My support crew (my parents) and I took off for Belle Fourche on Thursday morning. On the way we dropped my vehicle off in Watertown and drove the route backwards so I could take mental notes. These mental notes somehow got scrambled between my ears, which I’ll elaborate on later.
After reaching the hotel and checking in we made our way to Spearfish for dinner with Biking Brady, his wife, and relative (who is from Spearfish and with whom he was staying). After eating it was back to Belle Fourche and trying to sleep as long as I could.
I woke around eight (8) AM and was excited for the race to start. After doing our best to burn the day until race it was time to get to the start on the Wyoming border. We received final instruction, our dog-tag identification (in case we became road kill, I guess), our jerseys, and then the race start.
It was going to be a tough day. The winds were mostly out of the east, we were traveling east, and the group was coked up on adrenaline and starting pretty hard. At Belle Fourche (fourteen (14) miles away) some of us pulled off and regrouped. We took off east in a more moderately paced pace line each pulling for about a mile.
Into the night we went. The storm started to roll in about dark. The area near Rapid City and Sturgis got hammered with big hail. We were treated to drenching rain and higher winds. At Mud Butte we stopped and that is where a very nice lady essentially ordered us into her house for shelter. With the weather being bad we took this opportunity to sleep. We arrived at about ten (10) PM. The hard winds persisted most of the night and we rolled again at five (5) AM.
We rode long and hard. We stopped roughly every fifteen (15) to twenty (20) miles for a quick break and to eat. Our support vehicles carried the food. Every once in a while we’d get off the bikes for a sit down meal. We tried for breakfast in Faith but nothing was there. We sent some support ahead to Dupree in search of a laundry mat to dry some clothes and to scope for food. We had a good breakfast at Dupree, though it took quite a while.
The day had our main group riding together. Biking Brady, Craig DeVelder, and I formed a pace line that carried us quite far down the road (more on these guys later as well). The only flat of our group occurred on Saturday. We switched it out (including the tire), pinch-flatted, and change the tube again, and were on our way. All the while the collie on the other side of the highway either barked at us or sat a watched three (3) morons trying to change tire and tube.
Back to my scrambled memory – I had remembered an uphill drive almost all the way from the Missouri river to Ridgeview. I confidently told the group it was downhill almost all the way from Ridgeview to the river. My mistake. There were some definite up hills. Not terribly steep, just somewhat, but plenty long. Those, and the climb-out after crossing the river, are what I think did one of our group in.
Craig was plenty fatigued when we reached Gettysburg (as the sign outside town said, “where the battle was not.”) and he elected to drop out of the race at that point. We all ate a big meal and the two (2) of us hit the road again.
It had been headwinds all the way. We finally reached Faulkton and then just west of Faulkton and the one (1) of two (2) southward jogs in the whole route. We were doing upwards of twenty-five (25) miles per hour on that nice ten (10) mile stretch and it felt quite good.
We hit Redfield about 3:15 AM and two-hundred-twenty-five (225) miles since we started at five (5) AM in Mud Butte. Bad news in Redfield. The Super-8 was full (rodeo) and the other hotel, though had vacancy, didn’t seem to want any business. The innkeeper didn’t answer pounds on the door nor my phone call. So, van sleeping from four (4) AM to almost six (6) AM. Two (2) hours of somewhat sleep and then the hardest thing up to that point – getting back on the bike.
It took about twenty (20) miles to get going. Talk about the definition of sluggish. We enjoyed the second (2nd) of two (2) southward, wind-at-our-backs run and rolled into Doland and stopped for some food. This is where my meltdown started.
I had a very hard time keeping up at sixteen (16) MPH even though I was not pulling at all at this point. At about half way between Doland and Clark my legs started to fail me. Biking Brady went ahead trying hard to make the forty-eight (48) hour cut-off and I fending for myself.
Each small roller hill was harder and harder to get up. I could only manage twelve (12) to fourteen (14) MPH on downhills. My legs were fading fast. Craig, and his wife, escorted me (by car) into Clark and then my parents took over as my lone support vehicle.
I paused in Clark knowing I could not make the forty-eight (48) cut-off at this point. I wanted so bad to make the border, regardless. I took off out of Clark and managed about five (5) more miles before I started to get very cold and also shaking uncontrollably. Three-hundred-seventy-seven miles from the Wyoming border my body refused to let me continue. I called into the race director and loaded my bike into my parent’s mini van.
Parts of my body were quite sore at that point. However, my legs were sore, but not that bad. They simply did not have the strength to turn the cranks anymore. If any of you are hard-core weight lifters out there you’ll understand this analogy – when going for (perceived) maximum reps at a certain weight on a certain lift, does failure to do another rep come from your brain saying it hurts too much to do another or from your body blocking out any pain and the muscle not able to physically move the weight? In my case, it was the latter. My legs were fatigued to the point that I could not make it up the fairly gentle, but very long climbs.
Now, excuses are like assholes – everyone’s got one and everyone’s stinks. I could say the storm and the constant headwinds are what got me. I could say the seven (7) hour layover in Mud Butte is what doomed me. They certainly didn’t help. I do know I gave it everything I had. I don’t feel the least bit ashamed. After all, of nineteen (19) solo riders only three (3) made it and I was tied for the longest distance rode of the ones that dropped. But I feel intense disappointment. I hate giving so much effort only to come up about sixty (60) miles short in a four-hundred-thirty-five (435) mile race.
I’m sure you have, or have seen, the yellow Live Strong wristband thingies. At the start of this race we received one that is blue and says “Got Guts.” I’ve already decided I’m entering this again next year. I’m wearing my wristband until I finish the race, within the forty-eight (48) hour time limit – solo – next year.
Even though I am very, very disappointed, I have learned a lot about this race and myself. I’ll use this knowledge as I prepare for next year’s race.
I only took a few pictures. I’ll probably post the better ones tomorrow. And, I highly recommend this race. It is quite a challenge doing it solo or as part of a team. The participation went from four (4) in the first (1st) year to twenty-two (22) this year. I hope to see that big of a jump in 2008.
Lastly, a VERY big thanks to Biking Brady and Craig DeVelder. I would have not made it as far as I did if we had not worked together to tackle those headwinds. Equal big thanks to my parents (my support crew) and to the wives of Biking Brady and Craig. The support crews also worked together. It made a very tough task seem much more bearable. And, a big congrats to Biking Brady. He was the third (3rd) one to finish the race and had roughly forty-five (45) minutes to spare.
So, Highway 212 Gut Check 2008 – who’s in?
Ride On.
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