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Monday, November 28, 2016

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is one of my very favorite holidays. All the family togetherness of Christmas with none of the gift-giving pressure. This year was lighter on the family togetherness, as my two oldest sons are in Oregon and Japan and a niece lives in Alaska, but all of my brothers were home.

With a 5-day weekend I managed to fit in plenty of active time, too. I'm not sure it balanced out the amount of turkey, stuffing, and dessert I ate between our two family gatherings, but it felt good to log some time outside.

Wednesday: Slept blissfully late, made Jacob pancakes, and did some cleaning. I wasted plenty of time, but we managed to get in about 40 minutes at the gym together before I had to take our dog to the vet. Frontline-resistant fleas and arthritis.

Thursday: My tri club has an annual group trail run on Thanksgiving morning. I annually show up too late to actually run with anyone. That's ok, because I've done so little running lately that I doubt I could've kept up.
Started my Thanksgiving Day on the trails. Like a slow ninja, I managed to get in my whole run without seeing most of the tri club group I'd been too late to start with. #trailrunning #optoutside #soloturkeytrot

I spent the first half mile calculating how much further I had to go -- .1 mile: I only have to do that 19 more times... -- before settling into the run and enjoying it. I was painfully slow but really glad I made it out. 3.1 miles, 45 min.

Friday: I'm not a shopper and don't like crowds, so my Black Friday tradition is of the two-wheeled variety. This year Mickey, Chuck, and I hit a few local trails. We started out with more climbing than I'd expected and I spent the majority of the day feeling slow and not very good at mountain biking. My mood picked up after they convinced me to ride over a rock table I've scuttled past since I rode it in February.
CW, Zombie, BV
It's not hard at all; it just looks scary to me. 

CW, Zombie, BV
...and back down...

CW, Zombie, BV
Really cool spot on the trail.
I hadn't been on the first trails we rode in a couple of years, so I was happy to see that, even feeling slow, I was faster than I was in the past. The other two trails showed less improvement since I've been on them more recently. 30.5 miles, 4:05

Saturday: The St. Louis Orienteering Club's annual Turkey-O is another of my favorite holiday traditions. This was the third year it was held in the Mississippi River bluffs above Grafton, IL, so I was familiar with the amount of climbing I'd have to do. I ran the 3-hr course solo while Jeff and Jacob did the 1-hour course with some friends. It certainly wasn't my best navigational outing, but it was a gorgeous day and a lot of fun.  7.6 mi, 2:55.

2016 Turkey-O
High above the river and about to take a terrible route downhill.
Sunday: I slept too late to go running with friends as planned, and as achy as I was when I did get up that's probably a good thing. My legs were sore, as expected, but my upper body was worse. Weird. I did a lot of crawling through thick vegetation, using trees to haul myself up and down steep hillsides, and falling, so apparently all of that contributed.

We cooked breakfast together, then while the guys watched football I walked the dog, aimlessly wandered the house, and thought about what to do. I was feeling kind of down and really just wanted to curl up under a blanket with a book, but rain was in Monday's forecast and Sunday was almost certainly my last chance to get outside. Eventually I talked myself into a mountain bike ride with the promise that I could quit after a half hour.

I really didn't want to run or rode or do much of anything today, but it's supposed to rain tonight and I'm not likely to manage any mtb time after work this week. I made myself go for at least a half hour of no pressure riding. I ended up with an hour of
Half fall brown, half spring green. Still beautiful.

I made no effort to ride hard, just focused on trying to be smooth and braking less. It was a fun, no-pressure ride, and I ended up riding for just over an hour. At one point I came around a curve and was just struck by how magical the trees looked. Our unseasonably warm temps have led to a mixed messages combination of muted colors and bright greens. If it wasn't for the stark wintry sky you'd almost think spring was just around the corner. 7.5 mi, 1:04

Friday, November 11, 2016

Spotted Horse 150

Sarah Cooper first hit my radar when she won Odin's Revenge in 2014, coming in first overall. I've casually followed her career since that point, and she quickly moved into the Ezster Horanyi/Lael Wilcox/Jill Homer pantheon of heroes/role models/girl-I-most-want-to-be-like-when-I grow-up-except-I'm-already-older-than-them-all.

Sarah has a special place in my heart because she achieves all her accomplishments while also being the mother of four; meanwhile, most days I can barely get my hair combed in time to drop off my one remaining kid at home and rush into work 30 seconds before I'm supposed to be there. I finally got to meet her in person at last year's 24 11 Hours of Cumming, where she crushed the women's field and I welcomed an inglorious DNF not quite halfway in.

When one of your heroes organizes a long race on her training ground, you pay attention; as soon as Sarah announced the inaugural Spotted Horse Gravel Ultra I penciled it onto my race schedule. October is a busy month, though. Jeff had already acquiesced to planning our family Halloween party around BT Epic, and a trip to Iowa for Spotted Horse would mean back-to-back weekends away, something I try to avoid.

Sarah's race stayed in pencil until sometime in October, when her race updates started feeding my FOMO. Granted, my gravel bike had seen almost no action since August, and maybe following a tough, 50-mile mountain bike race with an endurance gravel event seven days later was a bad idea, but I think it was Ezster who said something like "recovery is for people who can't think of anything fun to do". Overall my bike fitness was in a good place; I hadn't ridden a full century since August, but Chuck and I had ridden over 90 at the No Sleep race in September. I felt confident I could soldier through 150.

The final selling point for Spotted Horse was EJ, my first riding partner when I began riding bikes for "distance" (which, at that point, consisted mostly of 30ish mile Trailnet rides).  His career has kept him crazy busy while dragging him around the East/Midwest over the past few years, so we haven't adventured together in forever, but he was available that weekend. He wasn't crazy enough to sign up for the 200 because his long ride this year has been about 20 miles, but he was willing to throw in for the 150 and see how things went. That gave me mental permission to also sign up for the short course, and with my husband's OK I registered.

Mickey and I headed to Iowa Friday morning, arriving at Kyle's Bikes just as check-in opened, then meeting up with EJ after he finished work. The rest of the evening was spent prepping bikes and giving EJ a crash course on endurance race nutrition. The race structure made my nutritional plan pretty simple. I would use six 500-calorie bottles of Perpetuem (I had two bottles and carried baggies of Perpetuem for refills) and bring along some GUs and a couple candy bars to supplement, buying anything that caught my eye at the C-stores. I also had a 100 oz water bladder in a frame bag, keeping the weight off my back.

Unlike races like Motherlode or Dirty Kanza, Spotted Horse was unsupported. Instead of crew meeting us at specified points with food, water, or necessary gear, we were routed past several convenience stores (at mile 38, 69, 100, and 138, I think) where we could refill water and purchase whatever we needed. Anything we couldn't buy at a Casey's had to be carried with us. This made things weirdly easy. No bags to organize, no instructions for crew, just you and the C-store shelves.

We arrived at the race HQ in St. Charles, IA, around an hour before start time, leaving us plenty of time for last-minute prep and multiple bathroom breaks. The morning was cool, but the forecast called for a rise into the mid 70's before dropping again. With relatively mild temps and no rain expected, I limited my extra gear to a buff and arm warmers, opting to start chilly rather than carry extra clothing most of the day.

Not being a regular to the Iowa gravel scene, I saw few familiar faces.  Having parked between Steve Fuller and the Stillers, I had the chance to drool over Steve's new(ish) Cutthroat before rolling over to the start line. There, I said hi to Jacob and then ended up next to my St. Louis area friends (and all-around awesome people), Carrie and Jeff Sona. We had a minute or two for hellos before Sarah gave out last-minute thanks and instructions before leading us to the end of the neutral roll-out.

Getting ready to start.
Photo credit: Daren Munroe

Knowing E.J. was completely untrained for the race, I was totally out of race mode and looking forward to good company and Iowa scenery. There wasn't much sightseeing to be done over the first hour or so since we couldn't see much beyond the reach of our lights, and we had one early wrong turn when I had trouble seeing my Garmin screen in the early morning darkness.

After an early climb the the next 5 miles or so leveled out, and we had a great time pedaling along and talking. Not long after a big descent, though, E.J.'s rear shifter basically fell off. What's better than entering your first gravel race completely untrained? Not being able to change gears probably ranks up there. Luckily, he was able to take the screw from his front shifter, which was unlikely to see much action for the day (mine certainly didn't), and we were back on the road in just over 10 minutes.

Back on the road and heading up. Over dinner, EJ's wife had made a comment about Iowa being flat. We'd already ridden proof to the contrary when we were faced with a virtual gravel wall. "Yeah, Iowa's flat," he grumbled.

7:13 a.m.

Having a lot of room for improvement on hills, I was pretty excited to make it to the top without having to walk, and the view up there was awfully nice. My headlamp was giving me a headache, so sunrise was a welcome sight.

7:18 a.m.

The wall was followed by a screaming downhill. One of Sarah's pre-race emails had mentioned the forecast and then advised racers to "expect lows 5-10 degrees lower than predicted". Diving into the mist-covered low-lying areas, her meaning became clear. Brrrr.

7:21 a.m.
"Luckily" we had a few miles of climbing to warm up before the course leveled off again.

8 a.m.
I finally took off my headlamp when I stopped for this picture, putting it into EJ's pack since I didn't have one and didn't want to get it all sweaty in my jersey pocket. This would prove to be a minor mistake, but I wouldn't realize that for a while.

About 4 hours in we stopped at the mile 38 Casey's to rest and resupply. While I wouldn't have stopped on my own, it was a nice break. I supplemented my on-bike nutrition with a piece of pizza, a second breakfast to complement the cinnamon roll I'd picked up at a different Casey's early that morning: options are pretty limited at 4 a.m. EJ was clearly a little tired but doing awesome considering he'd already doubled his long ride for the year. After a 20-minute break we hopped back onto the bikes and pointed ourselves towards CP1.

Iowa gravel, at least the roads I've ridden in the two Iowa races I've done, is a lot different from Missouri gravel. The roads were well-packed and smooth, absent potholes and with very little washboarding.  Spotted Horse also featured miles of dirt roads, also called "B roads" or "minimum maintenance roads". At one point I also spotted a sign for a C road, which stoked my curiosity but not enough to actually diverge from the race to explore (also it may have been marked private, but I don't remember that for sure and anyway, I was "racing").

The combination of B roads and a rainy weather forecast gave Sarah some grief in the lead-up to the race. As events like Trans Iowa 2015, Dirty Kanza 2015, and Land Run pretty much any year have shown, mud plays havoc on bikes and bike races. I was less worried. For one, I wasn't race directing, but also, I may be a mediocre cyclist, but I'm a pretty darn good competitive bike carrier. Muddy roads would suck, but they'd also be an advantage for me.

Half facetious and half true.

I was both relieved (because, let's face it, 150 miles was going to take me long enough without slogging my not-featherweight bike through mud) and slightly disappointed that the weather forecast moderated itself. The dirt roads ended up being in fantastic shape, well-packed and relatively smooth. They were a nice change of pace and a real highlight of the race.

Photo credit Eric Roccasecca
Photo credit: Eric Roccasecca

This dirt road picture was taken slightly after the above one. 
EJ was wearing down a little, but one of his superpowers is stubbornness and the ability to, despite lack of training, accomplish much more than you might expect. I didn't really think he'd ride the whole race, but I wouldn't have been shocked if he had.  The next stretch of the course was pretty moderate but had a couple bigger climbs, and at the top of one of these he told me, "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but I'm not doing this whole thing."

There wasn't really anything I didn't want to hear. Riding together was fun, but I've spent plenty of solo miles and was confident in my ability to navigate by Garmin and/or cue sheet. Either way I was good, and riding alone I'd be slightly faster. We hit  CP1 (mile 52) at 11:35, as it turns out a full hour after the last racers to arrive there. "What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I'm done," he told me. One of the volunteers offered to run him back to the start after she was finished manning the CP, so I waved goodbye and took off. I made it less than a quarter mile before remembering that my headlamp was still in his pack. For a moment I considered turning around but decided my bike light would have to do.

I can see for miles and miles...🎶 #hillsfordays #havemercy #girlsgonegravel #spottedhorsegravelultra #bikeiowa
11:50 a.m.

Some people might consider the midwest flyover country, but the course was really scenic. Iowa likes its straight lines: many roads stretched ahead as far as the eye could see, a sadistic preview of the hills to come. Occasionally the course would approach a dread-worthy climb and then, before getting there, turn; this led to my discovery of what I was to name Cooper's First Law of Race Directing: If you're turning away from a climb, it's only so that you can ride the bigger one around the corner.

Miles and miles of B roads at #spottedhorsegravelultra. We lucked out with the dirt roads in amazing shape. #girlsgonegravel #bikeiowa #gorlswhoridebikes

More B roads were to follow, and while they were still smooth and lovely they (and the course in general) were taking on a more pointy character than earlier roads. The more challenging conditions, loss of my suffering companion, and increased effort put a bit of a damper on my photo safari. I pulled into the Afton Casey's (mile 69) at 1:16, still feeling pretty good.

Leg 1. EJ dropped off at that low point after mile 50.
I refilled my water bottles and bladder, then loaded the second half of the race while I drank half of a gatorade. 10 minutes after arrival I was back on my way and looking forward to CP2. For whatever reason, I'd had in my head that CP2 was only about 8 miles from Afton. Luckily Mickey had made me a little mini cue-sheet with mileage to each C-store and CP on the course, and his cue sheet assured me it was actually 12 miles. I know it's only a 4-mile distance, but four miles of looking for a CP and wondering if you already somehow passed it would seem like forever.

The CP (mile 82) was at the end of a fairly flat section of road, and reaching it was a mental boost. So was Stretch's "Kate!". He'd volunteered to pick up any out-of-towners who had to drop, and I was the last of his people to come through the point. In fact, reaching it at 2:34, I was the last of all the racers there.

Having official confirmation of my last place status was, perhaps counterintuitively, not disheartening at all. I had minimal competitive spirit, having mentally assigned the race to pleasure cruise, but I really hate being passed. Knowing there was no one behind me meant there was no pressure from that direction. I could just ride my bike; anyone I picked off was gravy.

2:35 p.m.
Leaving CP2. The checkpoints were literally just crossroads with a vehicle.
Photo credit: Connie Mann
Incidentally, CP2 was also the spot where you had to make a final decision about which course you were going to ride. I had zero desire to switch gears and go for 200 miles and was so thankful that EJ's participation had convinced me to register for the 150. Next stop: the town of Orient in 20 miles.

The next couple of hours were tough. Looking at the elevation profile, the hills don't look horrible, but they just kept coming, one 100-foot climb after another. I'd ridden bigger hills earlier in the day and tried to channel those legs: You don't have to ride it hard, just soft-pedal up like you did this morning, but my afternoon legs weren't having any of it. Hills were walked.

#Iowa likes its straight lines. Dirt roads and rolling hills stretch on forever. At least, it certainly felt that way at times. #spottedhorsegravelultra #girlsgonegravel #longwayhome
You could see for miles on the dirt roads, too.
Around 4:20, probably on the dirt road above, my Garmin started flashing "low battery" and I stopped to plug it into the portable charger I'd brought. Mickey had told me I should just leave it plugged in the whole time, but I'd thought that was silly and did it my way. Thanks to my stubbornness, I got to spend about 6 minutes moving things around on my handlebars when I realized I couldn't plug in my Garmin were it was situated. Awesomeness.

While I was in the middle of moving my Garmin, Tina and Joe Stiller and another rider passed me, the first bikes I'd seen since leaving EJ 5 hours earlier. They sped off after making sure I was ok, and I followed soon after. Before leaving, though, I had to get a panorama of my stopping point: a 4-way dirt road intersection. First of those I've ever seen. (If you click on the picture it'll take you to a panorama).

 The dirt road ended at another intersection, and I stared at my Garmin in confusion as I rode up. The race route was a purple line traced on the roads we had to ride, and all I saw was a "+" in purple.  All the roads were purple. Huh? Luckily, a volunteer directed me to ride to the left towards the town of Orient. "The middle 50 miles is the worst, right?" I asked him as I passed.

"I don't know about that," he replied. "I've only ridden it in a car and it all looked pretty f*cking hard."

In retrospect, it's obvious that the roads were all purple because I had to ride on them all, and I had cue sheets (which I hadn't looked at since our wrong turn early in the day) to answer my question. In a "this is your brain on drugs 100 miles of Iowa gravel" state of mind, though, I didn't even manage to figure out the question. I didn't get beyond Huh???? to even ask myself Now, which way should I go? Thankfully, Scott pointed me in the right direction and around 5:00 I rolled into Orient.

The Stillers were still there along with several other racers in various states of relaxation. This was the most bikes I'd seen since the end of the neutral roll-out. One of the other 150-mile women was there, having decided to drop. I think she said Spotted Horse was her longest ride yet. She definitely picked a doozy; she earned that century!

I refilled a water bottle in the bathroom and bought a soda, small can of Pringles, and a Snickers ice cream bar. Nothing really looked all that good, but I wanted to sit down and eat something. It felt like I was there forever, but my Garmin data shows I was there for around 15 minutes. Before leaving I texted Mickey to let him know where I was (knowing he'd be finished soon if not already) and EJ to tell him "Good call on when you dropped. The next 50 has been SO HARD."

I followed the Stillers out of Orient, and we immediately realized that the wind, which had been blowing out of the South and West all day, had shifted to the North and we now had a headwind. At times I was able to tuck in behind them, but mostly I just really enjoyed getting to talk to them about past and upcoming races and about bikepacking.

They were on the 200-mile course and had about 40 more miles than I did at that point. If I worked hard and they backed off I could keep up on flats, but they flew down hills where I spun my legs to no avail, and despite what Joe said about them not being great on hills I couldn't keep up for long and dropped off. Their company had taken me about 8 miles from Orient; I had less than 30 to go to Winterset, the final opportunity to stop before the finish.

Thirty miles...that's like a medium Trailnet route...from hell. My normal positive self-talk tricks were subverted by tired-of-riding-this-damn-bike negativity. This is the least enjoyable "pleasure cruise" ever. Typically I like to just leave the route up and ride in blissful, no clue where I am zen, happily surprised when I reach the next point of interest. As I tired, though, zen failed me and I resorted to rationing peeks at the total mileage. Every 30 minutes (sometimes every 15 minutes...I suck at rationing) I could look and see how many miles were left.

Goodbye, sun. Nightfall gave me my first opportunity to try out the lights I bought way back in May. Good thing they worked well! #spottedhorsegravelultra #sunset #whatcouldpossiblygowrong #nofilter
6:43 p.m.
One of the really cool things about long races is seeing sunrise and sunset from the saddle. Also cool? Maybe managing to finish before sunset. But whatever.
The mileage checks gave me something to look forward to, but the math was ugly. 26 miles to go; that's only 2 hours at 13 mph. OK, that wasn't so bad, but following it up with things like 20 miles to go...that's only 2 hours at 10 mph was less happy, and there were times when I looked at the mileage in dismay, praying I'd remembered it wrong from the last time. That's all I've done in the last 15/30 minutes? This will never end. 

The 36 miles between Orient and Winterset were the longest. miles. ever. From Winterset to the finish, though, was only about 14 miles. Eventually measuring my mileage to the end became less depressing than the distance to Wintereset. 14 miles to the C-store, that means I've only got 28 miles left. That's less than a medium Trailnet route.

The Winterset Casey's was a block off-course; I saw it down the street and hesitated. I didn't really need anything. Maybe I should just finish off the last 14 miles. And then, unable to resist the lure of the bright lights and the coffee I'd been promising myself since the sun went down and the evening got chilly, I turned.

Three racers left the parking lot as I rode in, one of them a woman. I didn't know if she was in the 150 or 200 and didn't really care. I stopped my bike, gratefully climbed off, and stepped into the warmth of the building with my phone and money. I had three messages from an unfamiliar number, so I checked voice mail. It was Stretch: "Kate! I heard you were dropping. Call me!"

I called him back to tell him I wasn't dropping, just slow. I bought my coffee and ate peanut butter filled pretzels while checking facebook. Eventually the woman at the counter noticed that I'd left my bike light on, which I decided was probably a good cue to take my leave. Again, the stop felt like forever, but Garmin tells me it was only 13 minutes. Granted, it was 13 unnecessary minutes, but it made a nice morale boost. I dumped my remaining coffee into my water bottle and then took off again. 14 miles to go.

Apparently Winterset is home to some of the famous "Bridges of Madison County", and apparently the course passes directly by three of them. You couldn't prove it by me, though, because rural Iowa is mighty dark once the sun goes down.

Mile 12 was CP2, Orient was mile 32, and Winterset was mile 69. For whatever reason, the elevation scale on this profile is twice that of the one above (100 foot intervals vs 50 foot intervals)
After a general downward trend over the previous 22 miles and a 3-mile almost level lull, the course delivers a few last throat punches in the form of three huge hills. At least, they felt huge. They certainly took a long time to walk up.

Meanwhile, my bike light started to blink low battery, which would have been far less worrisome if I hadn't left my headlamp in EJ's pack. I turned it to its dim setting, which eliminated the battery issue and most of my downhill courage. While the roads had been lovely and smooth, I really didn't want to find the one bad spot by outriding my light in the wrong place.

The last hill seemed to go on forever. Finally back on my bike, I'd barely pedaled before the road appeared to rise again. Oh, please don't make me ride up another hill, I whispered in dismay. At the crest of the hill, a truck waited. I think she called out to ask my number and then cheered me on. There was one last downhill to lights and cheering and cowbells, and finally I was finished.

The first thing I said at the #spottedhorsegravelultra finish line was "That was SO hard!" Probably the toughest 150 miles I've ever ridden. Great course and a race director who was there to see all of her finishers. #girlsgonegravel #finishline #girlswho
On the left: stopping and saying, "That was SO hard!!" The other two pictures are with Sarah, who between her speedy first finishers and the rest of the field had a long time to wait out on the road.
There were only three women in the 150-mile field. One had dropped at Orient. The other had finished 16 minutes before I did.

16 minutes. Do you know how many 16 minutes-es I gave away over the course of the day? Gah. I know Katherine could say the same thing, though. Like every race, I feel more competitive about it once it's over, but I'm at peace with how it went. My priority was riding with EJ, and my second goal was to finish. Anything else was just gravy.

Sarah and her crew did a great job putting Spotted Horse together. It was a great race on a scenic and challenging course. Congratulations to everyone who took it on. Those hills...they just never stop. My 152 miles took me 16:38; in contrast, the first time I finished Dirty Kanza, I rode 204 in 19 hours. The second time, after carrying my bike through 3+ miles of peanut butter mud, took 20 hours. Spotted Horse was really hard, so much so that afterwards I said I'd need some race amnesia before signing up for it again.

So now I'm just waiting for the 2017 date to write on my calendar.

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

B(e)T(ter) Epic

I'm a slow learner.

More accurately, I guess, you could say that I'm slow to apply what I've learned and, thus, am repeatedly retaught important lessons by cruel experience. That's why, despite having a pretty good working knowledge of the birds and the bees, it took two unplanned pregnancies before I finally accepted that being consistent with birth control was imperative. That's why, despite knowing how important it is to keep fueling and hydrating on the bike, at least annually I have a soul-crushingly bad race due to not fueling and hydrating properly. And that, in turn, is why BT Epic has haunted me since last October.

The nutritional/physical/emotional debacle of last year's race has been on my mind at nearly every OT-area mountain bike ride I've done since. Anyone who's shared those miles with me could probably tell you how much of it was fun (10 miles), how much was awful (40 miles), how many times I cried (three), or relate my sense of betrayal that the last section of singletrack didn't lead straight down to the finish. "Let it go," they'd say. "It was just a bad day."

"I know, but..."


I stewed for a year, rode significantly more miles in 2016, and avoided going into the race with a recent injury/high levels of antibiotics in my system. I spent a lot of time on the Ozark Trail this summer. I was really excited about BT Epic until the drive down, when race nerves kicked in full force.

Last-minute terror aside, staying at Bass and hanging out around a campfire the night before was far nicer than the early-morning drive we made last year. Camping with friends is the best way to start a race weekend, even if the temperature did drop into the low 30's and make me reluctant to climb out of my sleeping bag the next morning.

BTE 2016
Race morning
Chuck, Steve, and I started almost as far back as possible, shivering in the morning chill, chatting with friends, and not really listening to the last-minute race director talk.  I was so distracted that the starting gun scared me. "Oh, I guess it's time to start pedaling..."

Leg 1: Bass to Brazil Creek ~10 miles 1:22

The first big climb up the gravel sucked, leading to the un-mantra that always echoes through my mind at times like those: I ride my bike way too much to feel this out of shape. Once the hill leveled out I settled in to enjoy the nice, safe gravel. Apprehensive as always about singletrack, I was grateful to have a few miles of low-stress warm-up.

I chased Chuck onto the Ozark Trail, remembering how fun this section had been last year but feeling weirdly tentative considering how non-tricky it is.  He was quicker to pass other people than I was, and we got separated a few miles in. I leapfrogged for a while with Sally before catching her just before the descent into Brazil Creek.  As long as we were on relatively flat ground or climbing I could keep up, but we were about to hit a long downhill and I'm hesitant to pass anyone under those circumstances. Turns out I was right to hold back. She almost immediately disappeared from my view and ended up putting a minute on me on the descent.

2015 vs 2016: I was disappointed to be about 12 minutes slower hitting the first aid station this year, but I'd kept eating and drinking, which made a big difference in the rest of my day.

Leg 2: Brazil Creek to Berryman Campground ~10 miles 1:38

I didn't need anything at the aid station, so I rolled on through, crossing highway W and beginning the climb where everything had begun to unravel last year. This was a totally different experience. I felt great and posted my fastest time on that segment. What a huge confidence boost! I rode and chatted for a while with Al until I lost him, and then I was basically on my own for the rest of that leg.

There have been several reroutes build on this section of the Berryman trail, and they make the ride so much more flowy and fun. The newest reroute, finished just the previous week, was a little less so. I'd anticipated a smooth ride after all the leaders packed down the fresh trail; I hadn't factored in the 2" of rain the area had received days before. The new trail ranged from unpleasantly soft to practically unridable. I ended up hiking my bike up the last hill here rather than blow out my legs digging ruts into the dough-like surface.

MK caught me shortly after the new trail and we yo-yo'd back and forth. I'd open a gap on the climbs and then lose ground with my cautious descending and inability to ride switchbacks. One problem with being semi-familiar with the course is a heightened awareness of my trouble spots, so I was all ready to pull up short when I came to a rooty turn that is probably so easy to ride but looks scary. MK may have been slightly less ready for me to stop and ended up toppling over and slightly downhill. I'm not sure it was my fault, but it sure felt like that. Rather than cause her any further problems, I waited for her to go ahead before starting up again.

In no time we were rolling into Berryman Campground, where Lori was waiting. I'd felt like I was moving really slowly, so I was surprised to hear that Chuck was only 10 minutes ahead of me. I switched out bottles of Perpetuem, grabbed a bag of food, remembered I needed my camelbak filled, and then rolled out of the campground without the food I'd meant to take.  I actually remembered it before I hit the trail, but some quick calculations convinced me that I had enough calories left that I didn't need to turn around.

2015 vs 2016: I hit the second CP 9 minutes faster this year (measuring time from the start of the race), which is already an improvement, but that 9 minute improvement doesn't tell the whole story. In 2015 this second leg took me 2 hours; this year it was only 1:38 for a slightly longer trail with a little hike a bike (due to the new reroute). 

Leg 3: Berryman Campground to Bass ~20 miles 3:09

I caught up with a guy shortly after leaving the campground and he pulled over to the side to let me pass. "I'm pretty slow downhill," I warned him, to which he responded, "I'm pretty slow all-around."  That kind of thing always makes me laugh from someone who's ahead of me, and I was convinced that he'd pass me back any minute. As it turned out, I was wrong.

This side of the Berryman loop has two things I've never been able to ride -- a sharp switchback and a rocky step -- but once I was past those I relaxed and just rode. I felt super slow on the uphills but less fearful on the descents. I was sporting a big bruise on my right hip from washing out on some loose rock the previous week on this section, so I watched like a hawk for that trouble spot but never noticed it or had any problems, and before I knew it I was turning back onto the Ozark Trail and heading towards the gravel.  Last year I'd greeted the dirt fire road climb to the road with despair and walking; this time I rode all of it except for one quick stop for some electrolytes.

OT/Bass/Berryman 2016
Riding the forest road up towards the gravel the previous Sunday

Craig passed me when I stopped at the water jugs to check if I needed to top off my camelbak. "Do I get a little happy face on my number for each time I pass you?" he joked. A far better technical rider, he'd ended up behind me after stopping for a mechanical. Once I hit the gravel, though, I felt amazing. speeding along and passing several people before turning back onto the Ozark Trail.

This section of the race includes the infamous "Three Sisters", but even before hitting the first of these climbs always I seem to forget how to ride my bike. Naturally that's where Craig passed me again. In a weird-for-me twist, though, I was riding more of the uphills than many of the people around me, leading to some Twilight Zone alternate dimension where guys were telling me, "Go ahead, you'll beat me up this hill." Granted, they always caught me on the downhill, but it was still pretty cool.

OT/Bass/Berryman 2016
Taken the previous Sunday atop the final sister before Bass.

Almost 40 miles in, I was tired but didn't feel awful, and riding along the top of the third sister I savored the gorgeous weather and the fall scenery. Missouri may lack the drama of Colorado, but it has no shortage of beauty. I caught up with a girl from Texas on the way back down to Bass, passed her on the field, and sped along the road to where Lori and Mickey (who had finished long before) were waiting at the turn for the last short loop.

"Chuck's just 5 minutes ahead of you!" they told me. I still had a partial bottle of Perpetuem and had them fill my empty with water so I could leave behind my Camelbak; then I hurried off to see if I could finally catch my friend.

2015 vs. 2016: I got to this point in the race an hour faster this year than last. In 2015 the Berryman Campground to Bass leg took me 4:01; this year it was 3:09. I felt a million times better, too. 

Leg 4: OT loop west of Bass ~8 miles 1:06

Last year I'd believed that this leg was a ride up Butts Rd (a big, paved climb), along a gravel road, and down a short stretch of Ozark Trail to the finish line. I was incredibly betrayed by the realization that the "short stretch down" was only the last mile and that Butts Road, which I'd had to walk a huge piece of, was hardly the end of my climbing. I didn't take my disillusionment with good grace, and it's embarrassing now to think back to what a trainwreck I was.

This is not all downhill.
This year I knew what to expect, both from my 2015 BT Epic experience and a two rides on this section in the past few months. I made it up the initial climb with no walking and flew down the gravel, passing a guy who was pulled over on the side of the road fighting cramps.

He passed me back as I walked my bike down the rocky drops just past the overlook and I think Craig closed in on me again here, but I pulled ahead on the next uphill. When I started to get sick of all the climbing, I thought back to the summer day we rode this piece of OT as an out-and-back: This felt way more uphill on the way out, I reminded myself, You're going in the down direction. You're practically finished.

Craig caught me once again as I got ready to push my bike up a rock ledge. "After all of this, you know we have to ride across the finish line together!" he told me.

We reached the gravel road where a volunteer directed us across to -- finally -- the last downhill before the finish line. I waved Craig in front of me, knowing that following me there would be no fun for someone who takes hills as fast as he does. I did my best to stay close and managed to hang in there for a little while before getting nervous on a curve and braking. Almost immediately he disappeared from sight, but as I emerged from the trail there he was, waiting for me before the finish line, which we crossed together moments later.

2015 vs. 2016: This leg took me 1:28 last year, and I cried at least once. This year it took 1:06, no tears.

I finished in 7:15, cutting about an hour and a half off of last year's time. I couldn't turn off my finish line smile and had so many friends there to share it with. It took me forever to get showered and changed because I kept running into more people to celebrate with. This year's race had been such a good experience, such a redemption..so different from last year.

It had been such a good day. No crashes, no mechanicals, no nutritional failures. I remembered to eat, I didn't spend 40 miles crying and feeling awful. I rode mostly solo but never felt alone, talking to people throughout the day. I never felt awesome, but I never felt really bad, either; it was a good, consistent effort.

That's not to say there wasn't room for improvement. I had about 19 minutes of non-moving time, which isn't that bad over seven hours; I was efficient at the two stops with crew, thanks to Lori's help. I made one unnecessary stop at the mile 31ish water stop that cost me a couple extra minutes when a friendly ambulance guy kept talking to me, and any other time lost was quick stops along the trail, which I kept to a minimum.

I think the biggest need for improvement, though, is in my technical riding. I almost always lose ground on hills, but lack of confidence on rocks, roots, and switchbacks really costs me. Each segment of the race was punctuated by things I "know" I can't ride, and it's not just the time lost in walking something vs. riding it but also in the loss of momentum.  So my goal for the next year is to improve on that. And have a finish time that starts with a 6.

As do-overs go, though, 2016 was a pretty good one.

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

No Sleep 30 hour part 4: Enter sandman

Great title for part four. I had to play this in the background while reading:  Enter Sandman

It was dark at when Chuck and I rolled into TA2, a road/trail junction near the One Horse Gap area. It had taken us 5.5 hours to cover the 24 miles of the previous bike leg, a whopping 4.5 mph average. Granted, much of that time had been spent stopped, staring blankly at maps, or riding really slowly as we doubted our course; and yes, we'd actually covered more than 24 miles thanks to our reroute. At that pace, the remaining 38 miles would take us nearly nine of our remaining ten hours.

We'd considered trying for at least one of the Trek 2 points if there was one relatively close, but Mike's Hike and Bike came in from their trek while we were figuring out the route for the remaining legs. Hearing that the No Sleep team was still on the second trek, they commented how hard it would be in the night. That wasn't particularly encouraging given the difficulty we'd had in the early morning darkness, and none of the points were very close. The last nail in the trek 2 coffin was hearing that the next bike leg, a mere 14 miles, had taken perennial powerhouse (and eventual winner) Alpine Shop three hours. In the daylight. It seemed quite clear that our best move was to get back on the bikes.

Trek (CP 20-23 any order) -- 8 miles

One of the awesome things about adventure racing is the opportunity to change disciplines. As I referenced earlier, another bike leg sounds fantastic when you're tired of being on your feet. Pedal for hours and even paddling a canoe starts to sound appealing.

This, basically.
Photo credit: Chris Radcliffe
Given these facts of AR life, while leapfrogging the trek may have kept us on track to be official finishers, that insurance came at a cost. We'd just spent over 5 hours on our bikes and were climbing back on without an extended break. It's not like 5 hours of biking is a big deal on its own; I've spent a ton of time on the bike this year, but somehow this race had evoked next-level chafing. Maybe it was that long trek in bike shorts, maybe it was an over-reliance on the A&D Ointment I'd expected to help, but as I settled back onto the saddle I flashed back to a tale from the Virtus vault and had a new understanding of Bob's suffering (and subsequent decision).

Luke: At one point, the chafage got bad enough that Bob walked behind us with his shorts pulled down to his knees. He was "letting it all hang out", so to speak.
Bob: I feel like I should mention...I was the guy who never showered in gym class, electing to smell like a jockstrap over standing around in a shower-room with my business out in the street. Fast forward 20 years and here I am walking in the woods waiting for my junk to burst into flames. I enjoy a brief reprieve while I'm "airing it out"...

There's plenty more to the story, and that whole race report is totally worth reading, but suffice it to say I now totally got it. Not quite enough to walk around pants-less, but enough to think about it.

Bike to TA3/Shelter House (CPs 24-26 in order) -- 14 miles

We pulled out of TA2 just ahead of Mike's Hike and Bike. Fearing I was going to have to walk up the big hill we'd ridden down on the way in, I'd hoped they would leave first so as not to witness my shame, but I ended up riding the whole thing. Our teams leapfrogged back and forth for much of this bike leg, one team passing while the other stopped to check maps and then vice versa.

We all initially made the same wrong turn and then reset and arrived at the correct road at about the same time. Chuck and I plunged ahead while Mike's rode a little further on the main road to make sure they were at the right spot.  We'd been warned about how gnarly this stretch -- appropriately named "Bushwhack Road" -- would be, and it was as bad as advertised.

Initially, I wasn't impressed. I mean, it was basically an overgrown doubletrack dirt road, super rocky but no worse than the cemetery road Chuck and I had summitted earlier in the day. Plus, it was basically flat. We found checkpoint 24 (road/trail junction) with no problem, and then Chuck estimated what our mileage should be when we reached the turn to CP25.

"Wait, didn't we rule out 25?" I asked. After looking at the long, steep out and back required to get to that checkpoint, I'd been advocating to skip it since the pre-race meeting.

See...not highlighted, because we weren't going there. Like I said, a lot of climbing. 
Chuck's point was that, going for CP25 or not, it would be a good collecting feature to know where we were. We could game-day our decision once we got there. With that, we continued down Bushwhack Road.

I was pondering how much easier the road was than we'd been warned when we hit the first mud puddle. The first of many. Some we were able to ride through or around, but others spread the width of the road and were 10 feet long. We did a lot of walking, slopping through or carrying our bikes around soupy mud that smelled progressively worse with each puddle. I mourned my new brakes with every scrapey rotation of my filthy wheels. At one point, as we were all off the bikes again, I told Steve from Mike's Hike and Bike that after this leg they should change their name to "Mike's Hike-a-Bike".
Really shitty picture of Chuck carrying his bike through the mud puddle. I'm standing in water, and you can see the reflection of his blinky light in the water up where he is, too. (10:15 p.m.)
All this slow progress and bike carrying made it really hard to judge distance, but I thought I heard Chuck say that we'd passed the turnoff to CP25 (good riddance) and later he marveled, "I can't believe this took Alpine Shop 3 hours. We're making really good time."

Now, had we been thinking, we might have paused to consider the likelihood that we, in the darkness, were crushing the time that our elite friends had logged on this inhospitable stretch during the daylight. For some reason, most likely because it was close to 11 p.m. and we'd been racing for nearly 24 hours and it was a lovely thing to believe, this never occurred to us.

Slightly ahead of us, we saw Mike's HAB made a right turn off the road, which had finally gotten less muddy and terrible. "Why would they do that?" Chuck asked, looking at the map. "Oh! This must be our turn!"

We passed a sign listing names, and the words "War Bluff" caught my eye; that sounded familiar for some reason. I was so happy that we were almost done with this bike leg that I didn't even mind the way the road kept going up...and up...and wow, this is really steep. It was hard to even push our bikes up, and clearly the Mike's team had the same thought because we came across their bikes lying on the side of the road.

I was confused. Why would they leave their bikes behind if we were on our way back to the real roads? Chuck clearly had the same thought and started looking again at the map. I mentioned the sign at the turn, and he said, "Wait, it said 'War Bluff'?...This is the trail to CP25!"

Grrrr, another freaking nav error!  Everybody makes a mistake once in a while, but this was getting ridiculous.  I was getting really frustrated with myself.  I just wasn't able to get into my normal focus/map immersion zone for this race.  I kept wandering back through Jeep scenarios and senseless  internal dialogue "What will we do about the Jeep - rent a car. rent a truck, call a tow, call Lori, hitch a ride".  "Oh shit, were we were supposed to turn there?"   Luckily I have an awesome teammate who hunched over the maps and helped talk us through these rough spots with honest encouragement and not a bit of blame.

If we were relying on my nav skills we'd be lost forever, so there's no judgement from me.

So much for skipping that one. I think I took the news pretty well. We completed the trek to the top, and even in the darkness it was clearly a really cool spot. I'd love to see it in the daylight, especially if I got a ride to the top.

The climb was bad, but even worse was the dispiriting realization that, rather than being almost finished, we were only about halfway through this bike leg. Thankfully, the ride down was much easier than the push up. Before long we were back out on the road, which, even more thankfully, was exponentially better from that point on. We hit CP26 (bridge) on our way and then, after one missed turn, rolled into TA3 in Golconda at around 12:30 a.m.

Paddle (CP 27-30 any order) -- 12 miles

We'd already decided to skip the paddle, instead taking a leisurely break from our saddles, changing into dry socks, and enjoying some Ramen noodles while lying on the ground. Mike's HAB was just putting in when we arrived and returned just as we left, so we certainly had time to go out and get at least one paddle CP.  In retrospect, it seems kind of lame that we didn't, especially since we heard the creek paddle was pretty easy, but at the time it felt really good to just rest a little.

Bike to TA4/Goose Bay Shelter (CP 31-33 in order) -- 24 miles

As lovely as our break had been, getting back on the bikes was a fresh hell. My sweaty shorts pressed against my raw skin, making everything sting and burn. I stood on the pedals as much as possible, but this made every time I had to sit hurt anew. The trick was to just settle in and take it -- after a while the pain would dull -- but this was easier said than done. We walked the first hill out of town just because I couldn't bear sitting on the saddle, and once we got back on the bikes every shift in position was accompanied by whimpering and wincing.

Eventually I took some ibuprofen, and while that eased the pain it created a new problem. No longer tortured into wakefulness by the electrifying sensation of a power sander to my genitalia, I fought to keep my eyes open.  Every time we stopped for a map check or to re-fold maps I'd lie my head on my handlebars, desperate for a moment or two of sleep. And every time, just as I closed my eyes Chuck would ask me a question or need me to hold a map.

Of course, Chuck had slept even less than I had the previous morning and had the additional mental strain of navigating and all day long. If anyone deserved a nap, it was him.

He steered us through the bike leg, and things went well until we arrived at the corner where we'd plotted CP31 and couldn't find the flag anywhere. We made a turn and rode a little further...it totally matched what we should see after the CP. We backed up and retraced our steps. Everything checked out. We returned to our corner and rode the opposite direction. Everything pointed to us being in the correct spot...everything except the absence of the control flag. Meanwhile, neighborhood dogs were going crazy barking as we rode back and forth.

We returned to the corner to look again, running into Mike's HAB there. Chuck asked if they had 31 plotted there, and they did. We went off again to look for the flag. "What are you looking for?" their navigator asked.

"The flag."

"There is no flag. This is one of the clue CPs."

Further evidence of just how tired we had gotten In fact. I seem to remember a conversation about shadow squirrels and inflatable mylar lambs during this bike leg?

I have no memory of the mylar lamb comment, which was apparently mine.

I was the one with the clue sheet (buried in my pack). It was my job to know and remember this kind of detail, and I'd totally forgotten about it. Huge fail. Thank goodness we ran into them, or we'd have missed getting credit for that point even though we were there. As it was, we probably lost a half hour or more.

We had to write the answer to the questions on the passport.
Chuck did a great job on the nav through the next points. We ticked off CP32 (road intersection) and then made the steep, steep climb to a cemetery to find a date on a gravestone (CP33). Chuck kept talking about seeing ghosts, and the fogged-up windows of the little church there added a spooky touch. I just wanted to get our CP and get out of there.

Smooth nav aside, this bike leg wasn't without minor drama. About to turn onto a gravel road out in the country at 3 a.m., we pulled aside as a car swerved around a corner and stopped. An obviously drunk guy was very interested in what we were doing in the middle of the night. "We're bike racing!" Chuck told him, not even attempting to explain adventure racing to that audience.

Haha. That guy had his excitement level cranked to maximum.

Next up, we passed the house party/bonfire where our buddy and his equally drunk girlfriend had probably been. "Hey, come have some beers with us!" someone called. Normally we'd be up for a drink stop, but this time we declined the invitation and rode on.  There were some fun, slightly sketchy downhills, and then we were rolling on a lovely, level road into the forest, into the park, and back into the TA at 5:04 a.m. Our Alpine Shop friends had just come back in minutes before, having nearly cleared the course.

Trek (CP 34-43 any order) -- 10 miles

There were an additional 10 points to plot, but with less than an hour before the race end we figured we wouldn't have time to do any trekking by the time we finished plotting. And, really, we were both very OK with that.  29 hours of racing was plenty for us.


The first order of business was to shower and get out of our race clothes, so we made the short trek over to the campground showers, where at least the girls' room had unlimited hot water (and a super high shower head, which was a big treat. Usually they hit me at about shoulder height). Apparently the guys' showers only ran for a few minutes before they had to push a button to start the water again.

So unfair.

We got back just in time for a delicious breakfast of French toast, fruit, and sausage, and then awards were announced. Not surprisingly, Alpine Shop had won the overall race. Also not surprisingly (because we were the only team in it), we took first place in our division. But out of 7 teams who started, we were one of only 4 official finishers. Not being fast, you really had to race smart (and be lucky...no health issues, no mechanicals) for that, and we were proud of our race management.

1st place 2p coed
We got the Adventure Medical Kits .9 kit as well as awesome paddles handmade from reclaimed old barn wood with the race name and a Shawnee National Park quarter in the handle. Thanks to John Haddad for making such cool awards.

Nap time!  
Post-race we crashed in the tents we'd set up what seemed like days before and got a couple hours of sleep before Chuck's wonderful wife got there, having driven 3.5 hours from home, picking up a car battery on the way. I babysat bikes and gear while they ran into Golconda, returning triumphantly with a working Jeep. We fought to stay awake for the drive home, then slept the sleep of the dead once we got there. Well, after I helped Jacob with his math homework, anyway.


Reading over all of these race report installments, I'm afraid it doesn't come across how much I loved this race. We had a terrible pre-race and probably struggled more on our nav than in any other race we've done together. I was nervous on the cliffs in the darkness, terrified on the rappel, and so uncomfortable on my bike for the last half of the race, but physically I felt strong, which was a huge lift after struggling so much at Thunder Rolls. I had a blast and saw so many cool, beautiful places.  If you weren't there, you really missed out. No Sleep puts on a first-rate event. I'm already excited for next year's race.

Yes!  like Kate said, even with all of our struggles this was a fantastic event.  I definitely want to do it again. 

Thursday, September 22, 2016

No Sleep 30 Hour part 3: Bermuda Triangle

Note: If you're just starting this saga, you're going to want to first check out our prologue, part 1, and part 2 to get caught up with the action.  

Chuck and I had just trekked for about 10.5 hours, spending the majority of that time with wet feet. I had extra socks but didn't want to waste them in damp shoes. By the time we arrived back at TA1, slipping my pruney feet into dry socks and bike shoes was sweet, sweet relief.

Bike to TA2/Road-trail junction (CPs 14-19 in order) -- 24(?) miles

I was thrilled to give my sore feet a break on the bike leg right until I lowered myself onto the saddle and realized just how chafed I was from trekking all that time in bike shorts. While not (yet) agonizing, it wasn't pleasant.  We took gravel roads to the road/trail intersection where we found CP14 (lower left-hand corner on map below). From there the trail diverged: singletrack to the left, doubletrack to the right; with apologies to Mr. Frost, we took the path more traveled, because it was faster and easier.

Our intended route is highlighted in orange. 
We followed the doubletrack until the turn for CP15 (reentrant), a quick singletrack out-and-back made longer by some seriously muddy sections of trail. Pedal, pedal, splat. Pedal, pedal, walk. Before long I managed to bury my foot in the slop; my long-anticipated dry socks had lasted maybe an hour.

After finding 15 without incident, we retraced our steps and proceeded towards 16, described on the clue sheet as "creek trail junction (one-eyed biker)". Probably reading that information with a mental whatever the hell that means while plotting, we'd only noted the junction on our map. And speaking of the map, our route looks pretty straightforward when you look at that map I posted. Looks being the operative word.

I didn't know about the one-eyed biker clue until I read this!


While the trail overlays on the map are (apparently...you certainly couldn't prove it by us) accurate because they're taken from the race directors' GPS data, what the map doesn't reflect is other trails weaving across the terrain. Some were labeled with numbers, some weren't. It made my head hurt, and I pretty quickly checked out mentally from trying to have any clue where we were. The trails were muddy, rocky, and horsed-up; I really wasn't feeling it at the time and went through a low spot mentally as I struggled to maintain any momentum on the trails. I wish Bob or Lo was here with Chuck; he'd be having so much more fun with them on these trails. Why am I so bad at this? I'm the worst BEST race partner ever.

We reached the creek/trail junction where Chuck thought the CP would be. No luck. We explored to our right where the trail sort of ran into the creek and then petered out in a big gravel bar/logjam. Nothing. We backed up and crossed the creek at the original intersection, somewhat stymied when the trail split again soon after. Somewhere around here Chuck, looking blankly at the map, muttered, "I don't know where we are...or where the checkpoint is...or what to do."  I greeted this admission with one part quiet depression, one part cheerful confidence that he'd get it sorted out, and no parts help of any kind.

We took the high side of the split (is this right, Chuck? I don't know) and continued on to yet another creek crossing. While Chuck looked at the map, I glanced across the creek and spotted (oh, joy!) a cyclist sitting or standing near his bike. "Look! Maybe that guy knows his way around here," I said. "Let's go ask him."

As Chuck got closer, he turned back towards me and mouthed, "This is going to get weird." 

The 'guy' hadn't moved a muscle in the whole time we'd been talking and walking toward him.  Then I noticed the walker behind him...wtf?

Our would-be savior turned out to be some beat up mannequin/statue thing with two ramshackle bikes beside it. Walking around it to take in all the crazy, Chuck exclaimed, "No way!" and held out a CP marker.

"Which one is it?" I asked.


Somehow, despite having no clue where we were, we'd stumbled across the very checkpoint we were searching for.  

After getting back home, a night of sleep, and a couple of meals, I took another look at the map for this area.  Details that I missed during the actual race jumped out at me in perfect clarity.  I really want to go back and re-ride that section.

One-eyed biker...now the clue I hadn't read made sense. (4:53 p.m.)
Back on track in this Bermuda Triangle trail system, we set off towards CP17 with renewed hope, locating the correct trail just a bit behind the weird bike statue thing and heading east.  As we navigated mud bogs, creek crossings, rocks, and log jams, our confidence in the trail waned, but since it was going in the right direction we proceeded along, stopping frequently to question ourselves.

Chuck started mentioning that he thought we'd gone too far. Given our recent history, it was a real toss-up.  We'd kept going once when he was right about going too far, and we'd turned around just a bit too soon when we'd mistakenly thought we were too far.  We kept going forward in the hopes we needed to just go a little further, but the sun was getting lower, and as much as I'd struggled on these trails in the daylight I really, really didn't want to still be on them in the dark.

Eventually we retreated to our known location (the one-eyed biker CP) to reattack. There we sat down with the map. We weren't sure where we'd gone wrong, and the sun continued its downward trajectory. Looking up the steep, rocky road leading north from the checkpoint I asked, "Can that help us get the hell out of here and bail onto roads before it gets dark?"  Yes, it could. Bailing meant extra mileage and missing checkpoints 17-19, but at this point those were no sure thing and (that same old refrain) we knew we weren't going to clear the course anyway.

My relief was quickly overshadowed by the fact that our escape route required riding 195 miles (that may be a slight exaggeration) uphill on a "road" paved with chunky rock. Not big river gravel, these were more like cobblestones from hell. We reached the summit and turned onto an actual gravel road just before I could give in to tears. Thankfully, from that point on the roads became much more rideable; that, in combination with actually knowing where we were, was a huge lift.

We certainly didn't pick the flattest way to bypass the rest of the single-track.  At one point we were grinding up some giant hill, and an on-coming pickup truck slowed to a stop next to us and rolled down the driver side window:  "If ya'll wanna grab onto my tailgate, I'll give you a tow to the top."  Such friendly people in the Shawnee Forest!

Lol! I'd forgotten all about that. And there were also the two girls we ran into by the waterfall checkpoint on the trek who asked if we were with the race. When we said we were, they offered, "Do you want some help?"

Simultaneously, one of us answered, "Yes!" and the other said, "No!"  They gave us a funny look and walked off.

Stopping at an intersection, we attracted the attention of an older lady who was just coming home. Seeing us looking over the maps, she offered help. "Where are you trying to get?"

We were navigating by a topographical map with no road names, riding towards a road/trail junction more or less in the middle of nowhere. Try explaining that to someone unfamiliar with adventure racing. "Hartsville," Chuck answered, pulling a name off the map.

"Well, I don't know where that is," she replied. "But this is such and such road, and you can take it a couple miles to 145."

"That's off limits," we told her. She looked at our maps with the blank confusion I generally feel and repeated, "This is such and such road." We thanked her for her "help" and rode away.

She was so funny and well intentioned.  After announcing how she'd lived here all her life, we discovered her local geography was limited to the name of the road we were standing on and little else.  Luckily, we had a good grasp on the navigation again and didn't have to rely on her kindly help.

Despite the fact that we were totally winging it, Chuck did a fantastic job navigating our impromptu route. No longer preoccupied with fear of being doomed to wander Shawnee singletrack for eternity, I was reminded just how uncomfortably chafed I was, but when I wasn't wincing in pain on the saddle I was appreciating just how beautiful our surroundings were and feeling glad that, whatever I'd told Chuck during Thunder Rolls about skipping this race, we'd decided to make the trip.

It looks pretty bright in this picture, but sunset was definitely in progress. (7:31 p.m.)

We didn't quite make it to the TA before night fell, so we made a quick stop on the road to pull out headlamps and jackets against the rapidly falling temperature and then rode into TA2 just before 8 p.m. At 20 hours into the race we still had another 10 to go and lots of course left. But first, we had to finally get to that route planning.

...to be continued...