The Delta Epic

 

After working a full day on Friday, Pete and I drove down to Memphis to meet Taylor, then on to Arkabutla Lake and the start of the Delta Epic for 300 miles of delta dirt. We got there a little early but not early enough for a nap like I had hoped. It was going to be a long night. 

The race started at midnight, and it started fast. This was a bad time to find out my head light doesn't turn on with a charger cable plugged in. The plan was to leave my lights plugged in through the night. I figured, at best, it would last 5 hours on its own. It was 7 hours till sunrise... After fiddling with that for just a moment I had to chase back up to the group, putting out way more effort than I wanted to this early. The group was cruising at 22-26 mph for the first stretch; the relay teams weren't afraid of putting the hammer down. Drafting in the pack was relatively easy. It was well worth the effort to stay with the group as it allowed me ride much faster than I could've on my own. 

Riding out of Tunica, we hit the levee around 1:30am for ~30 miles of soft gravel. Still, the group was riding at 20+mph; it was much harder to stay with them on the gravel. I contemplated dropping back, but everyone else was still hanging on. Eventually, we hit some firmer gravel and the pace slowed to ~17. No one attacked. The group was a bit smaller now, mission accomplished I guess. 

We rode through Friar's Point and headed on to Clarskdale at mile 72. I had planned to stop there to fill up on water, but with temps in the 40s I hadn't drank a whole bottle in 3.5 hours. No one else was stopping either. The next town would be Rosedale at mile 122. 

Shortly after Clarksdale, around mile 90, we hit a rutted double track road. A few people crashed into a particularly deep rut. The group split. I fiddled some more with my headlight trying to get it to stay on while charging. No luck. The indicator light was now red; no way was it going to make it till sunrise. I caught up with a couple other guys and we worked together to try to catch up to the main group. It was quite cold at this point, the roads were rough, and my fingers were too numb to dig around in my frame bag for that pack of Pop-Tarts I really wanted. If I slowed up, I risked being stranded with no light. I decided I could eat after sunrise.

Eventually we caught a group of 6-8 people, but it wasn't the group I was looking for. We maintained our pace in pursuit of the front group. Riding on another stretch of the levee, one guy dropped back; a short while later the other took off to get to his relay transition. I wasn't going to chase. I was cold, hungry, and had to pee, but Rosedale was a just a couple miles further. There was a hint of light in the sky, and somehow, my headlight was still going.

Seeing how I was on my own now, I thought I might as well have a cup of gas station coffee with my Pop-Tarts. Big mistake. The sun was rising, but it was still 40 degrees out. I got really cold, really quick. Shivering uncontrollably, I got back on the bike to warm up, favoring the aero bars as they offered both a warmer and more efficient position. I'd ridden through so much dust during the night that my vision was now blurry - not just out of focus but cloudy and dream-like. 

Riding flat, flat gravel roads cutting through cotton fields, I made my way towards Indianola at mile 180. This was the longest I'd ever been awake - 27 hours. I started singing to myself a bit around 8 o'clock, 'I.. have.. found.. some kind of temporary sanity in this..[explicit]' - Tool. I rode the next couple of hours without seeing anyone. Well, I thought I saw another rider ahead of me a couple times, but I'm not sure that it wasn't an hallucination.

After a quick stop in Indianola for some apple juice and a bag of chips, I was feeling pretty good. 10:30am, only 113 miles to go. I saw Taylor there; Pete wasn't far behind but I rode on. Memory gets a bit blurry at this point: flat roads, some gravel some paved, a slight headwind most of the time. Another rider caught up to me at some point and we rode together for a while until he slowed up on a rough gravel section. A bit after that Taylor caught me. I hung onto his wheel as he time trialled at 22 mph. It took a lot of effort to stay with him, but it was better than riding alone at 17 mph. We caught Brian a few miles before the Delta National Forest where Taylor would swap out with Pete. 

At the entrance to the forest, I stopped and ate while Pete finished getting ready. A few miles up the road, we ventured off route in search of a water spigot only to discover the handle was broken. I had a little over half a bottle left. It was a stretch but I could manage another 26 miles to the next water source. Except my math was off, it was 36 miles. 

I rode with Pete until we caught Brian and Peter. Pete took off in pursuit of another relay rider while the three of us, dehydrated and exhausted after 250+ miles, struggled to crawl along at I don't know what speed because my GPS had died. Peter dropped back. Brian and I eventually reached Satartia where there is a self-serve snack shack. I hadn't planned on stopping here with only 17 miles to go, but I desperately needed water and calories. A Coke and a Reese's took care of the later. We took off into the 'hilly' section of the route; being able to stand and coast was a welcome change. We rolled along with another relay rider to an uneventful finish just before sunset in Bentonia, 18 hours and 20 minutes since the start. Brain and I basically tied for 4th.

This wasn't the longest I had ridden, but it is the most I've pedalled in a day. And my legs were trashed. We ate dinner in Bentonia and stayed the night with Pete's friend in Jackson. I ended up staying awake for over 40 hours, something I didn't think was possible. That was the deepest I've slept in a long time. 

Road Less Traveled

I really wasn't looking forward to Memorial Weekend. I had no plans, no one to hang out with, and was already feeling the effects of isolation due to the economic shutdown. I don't need much social interaction, but working alone plus living alone with all bars and coffee shops closed and a lack of group rides and races was starting to get to me. Three days of solitude looked pretty rough. But, I had bought a new bike the previous weekend. So rather than steep in confinement, I embraced the solitude and planned some long bike routes.

Over three days I rode 195 miles. 55 of gravel on Saturday; 73 and 67 of road on Sunday and Monday. My legs haven't been that sore since TNGA; it turned out to be a truly great weekend. I'd been commuting on the Niner RLT Steel (a.k.a. the 7empest) all week, but this was the first weekend putting her through her paces. In short, it's a monument to modern bicycle engineering. It's not the lightest thing, but it's not meant to be. It's buttery smooth over the rough stuff, while the thru-axles, oversized bottom bracket and tapered head tube keep it rock solid on the descents. Dropping at 45mph, my heart might skip a few beats, but the bike is incredibly stable. Swap in some road wheels/tires and it rides better than my road bike. So much so, that the roadie may be for sale soon.

Speaking of TNGA, I haven't really been considering it this year (for no particular reason), and with all other races cancelled for the near future, I've set my sights on a new challenge. I'm strongly considering racing the Delta Epic in October. 300 miles of Delta gravel goodness starting at midnight on a Friday; all of the top times are under 24 hours. This is what the RLT was made for.

Cost of Cycling

Over the last few months, it seems like I've been spending a lot on bike repairs - chains, cassettes, brake pads, tires, tubes, headsets, bottom brackets (yes, just in the last three months I've replaced all of those things spread across four bikes). Even doing all repairs myself, the cost adds up. So, I decided to take a look at just how much cycling has cost over the last few years. Originally I was going to compare it to the cost of driving, but I realized that comparing bike related recreation/competition/transportation costs to car transportation costs isn't very meaningful, especially when your bikes are relatively much nicer than your car (even though driving was still more expensive). I've been tracking my expenses in a spreadsheet since 2011 but wasn't detailed enough prior to 2016 for this analysis. I couldn't find much online for comparison; it seems competitive cyclists either don't keep track or don't want to know how much their spending (or they don't post it online). At first I looked at the average monthly cost which came out to $145. Keep in mind, build cost for the road bike and single speed aren't included here, so this isn't the complete picture. Regardless, I think the annual costs offer more insight.

Year	Cost
2016	2845
2017	665
2018	1296
2019	2136

Digging into the details, bike costs include race fees, apparel, accessories, and outliers like two runs through TNGA - while there is no entry fee, logistical costs can add up to a few hundred not to mention the wear and tear and required gear.

2016 was a bit of an outlier. That was the year I built my full suspension, even while my spending habits were changing. In 2017, I was a bit more frugal, but as my income increased in the second half of 2018 so did my spending. I thought I was smarter than that, but that's textbook consumer behavior. I did take notice of it in 2019 when I bought rollers, a GPS (worth it), and fancy bike shoes (definitely not worth it). I also completely rebuilt the road bike - cables/housing, bar tape, chainrings/cassette/chain, wheels (the old rims had been worn out for longer than I care to admit), brake pads, and tires which I had quite an unlucky streak with - destroying three in less than a year.

Competitive cycling is quite a bit more expensive than I would've guessed; it's not just the initial purchase of a bike. It's deceptive since there are no direct costs with going for a ride. I will say that it's significantly cheaper when you can win consistently. Can it be done cheaper? Probably. Especially if you pick one discipline, but that's not as fun. I will say I've largely kicked the habit of upgrading components - just do it right the first time. It can certainly get way more expensive too.

As far as transportation goes, I bought my commuter bike in May 2017 for $70 (less than the cost of a campus parking pass), put a couple of new tubes in and rode it for a couple years. I just recently replaced the tires and brake pads. In general, I don't track my commuting/around-town miles and often use my other bikes, so I can't accurately analyze those costs. But, I think riding for transportation can be done cheaply when weight, speed, and performance aren't significant factors.

Part of what got me looking into this is that my commuter bike is starting to see up to 70 miles (5 hours) a week. At that rate, things will start to wear out, and I don't really want to put money into it (even though 8 speed parts are dirt cheap). It's also a tank and not something that makes me want to take the long way home. Despite my cost analysis, I'm looking for a new "commuter" bike. I use quotes because this will likely become my go-to bike for all urban rides, bar rides, maybe even long road rides and light trail rides. The main things I'm looking for in a do-it-all bike are wide tires, carbon fork, full hydraulic disc brakes, rack/fender mounts, and the ability to run single speed (difficult to find these days) because I know I'll get that itch at some point, and I'm trying to avoid reasons to upgrade in the future. At first I was thinking an aluminum frame, but the Niner RLT Steel has really caught my eye, just waiting for a used one in my size to pop up.

 

Isn't that beautiful?

 *Edit: After some more thought, it seems racing is expensive while cycling is only as expensive as you want it to be.

Snake Creek Gap

The coveted 2X50 belt buckle.

Lately, I've been thinking about the direction of my cycling career. XC races are fun, but there's always going to be someone faster, somewhere. And while I would like to get faster, I don't really like training for it's own sake. Improvement has always been a side effect of having fun. Endurance events offer a more personal challenge of pushing my own limits, but after a successful run through the TNGA last year, I'm left wondering whats next? The natural answer is to go bigger until I find the limit. But what does that limit actually look like? And is it a place I want to go?

It seems there are three modes of failure. Mechanical failure, which doesn't really count as that's not my failure. Bodily failure, which is definitely not something I want to experience. And mental failure, which doesn't seem likely if my body and bike are still working properly.

All of this is largely moot, because I found the ceiling last weekend. I was severely unprepared for the conditions and only managed to finish the race through sheer stubbornness.

The forecast called for low 30s at the start warming up to low 40s around noon, so I dressed for (dry) upper 30s thinking I might be a bit cool to start but warm up later. For the most part, it didn't really get above freezing. My GPS briefly recorded 37 at the sag stop but otherwise ranged from 26 to 32. My hands were pretty much frozen from the start. I brought my regular gloves and my cool weather gloves not sure which ones to wear. Usually my hands get too hot in any insulated glove, so I thought one of these pairs would work fine. I ended up wearing both, not that it did much good. A heavy snowfall persisted for the first two hours, topping off at 4 inches in some places. What's worse is that while it was below freezing, it wasn't cold enough/hadn't been cold long enough for the ground to freeze. So the constant rain of the previous week made for a very cold, muddy trail.

I was reasonably cold for the first 20 minutes or so but picked up the pace and was content until about 1 hr 20 min. Thinking back, a deep creek crossing at the 1 hour mark is probably what set off the downward spiral. At 2 hours, it felt like my hands and feet had been replaced with giant cubes of ice. A little while later, my legs were cold enough to not work very well. It's difficult to convey just how cold I was at this point. I had wet feet, was covered in mud and snow, was severely under-dressed, and it was still 27 degrees. Frostbite seemed like a real possibility. I thought a lot about quitting as I rode along. I knew the terrain only got worse from here. Admitting defeat really bothered me, but eventually, misery won. I was ready to bail.

When I first raced the TNGA, I thought of quitting, but I knew if I did, I would have to go back and try again. That was not the case this time. I was ready to quit, and I would not be coming back. I asked some other riders where the first bailout point was. "Mile 25", they said. Seven miles away. At this pace, that was almost another hour...

I trudged along. Getting off to walk some steeper sections meant my shoes ended up caked in mud slushy making it quite difficult to clip back in. After several more miles of not feeling my extremities, I wound up at the road crossing at mile 25. I was frozen. I saw one rider bail and several more roll through. I talked to the volunteers a bit, ate a granola bar, thought about waiting in the van for another hour or two before actually getting a ride back. The big sag stop was at mile 30. There were some sustained climbs coming up where I might have a chance to get warm. Shit. I guess I'll press on a bit farther.

I didn't get any warmer over the next 5 miles. A LOT of people bailed at the sag stop. I could tell the veterans from the rookies, as they had a change of socks, shoes, and gloves waiting for them. Volunteers offered a variety of things, including their personal gear, but it was too late at this point. I stood in front of a propane heater for at least 20 minutes, and while the feeling in my hands returned, my core temperature only seemed to drop. The longer I stood there, the more I shivered. My feet were still numb but didn't seem to be getting any worse. Though, I'm not sure I'd be able to tell. I didn't really want to keep riding... but... I'd made it this far. There was only 18 miles to go, though the terrain gets increasingly difficult. The last 1.5 miles are an easy downhill, so really it's only like ~16. And there's another sag stop/bailout point halfway...

I managed to stop shivering once I started riding again while my hands quickly went numb once more. Eight miles later, my front brake gives out. I'm sure the rear isn't far behind. I try my best to not use it, saving whats left for when I really need it. I down some Fig Newtons and Gatorade at the next stop and press on into the final, most technical stretch. A dense fog has settled in, saturating everything. I walk the downhills. They're sketchy on a good day; there's no way I could successfully navigate them with only a rear brake. I also walk up "The Wall" and what I believe is known as "The Gauntlet" - the rockiest section of the route. My GPS said I had a few more miles of trail when I popped out onto the last downhill. I was ecstatic even though I knew the laws of physics were about to break. My core temperature was going to drop below absolute zero. But it would all be over soon.

Waiting at the finish was a tent with a 150,000 BTU propane heater and all the chili and peach cobbler I could eat. I even managed to drink a couple of PBRs after warming up a bit. Time to complete the first event in January with minimal stops - 5:50; time to complete the second event in the wintry hell of February - 7:59.

What's left of my brake pads.

I take comfort knowing it's unlikely that anything will ever be that bad again. To be in a worse condition, I'd have to literally be dying on the side of the trail. I did manage to learn several things from this experience though: be prepared for temperatures to be +/- 15 degrees from the forecast (especially for endurance events); water bottles are useless on a muddy course, use a Camelbak; anticipate water crossings to maintain dry feet; the closer I get to finishing, the more determined I am to do so. Also, The Snake is expensive. These two races destroyed one pair of headset bearings, two bottom brackets, and both sets of brake pads, though I'm sure some of those were ready to go anyways.

So, will I go back? My immediate answer was, 'Hell No'. But it was mostly a lack of preparedness that caused my misery. The main issue is that below a threshold of about 35 degrees, I don't add more layers, I swap clothing systems. During the ride I thought about my warm pants, windbreaker, and snow mittens and realized I probably would've been too hot in all that. I may have to come out with my own line of light-weight mittens as gloves have never kept my hands warm. I also prefer platform pedals when snow and/or freezing temperatures are involved. I tried everything imaginable to keep my feet warm in cycling shoes last winter and concluded that it just isn't possible when you've got a hard plastic or carbon sole attached to a giant heat sink. Extreme cold days are rare in Nashville (it was 60 and sunny the following day, go figure), so I probably won't have the need to sort out these gear issues. To answer the question of racing again, I'll just have to see how I feel when registration opens in November.

An Argument for Running

I really miss the Whirlpool Trails in Oxford. I could be on singletrack about five minutes after leaving my apartment, ride hard for an hour and a half without repeating anything, no traffic, few joggers. It was great. The ultimate way to clear my head. One day I'll live next to a trail system again, but that's not the case now.

Of the three nearby trail systems, none of them are worth moving closer to. Cedar Hill is only a three mile loop. It's about seven miles from my apartment which makes it a decent ride. It's also the newest and therefore takes the longest to dry out. Percy Warner is nice but gets very repetitive in under an hour. It's also surrounded by McMansions, so not really feasible to move much closer. It's currently about a fifteen mile ride just to get there. Hamilton Creek is the best, but it's equally far and surrounded by typical suburban infrastructure where all traffic gets funnelled into fast, busy arteries. Some bike lanes exist, but it's not a great area to ride. Lock 4 and Schutes Branch are further still. I have yet to ride those; I often forget that it's considered normal to drive to the trailhead.

My riding has been dwindling, as it usually does in winter, and I feel like I need more exercise. More importantly, I need a way to clear my head. Road riding in general doesn't do it for me. Maybe it's the traffic or the stop and go of stop lights/signs, maybe it's the lack of dirt or worrying that a large pebble will take me out. I don't know, but there is a gap in my life that running might fill nicely.

I've been running once a week or so with a local club, but I'm considering taking it up more seriously (ideally without sacrificing cycling). The advantages are too big to ignore: I can get in a good workout in thirty to forty-five minutes, there's very little stopping and no coasting, traffic is of minimal concern, it doesn't require miles of open road or dry trails, it's easier to run than ride in cold and/or wet conditions. There are other perks too like it being far cheaper, takes less time to get ready, and there's no maintenance to speak of (unless you injure yourself). When things do dry out a bit, I can go explore the gravel/grassy/dirt paths that branch off of the greenway, maybe even bringing Lucy along. I feel bad that she doesn't get much exercise these days, but she's hardly good for two miles on pavement.

I recently replaced my running shoes, ran in them for the first time this morning. I'm kind of excited to see where this goes.