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| 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.
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| 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.
