Read part I here and part II here.
I now had two tires filled with air. Whoo-hoo!
Off I went. Due to the endless craziness, I was at the rear of everything. No matter, there is something that is very motivating about passing people. Sure, that meant I was behind them, but it also meant that I could go faster than someone.
After leaving the first aid station, I had a mere 40 miles to go. I had spent a fair amount of time standing around, and my legs had become cold. Not mean and uncaring, mind you. More like, "Hey, this pedaling stuff...how does it work again?" Thankfully, the next 10 miles were darned flat. I need to add a modifier to "flat" because in San Diego, there is no flat. You can climb 1000 feet going up and down the coast. And that's on the flat section.
This so-called flat section was the section where we rode along a lake shore. It climbed and descended, and went on some single track. I had dropped my racing mentality, and switched over to "as fast as is reasonable." When racing, reason is defenestrated. When I would approach mildly technical sections, I would dismount. What's 10 seconds? I continued to hammer along. The brain went into "I wonder" mode. "I wonder when I'll see the first people coming back. I wonder who's in the lead. I wonder if we'll see each other and the pass will be safe. I wonder how long it will be until I pass someone. I wonder how many people I will pass. I wonder if anyone will ever pass me. I wonder...." The first person coming back toward me was not whom I expected. He is a 50+ single speed racer. He's really fast, don't get me wrong. But he was all by himself, and I seriously doubted he passed and dropped all the pros doing the 100 miler. He said, "Hey, brother," as he passed me. Something was wrong, but he was riding fairly fast, so I decided not to check in with him. Later, I found out he had been in a gnarly bar-tangler and broke his top tube. That's an acceptable reason for a DNF.
I made it to aid station 2. Yay! A whole section! I squeezed my tires. Still holding! I grabbed my refreshments, and kept going. Remember way back in part II, the group of slow folks I had to wait to pass? I caught them again. We were starting to see oncoming traffic, so I waited. Finally, I had the chance to pass, and pass I did. I started counting people. I got to about, oh, four, before that seemed silly. I got to the switchbacks, which have post-and-rail fences and very tight switches, making it challenging to negotiate alone, let alone when there is opposing traffic. We all said kind and cheering words to each other. I gave the right of way to the racers, since it really didn't bother me to lose another 10 seconds here, another 10 seconds there. It'll probably add up to several minutes by the end! C'est la vie.
I continued to fly along, and caught up to someone who seemed to still be racing. I wasn't sure why, but I chatted with him, and he was sure we were ahead of a whole bunch of folks. I wasn't so sure. I left him and was actually going back and forth with another fellow. This poor guy had the noisiest brakes. It was annoying me; I can't imagine what it would be like riding with them. He would stop and look at them. We rode together and chatted for a while. Turns out his shifter broke before the first corner. He ran back into the pits, and borrowed a demo bike. That had a stripped out seat clamp, so he had to ride beach-cruiser style. And the spokes were loose, which is why he was the guy whose bike was on the stand at aid station 1 when I first arrived. I let him go ahead on the switchbacks on the way back. We rode near each other for quite some time. As we were on the switchbacks, I saw folks on there way out. I encouraged best I could, but I knew they were in for a long day. I was very impressed that they kept going, though.
Upon hitting aid station 3 (mile 30), I replenished fluids, grabbed some cookies and other munchies, and started riding. And the back felt, sigh, squishy. I squeezed it. Not that bad, and it held well enough for 20 miles. Rode back, got a pump, and pumped them up to about 40 psi. And off I went.
I discovered something about myself in this section, that I had noticed earlier in the race, and I actually finally figured it out. As I was riding up a climb, I started thinking about whether I could quit. Could I have my wife pick me up? She was taking my son to a birthday party (fishing) and I was doing the math as to where I could meet her so she wouldn't be late for the party. I realized it was just as easy to ride all the way back, get the car, and meet them at the party. That's when I realized it. In the middle of non-final climbs, I get bummed out. It had happened on the previous climb. It had happened in other races. I could now see it for what it really was. Hard work, but not the final hard work. Now that I recognized it for what it was, it made dealing with it MUCH easier.
And that was the second big lesson. If I take the time to recognize what is really happening, and the why, it makes dealing with it much easier. This is true for mountain bike racing, and it is also true for snapping at someone, or being offended. When I reflect on the why, I can change the behavior by the grace of God.
After I cleared the climb, I continued to motor. I tried to go faster, but it seemed I went the speed I went. Immediately before the final aid station, we were directed up a single track that climbed over a small hill. At that point, I wasn't really keen on climbing, but it was part of the course. Coming the other way was some fellow pushing his singlespeed. He obviously took a wrong turn. What a silly mistake! Luckily for him, I was there to politely explain that he could have simply stayed on the fireroad and avoided going against traffic on this single track. He didn't seem to understand what I was telling him, but that was okay. I'm sure he was pretty tired at that point.
I got to the end of the single track section, and looked at the posted signs. They clearly showed that we were supposed to go the way Mr Singlespeed went. Oops. I would have encountered that sign immediately after my tube debacle at aid station 1. Nevertheless, I had cut the course, and knocked literally HUNDREDS of yards off my total distance. Next time, I will be careful in my disposition of helpful advice.
I made it safely to the final aid station. I was surprised to see one of the people I was wondering how I would compare to. "Hey! How are you?" I asked. "Cramping." I pumped up my tire, drank a Coke, ate an Oreo, and said, "Let's go!" It was quickly apparent that he was in full Damage Control. I've been there, and you often don't want company. So off I went. As I zipped along, I caught up with another guy I was wondering how I would compare to. We chatted for a moment, and he was obviously dining at the Buffet of Pain and had gone back for seconds. I rode off.
Final climb time. I had no desire to ride up it at full effort. Two reasons: one, I was very tired, and two, I had developed hot spots in my feet. Like red hot pokers. I wanted to get OUT of those pedals! SO, I started hiking, but got back on before the summit. I was still passing people.
I rode the final five miles, grabbed my belt buckle, and hopped in the car. I drove over to the birthday party, and fished with my son. I found out he had already caught one before I arrived!
After the party, we went back to the race course. I checked the results (I had a slow time.) and grabbed an Oreo for my son.
This was the third running of this race. It was my third time. I am glad I completed it again. It was not what I planned, not what I expected, but certainly a blessing. As always, I found myself missing my family mid-race. It always helps me realize how wonderful my family is, and how much I love them. Will I be out there next year?
God only knows.
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