"When you want to quit you have to surrender to the moment, and find a calm."
--Mark Allen
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| Me at the starting line of the 2014 6-12-24 World Championship Time Trial Race in my Great Basin Bicycles skinsuit. |
This was supposed to be my race. That was my thought as my bike was propped upside down on its
handlebars and seat, its rear tire removed and the contents of my saddle bag
strewn in the desert sand. I try not to think my race is over, fumbling with
the tire irons to extract my tube so that I can replace it with the only one I
have left.
The hardest part wasn’t getting the tube out; instead, it was
keeping thoughts of you’ve
already failed out of my head
so I don’t start panicking… or, crying.
*
On Friday “Team Great Basin Bicycles”-- of which I was a part--
drove to the 6-12-24-hour WorldChampionship Time Trials held in Borrego Springs, California on Saturday.
We weren’t big, as teams go: Rich (the owner of GBB) would ride in the mixed
tandem 6-hour time trial division with stoker Irena. Then there was me:
competing in the solo female division for the six-hour time trial event.
 |
| Packing the car for the event-- I'm still amazed we fit one tandem bike, one "bumblebee" bike, a cooler, 64 water bottles, five suitcases, snacks, cycling gear and three riders in there. |
The landscape of 395-south is primarily desert, although it
varies in type. There is high-desert steppe at the base of the Eastern Sierra
where, once you’re far enough south, the mountain peaks top 14,000 feet,
dwarfing the valley floor (like in Independence, California, home to one of my
favorite western writers, Mary Austin.) Eventually that landscape gives way to
the Mohave, the land of creosote, Joshua tree and power line; the grand Sierra
fade into the distance and the sky spreads out without its frame of
mountaintops.
Just so you know, from Reno to Borrego Springs is about a
ten-hour drive, so it gave me plenty of time to think. (As Rich said on the way
down: We must be crazy: we are
driving a bit over twenty hours round trip to do a six-hour bike race. And when you put it like that, it does
sound crazy.)
 |
| Driving by Topaz Lake on Friday morning. Watching the landscape change on the drive down was one of my favorite parts of the event, actually. |
Crazy is relative, however, like distance and time. What seems
so incredibly long (a five-mile run if you are not a runner or a century on the
bike when you’re just starting out) can become effortless with the right kind
of training (or, maybe it’s never effortless. I would argue, though, that the
question of pace--of how
fast-- quite a different
creature than can I
finish?)
It was in this context of a new desert landscape (Borrego
Springs, it turns out, was much more like Independence than the Mohave in that
it was framed by tall mountains on all sides; unlike the Mohave in its palm
trees, grapefruit trees, and golf courses) that I would have to face another
unexpected challenge of endurance racing: anything can happen.
*
 |
| Some high-Sierra beauty somewhere around Lone Pine, the gateway to Mt. Whitney. |
If you’ve read any part of this blog, I’m sure you know the
story. In 2010, I was training for the Olympic Trials and I didn’t make it.
This past season, changed my focus and was training for the Lake Tahoe 70.3
Ironman and that, too, didn’t happen. This isn’t to say I don’t have victories
(I did great this year at the Lake Tahoe Triathlon which was an Olympic
Distance event as well as the Davis Double where I completed my first double
century EVER!) But I haven’t had the kind of victory I think I could have, if
all the stars align.
I had hoped this Time Trial would be my event… at least for 2014. After all, I have a lot of miles on
the bike (inside and out) as well as a solid 17-20 hours of training each week.
I’ve also been more careful about my nutrition than I have in the past. And
although this isn’t a scientific measure, I just feel “healthy.” My pre-race
goal had been to complete 120-130 miles in six hours including the time it
would take to stop and restock my water and food supplies.
The more and more I participate in these types of events, though,
the more I am coming to understand their fickle nature: yes, it’s a staged
event and yes, it’s not quite like venturing across the Antarctic, but there is
some element of the unknown even in a time trial, a triathlon, a marathon. Will
you sprain your ankle? Run over a nail and get a flat? Fall and break a collar
bone? Panic and nearly drown in the swim?
Maybe the question is never, quite, how fast. Maybe there is, always, some
element of maybe I won’t make
it no matter what you
do. And in this, maybe these events are just like life: maybe I won’t make it you think when you’re in college,
single, married, starting a new job, ending a career, moving, buying a house,
losing a house, taking that step into the unknown-- no matter the event-- maybe
it’s human to wonder maybe I
won’t make it through?
*
 |
| Somewhere right before the Mohave desert when Rich relinquished the driver's seat and Irena took over. |
The race morning was warm. I was in short sleeves and shorts and
still-- can you imagine in November-- sweating? I was the only woman competing
in the solo six-hour time trial; the rest were ten male competitors and two
tandem teams. One was Rich and Irena (my Great Basin Bicycle teammates) the
other a two-man team who was, oddly, listed as a mixed team.
I hadn’t really studied the course before the event. I knew it
was an 18-mile loop, that it was mostly flat and that about five hours after
our noon-start time, we would switch to a smaller, 5-mile loop until the race
ended at six. It be a day of right-hand turns, of burning hamstrings and quads,
and a day of going as fast as I can and my only limit being my strength and/or
my ability to hold onto a certain cadence or pace.
When the time trial began, I was hopeful. I rode hard, but not
too hard, finding my rhythm as I rested in my aerobars. Rich and Irena passed
me early-- in the first two miles-- before Rich misjudged a turn. But I saw
them before mile 5, and looking strong, they left me behind. I swore to myself: please don’t let the tandem train
catch me before I reach 100 miles.
*
 |
| Borrego Springs, where the race was held. This shot, taken on race morning, shows the contrast of desert and mountain. |
I completed one lap in well under an hour despite the headwind up the only
climb on the course. I didn’t even stop for water. I believed this was my event
to fly through. I very nearly did: I exchanged places with a rider from
Montana who looked like he does these events often. I rode strong until
mile thirty when, with a swift headwind in my face, I felt the floppy wobble of
a flat back tire.
I don’t quite believe it at first. I kept riding for a while
until I looked between my leg and the saddle and saw the black of my tire spread
flat against the pavement.
*
I didn’t want to go back to Reno with a round of excuses why I
am not a good athlete. I had a
flat tire. I had stomach issues. The wind was wrong. I wanted, finally, to just be good
and to own it, if that makes sense. It was hard not to be devastated especially
as riders I had passed in previous miles rode by me in the wind and I watched,
literally, the passage of time.
I told myself not to work too fast and not to panic. I kept my
hands steady, using the plastic tire iron to loosen the tire from the rim. Then
I slid my fingers along the inside of the tire to find what flattened the tube.
(A staple. The only one on the entire course, probably.)
I replaced the tube with a new one when another rider stopeds to
help me. I didn't ask for his help but with his lovely English accent (or was
it Australian? I only know that it was lovely—bordering on sexy-- his words
like someone who takes a flat tire like you might take an adult beverage,
straight up-- why thank you,
and can you pour me another one?)I couldn't say "no."
I was stopped for what felt like an eternity. I appreciated the
man with the accent even though he gave me a hard time for having no more water. I nodded and said something like, "I know," even though it was all I could do to keep myself from crying.
I just didn't want to fail anymore. I was--and am-- tired of failing.
When I got back on my bike, I told myself: no bathroom breaks. No
more food. I will stop only for water. And that is, more or less, what I did. I
had to catch the time which passed me.
*
 |
| On our pre-race walk, we didn't see much, if any, wild life. Instead, we experienced a lot of sand-- sand that would later blast across our faces in the high winds that day. |
The athletic mode of narrative advises that I tell you that I
was in pain. Or, that I was unaware of pain. That time passed quickly or
slowly. That I was in extreme discomfort. If you want to know the truth,
though, I don’t remember most of the ride which followed my flat.
I remember wanting to cry for a while and wanting to stop
because I thought my race was over. At some point after I refill my water
bottles, though, I decided to make the
rest of the ride a game. Maybe I could
try to ride each lap faster than the one before it? I asked myself. Negative split the entire thing.
The only other thing I remember, really, was catching a glimpse
of myself in shadow, a projection of me cast upon the desert sand. I had a
zen-esque moment, thinking something like: everything is a fluid transitory
thing; life, an ocean wave, at best.
Then I took another right turn and my shadow vanished.
Then I took another right turn and my shadow vanished.
*
Riding up the slight incline where I’d gotten my flat, a race official informed me we’d be switching to the short loop early. I admit: I was shocked (it wasn’t quite 4:00 pm and I wondered if he thought I was riding so slow I wouldn’t get back to the pit area by 5) but I found out later the choice was made, in part, because of the strength of the wind. Several riders had disk wheels on their bikes and the wind was blowing them all over the road. The shorter, five mile lap provided more shelter from the strong winds.
What I remember of those final laps: the wall of sand we rode through on the first straightaway, a coyote which stood at the
side of the road, watching me go by, the feel of speed as the wind pushed me
along the course, the final turn and straightaway to the “pit” area where I
seemed to pass so many riders (why were they slowing down?)
In the final laps, I remember the bright pinks and reds of the
sunset-sky, the pain in my right shoulder and hip like a heartbeat and then,
the challenge of riding in darkness.
The week before, Rich had made me close my eyes while riding out of the saddle in a CompuTrainer class and I recalled the experience in the final 45-minutes of the race. I wasn't as disoriented as I might have been. I remembered how I had kept my center centered, my pedal stroke even and I tried to do the same as day faded to night.
The week before, Rich had made me close my eyes while riding out of the saddle in a CompuTrainer class and I recalled the experience in the final 45-minutes of the race. I wasn't as disoriented as I might have been. I remembered how I had kept my center centered, my pedal stroke even and I tried to do the same as day faded to night.
 |
| The area around the race course featured these large, metal sculptures. This one (a serpent) occurred about two miles into the long lap. In the really strong winds, some of these sculptures (the horses, especially) looked like they were alive and moving! |
I crossed the pit area at 5:00, 5:13, 5:28, 5:45. In this time
trial, the miles only count if you completed a lap and I had a choice to make:
stop now or try for one more before the end at 6 pm. I decided to go for it. I had finished the other
laps under fifteen minutes; I reasoned that I would be able to do it one more
time even though I had nearly six hours of riding on my legs and parts of my
body I normally don’t feel ached.
I rode toward every red flashing tail light and I kept telling
myself that I could do this, that I had ridden hard and done my best. Yes, I’d
had a flat tire. Yes, I kept going.
I crossed the line with a minute to spare making my mileage
total for the day 115. It wasn't quite what I’d hoped for, but considering the
flat and the wind, it wasn't bad. I would be shocked, later, to find I’d ridden
the third fastest time of all the solo six-hour riders and I was only five
miles behind Rich and Irena who would win the mixed tandem division.
So maybe there is something in not stopping—or, not giving up—when
life serves you a flat tire. Maybe the best thing (or, the only thing) to do is
say in your sexiest accent, why, thank
you, because you get to overcome a challenge, to work hard, to finish despite rather than because of.
Place: 1
Distance: 115 miles
