was actually talking aloud to the computer, as if it somehow controlled where Sam was and how quickly he was moving. I practiced telepathy skills. Sam often knows what I'm thinking when he's in front of me. Maybe he could hear me if I tried to will him to move faster? 

The dogs and I sat huddled around the screen. Daddy can do it, right? I asked them. They stared blankly, panting, but somehow, I want to believe, understanding that something was going on and that I was definitely waiting for something. They gave me their paws (retrievers seem to like to do this), as if offering some sort of comfort to me in my heightened state. Maybe it helped because I relaxed a bit and decided that no matter what, Sam had raced this course far better than in the past and that was something to be extremely proud of, no matter the results.

I came in to the finish with a time of 8:33, which was pretty much where I had mentally put myself finishing about two laps prior. But, I knew that sub-9 hours gave me a big belt buckle [G.E.'s Note: There are two belt buckles for this race. One is larger and is given to those who finish sub-9 hours, and the smaller one to those who finish in the course cut off time of 11 hours.], which was exciting.

There on the screen in front of me, the results updated and the number three spot had finished. Sadly, it wasn't Sam. My heart sunk a little, I have to admit. He had been so close and I couldn't help but feel guilty because if I had been able to be at the course, I could have told him where he stood and maybe it would've helped him stay motivated. 

I finished in fourth place for the single speed guys. Eleven minutes behind the number three finisher. Sadly, I didn't podium, but it was the closest I have ever been and an hour and a half improvement over my last Barn Burner race.

I called Sam as soon as I saw his finish time. I didn't know if he'd answer or even if he had coverage to accept a call, but I wanted him to know his finishing spot, if he hadn't been told yet. The phone went straight to voicemail. "I'm so proud of you!" I blubbered into the phone. "You did SO well!! You were very close to being third place, and at one point you were in third, but I know you gave it everything. If you get a chance, call me, but if not, I hope you get a spot in Leadville during the post-race ceremony."

Sam's mom sent a message a few moments later. 
"Sam's going to be so disappointed," it read. 
I replied, "Why? He did tremendously well! He finished fourth and nearly an hour and a half better than the last time. There would be no reason for him to be disappointed. He did awesome!" 
"But, he didn't get a spot in Leadville," she retorted.
"He's not out of the running yet," I said. "Give it time. He may still have his spot."

Funny enough, after I spoke to Sam, it wouldn't have mattered if he'd finished third or not because for this race, the only finisher in single speed who was guaranteed a spot in Leadville was the one who finished in first place. 

After-race drama 
Now, the real drama began. The conversations, listening to others, waiting - so much waiting - and eventually, we were all just wanting the awards ceremony to begin.

Pretty much everyone was finished with the race, but we were waiting on the "last ass" (Leadville Series name for the last person over the finish within the allotted time frame) to come through. This person rolled in just prior to 6pm and a couple more brave souls came in about 10 minutes later. I can't help but feel for people who are so close to finishing and just don't quite make it in the time frame.

I was in the beer garden area seated next to a 20-something guy, his dad, and some friends of theirs. It took me a moment to realize that one of the friends in this group was the guy in front of me who finished just prior in the single speed division. All of them had been talking a lot of smack for over an hour about other racers and their would-be LT100 corral positions, even though no one was even in yet and we were all in the same wait-for-the-lottery-pull boat. It's interesting that they wanted to celebrate their position when they weren't even into the race yet.

After the award ceremony started, they continued their smack talk, particularly in regard to women. It was all starting to get under my skin. [G.E.'s Note: While both Sam and I are both generally roll-with-it sort of people, Sam tends to remain quiet in these sort of instances, whereas I probably would've either said something smart-ass to these guys, or, if nothing else, been giving them some serious stink eye. Sam tends to take on a much subtler tactics. Which is why I'll never have to bail him out of jail for causing a raucous, and why it is far more likely that the opposite could potential be a real-life possibility if the situation had been reversed.]

The number three finisher was called up to the podium for the single speed division and I watched from my 4th place chair in the beer garden. It really wasn't bitterness I was feeling, but I wished that people had a bit more dignity and respect for others.

Drum roll
We finally get to the lottery portion of the awards and everyone who finished in under 11 hours, who did the full 100-mile course, and who wanted to try for the LT100 put their names on a tiny rip of paper and dropped them in a lost and found hat with the race director so that he could have someone pull names randomly. At least I was paying attention this time and didn't miss out on the opportunity to put my name in.

There were 25 slots left for the rest of us and there were about 50 or so people who had put their names in, so I figured that put me at somewhere around 50/50 odds of getting in.

Names started to be called. A number of people were getting in and everyone except for a couple of fools who put their names in the hat and then walked away were accepting the spots (The person has to be present to get a spot, so I'm not sure why they did this). Fifteen were left, then 10. My name hadn't been called. Then there were seven left. My odds were narrowing in. At number six, they butchered my name (as usual), but I was in. I had actually made it and this suffer fest had paid off.

A little after 9p, my phone rang. I don't think I even said hello. 

"Did you get in?" I asked frantically. I couldn't help it. I had been waiting for what felt like an eternity to hear if Sam had accomplished the second half of the goal with the Barn Burner race. "Yes," he finally said, and then Sam proceeded to fill me in on what had taken place. 

One of the most entertaining parts to me about the end is that the whole crew of guys I'd been listening to, including the number three single speed finisher I'd been sitting with earlier, all of them talking so much the whole evening, and not one of them made it into the LT100 through the Barn Burner. Which isn't to say that they won't get in, but it didn't happen at this race. A part of me couldn't help but think it was a bit of their shit-talking Karma coming back to them.

The only guys who made it in on single speed bikes were the number one finisher, who was untouchable the entire race because he was insanely fast, and me, the slow, short, old, hadn't-ridden-single-speed-all-year, no-name-bike guy with some eBay bargain Reynolds wheels. But I will take it.

Notes and Thoughts
This was a sad/lone trip during which I rented a room on Airbnb and didn't speak to humans for the majority of the time in Flagstaff, then had to immediately drive off to Las Vegas for work for four days, followed by the return drive home. It was a drain!

I have proven to myself  that I'm better on single speed during these endurance mountain bike races than when I'm geared. I seem to push myself more. There's also a part of me that enjoys being a bit of a spectacle because there aren't as many who do this.

It's ultra hard to know where I am in the standings during a race when I'm on my own. I much prefer having someone with me.

Chasing someone is super motivating, even when I'm not actually competing with them and I never actually see my true competitors.

Another race has come to an end. I think it was a great one to finish on this year, given the hiccups with racing this summer (There have been others beyond this series that haven't yet been documented here), so I'm so glad Sam was able to finish the season on a positive note, and I know he's looking forward to going back to Leadville in 2017. 

Flatting Out: An Early Morning Ride

I realize that I haven't written much about my own riding this year. In part, this is because my rides have felt very uneventful. Primarily, I have ridden this year for transportation purposes and although I have moments when I think I should write about some sort of happening from these outings, that thought usually leaves quicker than it came. When that happens, I take that as meaning that there was nothing truly to say about the ride.

As summer is now about half way complete (well, almost), I have started to feel guilty for not riding more athletically or sport-wise over these warmer months. I've had my reasons, and for the most part, I think they are justifiable, but I still miss being out for a lengthier stretch and/or just seeing how hard I can push myself. It amuses me that I seem to fall one way or another though for entire seasons at a time and can't seem to find that space during which I can both ride for sport and ride for transportation. One side always seems to lose.

But, because I've wanted to get out and ride while sweating (Though I suppose I sweat even riding for transportation these days as it's been quite warm), I decided to try to push myself to get up a little earlier than usual and go ride before the day gets going. With so many things to get done in a day, time just slips away before I have the opportunity to get out, but I had decided that if I made a purposeful attempt to go early, perhaps I would actually get out and ride.

This plan seemed to be working quite well for a few days. It was nice to be out before the sweltering heat began and although I struggled to get things together as I was heading out the door, I was able to get this plan into motion. While I don't care for others telling me that I'm not a morning person, I have to admit it really is true. Even though I can get up, I just don't function well for a couple of hours into the day and everything just seems to go wrong when I force myself to be productive early.

A few days into this new experiment, I was heading out when I said to Sam, "You know, I need to get an extra tube to carry. I haven't had a flat in at least two years, but somehow not having a tube with me makes me nervous. I have a patch kit and a pump... and a CO2 cartridge, but sometimes it's just good to have that extra tube, you know?"

Sam, the make-it-happen fellow that he is, walked to one of the storage bins in the garage and pulled out a tube. "This one should work," he said. "I think you bought this and never used it."

"Hmm. Well, thanks!" I said. "Guess I don't need to buy one... Though, I've probably now jinxed myself by even talking about flats."

We both laughed a bit and I joked that I would call if I needed him. Sam was preparing to head off to work though, and I knew I wouldn't be gone for much more than an hour, so I started off on my planned route feeling pretty good.

A few miles down the road, I started to think that my front tire felt a bit spongy. I looked down and everything looked fine, so I kept going and figured it was my imagination after the conversation just a few minutes ago. You really are crazy, I told myself. You've psyched yourself out so bad that now you think you're going to get a flat.

I biked on, but continued to have that sensation that something wasn't quite right up at the front of the bike. I made a couple of turns and ended up on a local highway that leads up to the mountains. I wasn't sure if I was feeling brave enough to climb this particular morning, but I wanted to at least reach the base and then make a decision.

A few miles down the highway, I was pretty convinced something was definitely wrong with the tire. I pulled over to a spot where I'd have some room and sure enough, the tire was going flat. It was a very slow leak as I'd been able to travel as far as I had without much of an issue, but I had a decision to make. Should I keep going and hope that the leak was slow enough that I could complete my ride, or should I turn around and head home so that I wouldn't have to deal with the flat on the side of the road?

The problem in my mind was keeping myself from freaking out about the nearly flat tire. Although I have changed tubes and patched them several times, it has never been when I was alone on the side of the road when it was out of necessity. Somehow, I've always managed to either have a slow enough leak that I was able to get home without dealing with it, or Sam has been with me and either done or assisted with the change for me. It's nothing short of amazing that I've gone so many years and never had to deal with this on my own, I am aware, but somehow in this moment I had a feeling I wasn't getting home without a fix and I definitely would have trouble if I continued on.

So, in a split second I made the decision to turn around and head home. I could feel panic setting in so as I turned, I thought it might be best to put a bit more air in the tire with my hand pump. As I started to pump in air, nothing was happening at first and then, all of a sudden, the tire went completely flat.

Alright, I said to myself, it's time to deal with this. I pulled out the patch kit at first and then thought better of it. I knew I could patch the tube later at home with ease, so I would just use the new tube and then use the currently flat tube as a spare after it was repaired.

Flipping the bike over, I used the tire lever to take one side of the tire off to remove the tube when I found myself scratching my head, trying to figure out how to get the tube out from behind the fork. As I said, I don't function well in early morning hours, so it took me a second to realize that I hadn't removed the wheel from the bike.

Duh, I muttered under my breath, and then followed up with the thought that it really had been a long time since I'd had to deal with changing a flat. I was also riding a bike with fenders, so that took an extra step and a moment for my brain to catch up and to realize that I'd need to remove one side of those as well.

At this point, I looked ridiculous, I have no doubt, and I felt like a complete idiot on the side of the road. I had small bits from the fender attachment in between my lips to keep from losing them, and I was turning back and forth, as I (for the most part) silently tried to coach myself through something that I fully know is not that difficult to do and that I can and have done in the past. I still didn't have the wheel removed, but I wanted to test out the pump as it hadn't put any air in when I'd tried to just pump up the tire without removing the tube.

After attempting to use the pump and realizing it still wasn't putting any air into the tube and therefore wouldn't put any air in the new tube either, I reached my breaking point. My morning fog-brain was not wearing off and I was ready to have a cry on the side of the road. I got out my phone and called Sam.

"Hey," I said as casually as I could when he picked up. "I think I really did jinx myself this morning. Can you come and get me?"

"Where are you?" he asked.

I provided approximate coordinates to which he responded that it would take him a bit, but he would get there as quickly as he could. With that, we hung up and I felt like such a helpless fool standing with various tools in each hand, watching cars and other bicycles whizzing by.

As I stood there, relieved that Sam was on his way, the panicked feeling dissipated. If I was going to be here for awhile anyway, I might as well attempt to finish changing the flat, I figured.

Since I hadn't actually removed the wheel yet, I started to pull that out and then realized I needed to release the brakes. After completely removing everything that was necessary, I got out the new tube and started to put it around the rim of the wheel and then remembered it would need a small amount of air to keep from getting a pinch flat, so I figured I'd try my hand at the pump again to see if I could get it to work. I had the CO2 cartridge and inflator with me, but I've honestly never used it and was a little terrified something might explode or I'd end up hurting myself (Sam would later laugh at me about this and then tell me that we were going to have a training session so that I wouldn't be afraid to use this tool in the future).

The pump wasn't putting out much air, but it was providing a little bit every several pumps, so I kept pumping until there was a small amount of air in the tube. Then, I began putting the tire back around the rim, making sure not to get the tube stuck in between.

Before I knew it, everything was put back together and the tire even had a bit of air in it. I had actually done it. For the first time on my own without the help of anyone (or at least the watchful eye of someone), I fixed a flat!

Believe me, I know it's ridiculous. As someone who has changed flats in the past, this shouldn't have felt like such an enormous accomplishment, but it really did. I realized that all I needed was to calm myself down and know that I have the ability to do the task --and then, not to sound to much like a Nike ad, just do it.

As I stood there beaming with pride, I pulled out my phone again. I saw a text from Sam that he'd sent about 10 minutes prior stating that he was on the edge of town and he'd get to me as quickly as he could. I didn't have the heart to have his trip be for nothing and since he was almost to me anyway, I responded that I was able to get a little air in my tire and that I was going to be riding east and I'd meet up with him.

I rode the highway back in the direction indicated thinking that it was kind of sad that at least a dozen cyclists had passed me and not one of them had offered to help as I'd stood on the side of the road, but on the other hand, I was grateful for the opportunity to prove to myself that I could in fact change a flat without the assistance of another person.

The tire was holding up okay, but it was severely lacking in air so I was taking it slow and wondering why I hadn't run into Sam yet. I was heading up a slight incline when a car pulled over in front of me... Sam to the rescue!

As he got out of the car he was shaking his head and smiling. "I've been back and forth twice trying to find you," he stated. "I should know better with you."

He was referring to a past incident during which we'd been riding together and I'd been so upset and convinced that I couldn't go on that he went home to get the car to rescue me. I had ended up riding home on my own though, despite the fact that I believed I didn't have it in me.

"How did you get all the way over here?" he asked. "I thought you couldn't get any air out of the pump."

I smiled, "Well, I was able to get enough that I figured I'd try riding a bit."

On the way home, we chatted about what had happened and as I exited the vehicle and we removed the bike from the car I said, "You know, if this ever happens again in the future... if I call you in a panic and tell you I need to be picked up, just talk me through it. I know you're perfectly willing to come and get me, but I feel bad that I made you turn around from work to come all this way to get me when I ended up fixing the flat. I know I didn't have a ton of air in the tire, but I can do it and I would've made it home okay. I think I just needed to be reassured that I have the ability to do it on my own."

As much as I could have lived without this situation, I am grateful for the opportunity to prove to myself that I am capable of dealing with minor issues that come up when riding. After years of riding, I still seem to have a deep fear that I am not self-reliant. While I know I am perfectly able, sometimes I need to know-know - as in, out of necessity - that I am capable, and this moment helped me better understand that often I just need to not panic and the rest will fall into place.

Have you had any moments of panic when dealing with a break down on your bicycle and then pulled it together? Have you had fixes that just couldn't be repaired while on the side of the road? How did you deal with your bicycle break-down?

Flash Hail and a Last Minute Time Trial

It is not at all shocking to read here that I am not a race person. I have my own methods of pushing myself to achieve "better," but being more a tortoise than a hare, competitions requiring the ability to push speed are just not the best for me. Even knowing that speed is not my forte, I can appreciate those who choose to participate in such events, and I even relish the opportunity to volunteer or simply observe.

Over the weekend, Sam and a group of friends participated in a local time trial and since it was the first time I've witnessed a true TT, I asked Sam to share his thoughts on what transpired. I should also say that there is a professional segment to this TT, from my understanding. Those riders are racing for points as part of USA Cycling events, but this particular group did the TT more as a "just for fun" kind of event.

Before we get into the actual details of the day, I will set up by saying that we've been drenched in rain for the last several weeks here in Colorado. If the sun comes out for a couple of hours, we consider ourselves fortunate. The weather has been very odd for this time of year (which I think is true in a lot of places right now).

As luck would have it, the forecasters were predicting little to no rain the morning and early afternoon for the time trial. Although it would be cloudy, I thought it would be a perfect day for riding -- neither too warm nor too cool. When we last checked the forecast at late morning, the rain wasn't to start until approximately 4p local time. Ideal, I thought.

The start of the group TT wasn't until 1:30p, and the course was short, so they should be well through the event and home before the rain would begin.

[Since it's difficult to find a way to get both perspectives at the same time without getting a bit confusing, Sam's thoughts are in bold and G.E.'s are in the regular type.]

I didn't know about this event. The person putting the team together was not, at the time, a Facebook friend and didn't have my contact information. He had sent a message via Facebook but because it went into a separate folder that I don't check, the note went unanswered for about a week until another member of the time trial team informed me that he was trying to reach me. Unfortunately, the message was received too late to register for the TT, but the organizers ended up extending registration for 24 hours which allowed enough of a window to sign up with the group. All of which took place just two days before the event.

I had never participated in a TT before this one and I was, as always, ill prepared. This one is an approximately 16-mile course of mixed downhill and uphill riding on the front range. Our team was considered a "mixed" team, consisting of five men (me, Brandon, Paul, Lewis, and Joe), no team affiliation or sponsorship, and aged 29-50ish. 

We all agreed to meet at Paul's at 11:30a on race day, but at 11:30a the only two who had arrived were Paul and myself. We decided to ride to the start as a group, but since the other riders were late, Paul sent a text letting them know we would meet them at the start. About 100 yards from leaving Paul's, we spotted two more, so we turned around to gather everyone and started out again. By 11:45a, we were rolling once again. 

Knowing that we still had to grab our race packets, we picked up the pace to get to the start (which was about 15 miles away) on time.

About three miles down the road, Brandon blew a tire - dramatically. He had been musing about the "sound" that Paul's Zipp wheel was making, when in reality it was the hissing sound of his rear tire deflating. We pulled over and worked on getting a new tube in and 5-7 minutes later we were back on the road.

Then, roughly three more miles down the road, Brandon blows a tire - again! This time we tried to focus more on what was causing the issue and ended up sticking a $1 bill over the stem area to keep it from re-puncturing itself. 

At the time, all I could do was laugh because between these two tube blow-outs and the entirely ominous thunder clouds rolling in, things didn't seem to be looking up for our day.

As we got closer to the registration area, it had started to thunder and lightning, and it was starting to sprinkle a bit. It really sounded like end-of-the-world kind of stuff and it decided to make its presence known as we stood about 25 feet from the registration tent. I planted my bike under a tractor trailer, in an attempt to keep it somewhat dry, and ran under the registration tent with the rest of the guys.

It was the most insane downpour! It was just after 1p and the junior racers were nearly swimming at this point. 

The event organizers had already stated that they wouldn't cancel the TT unless there was active lightning at the start. And so, we waited.

When Sam left the house in the morning, I was busy playing with our dogs trying to wear them out. I had planned to ride to a point of the TT and take a few photos of the guys riding. Since it's such a quick event, I knew that I'd only be able to get to one location, and decided it was probably better to be somewhere on the course, rather than at the start or finish.

About 12:30p, I decided that I should probably head out on the bike as I wanted to find a good spot and didn't want to miss them coming by. Of course, I got delayed and didn't actually leave until about 12:50p. Knowing that I wouldn't be riding very far (about 6-7 miles to my photo-op point), I just threw on a t-shirt and denim overall shorts with a pair of skate-type shoes.

At the last second, I looked at the weather forecast again and saw that the rain scheduled for around 4p had suddenly advanced and should be starting at any moment. I grabbed my wool-lined rain coat and headed out.

As I rode, I could see a huge, dark cloud overtaking the fluffier lighter grey clouds. It didn't look to be a great sign. Suddenly, the wind picked up and I counted myself fortunate to be on a heavier bike that didn't blow around easily.

Then, I started to see cyclists heading in the opposite direction with great speed. Was I an absolute idiot to be riding into this mess? Maybe I should join them and just tell Sam that I couldn't make it in time to get photos? But, instead I pressed forward. It had started to rain lightly, but I wasn't overly concerned.

In just a quick second, the wind really picked up. This time, even my heavy bike wasn't helping me, but I did my best to keep it stable. Before I could even think, there was an absolute downpour of hail. With the mix of wind and hail, I had no choice but to stop and get off the bike.

About 100 feet in front of me stood a large bush, so I walked the bike quickly to this spot and tried to take refuge until the hail passed. If there's one good thing about storms in Colorado, it's that they may come down brutally, but they are generally very quickly over as well.

I was absolutely soaked. My shoes were full of water, my denim shorts were sticking to my thighs, and I could barely see. My bike was nothing short of drenched (Mental note: next time, remember the rain cover for the leather saddle).

As I stood, laughing about the ridiculousness of this situation, a large pickup truck pulled up beside me. The passenger rolled down her window and said, "Would you like a ride home?" I thanked her for stopping, told her that I was okay, but that I would wait it out. She asked again if I was sure, but then left me to stand in what had already lightened to rain.

About ten minutes before we were to start, the rain had mostly subsided. There was just a bit of sprinkling happening and a very tiny sliver of sunshine was coming through. The temperatures were cool, though not freezing, but combined with being wet, it felt much colder than the approximate 50F/10C degrees would lead someone to believe.

We rolled up the hill to the start line and waited. Two of our team had decided to go down the road to loosen up while the rest of us went to the start. Each of the teams are spaced out by about two minutes separation at the start. One of the teams had already left, so we had only a couple of minutes to wait for our start.

With about a minute left, the two who had gone to loosen up arrived, making everyone waiting more than a little nervous.

The plan was set. I would start out in front at the lead (I'm short and fast), then Paul (who is thin and super fast), then the bigger guys who are all strong/fast riders. We didn't put anyone too large behind someone small (like me) because they would have no benefit to draft. We had agreed to do roughly 20 second pulls for the duration of the TT, which seemed entirely reasonable.

At 1:32p, we start. I rolled out, slightly too fast (as usual), and Paul had to reel me back in. We began peeling and breaking and there's a slight climb to our first turn which will start the downhill portion.

On the downhill, we gain speed - riding somewhere between 35-40mph/56-64kph, which was entirely awesome as a group, but had unintended consequences. Our 5th rider had started to drop off after leading a couple of times, and after a few miles, we lost him entirely.

Unfortunately, we couldn't wait for him. The way that the TT counts time is by the third rider to finish, so even though we had started with five, we only needed three to finish; and the third finisher would be our official time.

About half way down this portion of the road, we passed one of the other TT groups pretty quickly (the one that had started two minutes before us).

Thankfully, this was our standard, quick moving kind of storm and I decided I had to get moving, even if it was still raining a bit because I wouldn't make it in time to get photos of the guys. 

As I started to hop back on the bike, I realized what a horrible idea it had been to wear denim. It was wet, heavy, and impossible to "unstick" from my body.

Looking behind my spot to where the team would turn right to head back toward the finish.

I made it to a good spot, just before the route would turn, and waited. As I pulled out my camera again (I'd tried to get some photos of the hail earlier), I could see that it was drenched. "Well, that can't be good," I announced aloud to no one. I had a towel at the bottom of my saddlebag which came in handy, but when I took a look at the lens, it was also very wet. I didn't have my proper cleaning cloth with me and decided to wipe it with the towel (which turned out to be not so great a plan because the photos to come would all have a nice, fuzzy film over them from the towel lint).

As I waited, Paul's partner arrived to watch for the guys too (You can see her walking toward me in the photo above - I just hadn't realized it was her at the time). We crossed to the other side of the road, thinking that we'd have a better shot at photos and chatted about life happenings.

It was soaking wet and muddy the entire way down this part of our path. Every time we switched out, we ended up with a face full of wet, cold, road mud. At this point, we couldn't feel our feet, but we had a great pace going and were briskly approaching our right turn at 75th Street.

Soon, we realized the guys were heading our way. We waited for our photo opportunities and cheered as they got closer.

Within seconds they were right in front of us and just as quickly gone out of sight. "Well, I guess that's it," I said, and with that, we were left to meander our way back home.

We hit the next turn which had a hard right taking us back south, toward the finish. At this point, there were only the four of us left and we were all doing well. And then, Lewis had a tire blow out, but with no tubes left from the earlier tube ruptures, Paul rode up behind me and said we had to keep going. 

Brandon had dropped a bit behind us, so we played out a two-man TT up until the finish, hoping that Brandon would be able to finish as our third to make our time official.

Paul and I finished without issue and waited for Brandon, as we knew he was still riding behind us. About three minutes later, Brandon finished, which we knew secured us a second place finish.

Later, we would find out that we actually placed first in our division with Brandon's finishing time, which was appropriate because the TT was his idea.

So, that's how it wrapped up from my perspective: Three flat tires. One lost rider. A storm of the century. 

We placed first and averaged about 24.2mph/39kph, which seemed impossible to me at the start. (G.E.'s note: You can read more about different categories and speeds here, if you have interest in such things.)

My ride home was a wet one, to say the least. I was already sopping, so the fact that it rained more on the way home was not a big deal. I decided to take the long route in an effort to avoid climbing a hill that I was not mentally prepared to deal with at that juncture and had a mild run-in with a cranky driver. It was a little surprising as, in my experience, motorists seem to be a bit more tolerant of cyclists riding in inclement weather, but there has to be a first for everything, I suppose.

Watching the TT was an interesting experience and I would recommend checking one out if you happen to be close to such an event. It was different than the long distance, more endurance type events we usually see or participate in because it was over in a flash by comparison. The distance was short enough to not feel like an all-day excursion (even though it really was as there are a variety of divisions throughout the day), but long enough that if one were utilizing a motorized vehicle, there could be a few opportunities to watch the participants.

Overall, it seemed like the guys had some hiccups along the way, but enjoyed themselves in one form or another... and how could they not when they took first? Not bad for a last minute, motley team, I'd say.

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.