2016 Leadville 100 Race Report, Part 5: All Together Now

09.6.2016 | 12:18 pm

In any given race, there is a period after the start-of-race adrenaline and nervousness has faded away, but before the race-induced exhaustion sets in. 

This period is the golden moment of racing. The best part of racing. It can last an hour, but it can also last for about two seconds. So it is definitely something to be anticipated, recognized, and savored.

In the 2016 Leadville 100, this golden moment lasted for — more or less — the entirety of the fifteen flattish miles between the first and second aid stations (Pipeline to Twin Lakes).

The Hammer and I were both relieved to have made it down the Powerline section, we were happy to be riding together and discovering that all the training we do together was translating well into racing well together, we were  both feeling good and strong.

And somehow, we had wound up riding with a fun group of people. 

First, Rohit caught us and volunteered to give the two of us a pull for a bit. We gratefully accepted, and stuck on his wheel for as long as we could ’til he dropped us and continued on ahead. I considered calling out to him that he was losing us, but decided against it. He was riding great, let him go. I was confident we’d see him on Columbine.

And then we caught up with another singlespeeder. As is traditional when singlespeeders catch each other, we performed the “What gear are you riding?” ritual.

He started out. “What gear are you riding?” he asked. 

“34 by 19,” I answered, then continued (as dictated by tradition), “How about you?”

“32 by 20,” he replied.

“Oh, that’s the same gear my wife is riding,” I replied, truthfully. Then, realizing that this could be interpreted as a jab, I amended, “And I’m sure lots of men ride that gear too.”

At this point I realized that I was only underscoring the unintended jab and was making things worse. Which put me at a crossroads: redirect the conversation (best choice), continue to backpedal (not a great choice, but definitely in character), or spike the ball.

“I’m going to give you the nickname 32 20, OK?” I asked.

The Hammer rolled her eyes. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Craig,” he replied. 

“Good to meet you, 32 20,” I said.

The Hammer punched me in the throat, crushing my larynx, cutting off my air supply, and effectively stopping me from saying anything further.

OK, she actually just gave me a look, but it had more or less the same effect.

The three of us rode together, happily chatting. And we were moving fast, too. Catching racers, in spite of the fact that we were all on singlespeeds.

And then we caught another singlespeeder. “I have never,” I said, “been in a group of four singlespeeders in a race before.” 

And then I attacked both of them, yelling as I went by, “I just jumped two places in my division standings!”

It was hilarious. Trust me.

All Together Now

I don’t remember where or how we parted ways with Craig (32 20) or the other singlespeeder (never learned his name and can’t remember his gearing, but his jersey read “Pantone” across the back), but I think it must have been as we reached our crew at the Twin Lakes aid station.

We had a lot of people there crewing for us: The Hammer’s brother, Scott, his friend Kara, Car and Couch, Blake, and Rohit’s mom. And we had given detailed instructions on what we each needed.

As a result, they were prepared for any of us to come in at any time.

What they were not prepared for, however — what never occurred to us to ask them to be prepared for — was us all coming in at more or less the exact same time.

Let me just lay things out, chronologically, as best as I can, using what I realize is incomplete information. We’ll start with “0:00” as being the moment the first of our group entered the area where our crew was waiting for us.

0:00 – Rohit enters the pit area

0:01 – Rohit’s mom starts helping Rohit

0:10 – The Hammer and Fatty enter the pit area

0:11 – The Hammer climbs off her bike and walks behind the pit area, telling everyone there not to watch, she has to pee. 

0:15 – Car hands Fatty a Coke and some endurolyte capsules

0:16 – Couch swaps Fatty’s bottles

0:17 – The Monster pulls in to the crew station and begins bellowing for support. Why is nobody helping her?! 

0:20 – Fatty wonders aloud why nobody has given him any new GUs (the reason? Kara and Scott have hurried over to help the very urgent requests of The Monster)

0:23 – Couch hands Fatty a handful of GUs

0:25 – Fatty yells to The Hammer that he’s heading out, but will be stopping at a porta potty as soon as he can find one (Fatty is more private about such matters than The Hammer). She should continue on and he’ll catch her as soon as possible.

0:40 – Fatty finds a porta potty not fifty feet away from the pit crew tent. Relieved, he steps inside to…get some relief. He considers, briefly, that usually he doesn’t need to pee until about five hours into this race, but this time needs to a mere three hours into it. Weird.

0:50 – The Hammer rides by the porta potty, yelling as she goes by

1:00 – The Monster rides by the porta potty, but does not yell as she goes by. 

1:10 – Fatty exits the porta potty, wondering at how he’s managed to wind up in last place. He spins up to full speed, hoping to catch back up as quickly as possible.

What Didn’t Happen

Here’s the thing: by me detailing out the timeline of who did what for whom and when, I have made it seem like things went pretty smoothly at the Twin Lakes pit stop.

And as far as I was concerned, they did go smoothly. I got out quickly with everything I needed, found a toilet immediately after, and got back to racing. Very few seconds lost.

However, things had not gone as smoothly as I had thought. Which I would find out very soon. 

As I exited the porta potty, I could see The Monster just a hundred or so feet ahead. I jumped on my bike and gave chase, trying to catch up to her as quickly as I could. 

“The Moooooonnnnnnnnnssssssttteerrrrr!” I yelled, as I closed in.

“Faaaaatttty!” She yelled back. 

“You are killing it!” I yelled. “I gotta go catch your mom now!” And then I redoubled my efforts, racing like I was in the final stretch of the race, and not about to hit an eight-mile climb that would take me up to 12,500 feet.

By going absolutely all-out, I managed to catch up to The Hammer just half a mile outside the aid station. “Back together!” I yelled, happily. “What a madhouse at the pit stop,” I effused, “But it went great!”

“It didn’t go great,” The Hammer said, her voice flat in the way that tells me that things went very not-great indeed.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I’m still wearing my toe warmers and heavy gloves,” she said.

Mentally, I sighed with relief. That was an expensive mistake, but not costly in terms of time. We could always just ditch those, toss them to someone on the side of the trail. We’d never get them back, but it wasn’t the kind of thing to be concerned about during a race.

“And also,” The Hammer said, “They didn’t switch my Camelbak out.”

“What?“

“In the confusion with me peeing and The Monster coming in so we’re all there wanting stuff at the same time, I forgot to have them switch my Cambelbak out, and they forgot too. And they didn’t ask about gloves or my toe covers.”

“So how much do you have left in your Camelbak right now?” I asked. “Anything?”

“Some,” The Hammer answered, which is really the best estimate anyone wearing a Camelbak can ever give. Personally, I have several times been utterly convinced I had a third of a bladder full at the moment I got that shkkrkrrreekkk slurping sound that indicates you are out.

And she had a new, full bottle of Carborocket 333. And I had two full bottles. Enough to get the two of us to the top of Columbine. Probably. And we could refill there.

“OK,” I said, and told her my plan, which involved her throwing away about $100-worth of her favorite cold-weather bike gear, as well as both of us probably hopefully only running out of water just slightly before we reached the Columbine mine summit.

The Hammer was not delighted with this solution, but it was something.

And then, like a bolt out of the blue, I had a perfect moment of clarity. One which would let The Hammer get rid of her cold weather stuff now, without losing it forever. Further, she’d have enough fluid to get not just to the summit of Columbine, but all the way back to the Twin Lakes aid station. 

It was simple, it was smart, and I was 100% certain it would work. To be honest, I was a little bit astonished that the idea came to me at that moment. My brain doesn’t usually work all that well when I’m racing. 

And I will explain what this brilliant moment of clarity was — and describe the two most disheartening moments of the entire race — in the next installment of this story.