If I judge the leadville race this year on finish time alone, it was probably my worst race yet, coming in with a chip time of 11:15:00. But based on the total suffer-factor, it was probably my best race. Meaning some parts of the race were actually gratifying, I had no leg cramping, and did not puke even once. Throughout the entire race there is a continuous misery, but there are varying relative degrees of misery. But the degree of misery soars when you are about to puke, have just puked, have a splitting headache, legs cramping, etc. Thankfully my race did not get to that level, which, of 7 years of leadville, is a first. So, you could even say it was my best race ever.
Because I didn’t race last year, I was put in the last corral, with all of the newbies and people who previously lacked the grit, guts and determination to finish the race in under 12 hours. This starts me off at a disadvantage because there are about 1000 people in front of me. A narrowing of the course about 100 feet past the starting line created a 4.5 minute delay after the race began for me to pass that spot and actually be able to ride the bike. Then there are constant stops and starts as the hills begin, and a very slow pace up the first climb. All in all, I would say the impact of this considering my goal time of 10 - 10:30 was only about 15 minutes, and it was taking me some time to warm up, so the pace, while not advantageous to my goal time, was comfortable. The temperature at the start was 38 degrees. The first 10 minutes of the race is downhill. By the time the descent was through, my face was in serious pain from the cold and my fingers numb.
Even with the starts and stops on the first climb, I was breathing harder than I expected. I’m hoping it’s the adjustment to altitude. I don’t do well with altitude adjustment, often feeling ill the first day of arrival. Spending the prior day in Leadville (10,200’ elevation), 2 days after my arrival to the high country, left me dizzy, tired, and with a headache. This is where I started to question my lack of training and whether I was in even worse shape than I had thought. Two years ago I did not do any formal training, and it was the only other year where I had felt some suffering on the first climb. The demons were already telling me that sub-10 hr was unlikely. On another note regarding training, I wouldn’t say I “didn’t train”. I’m in good shape, but I’ve been in much better shape. The 3-day a week bike commute/intervals turned mostly into 1-day a week medium/hard effort rides. Weekend rides turned into every other weekend short rides. However, sporadically leading up to the race, I showed up to several Catoctin Mountain torturefest rides led by sub-9 hr Leadville hopefuls who were really serious about training. We would do up to 7,000 feet of climbing in as little as 50 miles, which would totally waste me. Showing up for these kinds of rides kept me in the game.
The thing I noticed year after year of Leadville is race power does not build upon itself. If you don’t train, you lose all of your power, quickly. This means your average speed drops. A better way of saying it is the pedaling speed as which your legs fatigue, cramp, and you feel like shit drops. Conversely, race endurance does seems to build, even after fat winters on the sofa. Given that I have done very few long rides, I had no leg cramps, I didn’t have any serious problem riding 100 miles, and my final third of the race, where many people fall apart, was very strong, which has been the case now for the past several years. I also think I figured out my nutrition issues, which in the past have caused nausea, throwing up, and leg cramping. The problem was solved this year mostly by ditching the pre-measured baggies of barely palatable powder mix and drinking electrolyte water and whatever looked good at the aid stations. I also cut my calorie intake by about 30% and concentrated primarily on water and electrolyte intake, and then ingesting additional calories cautiously and only if I was confident my stomach could handle it.
After the first climb the race opened up with a 10 minute road descent and then second climb up sugarloaf mountain, which is a gradual albeit slightly rocky but not really technical climb. It also has one of the most beautiful views of the entire race. The pace on this climb was good and I never have any problem with this climb. After comes the power line descent, which is one of the hairiest and most technical descents of the race. It’s basically a huge gash in the side of the mountain that you can see from the highway from miles away. It is deeply rutted and loose rocks fill in and around some of them. It’s about a 10 minute white knuckle trip to the bottom. While I did not pre-ride it, I heard it was not in great shape and there was a high likelihood of crashes, given that many leadville racers are recent roadie to MTB converts. I have no problem with the technical descents. The only thing i’m ever guilty of is going too fast and taking risks, and I think i do it purely for the enjoyment. My way of making all of the hard work pay off is by descending with reckless abandon, sometimes passing people as if they are standing still. The downside is riding like that causes me to have to steer off of the ‘good lines’ and plow down the loose rocks and ruts that everyone else is trying to avoid. I’m prepared to do this on the Powerline descent if the mood strikes.
The descent begins much faster than I expect, and I was astonished that there was no early backlog of riders. I’m guessing the sugarloaf climb spaced people out enough for the descent. Not even one minute into the descent, my rear wheel feels like it could be flat, confirmed by a rider behind me. Over the years I’ve had a near perfect streak of no technical problems during the race, which has now ended. I pull off to the side, flip the bike over, and spin the tires, looking for notube fluid bubbling out in attempt to find the source of the leak. I am unable to find it. Converting a tubeless tire to a tube is a hassle so I take the chance of trying to re-inflate with one of my two CO2 canisters, hoping that maybe a rock pinched the tire off the rim briefly, thus ‘burping’ the air out. As the air drains out of the CO2 canister, I see the notube fluid now bubbling out the sidewall of the tire, and a half inch slit is plainly visible. I am clearly going to need a tube. Thankfully, when getting last minute supplies a couple days prior to the race, I picked up ‘tire boots’, which are rectangular ‘stickers’ which reinforce the sidewalls of tires that suffer this exact problem, preventing the tube from bulging out the side.
I begin the process of taking the wheel off. The stubborn tire requires the use of a tire lever, and then milky stans fluid seeps out as the tire is removed. A tire boot will not stick to a wheel that has had notube fluid in it, no matter how you try to dry it. This is ok but there is a delicate process of placing the boot onto the sidewall, putting in the tube, and getting it all put together and filled with air without the boot sliding away from the area you need it.
I get the boot/tube/rim put back together and fill with my second and last CO2. It inflates about 50% of the pressure I need. I then pull out a pump and have some difficulty getting it onto the valve. I pump and continue to pump for several minutes. I believe 5 or 10 minutes escape without me noticing, and I’m realizing that I’m unable to attain a pressure greater than 50% of my optimal pressure. I spend more time trying to figure out whether air is leaking out of the seal of the pump, reseating the pump, etc., I give up and hope I can get down the mountain with 50% air and find someone's crew at the bottom with a floor pump who may be able to help me out. I gather up all of my things, which are now splayed out on the trail around me and stuff them back into the camelbak, put the wheel back onto the bike, and get back on ready to descend, only to realize that my tire is completely flat. The valve must have been bad or damaged during inflation. Now, after wasting at least 15 minutes, I get a re-do of my predicament.
I’m roughly an hour and 20 minutes from the twin lakes aid station. The aid station has a cutoff at 4 hours total race time. if you don’t make it through in 4 hours, your race is done. I’ve done this race enough times that I’ve previously crunched every split there is from every corner of this race. At a 9:30:00 pace, I would be through the aid station in 3 hours. At a 10-10:30 pace, I would be through in about 3:30:00. My crew is waiting with my nutrition refills a few minute short of the checkpoint. The nutrition stop takes 3-5 minutes to gain enough fluids and food to make it up the 2600’ climb up to Columbine Mine, to 12,500’. I’m trying not to panic, realizing that precious time is running out, and assuming I do get myself out of this predicament, I’m going to need to ride the time trial of my life to get to twin lakes, likely riding straight past my crew, ditching my nutrition strategy, and getting fuel and water from the general aid station just past the checkpoint.
I only carry one tube with me, which means I need to rely on one from another racer. Because I began at the last corral, the field of racers still passing me are few and far between. Luckily the slow guys are also the nicest. Most of them shout out to see if I need anything, and I was able to get a tube from a rider. I again begin the process of changing out the tube. This time, with the slippery fluid, the tire lever jettisoned out of my hand behind me 15 feet down into a ravine, which I had to crawl down to fetch. I am now feeling the stings of giant horse mosquitos that apparently have all learned about this party. The tube was a very thin 26” tube, which I’ve heard is a strategy to keep your load light during a race. I was worried because I’d never tried a 26” tube on a 29” wheel, and as I pushed the tube around the rim, it would pop off on the other side. After what seemed like minutes wrestling with the tube (but likely only seconds), I got it on, re-fit the boot, and began pumping the tire with my pump. The tire was inflating quite quickly and I was gaining confidence that this fix was working. I spent a little extra time ensuring that the pressure was high enough to not risk a pinch flat down the 10 minute technical descent. I am now the last person in this race, meaning no more tubes that I could borrow from anyone.
I again begin the descent. Realizing that I am somewhat manic in my plight to make the cutoff, I consciously descend slower than normal, knowing that sacrificing a minute or two would alleviate the unnecessary risks that would surely result in a crash or a flat given my manic mental condition. I get to the bottom and race crew directs me to the hard right onto the road. As I turn I wash out and find myself splayed out on the loose asphalt. “Please tell me I’m not the first one to do that today.” “sorry to say you are”, replies the man directing traffic.
Bruised but not shaken, I get on the road and find a favorable wind blowing off the mountain. My speed is very good and while I know it’s going to be a challenge to make the cutoff, i’m gaining confidence. I continue through the pipeline aid station and I’m a bit surprised how few people I find in front of me to pass. This messes with my psyche because I’ve watched the Race Across the Sky movies where they show people getting cut off at the 4 hour mark at Twin Lakes, so I know that some people don’t make it. There are very few people behind me, so I am beginning to think that either very few people actually miss the cutoff, or that I’ve miscalculated and don’t have a chance to make it. I push harder and I find the dirt section from Pipeline to Twin Lakes go by quickly and easily. When i do pass people, i pass them authoritatively. I am relieved when I see the pavement ascent ahead that leads up the descent to Twin Lakes, where my crew and aid station are, with 13 minutes to spare. As I’m climbing the pavement, I see a motorcycle coming toward me with a biker following. I realize this is the race leader on his way back, in a spot that I will not be for at least three more hours.
I’ve very happy to see Lisa, Kevin & Jill, and the First Descents crew. I fill my camelbak with water and dump only half of the powder nutrition in, realizing that I’m feeling relatively good and the columbine climb gets extremely nauseating above 11,000’, so I keep with the low-calorie strategy that seems to be working.
I continue along the single track across the twin lakes dam, not paying as much attention as i should, as a rider is on a collision course with me. I look up and both of us swerve to avoid a collision. “Sorry”, I say, realizing I almost took out the third place rider. I feel a huge sense of relief as I pass through the timing tent. The twin lakes aid is swarming with crew, who have narrowed the path and are all screaming and cheering, like what you see at the top of a Tour de France climb. They cheer me on with the same fervor given to the race leaders. The energy of the crew and people along the racecourse are really a unique highlight of the Leadville experience. A bit up from the aid station, I briefly stop where my friends the McHargues, the Gonzales’ and Mike LeMond have set up their aid station. I ask Nick to check the status of the boot to make sure the tube isn’t sticking through and all is good.
I work me way up the roughly two hour climb up to the Columbine Mine aid station. I’m feeling relatively good and I begin to regain a better position in the race as my pace has me passing dozens of riders. The only challenge is that the stream of riders coming down begin to increase. They are coming down very fast, some trying to pass others, and they are taking up 2/3 of the trail. Several times, I have to ask riders in front of me, some weaving in a hypoxic daze, to keep right so that I can safely pass. Even when they as far right as they are willing to go, I still have to find a pocket where riders are not descending in order to pass.
Eventually I reach the point above tree-line called “The Goat Trail”, where the road steepens and becomes very rocky. I am able to ride about 100 feet before there is a steady trail of walkers. From here on, you can see the ribbon of people stretched out as far as the eye can see along the treeless mountain expanse. There are places where the trail flattens enough to get back on the bike to ride, but the people in front of me have no interest. At over 12,000’ of altitude, any attempt to leapfrog someone would causes so much exasperation and breathlessness that the effort is not worth it, so I settle in for a long hike. I eventually make it to the aid station, where I accept some endurolytes and sportlegs capsules and enjoy three cups of hot ramen noodle soup. I decide I am uninterested in mixing my pre-measured baggie of nutrition into my bottle, so I ask what options are available at the aid station. I have them fill my camelbak with Roctane energy drink, which I find surprisingly tasty. Not too sweet and very palatable. As I begin the descent, I notice dark clouds forming just to the side of us. The fast descent down energizes me and I feel some raindrops as I reach the base of the mountain. Luckily, the rain never amounts to more than a few drops, although I hear the folks behind me suffered rain and hail.
I come back to my aid station and do not take much nutrition, realizing I am enjoying my strategy of picking up goodies from the aid stations. The trip from Twin Lakes to Powerline inbound is always a very difficult part of my race. It’s a mostly flat section and it takes some drive and motivation to work at a hard pace. Looming ahead is the one hour, 1500’ foot grueling Powerline ascent, at 80 miles into the race. I complete the dirt road section to pipeline aid, where I accept a bottle from Skratch labs and a rice cake, which I think would be like a rice krispies treat but is really warm sushi rice with raspberries inside. While it isn't very tasty or sweet, it feels like the right thing to eat, and so i’m happy with this selection. I also snatch two Roctane Gus from aid volunteers while riding out and i tuck them into my shorts.
I try not to work too hard on the road ride to Powerline, but I find that I am easily passing lines of riders. Some try to latch onto my rear wheel to shield them from the very strong winds blowing off of the mountain, but nobody lasts more than a couple of minutes. At this point in the race two years ago, I had to pull off the road to vomit. However, this time I’m feeling very good at the base of Powerline. The ascent begins as a hike-a-bike, and at the earliest chance, I get on the bike and begin pedaling. Generally, at several other points along this rather helacious climb, the pitch increases and people get back to trudging along the path with their bikes. While I’ve caught a lot of people on the race, I’m still far enough back that I’m with the people who are on an 11 hour pace. For several years in a row now I ascend the entire rest of the climb without walking. As I ascend I call out ‘Rider coming through’ and people are gracious enough, even in their silent, dazed and miserable plight, to part ways for me to come by. I hear compliments like, ‘you are a madman, way to go!’. It does make me feel good, although in my mind I know that when I do this race in under 10 hours, everybody is on the bike pedaling. Here, everyone is walking. As I make it past the second or third false summit, I hear exasperated people cursing as they realize the trail continuous upward towards the next false summit. Due to my race experience, I know only to trust my altimeter, and 11,100’ is still 500’ upwards from here, even if there is a beautiful summit-like mirage ahead.
After the summit, I fly down the sugarloaf descent, screaming ‘On your left!!’ as I hurtle past people on a technical descent marked by many loose rocks and few good lines. I realize I am risking a pinch flat, but the adrenaline surge is what I need to power me through the next couple of climbs.
Next is a 20-30 minute road climb. I feel relatively good and I’m again passing dozens of people. Nobody has passed me in this race now for several hours. I temper my accomplishments, however, because although relative to the others it appears I’m "crushing it", I’m probably riding at the average pace for a 10-hour finisher, as I have not gained enough time to catch up to the 10-hr group. I approach Carter Aid and briefly stop for some goodies. I’ve long realized that I would have needed to ride a 9-hr pace the final third of the race in order to even make it in prior to 11 hours. Rather than try the ride of my life, I’ve adjusted my goal to 11:10, knowing that even this will be a hard effort. At Carter Aid I am offered some coke. I accept two more cups of coke. “Where are the m&ms?” I ask. A gentlemen walks to another table and comes back with a small bucket of m&ms. I take at least three handfuls. I would eat more but I realize sitting there chewing is wasting time. At this point in the race there are 15 miles to go and less than one hour left. I can now afford to eat junk food to get a simple sugar and caffeine turbocharge going, without risking the nausea that otherwise would ensue had I made this choice earlier on in the race. We’re 90 miles into the race and I’m feeling OK.
Even I’m surprised when I come across the fourth (or was it third?) steep climb after Carter Aid and prior to reaching the St. Kevins descent. Newbies feel a wonderful sense of accomplishment when the reach Carter Aid, thinking the are near the summit of St. Kevins and all downhill except for the final lead up to the finish. They suffer a punch in the gut after encountering a series of three or four very steep climbs. I reach the St. Kevins descent and tear down the mountain at an enjoyable speed, passing several riders on the way down. I then reach the ‘Leadville Boulevard’, which is a 6 mile uphill dirt road leading back to the finish. While it feels nice to reach the home stretch, the boulevard begins with a steep incline and large loose rocks. This climb was easy yesterday. But today, after 100 miles, its a shock to the legs. I have trouble gathering speed up this steep section. I was hoping perhaps I could make it to the finish in 15 minutes. As the pitch lessens, my speed increases, and while I do pass several people, I lack the motivation to push too hard. It looks like I can make it in 11:15. I feel in my mind that I do not want to finish this race in over 11:15. I reason with myself that less then 11:15 is ok, but anything greater than 11:15 is terrible. As I get closer to the finish, the road narrows with cheering people. I feel a little silly when I sprint to the finish, somewhat dangerously squeezing past another rider and the throng of people in a mad dash to the finish. I wanted my 11:15, not 11:16.
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