2016 Rockwell Relay Race Report, Part 10: Three Strange Minutes

07.14.2016 | 2:36 pm

A Podcasty Note From Fatty: I’m pretty sure I just posted the best episode of the FattyCast I’ve ever done: a conversation with Yuri Hauswald, the 2015 winner of the Dirty Kanza.

Even though the 2016 Kanza is now about a month behind us, I still wanted to have him tell his story for this year, because Yuri’s one of my favorite people…and he’s an amazing storyteller. It’s an awesome tale about triple-flatting, taco bell, and turning a bad race…into a great day. 

Even if you don’t usually listen to podcasts, you should listen to this episode. You can find it on iTunes, Stitcher, download it, or use the http://fattycast.com/rss feed to subscribe on whatever your favorite podcast app is. Or, of course, you can listen to it right here:

Let me know what you think (and please, rate and review it on iTunes, so I can be less obscure)

2016 Rockwell Relay Race Report, Part 10: Three Strange Minutes

OK, I should start off by saying a couple of things. First, I don’t really know whether this whole series of events actually all happens in three minutes, although I am confident in its strangeness. 

Second, it’s probably a good idea to listen to “Yakety Sax” (aka the theme to the “Benny Hill Show”) during the entirety of what happens here.

Or, I dunno, maybe this only seems goofy because it’s very out of character for how Fatty Teams (usually) operate during the Rockwell Relay. I take a lot of pride in having teams that pay a lot of attention to the basics (having your equipment in good condition, staying fueled, being ready to roll at the exchanges). By taking care of these seemingly simple things, we’ve put a lot of time into teams that have strong riders but sloppy logistics.

As you’ll see here, though (not to mention the whole “van leaving without us” episode), that’s not always the case.

Before The Hammer Arrived

As I described in the previous installment of this story, Ben, Lindsey, and I arrived at the exchange — at a gas station built into a cliff wall — with several clear objectives.

Ben’s job was to fill the tank with diesel and then go buy a strawberry milkshake for The Hammer, as she had requested before her leg of the race began. Considering we had left The Hammer to her own devices in hundred-plus-degree heat for forty-five minutes, we were now giving this request extra significance.

Lindsey’s job was to buy a lot of ice to refill our ice chests, along with as much cold Coke as she could find. We were going through Coke at an alarming rate…much faster than we had anticipated.

My job was to get myself ready to race.

To Ben and Lindsey’s credit, they both did an admirable job of fulfilling their duties. However, by fulfilling their duties, they became completely absent. I was left to my own devices, and my own very warped sense of time. 

(It should also be noted that the ice cream shop was moving at a fully cryogenic pace. Ben was out of sight and out of commission for a full half hour as he waited for a milkshake.)

I found myself just talking with a racer from another team, telling him about our harrowing experience. Cleverly, I entirely failed to check the time as I did this, instead going entirely on how long it “felt” like it ought to be until The Hammer would be arriving.

No big deal, I had plenty of time, I was suited up and my bike was ready to go.

I walked back to the van, put on my helmet, and then took it off again, figuring I still had fifteen minutes.

And that’s when the world went insane.

The Hammer Arrives

I pride myself on being ready to go, and I fully intended to be ready to go when The Hammer arrived. 

Which is why I went into a full-bore panic when I heard her call my name in her distinctive “This is not a drill, this is urgent, and I need a response now” voice: “El-DEN!“

What? She’s here? She’s crossed the line? No.

But there she was, yelling my name. She hadn’t seen me yet, though, so we began a game of spousal Marco-Polo. “Lisa!” I replied, as I scrambled to put my helmet on.

“Elden!” she shot back, looking around. 

“Lisa!” I replied, stuffing the helmet light battery into my rear-center jersey pocket, without threading the power cable under my left armpit.

Now she saw me. “Elden! You’re wasting time!“

It was true. The huge lead — it had looked like twenty minutes or so between us and the Beauties and the Beasts team when we had left Lisa behind us, and that gap had probably grown in the interim — Lisa had built was eroding, the BatB team closing the gap with every second I was not in motion.

That’s OK, I was ready.

I picked up my bike and ran across the parking lot to where The Hammer was. Within a few steps, however, I realized that I was still wearing my tennis shoes, which I had been wearing because I didn’t want my Speedplay cleats to get jammed with gravel as I got my bike ready.

I turned around and ran back toward the van.

“Where’s Ben? Where’s Lindsey? Why aren’t you ready?!” The Hammer yelled. 

Too many questions. I answered none of them. It was more important to find my bike shoes. 

Unfortunately, those bike shoes weren’t easy to find. The van was still a bit of a jumble, having been nearly tipped over on its side about an hour ago. 

The Hammer looked into the van at the mess, uncomprehendingly.

I found the shoes, sat down, and started putting them on.

Wait, That’s Not All

Shoes on — a little haphazardly, me unable to perform my normal ritual of smoothing out all possible sock wrinkles as I put on bike shoes — I picked up my bike and ran back toward the road again.

“Stop!” The Hammer yelled. 

I stopped.

“You don’t have any bottles and it’s a hundred degrees outside!”

She was right, on both counts. I grabbed one of her bottles from her bike and stuffed it into my cage. That was about half a bottle. Enough ’til they caught up with me. Hopefully.

I began running toward the road again.

Still Not All

I had almost made it to the road when The Hammer yelled at me again. “Stop!” 

“Now what,” I said, as if it were someone besides me who had made such a mess of this transition.

“The timing chip!” Of course. The timing chip. It was still on The Hammer’s ankle. I stopped, standing there as The Hammer ran to me and swapped it over to my leg.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

I began explaining, but The Hammer replied, “Just go. I’ll find them.”

I began — for the third (fourth? tenth?) time — running toward the road.

More Not All

As I got to the road, a man ran toward me. And he was yelling. “Stop!” he yelled. “Come back!” 

I was skeptical, and felt like I had spent plenty of time here, in this hellish racer exchange that would — for whatever reason — just not let me go.

Still, he seemed like he had urgent business. Not-fake business.

“You need to go over the timing mat!” he yelled.

Huh? “Why?” I yelled back.

“Your racer didn’t go over the timing mat as she came in!” he yelled.

“Yes I did!” The Hammer yelled.

“She didn’t!” The man yelled.

Backwards

I needed to make a decision. Run toward the mat, or straight onto the road and go.

Astonishingly, I made a logical choice: it would be a lot easier for race officials to delete a redundant chip entry (if The Hammer was right) than to guesstimate what time we crossed the mat if there were no entry (if the man was right).

I ran back to and over the mat. “That good?” I asked the man.

“That’ll do it,” he replied.

One Last Exchange

Finally — finally! — I got on my bike and started riding.

“El-DEN!” The Hammer. Of course.

“Yeah?” I replied. Exasperated.

“I brought you someone to ride with,” she said.

And sure enough, the rider with the Mike Nosco Memorial team — the 50+ “Salty Dogs” rider, who Ben and I had been assured would be dropping The Hammer like a rock — was rolling across the timing mat. 

Someone to work with. Awesome. Except of course The Hammer didn’t know that we now had history with this team. That this team had chosen us as their sworn enemy. 

Oh well, I thought. Maybe he and I can patch things up. And one thing was certain: working with another rider was guaranteed to improve our chances against the BatB team (as well as the Z5R teams, whereever they had gotten to).

I sat up, no idea that I was about to embark upon a leg of racing that would be just as awesome as the last leg had been awful.

And that’s where we’ll pick up on Monday.