To start things off on a sketchy note, if one were to buy into superstitions that is, we stopped off at a Wendys to grab some grub for the road. Our total for the meal was $16.66…ohhhhhh THAT number. I made a joke to Chuck and Tim about the total, and they were like dude that really isn’t too cool. Considering what was to follow, it seems as though it was a portent of things to come.
In keeping with our last race, we got there just in time. The original intent was to arrive at least by 6pm to allow time to set up camp, score a preride, and get settled in. To adhere to the saying, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions” we laid some serious asphalt because we weren’t even on the road until damn near 630 causing us to arrive at the site wayyyyy later than was ideal.
As a word of caution here are some things you really don’t want to do the moments just before a race:
a) try to drive a truck/trailer combo through a crowded camp site looking for the spot everyone else DIDN’T want
b) set up a multi room tent for the first time in the dark
c) figure out how your light attaches to your helmet
d) realize that your batteries are in fact NOT charged and you’ve forgotten your emergency back up lights (this is where the almost boom part comes in later)
A mental image of a chicken running around with its head cut off should come to mind at this point. We managed to get set up (for the most part) and make it to the riders meeting just in time to hear the promoter saying something about, “we’ve made the LeMans start even longer this year”…a collective “Gee Thanks” could be heard murmuring through the crowd. As luck would have it our intended lead off man, Tim, REALLY doesn’t like to run (more precisely his knees don’t like it when he runs), but hey, what are ya gonna do?
Because my batteries weren’t charged up, I got the honor of being the anchor man with Tim and Chuck taking the first two laps, to allow time for mine to charge up. This is where the almost boom part comes in. Again with the good intentions, we WERE going to find a spot for the generator, separate from the camp site (it’s an 8 Kw, 14 HP motor…..read LOUD), but time was short, so it never got unloaded. Tim is on trail, Chuck is making his preparations, and I’m trying to set up a transition area and basically just get settled in. I walk past the trailer noticing the FIVE GALLON gas tank is barely two feet away from the HOT exhaust of the generator. In my mind, a HOLY F’ING bat**** screams out, so I grab the gas tank and take it as far away from the generator as I can. By now, the plastic container had actually gotten hot to the touch, with the expanding vapors inside causing the container to actually SWELL UP. Needless to say, I was a bit shook up with the mental image of what could have happened. I crawled into the tent and tried to get some rest, which was of course, a futile attempt with said generator only feet from the tent.
Tim comes rolling into the camp area having just relieved Chuck and tells me what I’m in for…lots of climbing right from the start. I figure that I should start getting ready, and one of the first things I do is make sure my batteries are charged up and ready to go. The trend at this point is less than stellar, so in honor of that, I realize that after getting everything hooked up and loaded into my camelback, my light still isn’t working. Queue the chicken image again as Tim and I figure out how were going to daisy chain two lights for three people. I finally get loaded up and ready to go, so I take off from the camp to Start/Finish Line. Tick, tock, tick, tock,…I realize I’ve gotten there way too early AND its freezing out, but I don’t want to leave now to go back to the camp for a blanket or something because I might miss Chuck. Just when I thought I was going to have to get something he comes rolling in and we make the exchange.
Lap one of my first 12 hour race FINALLY begins and just as Tim said there is LOTS of climbing right from the start. I feel about as natural climbing as a Polar Bear would feel in the Sahara, so after much drudgery, I make it through the first section of the trail only to hear that distinctive DING. I stop to inspect my bike and find that a spoke has broken on my rear wheel. I don’t have a spare spoke with me, not that I’d take that much time to try and fix it on the trail side, so I wrap it around an adjacent one, and continue on my merry way. I didn’t have the opportunity to make a night ride with my HID light prior to the race, so this is my first experience with one of them, and all I can say I WOW, these things really light up the night. Were it not for that, I believe the lack of a daytime preride would’ve been far more detrimental, but due to the tremendous coverage they afford, I was able to maintain a pretty decent pace through my first lap. Arriving back at the camp, I decide it would probably be best to change now and make all my preps (food, hydration, etc) so that after I TRY to sleep through din of the generator, I’ll minimize my transition time to relieve the next rider.
Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock…I arrive AGAIN, way too early at the Start/Finish Line, wasting precious energy waiting to relieve. Chuck comes rolling into the turnover area looking pretty flustered. He had enough time to tell me that he was on a killer pace, only to suffer a nasty crash on one off the downhill sections, and that he had injured his thumb, thus the delay in his arrival. Once more, I struggle through the climbing section, and my drive train was really giving me hell with multiple chain slips. I arrive at an open section of the trail realizing that day light is almost upon us. My relief was incredibly short lived, as I literally got about a half dozen pedal strokes into the open field, and my knee SLAMS into the stem due to my breaking chain. Fantastic, its zero dark thirty in the morning, I’m tired, and I get to try to do something I’ve done perhaps 4 times collectively, in my dozen or so years of riding, fix a broken chain only 2 miles into an 8 mile course. I loose about 25-30 minutes of lap time fixing my chain, but much to my amazement and relief, my attempt was successful. With daylight upon us, and the sense of urgency that I’ve just wasted all that time, I begin to ride the rest of the trail, going like a bat out of hell, taking stupid risks, and actually passing back several of the riders that had passed me as I made my repair.
Fast forward a little less than 2 hours, with precious little sleep, and you guessed it, Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, (mental DAMNIT) Why can’t I figure out the right time to relieve Chuck so I can maximize my rest time. On my off time, I had done some very minimalist drive train maintenance to avert the disaster of the previous lap. The trail is fully lit up by now, and despite my fatigue, I’m feeling really good. I’m cruising along, barely 3 miles into the trail rolling at a really good pace, and BAM!! you guessed it, ANOTHER mechanical, this time a rear flat. I do a quick mental inventory of my camel back and I realize I’ve forgotten to pack a spare tube. I make a meager attempt to try to run the remainder of the lap, and my legs quickly tell me, dude what ARE you thinking, relegating me to a brisk walk. To the credit and camaraderie of all that is mtn biking, rider after rider after rider all slow long enough to ask me if I’m alright. I reply to each, “I flatted dude”, they shake their head in commiseration, offer empathy, and roll on. Finally, lady luck makes a brief appearance, and someone has a spare, and its their ONLY spare. That, in a nutshell, is what epitomizes why mtn biking is the best thing since sliced bread. There are few, if any, other competitive endeavors, where a COMPETITOR, would offer support, so that you can get back in the game. I change out my tube as quickly as I can, and start to put the wheel back on the tire. At this point I notice that the sidewall has failed, allowing the tube to pop out through the tire, rendering it completely useless.
The frustration level at this point is Mt. Everest in proportions. All that hard work on the previous lap to make up for my broken chain. The effort that Tim and Chuck had made as well, and the string of obscenities I begin to spew would’ve made a sailor blush. Anger. Complete and utter frustration. Like a puppy in submission with its tail tucked between its legs, I dejectedly shortcut as much of the trail as I can to make it back to the Start/Finish Line to turn over with Tim, and inform the score keepers not to count that lap. I roll back to the camp to change my tire AGAIN, with the hopes that Chuck, and Tim can both turn sub 1 hour times, allowing one last chance at a clean, mechanical free, lap.
Unfortunately, the task was too much to ask of Chuck, as he too experienced drive train problems, and missed the cut off by a mere 5 minutes. So it went, just a couple of bits of bad luck, and we went from being in the running for a competitive finish for our category, to mid pack. Despite the issues, a good time was had by all, the weather was perfect, and the trail was even better. Some good lessons were learned and 3 weeks from now, we’ll be at the burn24hour Memorial Day weekend.
The fun didnt stop there. We were loading up the trailer, some weight shifted, the trailer rolled forward, striking my 4 Runner in 2 places on the passengers side
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