11.1.2011 | 5:24 pm
A Non-Book-Related Note from Fatty: Don’t worry, this whole post isn’t just about book stuff. Just stick with me for a few minutes while I take care of business.
A Book-Related Note from Fatty: First off, thanks to those of you who have bought a book (and extra thanks to those of you who have bought more than one!). I really appreciate it. This has been a lot of work, so I love seeing that folks are interested in owning a copy.
I have to say, though, I’m a little bit surprised at a couple things:
1. Not very many people have taken advantage of the “I’m Nearly Broke” option, where you can get a copy of this book for $9.95. I think maybe I made it seem like it’s an option you should take only as a last resort, like if you’re choosing between buying a book and paying the bills.
That’s not what I want at all.
The truth is, one of main things I want out of this first book is bragging rights. Specifically, I want to be able to say, “I sold thousands of books.”
So, if you’ve got $13 to spare (that’s how much the book will cost you after shipping) and you’d like to have this book, don’t be embarrassed to go with this bargain option. You’re still helping me accomplish an important step toward getting serious attention for my future projects.
2. Not very many people have taken advantage of the “Standard” price. I’m a little bit amazed at the fact that more people have paid the $39.95 price for this book than for the $19.95 price for it. That’s crazy-generous of you people. But don’t feel like you have to order one of the pricier versions of the book. As it’s easy to tell, this book is costing me about $10 per copy (between the book itself, shipping, and paying people who are helping me edit, design, and do layout for this book).
Which means that when you pay the $19.95 price, I’m clearing about $10 / copy. For books, that’s really, really good.
So, in short, if you’d like a copy of Comedian Mastermind — and I really hope you will want a copy, because honestly I’m pretty darned proud of it and think that if you like this blog you’ll really like this book — don’t feel pressured into buying the $30 or $40 version of the book.
I appreciate you taking the time and spending the money, no matter what.
But What About a Kindle Version?
Lots of people commented yesterday, wondering if there will be a Kindle version of Comedian MasterMind. The answer is, yes. But I’m not worrying about it until I get the paper version of the book out the door. My objective right now is to get the paper version finished and in everyone’s hands — with time to spare — before Christmas.
Once that’s done, I’ll learn how to Kindle-fy it, and maybe Nookitize it, too.
Story Problem
I’ve got a race this weekend. An important race.
It’s the…Turkey Triathlon.
Yes, really.
It’s a short little thing: 5K run, 10 mile road bike ride, and a 350 meter swim. In that order, which is kind of weird. And, as I have mentioned, this is a very important race.
A race I must win.
No, I’m saying I need to be the guy who beats everyone in this race. I couldn’t care less about whether some fast tri guy manages to clean my clock. In fact, I expect that to happen.
What matters is that I beat two particular people. These two:
I think you’ve met the one on the left, though it’s possible you’ve never seen a photo of her on this site without glasses and either a helmet or a ponytail.
She is the woman known — and feared — far and wide as “The Hammer.”
The one on the right — who is actually not taller than the one on the left, but is wearing heels (The Hammer does not wear heels, ever, out of kindness to me) — is The Swimmer.
There’s definitely a “Like Mother, Like Daughter” thing going on with these two. Both are very beautiful, both are very strong athletes, and — most importantly — both of them have a decent chance at beating me in the Turkey Tri this weekend.
It’s been the topic of considerable discussion among the three of us for several months. To the point of this race being approximately three thousand times more important to me than when — as a joke, really — we signed up for the thing.
A good case can be made for why each of us might win. I shall now present those cases.
The Case for Fatty
Let’s start with me first. You all pretty much know my strengths and weaknesses, but let’s review:
- Run: Thanks to The Hammer, I have made progress in running, to the point where I have gone from being a total non-runner to being a runner who can plod along slowly and clumsily for a great distance. For example, last Saturday The Hammer and I ran five miles before we ran a half marathon — in costume. Here we are:
The problem — and this is strictly a problem for me, not for The Hammer — is that I am much, much slower of a runner than The Hammer. By the time we got to the last five miles of the half-marathon, she could no longer bear to go at my pace and shot forward, disappearing over the horizon within one minute. I am not exaggerating.
- Bike: I am the fastest cyclist of the three of us.
- Swim: In open-water swims (St. George Ironman, Ogden Xterra), I am a faster swimmer than The Hammer. In the pool, she is faster than I am. For the Turkey Tri, we will be in a pool.
Why I could win: I expect that I will drop behind The Swimmer and The Hammer in the run, but I expect to make a fast transition to the bike, thanks to my planned strategy of yanking off my running shoes, pulling on my biking shoes, and then quickly twisting the knobs on my high-zoot Boa Closure System.
Once on the bike, I hope to make up ground quickly, and then startle them both with a “Yawp!” as I ride by.
If I give it everything I’ve got, I will be so far ahead by the time we get to the swim that it won’t matter that I am slower in the pool than The Hammer, and much, much slower than The Swimmer.
The Case for The Swimmer
In addition to having youth on her side, The Swimmer is also strong in two sports. Here is why she might win:
- Run: Over a short distance, during the couple of times she has run with The Hammer and me, The Swimmer has demonstrated that she is faster than either of us. And 5K is definitely a short distance. The Swimmer is very likely to finish this leg first.
- Bike: The Swimmer will do a very fast transition because she will not be changing shoes; she does not ride clipless. However, that’s about as much as can be said for her on the bike. She needs to hope she makes enough time in the other two events that The Hammer and I don’t overwhelm her on the bike.
- Swim: The Swimmer is not just a good swimmer, she’s on the varsity swim team. She’s a ridiculously good swimmer. If The Hammer and / or I have not finished at least 50% of the swim by the time The Swimmer gets in the pool, she is guaranteed to overtake us and win easily.
Why The Swimmer could win: While I am very strong in one event, The Swimmer is very strong in two events. All she has to do is limit her loss on the bike and she’s golden.
The Case for The Hammer
Behold The Mighty Hammer. Whereas I’m good at one event, and The Swimmer is good at two events, The Hammer is good at all three events. Here is why she might win:
- Run: Before she was ever known as The Hammer, she was The Runner. And she still is. Think of “Hammer” as a superset of “Runner.” I think it’s likely The Hammer will either enter the transition area with, slightly behind, or slightly ahead of The Swimmer. Those two will be close.
- Bike: The Hammer hangs with me, no problem, on the bike. Depending on how fast she is in the run, she’ll either finish with me or slightly ahead of me on the bike.
- Swim: While she claims to be very non-competitive, The Hammer’s game face gives her away. When she races, she’s racing. If she gets in the water ahead of me — which is highly probable — she’ll finish ahead of me.
Why The Hammer could win: The fact that the Hammer is not the weakest in any of the events makes her a very strong candidate for winning the whole thing.
What’s At Stake?
You mean aside from bragging rights? Nothing. Nothing at all.
But when you think about it, are there many things in the world worth more than bragging rights?
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Your Take
I am interested in your predictions for who will win, as well as your analysis of why. If you need additional details, please feel free to ask; if I have time, I’ll supply an answer.
I look forward to seeing who is right.
Update for Extra Credit
I just got an email from the organizers with this information:
The weather is not looking great for Saturday. In the ten years of the Turkey Tri’s existence, we have never had to make a course change. However, there’s a potential this year. The race will be modified to a run-swim, if the course is determined to be unsafe due to weather related issues. These modifications will be made to ensure the safety of our participants. We’re hoping to keep our streak alive by not having to change the course. Lets hope it stays dry.
So the extra credit question is:
If the course is in fact modified to eliminate the one part of the race I am good at, exactly how badly will I lose?
Comments (71)
10.30.2011 | 9:31 pm
You knew this was going to happen eventually, right?
I’ve been writing this blog for six and half years. During that time, I’ve written right around 1500 stories. Quite a few of those stories, alas, suck pretty bad.
Every so often, though, I’ve written a keeper. And just by the sheer force of odds, I was bound to eventually wind up with enough good stories to justify a printed collection of my good stuff.
Instead, though, I’ve decided to collect my absolute worst material, and make a book out of that.
Just kidding. I hope.
Anyway, check out the cover:
The title comes from the The Wit and Wisdom of Dr. Michael Lämmler, where he scolds me, “I hope your comedian mastermind this time around might actually get the point.”
Clearly, as of yet, I have not.
What’s Inside
Comedian Mastermind is the best stuff I wrote in the early years of my blog (as well as quite a few of my best stories for Cyclingnews.com and BikeRadar.com). It’s full of fake news, how-tos, epic (and not so epic) rides, the best cake in the world, the Assos ad teardown, Dr. Lämmler’s reply, my best Lance Armstrong and Tour de France stuff, and a bunch of other stuff that doesn’t fit into categories very well.
But it’s not simply the blog, bound up in book form. No indeed.
For one thing, every story has a new introduction, giving extra context — the story behind the stories.
For another thing, I’ve gone annotation-crazy on this book; I’m pretty sure there’s not a single page in the book that’s not loaded with ridiculous new observations in the footnotes section.
For yet another thing, Comedian Mastermind is a big, thick book: it’s 6″ x 9″, and about 350 pages. I promise, you are going to be all set for excellent bathroom reading material for months (approximately three months, in fact, provided you read one entry per day).
For still yet another thing, this book has been edited, which means — for the first time ever — you’ll get to see what my stories are like when they’re not a rushed first draft.
And to top it all off, it’s got a foreword from every single member of The Core Team. That’s five forewords. How many books give you that? Just one — this one — that’s how many.
Want to see what Comedian Mastermind looks like on the inside? Click on the sample page thumbnails below:
How Much Does Comedian Mastermind Cost?
The normal thing to do, when one writes a book, is to set a price. If people want the book, they come up with the money and they pay that price.
But I haven’t exactly done things the normal way, um, ever. So, how much this book costs is up to you. There are four different prices, to match four different groups:
- The standard “I like Fatty” price ($19.95): This is the normal price for a book like this. If you pay this, you’re saying, “I like what Fatty writes, would enjoy a compilation of his best work, and am fine with paying a normal-book’s-worth of money for it.”
- The “I Love Fatty” price ($29.95): If you’ve been reading my blog for a few years and have gotten more entertainment out of it than you get out of one normal-priced book, maybe you’d like to tip me an extra ten bucks. That would be awesome of you, and as a thank-you, I’ll autograph your copy of the book.
- The “I REALLY Love Fatty” price ($39.95): If you’ve been with me right from the beginning, or have started believing me when I say I’m a beloved, award-winning, internet celebrity, you can pay double the normal price, which is like tipping me twenty bucks. If you do this, I’ll not only autograph the book, I’ll write a note in the book that you specify (good if you’re giving it as a gift), or I’ll make up something a little bit over-the-top for you.
- The “I’m Nearly Broke” price ($9.95): If you’re hurting bad for money because you’re out of work or are a college student or you’ve donated all your discretionary money to the (seemingly thousands of) fundraisers I’ve done, get this version. I won’t make any money on copies I sell for this price, but that’s cool; I won’t lose any money on them either. And at some point, I think it might be valuable to me to be able to say, “I sold X thousand of my first self-published book” to someone, so you’re still doing something nice for me.
How Do You Order It, and When Will It Arrive?
Pre-order of Comedian Mastermind starts now, and ends November 10. At that point, I place the order, and then — once the books arrive at my house — start using child labor (specifically: a college student, two twins and a fifteen-year-old boy) to send your books out to you.
Your book will arrive on or before December 15 — in plenty of time for Christmas. Yep, that’s right, I’m urging you to give this book as a Christmas present. In fact, why don’t you give a copy of this book to every single person you know.
And that’s all there is to it. That’s not so bad, right?
What’s Next?
Comedian Mastermind is the first of a set of Best of FatCyclist.com books. How many will there be eventually? I don’t know; I guess it depends on how long I keep writing this blog. I’ve got two more outlined, so I hope to do at least that many.
I will tell you, though, that the next book in this set is going to be different than the others. While the other books in the series are just for fun, the second book will be titled Susan’s Battle, and will be a collection of all the stories I wrote about Susan’s fight with cancer, along with a lot of additional new stories, giving details that I didn’t give in the blog.
My hope is that the second book might be useful for people who are going through cancer, as well as for people who are taking care of a loved one with cancer..
Further, the second book will be a two-for-one deal. when you flip Susan’s Battle over, you’ll have the novel Susan was working on and nearly finished. For one thing, it’s a fun book and deserves to be read by more than just a few of Susan’s family members and friends. For another thing, I told Susan I’d get her book published.
I’ll be using the proceeds from both this first and second volume to fund my big dream: writing (and if necessary, publishing) The Cancer Caretaker’s Companion.
So, you remember when, last March, I wrote a post called “This is My Plan and This is What I Need“? Well, the plan is now in motion. And hopefully, I’ll be able to use the money and credibility the sale of a lot of books brings to get The Cancer Caretaker’s Companion the attention it needs.
Meanwhile, though: I’m proud of Comedian Mastermind. It’s a fun book, and all else aside I think you’ll get your money’s (however much it is) worth.
Even if the title does oversell itself just a touch.
Comments (65)
10.28.2011 | 7:43 am
A Note from Fatty: I love Joe’s perspective on suffering. I think I understand it, sometimes. Sometimes, in fact, I even have it. Sometimes.
I’ll be back Monday with (what I consider to be) a big announcement.
Have a great weekend!
Does anyone else have suffering games, or is that just me? When I’m riding a good threshold pace (about what one can sustain for an hour) math becomes fuzzy. This is a 78 mile race, we have gone 52 miles, how much longer?
This comes as a surprise to many who know me as an aerospace engineer.
Around my 5-min max I have trouble constructing sentences, and rather communicate using wheezes, grunts, and moans. A nice game for criteriums is what I like to call “The Name Game.” It’s easy, just spell your name. J-O-E. It’s what I ask myself when the race becomes truly difficult and I’m in danger of getting dropped. As long as I can spell my name I can go a little bit harder.
There have been times this was not possible.
Aspen to Crested Butte
I take issue to Fatty’s writing assignment title because it was “I’ve never suffered as badly…” I want to write about a time I suffered greatly. I decided not to write about a race, but rather my favorite ride ever.
My parents were visiting and I was riding from Denver to Durango, the best part being my mom was driving, so I never had to stop at gas stations or carry my own stuff. Not to mention the fact that point-to-point rides are the highest reverence to cyclists; the bicycle was, after all, designed to travel. I was on the third day of my trip and after watching the Tour stage and eating roughly 5 bowls of cereal, 3 bowls of oatmeal, 2 yogurts, and toast, I grabbed an English muffin for the ride and departed the hotel in Aspen bound for Crested Butte.
The first 30 miles were uneventful, some rolling hills and then false flat downhill to Carbondale. I felt unmotivated to ride and didn’t feel like I really want to be out at all, especially for this 107 mile journey.
After a hard left turn south I was riding false flat uphill for 20 miles along another river. This was a place I hadn’t been in CO before and the scenery just got better and better. When I hit the base of McClure Pass, a 3 mile, 1200 ft climb, I started drilling it, race pace. Now I was coming into this ride and loving it!
After eating a Powerbar (confession, I LOVE Powerbars) and grabbing two new bottles I continued the next 20 miles downhill into a valley where I made a left turn onto County Road 12.
The next 35 miles were the best of my life.
After I passed a few buildings, the road narrowed and turned to dirt. The first eight miles entailed being stared down by the 12,000 ft peaks in front of me, but little climbing to reach them. I was like a child on Christmas Eve, just waiting to start the climb!
Climbing is the best part of cycling. Packs shatter, there is no draft to hide behind, riders come unglued, and every emotion — from the excitement of the leaders’ battle, to the sympathy for the sprinters’ gruppetto — is released.
Hills are not in the way, hills are the way!
My wish came true abruptly as the road kicked up to 12% in the first series of switchbacks. The dirt road climbed 2300 ft over the next 10 miles and went through cattle ranches, dense trees, and openings with stunning views.
The road was narrow and windy, but the lack of traffic made it possible to utilize the entire road. For some reason it’s just fun to ride up the left hand gutter of the road. Any cars passing were yelling encouragement, honking, and giving thumbs up. The dirt was also the perfect consistency: soft, rocky, and bumpy enough to know for certain you are on dirt, but hard and smooth enough to stand occasionally and maintain control of the bike.
The suffering was real, but I was having so much fun I hardly noticed it.
A four mile downhill stretch had me drifting through corners and led to another 5 miles of climbing.
The last two miles were pavement, and they were terrible. The suffering was catching up. Without the distraction of riding on dirt, my mind wandered to, “Wow this is really steep” and, “Don’t cross the yellow line.” After gaining the summit I was a little confused how I had beaten my mom to this point, as she was driving.
There was no cell phone service so I bombed the seven mile descent into Crested Butte. It turns out my mom has a little fear of heights and was more than freaked out driving up that narrow mountain pass.
Our hotel was at the ski resort at Mt. Crested Butte, another two miles from town and the location of the finish for Stage 2 of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge. I rode out of town and charged onto the climb.
I was having the best ride of my life and was going to pretend I’m Levi attacking the final stretch, inspired by Phil Ligget’s voice in my head. I blew by another rider and was in full race mode. The hotel was in sight and I shifted into a higher gear to accelerate.
BOOM!
You know when you are watching the breakaway in the Tour and they start attacking each other near the end, and one guy seems to come to a complete stop as his bike turns 90 degrees to the side, and he throws his whole energy willing the bike to go forward and not to coast back down? That happened.
Cracked, blown, unglued, whatever you want to call it. This was not a bonk; a bonk is when one runs out of energy. I could have delivered a freight train of sugar to my legs and they would have said no more.
There were no stairs into the hotel lobby and I rolled into a very nice spa on my bicycle at an embarrassingly slow pace, cross-eyed and drooling. I tried to ask where to find food, but I think it came out as, “Where, store, here, town, food, fire truck, dirt road.”
After a few tries at a sentence my mom saved the day and showed up with a car full of food, drinks, and most importantly a hotel reservation.
It was my favorite suffering of all time.
About the Author: I’m a bike-racing rocket scientist who is not nearly as cool as that title sounds. I live and play in Colorado but I’m from the great state of NH. I’ve ridden coast to coast, rode a 7:32 Leadville 100, and rode the Tour of the Gila. Basically, I’m a bike nerd and my name is Joe.
Comments (16)
10.27.2011 | 7:33 am
A Note from Fatty: I’ve been quietly and secretly working on a big project recently. Monday I’ll announce it.
Another Note from Fatty: Today’s story, by Chris C, strikes kinda close to home, since I’ve been stuck in essentially the same place. It’s a great story of suffering. Enjoy!
Mid-March might be too early to ride Kokopelli’s Trail, but that’s exactly what my friends John and Kathleen and I set out to do. We are not novice riders: we’ve done distance, we’ve done mountains, and we’re all LT100 vets. Supporting us was our friend Doug (and his dad and son). He’s quick-thinking, even-tempered, and is himself an experienced enduro rider.
The whole group, left to right: Kathleen Porter, John Adamson, Doug Keiser, Chris Congdon, John Keiser, Brian Keiser
The third day was to be our toughest. 42 miles is not a long distance, but the terrain would be challenging. (Cowskin to Rock Castle) We’d start with a climb up a mesa, then down into and up out of two canyons … and then after lunch, a steady 18 mile climb to a point called Bull Draw, on top of a mesa at 8500 ft. At Bull Draw, our dirt road was to become paved for a nice six mile descent to camp.
The day began beautifully. The scenery was sensational as we dropped into slot canyons, riding rock trails and ledges. We made our lunch stop in the Fisher Valley. On this day, there was only one possible spot to bail out of the Kokopelli Trail, and this was it. It was 2:15 in the afternoon. It didn’t dawn on us that we had only covered half of our distance, but had already used more than half of our daylight. We had 18 miles of climbing ahead, but 18 miles is about the distance of one of my typical lunch-hour gravel road rides so why worry?
The road out of Fisher Valley was soft so it was hard to maintain momentum. Kathleen was feeling sluggish. Kat’s a strong rider, we all have our off days – unfortunately, this was one of hers. We were making only three miles an hour.
After setting up our campsite, Doug drove up to Bull Draw at the top of the mesa, and looked out in the direction from which we would come. As far as he could see, our route was covered in snow. We were heading into a mountain pass that hadn’t been traversed on anything other than a snowmobile since sometime last autumn. Doug drove the 30 or 40 miles back down the mesa, and then up the Fisher Valley to our bail-out spot, as he considered the snowfield impassible. Throughout the afternoon he’d occasionally try his cell phone, but there was no service in the valley.
On the trail, we continued climbing. I would ride a mile and then we’d stop to regroup. Kathleen was struggling. Sometimes John would ride with me and sometimes with Kat. Mostly he hung between us – keeping Kat in sight, but not piling on any more pressure. It was getting cooler as we climbed. We each had a light jacket in our packs, but that was it for extra clothing.
With about six miles to go in our climb we hit the first snowbank. It was small and we missed its monumental significance … that we were approaching the snowline, we still had six miles of climbing, and daylight was getting away from us.
The road became a sticky gumbo that collected on our tires and drivetrains and then our wheels wouldn’t go around anymore. We walked, slipping and sliding, pushing our bikes which had to weigh about 40lb with all the collected mud. After about an hour, we held a little council. Should we turn around? Ahead was 4 more miles of climbing – probably walking – and by this point turning around and going downhill in the mud also meant walking. We realized too late that we were in too deep.
We talked of splitting up, with me going ahead to tell Doug what was happening, but decided to stay together. I had a survival blanket in my pack, and if we had to spend the night on out on this mesa, we’d be warmer together. Also, we’d been seeing big kitty tracks. I didn’t want to be alone in the wilderness after dark. We’d occasionally try a cell phone call to Doug, but here in canyon country, we couldn’t connect. Kat fired off a text, thinking that Doug would receive it whenever he got back into coverage. John & I didn’t know what the text said. We pushed on. At nearly the last moment with enough daylight to read the map, we fixed our position with about 2.5 more miles of climbing to Bull Draw. We also had reached the snowfield.
During this time, Doug had made the round trip again from valley to mesa to valley to see if there was any sign of us. He was more than concerned. He didn’t consider the snowfield to be passable and yet we were not down in the valley, either. He concluded that we were in trouble, and that he was not going to be able to help us on his own.
We were struggling in the snowfield. I don’t want to over-dramatize our situation: we knew where we were, we had food, water and my survival blanket for shelter. But, you don’t have to read too many issues of Backpacker magazine to find a similar story with a grim ending. Our cause was not lost, but we had used up our allotment of bad decisions. We had to be hyper-alert for hypothermia and that precise moment when NOW is the time to stop and shelter-up for the night.
We had two miles to walk, in the dark, in the snow, in our spandex clothes and plastic shoes. Our mud-caked bikes were now accumulating ice as well. Every few steps they’d break through the crusty surface and sink to the hubs, and we’d have to heft them up again. It was totally exhausting.
Carrying the bike was too much for Kat, and she simply abandoned hers. She was stumbling a little and her teeth were chattering and I was scared for her, but it didn’t seem time to stop just yet. I walked ahead a little bit, trying to focus on the distant point that I hoped was Bull Draw. John kept encouraging both of us, and tried breaking a track for Kat to walk in. We walked single file, stopping often to rest, and in time, we tried Kat’s phone again.
Doug had decided to drive out of Fisher Valley until he had cell service, and then call for help. He had gone a few miles when his phone chimed. He stopped, read the text from Kat. “HELP” As he moved to dial 911 the phone rang in his hand. It was us.
We were able to tell Doug that we were in the snowfield with maybe a mile and a half to Bull Draw and he was able to tell us that the paved road down the other side was open and he would meet us there. At that point John and I also abandoned our bikes and we put our efforts into moving forward together.
John took the point and we walked like blind people, single file with our hands on the shoulders of the one in front. We could hear the wind roaring over our head, coming up from the other side of the mesa. We’d do about thirty steps, rest, thirty steps, rest. Our feet were freezing and the icy crust bloodied our shins.
And then … eventually … the snow wasn’t quite as deep. Snow became slush became mud and finally we were on blacktop. The icy wind made us have to shout at each other, but we were on pavement, walking downhill, holding hands: obviously the first cyclists to crest Bull Draw from Fisher Valley in the 2011 season. Ten minutes later we were in the truck.
Doug calls our cell connection a God thing, and I’m with him on that — what else could it be on a day that had offered no other communication? It would take a while for us to really warm up, and as tired as I was, I didn’t sleep very well that night. You can imagine that this has left us with a lot to talk about: bad decisions, fear, exhaustion. But we do these things for the experience — to have a story to tell.
And, I think it was at breakfast the next morning when John kind of smiled and said, “It was the best!”
About the Author: Chris Congdon is Media Coordinator at First United Methodist in Cedar Falls, Iowa. He loves road TTs and MTB XC racing. He says he’s not good at either, but has a ton of fun.
Comments (23)
10.26.2011 | 7:14 am
A Note from Fatty: Today’s story comes from Michael S, who is very mysterious. Which is to say, he didn’t send in a bio. A great story of suffering, though. Enjoy!
My list of things that went wrong that day seems endless. I’d gotten four hours of sleep the night before, special thanks to a fussy infant, and at 7 a.m., my wife and I had a nasty little argument we would later refer to as the “worst fight of our marriage.” But somehow our little family of four still found itself on the highway to Jackson Hole, Wyo., for the bike race I’d been planning that day, the Rendezvous Hill Climb.
Then, while I was warming up minutes before the start, I hit some loose gravel and went over the handlebars, landing on my knee and hip. I was bloodied, bruised and starved–I guess a bowl of Marshmallow Mateys four hours beforehand wasn’t the best nutrition strategy. I was almost hungry enough to actually pay for resort food.
The locals in Jackson Hole are all a bunch of semi-pro studs, and every time I race there, I feel a bit like a 5-year-old among Greek deities. The Rendezvous Hill Climb had been on my race wishlist for years, but I’d never done it before. I’d just read that it climbed 7.2 miles and 4,139 feet from the ski resort to the top of their aerial tram. But it wasn’t until I was standing there being dwarfed by this gargantuan mountain that I realized that this might be a little beyond my abilities. I nearly peed my chamois just looking at it.
Keeping with my Greek tragedy theme, I’d been a little hubristic going into this. Most of my “training” consisted of pulling my kids in a trailer for 6 miles around our rural neighborhood. Since I knew I wasn’t in great shape, I figured I’d take it really easy, so I showed up with sandals and platform pedals rather than my regular clipless pedals. I’d even worn baggy shorts. Dumb. Standing on the start line, I felt a sharp twinge of insecurity.
“Is anyone else doing this tourist-style?” I asked the 11 svelte, spandex-clad racers lined up next to me. One guy put his hand up and smiled. I felt better. Then the race organizers told us to go. And just like that, we hurtled ourselves at this towering giant like a bunch of stubborn Lilliputians.
Once we got going, it wasn’t so terrible–just rolling and rocky. I actually motored on ahead of some of the folks on the really nice bikes at the first rise. Things got a little steep, so I tried to shift into my granny gear, and, of course, my chain dropped completely off the chainring. “No problem,” I told myself, “I’ll just fix this and catch up.” But after I remounted and turned the next corner, something else happened that guaranteed I wouldn’t be catching up, and it wasn’t a mechanical.
It was a 25-percent gradient that lasted at least a quarter of a mile.
Now, I don’t know if you’re familiar with 25-percent gradients, but I certainly wasn’t. “Is it really possible to ride up something this steep?” I thought as I dismounted and started pushing my bike up the slope. Obviously it was, since the other racers seemed to be managing it. I swung my leg back over the saddle as the pitch eased slightly, and I realized I was in for a long climb.
All the racers had left me behind except one lone straggler. I figured he must be sick or maimed or something. I rode up next to him and asked, “So, is this just a training ride for you?” His response: “I’ve only ridden my bike once this summer. I’m taking it slow because I know what’s up ahead.”
Comforting.
As the valley sunk beneath us, I actually managed to distance myself from him. When I looked down, the resort seemed like a distant ant farm.
The honest-to-goodness truth is that there isn’t much to tell you about the next 90 minutes. The fireroad coiled up through 7,000, then 8,000, then 9,000 and finally 10,000 feet above sea level. There was no shade, and the sun seemed to bear down hotter and hotter as the air became thinner and thinner. The road reflected the heat right into my face, and the mountain wasn’t shy about doling out punishment. I’d spin my granny gear until the gradient became too steep to handle (which seemed to happen pretty often), then hike, ride, hike, ride, hike, rinse and repeat-for well over an hour and a half.
Other than an occasional silhouette, I hardly saw anybody–not even a yodeling Swiss hiker. I was out there alone, and I soon found myself utterly demolished, completely out of water or nutrition, and becoming just a teensy bit delirious.
So, naturally, I started talking to myself like a schizophrenic. “I owe my wife an apology,” I told myself. “I just want to get this over with so I can hug my girls and get a burger.”
My introspective conversation was interrupted when I came across a guy sitting on a rock snapping photos with a large telephoto lens and looking a bit like a leprechaun guarding a pot of gold. He was a photographer from the local newspaper, it turned out, and he told me I didn’t have much farther to go. I thanked him, pedaled some more, hiked, rounded one more switchback, hiked again, then saw the tram dock in the distance–and took a gasp of relief!
As I got closer, I also saw three familiar apparitions, one of which had pigtails. I knew I wouldn’t have been the first guy on this planet to see blonde, female mirages, but these ones looked an awful lot like my family. “Great,” I thought. “Now I’m hallucinating.”
Then one of them yelled, “Dad!” and ran toward me. Then she tripped and fell on her face in the dirt. Luckily, instead of crying, she stood up and smiled. So I smiled back (or grimaced–I’m not sure which). “I love you, sweetie,” I told her in a sort of Sahara-desert-survivor tone. Then I churned the remaining 40 feet to the finish line. I finally released my handlebar death grip, elated just to be done. I could feel every inch of that mountain in my legs, and I could hardly walk to the tram dock.
Later, at the paltry awards ceremony, my kids-the only kids there-wouldn’t stop screaming at each other. My hip was still sore from my crash, and my wife was still mad at me (perhaps more than before). To top it off, days later, a photo of me would appear in the local newspaper next to some race results that would incorrectly and humiliatingly list me as dead last.
The next year, that race would cease to exist.
But on the upside, I’d managed to survive my own Greek tragedy, without marrying my mom. And at the end of the day, that’s a success, no matter how you toss it.
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