“It is going to be
a good day.”
That is what I
kept telling myself in the days leading up to my third attempt at the World
Championships of twenty-four hour solo mountain-biking. So much had gone so
well in the weeks leading up to this race that I couldn’t help feeling that
this would really be my year. In spite
of a job change early in the year and many other commitments throughout the summer,
my training went almost exactly according to plan.
Like last year,
the race was held in Whistler, British
Columbia
I guess that I
came to play too but my game is a bit different than most. It is one of pure
endurance, both physical and mental. Riding a bike for twenty-four hours on
rough terrain in not something that I take lightly. This would be my eighth
attempt at such an event. I have seen first hand what can go wrong.
Go too fast at the
start and the race is over by eight pm. I have had this happen and it would
happen today, but not to me.
Go too slow at the
start and you are left with an insurmountable distance to make up at the end of
the race and a feeling of emptiness at not have done as well as you knew in
your heart was possible. I have had this happen and it would happen today, but
not to me.
Ride beyond your
limits and you will be slowed or stopped by injury. I have had this happen and
it would happen today, but not to me.
Don’t eat or drink
enough and your engine runs out of fuel. Like a diesel, once out of fuel, it is
very difficult to restart. I have had this happen and it would happen today,
but not to me.
This would be a
good day. Those words rang over and over again in my mind.
My crew chief,
Jack, and I sat at Starbuck’s getting cranked up on caffeine at about 9:00am on
Saturday morning. It was three hours until the start. I was having difficulty
focusing on conversation as we sipped. It is always this way with me. I know
the task ahead. I know how hard it is. I know that sometime during the night my
body will be screaming for me to stop and my mind will say, “No, you have
more.” My mind is right of course. My stomach will reject food but my mind will
force it in. My eyes will want to close but my mind will force them open. I
know all this is about to happen. I don’t remember what Jack and I talked about
that morning. My mind was elsewhere.
The first lap is
always hard. Everyone wants to have a solid performance on the first loop
around the course. Inevitably, I always end up riding with people who are about
equal in overall speed but somewhat different in skill sets. That means some
can ride technical single track well while others can climb well. Overall they
are about equal but there is lots of passing as the trail switches to each
rider’s strength.
I have been
working on my single track skills quite a bit over the past few years but I’m
still not even close to lots of people here. I did my best to keep up but
during one particularly bad root section, I lost control, hooked my bar end on
a tree and flipped over the bars landing squarely on my right hip. “Easy Bill,
no first lap injuries allowed,” I told myself. My hip seemed OK and I continued
on to complete the first lap without further incident.
As I approached my
pit area, Jack flew in action. Food was already prepared for me and as I ate,
he checked the drive train out to make sure that everything was good. In and
out in under three minutes. That would be the routine for the first eight hours
of the race.
I rode strong and
as fast as I could, pushing a bit harder than normal for me. The course this
year was very similar to 2003 except for about three km’s of extra single
track. Lap times were consistently around the 1.5 hour mark.
By eight o’clock I
had my light turned on and the long journey through darkness began. My only
equipment upgrade this year was a better light and it was proving itself a
worthwhile investment (Niterider Storm HID). I could ride downhill and over
technical singletrack with absolutely no reduction in speed due to darkness. It
really was just like riding in daylight. What a difference it made. Until now,
darkness was always something that I disliked and hoped to end as quickly as
possible. This year, darkness had almost no influence on me.
Sometime during
the early evening I rolled in to find Jack using a flash light instead of the
lantern to do everything. I asked if the lantern was broken but it turned out
that he had loaned it out to another pit crew. Their rider broke his frame and
Jack was assisting in getting the spare bike ready. That’s the way Jack is,
always willing to lend a hand to anyone in need.
At about midnight,
I arrived in the pit area to find a woman cooking Spaghetti. Jack introduced
her as Rose, Tinker Juarez’s Mom. Tinker is a bit of a legend in the mountain
biking community. He is forty-three and has been a professional cyclist since
he was eleven years old. He was in second place at about this time but he had
no way to cook food since his camp stove was not allowed on an airplane.
Somehow, Jack found out about the dilemma and offered the use of our site to
cook. I think Jack supplied the spaghetti as well.
Being able to help
others turned out to be a regular thing for Jack during the race. He cooked for
several of the pit sites around us and supplied mechanical assistance when
required. The role of support crew can
be a lonely one. By the middle of the night, my lap times increased to two
hours. It was comforting to know that Jack was not only staying busy but thoroughly
enjoying himself.
At around 4:00am
my bike developed a wobble on the rear end. Suspecting a broken spoke, I
stopped and spun the rear wheel to see where the wobble was. To my surprise, it
was perfectly true. I continued on but the wobble only got worse. Once in the
pit I told Jack that there was something wrong with the bike so I was taking my
spare. Rose was still there cooking more food. She suggested that we take to
bike to the Mavic dealer. They provide neutral support. She knew them well through
Tinker. It always amazes me how Jack reacts. He is a picture of calm. I’m sure
that I came in very excited but his calmness is catching. He simply got the
spare bike out and I was gone. The pit stop took no longer than any other. I
headed out on my trusty old Kona knowing that all is well. Jack would look
after it.
The Kona is a bit
rough. It is a hard tail with an outdated front shock and compared to my plush
soft tail that I had been riding for the past 16 hours, this bike felt like it
would shake apart on every rough section. I made it through the lap, walking a
bit more than normal, but otherwise OK. My Jamis was sitting there, ready to go
when I returned. I asked Jack what was wrong and he said the people at Mavic
completely disassembled the rear suspension system and could find nothing
wrong. This was not very good news since I knew something was definitely wrong.
But, if they couldn’t find anything then riding it shouldn’t hurt it so I
switched bikes again and head out.
The problem hadn’t
changed and seemed to be getting worse. About half way through the lap I was
walking a particularly steep hill when I noticed that one of my rear spokes
looked bent. I touched it and found that it was not bent but loose. A quick
check of the others revealed that I had many loose spokes. So the problem was
found. It was interesting that the wheel was not warped at all until there was
weight on it. I guess that Mavic did the same thing as me. Spin the wheel, see
that it is true and then move on to see what else could be wrong. It all seems
so simple now but hindsight is always 20/20.
When I got to the
pit I told Jack what I found. We were immediately swarmed by mechanics from the
pit crews around us. It seems that Jack’s help with others over the past day
was paying off. We had no shortage of suggestions. One thought that we should
true the wheel and continue to use it. Another thought that we should take the
bike to Mavic and switch the wheel with one of their wheels. They have a whole
rack of spare wheels just for this purpose. Yet another thought that we should
switch the wheel with the wheel on my Kona. All of these were good ideas and,
in my exhaustion, I was having difficulty figuring out what was best. After
only a few seconds of thought, Jack said, “There will be a line up at the Mavic
tent and truing the wheel will take too long. We will change the wheel with
your spare.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a statement. There would be no
debate. Hearing this, everyone went to work. In about three minutes, we changed
the cassettes, adjusted the brakes, and installed the wheel. I was on my way
again.
The Jamis was back
to its old self now. No wobble, just smooth tracking over the roughest terrain
the trail had to offer.
As I completed my
last couple of laps, I knew that my placing was not as high as it had been in
the past. Jack never really mentioned it so I knew that he just wanted me to
ride at my own speed and finish as best I could. If I had been gaining on
people ahead of me, he would have been telling me this. His silence gave me
just as much information.
I couldn’t help
but wonder to myself what was wrong. I had ridden strong and consistent all
night. I never stopped longer than five minutes and the wheel problem, though
troublesome, had not actually cost me any time. Only when I started doing the
math did I realize what I had done. This race would be a personal best for me.
Not in placing but in distance traveled. By the time I was done I would have
traveled further than in any previous twenty-four hour mountain bike race. A
personal best on the most technical course that I have ever been on would be a
great result for me.
As it turned out,
I placed ninth out of twenty-one riders in my age group. The competition is
getting tougher every year at this event. In ’02 I placed second, in ’03 I
placed fourth, and now, in my best ride of the three, I have placed ninth. Yes,
the competition is definitely getting tougher and the sport is growing. This
turned out to be the largest group of solo riders to ever do a twenty-four hour
race together.
I rolled in from
my last lap, Jack took a few photos and I collapsed into a chair. I was
completely exhausted. Everything I had was left out on the race course, as it
should be.
It was a good day.
Some boring stats:
Age group placing 9/21
Overall placing 66/185
Total distance
traveled 230 km
Previous personal
best 223 km
Soft Tail Bike 2001 Jamis Dakar Pro, Full XTR/XT, Manitou
Mars Super fork, Fox Float R rear shock, Hutchinson Python Tubeless tires on
Mavic Crossmax wheels, Time ATAC pedals
Hard Tail Bike 1994 Kona Kilauea ,
Full XT/LX, Rock Shox Judy fork, Mavic 517 wheels, Time ATAC pedals.
Light Niterider
Storm HID
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