20 Years
With the right woman, 20 years doesn’t feel like very long at all.
7 Reasons I Loved Leadville This Year
A Note from Fatty: I set out today to write a race report. But I — somehow — wound up with a list instead. Nobody’s more surprised about this than I am. I’ll have the actual chronology of my day posted soon. I promise.
Last Saturday, I was not fast. I was not fit. I was not focused.
But I had a great race. Really. It was quite possibly the high-water mark in my racing career. Here are 7 — among many more, many of which I probably haven’t even realized exist — reasons why.
Reason #1: I Really, Really, Really Needed a Vacation
This was my 12th consecutive Leadville 100, and I look forward to going every year. I love all the lollygagging that happens before the race. I love the traditions surrounding the race — the pre-race meeting, the standing around in line right before the gun goes off, the being greeted by faster friends when I cross the finish line.
And this year, I was doubly looking forward to it. Because I needed a vacation. A few days where I would have responsibility for nothing but myself.
And then, at the last minute, I decided not to go.
You see, the morning before I was to leave, Susan had a fall. And then another. For the second one, she banged her shins and started bleeding. Since Susan’s on blood thinners, the blood was gushing out. When we got the bleeding stopped, the bruises on her shins were already black and enormous.
So I said I was staying home. The race isn’t that important. It’s just a race.
But Susan would have none of it. I had to go, she said. It wasn’t up for discussion. She didn’t want me at home, moping around the house.
So I made sure every phone number of every person in the neighborhood was written down on a piece of paper, made sure Susan would have someone staying with her, and I went. Grateful for a wife that knows that not many things matter much to me, but this race does.
Reason #2: No Pressure
Another thing that was great about this year’s race was that I didn’t have a goal. Sure, I talked about intentionally being the last person across the finish line before twelve hours had elapsed (making myself the first person ever to try to get the famed “Last Ass Over the Pass” award), or trying to get exactly 11:11:11.
But really, I had no idea how I’d do. I’m 20 pounds heavier than I was this time last year, haven’t been training, and was riding a singlespeed on the course for the first time ever. How could I know what to expect?
Well, I could expect to have fun. And I could, for the first time ever, expect to get a good night’s rest the night before the race. No pressure meant that I didn’t have to lie awake all night, fretting.
Reason #3: Lots of Friends of Fatty
I have no way to know for certain, but I believe that there were more Fat Cyclist jerseys at Leadville than any other kind. And every time I saw one — whether on a friend or stranger — I’d get a big smile.
Even better than seeing all those jerseys, though, was all the kind words I got on the trail. So many people said, “Give my best to Susan,” or “We’re thinking about / praying for Susan,” that I lost count.
Reason #4: I Have Figured Out What and When To Eat
Every year, I fade toward the end of the race. I’m convinced that it’s because I just can’t eat. No matter what I bring, I stop eating when the riding gets difficult. This, in turn, makes my stomach clench up and it becomes difficult to drink. And then the effect cascades, leaving me weak and wiped out. In a state of self-inflicted bonk.
This year, that didn’t happen. I went through two packets of Shot Bloks (rotating through Strawberry, Cran-Razz, and Cherry this year), two packets of Sports Beans, and a PowerGel every two or three hours. And some chicken soup at each aid station.
All of this, however takes a back seat to Coca Cola.
All of my friends gag at the idea of keeping Coke in a bottle and drinking it warm, and probably it grosses you out too. That’s fine; I’m not trying to sell you on it. But warm, flat Coke doesn’t bother me a bit. I just love the stuff. Can’t get enough. And since a good-sized water bottle holds around 300 calories-worth of soda, it’s not like taste was the only thing it had going for it. Fast calories + hydration + caffeine. And it’s available in every store in the entire world.
I also made up a new rule: any time I had to get off my bike to push, I had to stuff something in my mouth before beginning the push. This rule doesn’t make any sense at all in most places in the world, but on the Leadville 100, it makes great sense, because you’ve got to push up part of Columbine. Then you’ve got to push up a steep little grunt of a hill. Then you’ve got to push up the Powerline trail.
Usually, these sections are just frustrating to me: I’m walking in a bike race, for crying out loud! This time, though, I was eating and stretching my legs during these sections, making good use of the terrain.
Check me out: I was thinking strategically.
Reason #5: Everyone Loves a Single Speed
I remember, in Leadville 100s past, giving a shout-out to any rider I saw doing this race on a single speed. Since this year I did the race on a single speed, I now found out that apparently I’m not the only guy who does that. Dozens and dozens of people yelled things like “Go single!” during the race. I bet my time was 15 minutes faster because of this encouragement than it would otherwise have been.
What is very important at this juncture is that the rest of the world must not find out that riding a single speed is no harder than riding a geared bike. Oh, sure, there were parts where an easier gear would have let me stay on my bike longer. But there were many more parts where, because of the bike gearing, I climbed much faster than I would otherwise have. And without significantly more effort.
Consider this: overweight and undertrained, I finished the final 25 miles — the climbiest and hardest part of the race — faster than I ever have before. Why? Because on a single speed, you know when you’ve got to walk, and so you do, instead of frying yourself in granny gear to go an extra 20 feet on your bike.
And when you’re on your single speed bike on a climb, you’re going faster than you would on a geared bike, because you’ve got to turn the cranks at a certain rate…or fall over if you don’t.
And then, finally: on the flats. Single speeds are slow on the flats, no doubt about it. If I were going for a fast time, I could have tried to compensate by spinning a fast cadence. Instead, though, I just churned along at the rate I felt like going. When the course turned up, I passed people. When it was flat, I got passed.
And in this way, I passed and got re-passed by the same group of people over and over and over, until it became a joke. “Eighteen,” I’d say, passing one guy on a climb.
“Nineteen,” he’d reply, passing me back once we got to a flat spot.
The unplanned consequence of all this was that I still had some power in my legs when I got to the big climbs.
Reason #6: I Love to Climb
I don’t know if I would be a cyclist if I lived in the flatlands. Maybe I’d learn to love powering along in big gears, mile after mile. But for right now, I love to climb. I just do. I love the intensity of it. I love reaching a summit. I love looking down from the top of a mountain into a valley, knowing that I’ve earned that view. I love that I’m pretty good at climbing — considering my paunchiness — and can do it for hours on end.
And Leadville is all about climbing. About 12,000 feet of it.
Traditionally, I dread the final quarter of the race, because I’m so tired that I can’t enjoy the climb. This time, I got to the final quarter of the race feeling just as good — possibly better — than I did at the beginning of the race. How did that happen? I don’t know. But it did. And so while those around me suffered just like I normally do, I was feeling calm. Peaceful.
I just stood up and pedaled, rocking the bike left and right with each turn of the cranks. Maybe that’s it: climbing with a single speed forces you into an insistent, consuming rhythm. There’s no room left in your head or body for the demons to talk.
Reason #7: I Can Descend
Separated shoulder notwithstanding, I’m descending better than I ever have before. It used to be that when I passed friends going up St. Kevins, they’d pass me coming down the Powerline. If I passed them climbing Columbine, they’d pass me on the way back down.
This year, that didn’t happen.
Well, actually I think it did happen.
But not as often. And not as embarrassingly.
PS: Check out this great photo from CyclingNews’ coverage of Leadville 100. That’s Bry in the background, proudly sporting a pink Fat Cyclist T-shirt. Way to infiltrate the press, Bry!
PPS: For a “Where’s Waldo”-ish game, see if you can find me in the this VeloNews photo of racers waiting at the starting line.
Upon Further Reflection
As I mentioned yesterday, I’m generally not a very angry person. Maybe this is because just about any time I work up a nice batch of righteous indignation and then express it, I find myself feeling silly about it after I’ve cooled down.
Like yesterday, for example.
Shortly after posting, I re-read what I wrote and considered taking it down. Then I decided to leave it up, because, after all, it’s how I really felt at the moment. And I think that it’s a pretty good representation of how anyone who’s ever been knocked off his bike — whether in a race or not — feels.
Which is to say, yesterday’s post may not have been my most noble moment, but it was an honest moment.
Now that I’ve cooled down a bit, here’s what I’m thinking:
- I still think Louis made a bad move. It was reckless and unnecessary, and it could have ended not just my race, but his race, and a lot of other people’s races.
- There was no need to make a reckless move in order to get ahead of me. As I stood in line at the beginning of the race, a racer from behind Rick McDonald and me asked if he could wheel his bike ahead of us to get a better start position. Of course we said yes. The racer’s name was Manuel Prada. He eventually took third, overall.
- I have done stupid things, too. I’ve done very stupid things on a bike before, causing other people to crash. I would have been humiliated if someone had caught those things on camera and published them for the world to see. Well, actually, when I do stupid stuff I write about it pretty much immediately. But there’s a difference between writing about something stupid I do and something stupid someone else does.
- I should not use my blog for revenge. I can see that if I use my blog as a place to get even, it will quickly transform from the generous community it has become into an angry, snarky place that I wouldn’t want to read. So I’m going to take 300 deep breaths before clicking Publish the next time I consider using my blog as a weapon.
- I forget to suck in my gut when I’m crashing. Thanks to Holly for getting this photo. While I don’t seek out crashes, I’m glad that I somehow manage to have people catching them on film. Here it is again. This time, just admire it for Holly’s awesome timing with the shutter.
The First 30 Seconds
I’m back from Leadville now, and tonight I’m going to try to write a report about what I consider to be the best race experience of my entire life.
Really, I enjoyed it that much.
But for right now, I’d like to talk about the first thirty seconds of the race.
The Rule
The Leadville Trail 100 race organizers have stated, over and over, in no uncertain terms, that the paved downhill at the beginning of the race is a neutral start. It’s a crowded, narrow road, and no passing is allowed. Get your pass on once we’re on the dirt.
And, thanks to my strong finish time in 2007, I got to start in the cordoned-off section at the front. I set myself by Rick McDonald, one of very few people who has started and completed every single one of the Leadville 100s.
The Crash
The gun went off at 6:30am, and I — along with everyone else — started pedaling. Things were tight, but not scary.
And then this happened:
Ladies and gentlemen, meet racer #845, aka Louis Baker. Louis — feeling the neutral start did not apply to him, but lacking the skill to ignore rules safely – elbowed me as he surged by, then hooked my handlebars and sent me to the pavement.
I went down on my knees, catching my upper body with my right hand. Luckily for me, my right shoulder did not dislocate.
My bottles scattered on the road, and other cyclists dodged me, my bike, and my bottles.
Note: As most of you know, I’m ordinarily not an angry person. In fact, I’m one of the least-angry people you’ll ever meet. But the rest of this post is going to be kinda angry. Why? Oh, I dunno. Maybe because some bonehead had, within the first half-minute of the race, gone and done exactly what the race organizers had spent the last ten minutes telling us over and over not to do. And he had, with this move, very nearly ended my 12-year Leadville streak, and the only race I’m doing this year, what with my wife being sick at home and all. Anyway, if you don’t like the thought of an Angry Fatty, you’ve probably already read too much of this post and you may want to just come back tomorrow, when I promise I’ll be incredibly upbeat.
I gathered everything up, angrier than I can ever remember being, but not knowing who had done this (and I never would have if this picture hadn’t been taken). I wasn’t hurt, and my bike was fine.
Louis continued on, unconcerned, unapologetic. In, what I’d like to note, is an atrocity of cycling garb.
You may be saying to yourself, “But maybe Fatty was drifting back. Maybe this Louis fella in the super dorky knickers wasn’t surging forward at all.” Except in the center of the picture you’ll see Rick McDonald, the guy I started with (Rick finished with an 8:26, a very fast time). He and I were playing by the rules.
As for Louis, well, let’s take a look at how much that extra 1.000008 seconds he bought by making that illegal pass helped him.
Just a second…still checking the standings. I’m looking very carefully through all the sub-9-hour finishing times, where clearly Louis belonged.
Hm. Not there. Odd.
OK, let’s take a look at the sub-10-hour finishes.
How peculiar. He’s not there, either.
Oh, there Louis is. He finished in 10:38.
Which is, I feel compelled to note, after I finished.
More to the point, It’s more than half an hour after I finished.
Louis, some advice: next time you race, you may want to go start further back in the field.
And stay there.
The Short Version
I’ll have a story to tell early next week, but here’re the bare basics: I finished the race in 10:06 (plus or minus a minute — I can’t find official results posted anywhere), about an hour faster than I had hoped to.
My WaltWorks single speed worked flawlessly, my shoulder gave me no problems, and I felt utterly fantastic the whole day.
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