An Indiana Girl On A Bike

Gravel Worlds 2016 was to be a 146 mile gravel road race circumnavigating the city of Lincoln, Nebraska. Marc had originally approached me with the idea of doing this epic race about six months prior. I did a little research and watched a video on YouTube to see what I was in for. The 2015 race had over 11,000 feet of climbing and the temperatures were in the 90’s and beyond. Racers fell like dominoes, and less than half of them finished. Rebecca Rusch, the pro cyclist who won the women’s title, commented in the video that she didn’t anticipate how deep she would have to dig.

Marc, however, promised that he would stay with me and wouldn’t abandon me in the plains of Nebraska. He said “All you have to do is ride your bike!” and “We have all day to do it.” With those promises in mind, I said OK. I figured the worst that could happen is I would opt out halfway through because of the blazing heat and get a ride back to the hotel.

It turned out that Marc broke his femur at his hip two weeks prior to the race, and ended up needing surgery. I was very sad for Marc, and also disappointed that we would have to cancel our trip to Nebraska. I had been training all summer, and I had even done some hill repeats in the heat and humidity to prepare. Marc, however, insisted that his being laid up did not mean that I would have to miss the race. He transferred his entry to our friend James, and he insisted that I go with James and our friend Jeff. He said that Jeff would ride with me. Marc was very sick the week after surgery, and I didn’t think I should leave him. However, he kept insisting that I go. I went back and forth the week before the race, deciding I should go for Marc, then deciding I should stay to take care of him. Marc was determined that I go, and I think he intentionally pushed himself to be more mobile on his crutches in order to assure me that it was OK to leave him. In the end, Marc won. August 19th arrived, and I packed my bags and bike and headed to Jeff’s house at 5:00 am to begin the journey.

The ride to Nebraska was a long one. I kept jokingly asking the guys “Are we there yet?” from the backseat of Jeff’s truck. I was extremely nervous about doing my first race without Marc, and I tried to pass the time by taking pictures out of the truck window. I snapped a picture of the “World’s Largest Truckstop” on I 80 (someday I have got to go inside that place), and a picture as we crossed into Nebraska.

We arrived in Lincoln about 4:00 pm and immediately went to the bike shop where we were to pick up our race packets. We got a swag bag with our racing numbers, a water bottle, a glass, and some gels. By the time we got to the hotel, checked in, and ate, it was time to go to bed. We would need to get up at 4:00 am the next morning to eat breakfast and get our gear packed, drive to the race start, and be ready to race at 6:00 am.

The next morning we woke up at 4:00 am and got coffee and an awesome hotel breakfast that included waffles and fried potatoes. However, I always find it extremely difficult to choke down food that early in the morning, and I struggled to eat. We then packed and headed to the race start across town. The ride there was extremely frustrating. The hotel parking garage had such tight corners that Jeff could barely maneuver his truck without scraping the walls. Our GPS then tried to take us down one-way streets downtown, and we had to re-route a few times to get out to the highway. When we finally spotted the race start in the distance, we had no idea where to park. We parked on the street only to be told by someone that it was just a drop-off area. We were then directed to a middle school where we could park, but the person directing us just pointed “over there” and couldn’t give clear directions. When we finally found a parking spot, I had to use the bathroom. There were none. I opted to go behind the middle school in a corner where no one could see me. As I headed back to the truck I realized I had forgotten my riding glasses, and for a brief moment I panicked. Gravel dust can be killer on the eyes, especially if it gets under my contact lenses. I told Jeff I had forgotten them and said “What am I going to do?!”. Jeff checked his console and found some clear glasses that I could borrow. I hoped it wouldn’t get too sunny, because I had intended to wear transition lenses that would darken as the sun came up.

By the time we got our bikes off the back of the truck and I put on my borrowed glasses, it was time to get to the race start. It was still dark for about another hour, and the racers were a sea of headlamps and tail lights. It was also very chilly, in the 50’s, and I didn’t have on a jacket because I knew by the time the sun came up I wouldn’t need it, and I would have to stop and store it. The only warm up was the trip from the car to the race start, which was just a few blocks.

Almost as soon as we got there, the race began. The race was to have a neutral start for a few miles until we got out of town and hit the gravel. There were over 400 riders packed tight, and there was lots of slowing as we hit several traffic circles. I remember thinking that the start is the most dangerous part of a race. There are so many riders packed in a small space, and they’re all trying to maneuver for a better position. If a rider goes down, many more will follow. As we turned off of the pavement, I noticed the gravel was actually wet sand. It had rained all day the day before, and the road was a mess. My tires were slipping and sliding, and I told Jeff I thought I had the wrong tires. Jeff told me that my tires were fine, and that the road would soon dry out as the sun came up in an hour or so. He said he thought the roads would become more hard packed as the day went on.

The first hour crawled by slowly. I have terrible night vision as I have no depth perception in the dark, and because I wear contacts, the glare of tail lights makes it even more difficult to see. I was slipping and sliding climbing hill after hill, and I had difficulty seeing the road in front of me. Climbing for the first hour in the sand took a tremendous amount of energy, and I found myself praying for the sun to come up.

The sun came up at about 7:00 am, and the sky turned a beautiful pink. However, there was a lot of cloud cover and I worried that the roads wouldn’t dry out as quickly as I had hoped. It was also still very chilly. By the time we passed a man with a video camera at mile 17, the roads were improving. They were still sandy, but there were some hard packed areas. I saw Jeff raise his hand as he passed the camera man. A friend found the video link on-line, and I took a screen shot of Jeff giving the peace sign with me behind him.

Most races with a lot of elevation will have some breaks where there will be flat roads for a few miles. I kept wondering when the break would come. When we got to the mandatory checkpoint at about mile 37, we had been climbing for 3 hours. I told Jeff I was impressed that our speed was 13 mph with all the climbing we had done in the sand. He told me that it was going to change soon because we were about to hit a fierce headwind that would last for 20 miles. By the time we reached the next mandatory checkpoint at mile 75, I was exhausted. The climbing hadn’t stopped, and now we had wind to contend with. At least the roads were more hard packed.

The checkpoint was at someone’s farm, and there was a garden hose running into a crock for racers to fill their water bottles. I looked into the crock and saw what I thought was dirt, but a woman there said it was just rust from the hose. Jeff told me to drink up because the minerals were good for me! I then asked a man where the bathroom was and he pointed to what I thought was an outhouse. He said “There’s a primitive one there”. I said “An outhouse? That’s fine.” He then said “No, there’s bushes behind the barn.” I was afraid there would be dozens of male riders there, so I opted to go behind another building that was behind the barn. I looked for something to eat and saw a jar of pickles and I can’t remember what else sitting on a wooden platform that smelled like animals. It wasn’t appetizing, and I was very surprised that the checkpoints didn’t have bananas or granola bars like most races will have. I had taken little food with me, thinking that the three mandatory checkpoints would give me anything extra that I needed. I told Jeff I only had a few gels left and he gave me a couple of his gels. We were off again after just a few minutes. By this time I was really psyched.  I thought I was riding very poorly, but I saw dozens of riders pull into the checkpoint after us, and we ran into Ken, a very strong rider that we knew.  I was impressed that I was keeping up with him.

The next 33 miles were very rough. I could tell Jeff was getting frustrated by my pace, so I gave him the blessing to ride on ahead. I regretted this decision pretty quickly. I soon found myself completely alone against the fierce headwind, and my Garmin kept flashing “off course”. It would show the course for a while, then go blank. Luckily, I could see some riders way in the distance, so I knew I was OK. At one point, however, I lost sight of any riders in any direction, and I got seriously concerned that I had taken a wrong turn. I flagged down a passing pickup truck and asked the man where I was. I pulled out the cue sheet I had printed and asked him if I was on 112th street. He said that I had just passed it, so I had gone straight instead of turning right. I thanked him and turned back to get back on course.

The rest of the race I had to keep pulling out my cue sheet and checking where I was to make sure I didn’t miss a turn. It was very lonely, being in the middle of nowhere with nothing but dirt, gravel, and scrubby looking land for miles and miles. The hills also never stopped coming. The entire race was a climb uphill, a brief downhill, then another climb, then another. The hills made it impossible for me to draft and stay on someone else’s wheel.  As I approached the town of Valparaiso at mile 108 I started to get a terrible cramp in my left thigh. I couldn’t believe it. I only had 38 miles to go! I knew if I didn’t take care of it quickly, I would not be able to do hills for another 38 miles. I tried only applying pressure to my right leg and just letting the left leg spin, but I had terrible shooting pain whenever I moved. I decided to just pedal and deal with the pain until I could get to a convenience store that I knew was about 1/2 mile ahead, according to the cue sheet. When I pulled up into the convenience store parking lot, I saw that other riders had stopped, and there was Jeff waiting for me. I told him about the cramps, and he took out a packet of Skratchlabs hyper hydration mix and told me to chug it. I drank almost an entire bottle with the mix and rubbed my thigh. I then ate some corn chips for the salt. I laid down on the ground, looking up at the sky, and I told Jeff to give me a minute. Jeff is the king of taking unflattering pictures, and I figured he would take one of me on the ground.  I was hurting and I didn’t care.  I said “Go ahead, take my picture!”

Within a few minutes we were on our way. The cramps in my thigh had stopped, and I still had one bottle of Skratchlabs left. I thought I could make it if the cramps didn’t return. When we were about 25 miles away from the finish I told Jeff to go for it and finish as fast as he could. I knew there was one more mandatory checkpoint where I could get help if I needed it.

The last checkpoint was in a large pole barn on someone’s farm. This was at mile 123. The hosts of this checkpoint were extremely gracious. They had bananas, oranges, granola bars, different kinds of chips, peanut butter and jelly, and tacos. There were a lot of racers who were lingering here. I asked to use the bathroom and got directed to a real bathroom. I wanted to sit down and stay awhile so badly, but I knew I had to keep moving. I ate a banana and half a peanut butter sandwich, and stuffed a granola bar in my feedbag. As I got back on my bike I looked up their driveway, which was chunky gravel and slightly uphill, and I really wanted to walk my bike up the driveway! I laughed as I saw two people on a tandem leave their tandem at the top of the driveway. They apparently felt the same way.

Shortly after I left the farm, I turned onto a seasonal road. The road was muddy and filled with ruts, and I had to ride around a barricaded bridge. I tried riding through the mud and almost fell off the bike clipped in.  This road really was unnecessary cruel being so close to the end.

The next 23 miles I rode off and on with a half a dozen other riders. Our friend Ken, who had been the one to talk Marc into signing us up for the race, passed me at mile 135. I yelled at him and asked him what he had gotten me into, and he laughed and said “Honestly, I didn’t know it would be this bad!” He rode past me and I didn’t have the energy to pursue him. It literally took every thing I had to just keep moving myself forward up a hill, then another, then another, then another. I watched my Garmin as it showed that I was 4.6 miles from the finish line, then 3.2, then 2.8, and so on. Every tenth of a mile seemed like an eternity! Normally I get energized at the end of a race and sprint across the finish, but I just didn’t have the strength to pull that off. With about 1.5 miles to go the man riding in front of me had a blow out.  He said he was just going to ride on the flat because he was too close to mess with it.  I finally turned onto pavement with 1.2 miles to go. The pavement was slightly uphill, so I still had no energy to sprint. Finally, I could see the line in sight and I stood up to get more power to look like I wasn’t limping across the finish line. As I passed the line I heard James and Jeff cheering, and a man yelled at me to come get my finisher’s patch.

There were 442 people registered for the race, and the results said that 263 finished. I finished 196th overall and 11th in the Master’s Women division. This was definitely a race where anyone who finished, even dead last, could feel a great sense of accomplishment. There were people coming across the finish line as late as 10:40 at night, and I had finished before the sun set. James had ridden like a maniac and had finished in less than 10 hours, and Jeff had finished about 1/2 hour before me. We all agreed that we didn’t feel the need to take this one on again!

I had been wanting to ride a double century, 200 miles, for the past couple of years, but somehow it had never happened. The timing was never right. When I had the time off work the weather would be 100 degrees, or there would be a 20 mile an hour wind, or I didn’t have anyone interested in riding with me. I knew if I was going to do it, the stars would have to align. On July 2, 2016, it seemed the stars had aligned. It was a three day weekend because of the 4th of July, and it was forecast to be 60 to 70 degrees with only a 4 to 5 mph wind all day. Marc had made a route which include the three states of Illinois, Michigan, and Indiana. Also, as luck would have it, Eric, Jeff, and Marc all said they were in for the ride. I knew that a 200 mile ride just wasn’t going to be possible for me solo. Endurance solo rides are torturous, but with friends the hours seem to fly by.

We had planned to get up at 5:00 am on the 2nd, and be on the road by 6:00 am. However, as luck would have it, Marc woke up nauseous that morning. He had eaten a Subway sandwich the night before, and he thought he may have food poisoning. Then Eric texted and said that he too was feeling sick. Jeff had texted the night before and said he may join in later in the day, but he wasn’t able to ride at 6:00 am. So that meant I was on my own if I was going to ride. Since my bike was packed and I was up, I decided to just get on the bike and see how far I could go. Marc had loaded the route on my Garmin, so at 6:30 am, off I went.

Less than a mile from home, I looked at my Garmin and saw that it wasn’t registering the course. I headed back home to see if Marc could figure out what the problem was. He checked the Garmin and saw that the course was loaded, but for some reason it wouldn’t show the route. He then loaded a “Ride With GPS” route on my phone and told me to use GPS. I knew the first 20 miles or so of the course, so I decided not to turn on the GPS until I needed it, in order to save my phone battery.

The morning was overcast and very chilly, and it was depressing riding with no one. After I passed Stoney Run county park about 45 minutes from home, I decided to turn on the GPS. When I turned it on, I got an error message on the phone, saying I didn’t have a paid account! At that point I knew I just had to go by the route map on my phone. I decided to try and memorize every 5th turn or so, and try to ride the course that way. The next few hours proved to be very frustrating, trying to memorize the course, then stopping when I would come to an intersection and not knowing which way to go. It also did not warm up as forecast, and I was very cold, even in my jacket. The skies continued to be overcast and it looked like it was going to storm. Traffic was awful, even on the normally deserted county roads, because of the 4th of July weekend. However, I was taken aback at times by the incredible beauty of the countryside. There were rolling tree-lined hills and pastures of cattle, rather than the open cornfields I was used to. I stopped to take a picture of some cows grazing in the woods, and they looked at me with total disinterest.

I stopped at a little park in Shelby, Indiana, to fill my water bottles. The old fashioned red well pump in the park didn’t work, and I figured that I needed to prime it. I used the rest of the water in my bottle, and it seemed to work. However, the water that came out was brown and very scary looking. I kept pumping and pumping, to no avail. The water didn’t change color, even after five minutes of continual pumping. I had wasted my water, and now I couldn’t refill my bottle! I used the porta-potty at the park and figured I’d fill up in Momence.

I rode out of Shelby and crossed Highway 41. I immediately hit what can only be described as an “apocalypse” road. Literally every inch of the road was a pothole or a patch! What was even more frustrating was that it was a high traffic road, making it difficult to try and dodge the worst potholes. It was almost impossible to maneuver this road on a road bike, and I found myself wondering why Marc had made the route down this road! After a few hundred yards of potholes, the road would turn into a patch of chip and seal that looked like it hadn’t been tended to in the past two decades, then it would go back to potholes. It was extremely painful and frustrating riding down this road, 241st Avenue, until I reached the Illinois state line. Miraculously, the road across the state line was smoothly paved and wonderful. It made me think immediately about our governor, who is a superstar when it comes to a surplus and finances, and bringing big business into Indiana. I thought the surplus is obviously in part because of the shameful lack of spending on road repairs! The best roads in Indiana are chip and seal, and smoothly paved roads are paid for by individual counties that can afford them. The roads have become so bad, that I can foresee the day when travel by a road bike will be impossible. However, even though the roads were terrible, this section of road meandered through a beautiful protected wetlands nature preserve. A young hawk swooped and screeched at me as I was dodging potholes, and I remembered thinking how lovely it was.

Soon after I rode through the wetlands, I had to maneuver my way through the town of Momence, Illinois. I couldn’t remember all the turns, so I looked at the map and tried to look at landmarks. I remembered to go straight past the Subway and then turn left at the Dairy Queen. Unfortunately, I missed the park where I had intended to get water and stop for a bathroom stop. As I headed out of town, the route got very confusing. There were three-way intersections, and I couldn’t tell which way the signs were pointing. I took a wrong turn and ended up on a gravel road, then became totally confused as to where I was. I called Marc, who was tracking me on my iPhone, and he tried to tell me which way to go, but I couldn’t figure it out. The signs that were turned the wrong way made it hard to know which way to go, and the overcast sky made it impossible to know which direction I was facing. I ended up riding towards the wind, which I knew was forecast to be coming from the east.

I finally made it out of town, riding on a road that would take me back to Indiana. I was facing an east headwind all the way to Indiana, and it was at this point that I just wanted to go home. I now doubted that the double century was going to be possible, and I just wanted to get home to eat lunch and get a warm shower. The only positive thing about the last 30 or 40 miles home was that I knew the route, so I didn’t have to stop and check my phone any more. The east wind was downright bone chilling under the overcast skies, and I never took my jacket off. The wind was soul sucking, and all I could think about was getting home to a warm shower and food. I was in the middle of nowhere, however, and it was somewhat liberating to take a bathroom stop at the side of the road with no civilization in sight!

I had eaten an Aldi granola bar at about mile 20, a banana as I got close to Momence, and another nut bar about 20 miles later. 17 miles from home I stopped to eat my last two mini peanut rolls at the Demotte Plaza. I took off my jacket, as the sun had started to come out. I was at mile 90, and I was simply done. I ached all over, my knees hurt, and I had no energy at all. I waited for a few minutes in the parking lot of the plaza, not wanting to get back on the bike. As I headed north home, the only positive thing was that the east wind was now a cross wind, and I was able to ride about 17 mph.

Shortly before I got to the Kankakee river, I noticed a turtle in the middle of the road. This was a high traffic road, and I felt panic for this poor creature. I stopped and got off of my bike to rescue him, and he got so frightened that he scampered off the road into a ditch. A car stopped and said that they had passed him and had turned around to help. I told them he had made it safely to the ditch, and they thanked me. It was very encouraging to see that these motorists were as concerned about the poor turtle as I was!

I passed the river, and then continued to head north. As I headed up the hill out of the Boone Grove woods and turned the corner, I saw Jeff and Eric riding towards me. They yelled “Hey Lou! We came to pull for you!” Eric was feeling better and he, Jeff and Marc were ready to join me for the double century! Call it peer pressure, but I just couldn’t let them know I did NOT want to ride any more! I told Jeff I was starving and he said that they would wait for me at home to eat a sandwich and then we could be on our way. Jeff hinted that Marc just might have something waiting for me.

When I got home, Marc was waiting with a Life Water, a Jimmy John’s veggie sub, and some Lay’s potato chips. The boys told me to eat and they would wait for me. I really, really, really just wanted to eat and take a nap, but I felt like I had to ride with them, at least for a little while. Jeff had ridden all the way from Chesterton and Eric had ridden from his house in Valparaiso to ride the double century with me, so I couldn’t say no.

I ate, then I changed into a dry pair of shorts and headed out. When I got to the end of the block I realized the shorts were all wrong, so I turned back to change again. The boys rode in circles waiting for me. After I changed, I caught up with them. They were going 17-18 mph against the east wind, and it was way faster than I wanted to be going after 107 miles. I told them so, and Jeff said, “Lou just tuck in. You’ll be fine!” When we got to mile 119, close to Wanatah, we stopped to cross Highway 30. I honestly didn’t think I could finish the ride. I calculated that if I turned around now I would still have about 12-13 miles to ride home. I told Jeff I was worried about not making it, and he told me not to worry. He said if we got up north and I didn’t think I could make it, then he would take me home in his pickup truck. With that promise in mind, I kept going. The ride north was nice because the wind had shifted a little, and it almost felt like we had a tailwind.

By mile 140, something miraculous happened. My lunch must have kicked in, because suddenly I felt like I had just gotten on the bike. I had renewed energy, and for some reason all I could think of was a Starbucks iced green tea, and I asked the boys if there was a Starbucks in Chesterton. Eric said that there was, and he suddenly had the desire for a triple shot espresso.  We stopped at Starbucks and Eric had his coffee and a crazy expensive $2 cookie, and I had my tea.  Jeff then said he wanted to stop at his house for snacks, so off we rode to Jeff’s house. Eric headed back home to Valparaiso, because Eric had promised his wife Sue that he would be home by 6 pm. We got to Jeff’s house around mile 151, and his wife Kathy was there with hummus, pita chips, and veggies.  Then Jeff made us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.   Jeff said to stay as long as we wanted, and he would drive us home. By this time, I was fully energized and ready to ride, so I declined the ride home. We stayed longer than I wanted to, while Jeff and Marc had a few beers and I had a Grapefruit Shandy. We got on our bikes to head home just as it was starting to get dark. Jeff’s 5-year-old son Christian wanted to ride with us, so Jeff and Christian got on their tandem to escort us out of town.

I looked to the west and saw that the setting sun was just incredible. I wanted to take a picture, but we were surrounded by subdivisions and I didn’t think I could get a good picture. As we passed over a bridge, I looked to my left, and I saw an amazing view. I was riding pretty fast and I had passed it, so I immediately turned around to go back to the bridge. I snapped the picture and hoped that it would turn out.

The ride back home was pretty miserable. It was getting cold, and even though I still had a lot of energy, the darkness and cold were getting to me. We got home around 9:30 pm, and I looked at my Garmin. We were at mile 171, far short of 200 miles. We went inside and I ate the other half of the Jimmy John’s sub sandwich that I had leftover from lunch. I was then torn. I still had a lot of energy, and a 200 mile ride had been on my to do list for years, but it was late , I was cold, and I wanted a shower. Marc told me that I would regret it in the morning if I didn’t finish the ride. He said he’d go back out with me if I wanted to finish it. So after being home less than 15 minutes or so, off we went. We decided to ride 15 miles straight south and back, on the smoothest road we have south county.

It was really fun being out so late, and it was incredibly dark. There are no street lights in the country, and no traffic. I thought about stopping and turning off our lights, but decided it would be too spooky. Marc almost hit a very large raccoon, which was a reminder for us to be on the lookout for critters. I loved being out in the dark with Marc, and we chatted about his 24 hour MTB race last summer, and about how cool it would be to go bike packing out west. I thought that this was the most blissful part of the day. I thought for a brief moment that it would be nice riding until the sun came up.

The light on my Garmin didn’t work, but I knew when we passed through Boone Grove woods that we were about four miles from home. A very strange thing happened as we passed through the woods. I was overtaken suddenly by an extreme sleepiness. I wasn’t sore, and I wasn’t tired or achy. I just felt like I needed to lay down the bike and go to sleep! It was something that I didn’t anticipate, and it was an extremely strange feeling. I found it very difficult to have the will to keep moving forward! I couldn’t see my Garmin, but I estimated we were going no more than 12-13 mph. Those last four miles seemed to take an eternity. When we got home I looked at my Garmin. I had ridden 203.4 miles, and it was 12:30 am! I couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and get in bed.

The next morning I woke up and was surprised by how good I felt. I also felt as if I learned a great deal from this ride. I learned that energy waxes and wanes during any endurance ride, and that you shouldn’t give up if you feel as if you’ve hit a wall. Also, fuel is key! I realized I hadn’t eaten enough during the first 107 miles and that was part of the reason why I felt so beaten up. I became energized when I made sure to eat throughout the second half of the ride. Also, I feel that I didn’t bonk because I had used Skratchlabs electrolyte mix in my water throughout the day, and I had not gotten dehydrated. This also reaffirmed what I already knew…that solo endurance rides are extremely tough, but the hours fly by when you’re surrounded by friends.

Tallgrass prairie once covered over 170 million acres of North America. Today, the vast majority of this prairieland has been developed and plowed under, and less than 4% remains. Most of this breathtaking reminder of our country’s past is found today in the Flint Hills of Kansas, home of the Dirty Kanza gravel and dirt road race.

This year’s Dirty Kanza was to be held on June 4, 2016. The race begins and ends in Emporia, Kansas and winds its way through the Flint Hills and the towns of Madison and Eureka. Marc and his friends Jeff and Eric signed up for the classic 200 mile race, and I signed up for the 100 miler.

The week before the race, the weather was predicted to be sunny and warm in Emporia, and no rain was in the forecast. Last year’s race was held when Kansas was having historical flooding and unseasonably cold weather, and the course conditions were brutal. Marc had ridden last year and had broken his collarbone before finishing about 25% of the race. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the course was predicted to be dry.

We traveled to Kansas on Thursday, June 2nd, and checked into the Emporia University dorms. There are very few hotels in the Flint Hills because of the small population, and the university had opened up its dorms for the racers. As we drove into town, I saw that the campus was lovely. It was also obvious that the small town of Emporia is extremely proud to be the home of the Dirty Kanza. Many of the town’s businesses had their windows painted, wishing racers luck. There was also a church sign that said “Congratulations cyclists. You have finished the race. Keep the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7”

Friday, June 3rd, our friends Eric and Steve did a short pre-ride of the beginning of the course with us to check out the conditions.  We rode about 10 miles out of town. The ground was hard and dry, and the gravel was chunky, like Indiana gravel , until the road turned onto some finer gravel that was hard packed and seemed almost like asphalt. We predicted that the course was going to be very fast this year.

Saturday, the morning of the race, we got up at 4:00 am to eat the breakfast that had been prepared in the student union for the racers.  The start of the 200 mile race was to be at 6:00 am and the 100 mile race was to follow at 6:20.  As we walked to the student union we noticed that the ground was wet.  Jeff said that there had been a downpour during the night, which had not been predicted.  We looked up in the sky and saw that it was cloudless, so the storm had apparently passed through.

The race start was just blocks from the university and was on the main street of town.  After breakfast, we rode to town and saw that the racers for both races were already lining up.  I wished Marc luck and snapped his picture as he left to join the 200 mile racers.  Soon, it was almost time to start and the song “The Final Countdown” was playing.  People were singing along, and the crowd was beginning to get noisy.  The announcer then said it was time to roll out.  The race was to be an easy roll out with a pace car until the riders were led out of town to gravel, just past the Cottonwood River.

Some races are supposed to have a neutral start, but the riders roll out at speeds over 20 mph as soon as the announcer says go. This race was different. It was a very nice and easy roll out, and some of the riders continued to chat as we moved slowly through town.  Shortly after we passed the Cottonwood River bridge, we turned right onto gravel. I hit mud and water almost immediately. Part of the road was completely flooded with several inches of water from the previous night’s downpour. For the next few miles I rode slowly through the mud and water, trying to find the best course. I was amazed by the number of riders down at both sides of the road with broken chains, mechanical issues, and flat tires. There were dozens of them! I’d never seen anything quite like it.  However, it didn’t spook me, as I was pretty confident that the flooding and mud would pass pretty quickly. We had pre-ridden this part of the course the day before, and I knew we would soon be hitting some very hard packed, fine gravel. I thought it was highly unlikely that flooding and mud would be a problem there. It turned out that I was right. The next ten miles or so were fast and flat. I looked down at my Garmin and was very happy to see that 10 miles into the race I could still see the leaders not very far in the distance.

The next 10 or 20 miles were a blur of rolling, extremely fast descents, and long, steady climbs. As we rode into the Flint Hills the course became rockier and steeper. There were several very short, steep walls that were covered with fist sized stones and large boulders. These were difficult to maneuver, and my back tire slid in several areas when I tried to get traction on some of the boulders. I remember climbing a wall of rocks and then getting to the top of the climb and looking up. The view took my breath away. It was indescribable being at the top of the Flint Hills and viewing the miles of rolling prairie as far as I could see. I turned to a rider next to me and said “This is so beautiful, and I feel like I’m missing it!” Several times I took my iPhone out of my back pocket to try and snap a picture on the fly, but then decided that it was way too treacherous to try and ride with one hand.

At mile 39 we came to a creek crossing at a bottom of a descent, where there was no bridge. I took the opportunity to snap a picture because everyone had stopped to dismount their bikes and get into the water. A very friendly girl in a blue kit walked next to me as we hoisted our bikes and stepped into the water. She yelled at the photographer standing in the middle of the creek and asked him to take our picture. She laughed and looked at me and said “This ain’t your Friday night ride sister!”

On the other side of the creek was a very steep,muddy hill, and there was a traffic jam of riders walking their bikes to the top of the hill. This would be the only hill that I would walk for the rest of the race.

At this point we were just over 10 miles from the checkpoint in Madison, Kansas. I looked down at my Garmin and was excited that it looked like I was going to beat my time of 3:40 that I had gotten at the 50 mile Hell Kitten Fiddie race just the month before. As I rolled into Madison I looked up at the red timer and saw that I passed the checkpoint at 3:39! I looked up and saw that the Purple Chamois Butt’r tent, my hired support crew, was the very first tent lining the streets of town. As I got off my bike two girls came up to me immediately and took my water bottles and Camelbak to fill them with water. I grabbed two banana halves off of the table and quickly ate them, then looked around for some more food. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that were on the table were nothing but bread smeared with just a drop of peanut butter and jelly, so I passed on those. I then got my chain lube out to oil my chain as another girl held my bike for me. I then asked where the porta-potties were and was directed down the street. The entire stop, I calculated, took no more than five minutes. I had packed my own peanut butter sandwich in my Camelbak, so I put that in my mouth and chewed as I pedaled out of town.

As I headed north out of Madison, I was immediately hit with a ferocious headwind. I knew that it was predicted that there would be a headwind for most of the 50 miles to the finish line, but I had hoped the weatherman was wrong. Within 10 miles, I was seriously regretting my decision to not rest and eat more in Madison. I was working hard to try and maintain a decent speed, as it got hotter and windier. All of the extra energy I was putting out meant that I was draining my water very quickly, and I found myself worrying that I might run out.

For the next 30 miles the climbing seemed endless, and it felt like I was crawling. There were muddy two track jeep roads that had turned into singletrack because of the deep, muddy ruts in the road. On some of this singletrack there were lots of riders and it was frustratingly slow because there was no way to get around them. There were also lots of short, steep rocky climbs, and I noticed that more and more riders were saving their energy and were walking the hills. On one very steep climb I looked up and saw a photographer at the top of the hill. By this point I was debating if I should just walk the hill and save my energy. However, there was no way I was going to walk while someone took my picture, so I pedaled on. This particular climb was so bad that I was spinning in my lowest gear and didn’t know if I was going to make it up because it was so rocky and muddy I was losing traction. As I crested the top of the hill I tried to smile for the photographer. He snapped my picture and said “Nice climbing! Rebecca Rusch walked this hill.” (Rebecca Rusch was a previous winner of the DK 200).

The last 20 miles to the finish line were relatively flat. However, the wind was getting fiercer and I looked for other riders around me to help block the wind. A very friendly older man from Kansas, whose name I forget, stayed with me as we took turns pulling for each other. As two other riders passed us, we joined them as well. The friendly man moved out in front to pull for everyone, and after a short while one of the men pulled out in front of him. I assumed we were all going to take turns and help pull for each other, when the young man in front of me slowed down and put his hand down to let me know to get off of his wheel. The two of them then took off. The friendly man I had been riding with commented on how rude and unfriendly that was. These were two very young guys, in their 20’s, and neither of us were in any competition with them.

Shortly after this, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and thought it said that I had a missed call from Jeff. I knew if Jeff was calling that meant something had happened to Marc. Marc had crashed the year before and had broken his collarbone, and I felt panic, thinking he may have crashed again. I immediately stopped and dialed back the number. It was Joey, my son. He was back at the dorms and wondered when I was going to be finished because he wanted to eat! I told him I was racing and I was 20 miles away, then hung up. This call had cost me my wind protection and temporary riding buddy, as the friendly man I had been riding with had gone on.

A few miles after Joey’s phone call, I noticed my Camelbak felt very light. I was afraid to drink it, thinking that I might have to ration my water, as both of my bottles were empty. I stopped and took my Camelbak off and pulled out the bladder to check it. It was completely empty. I looked at my Garmin and saw that I had 18 miles left to go. I felt a moment of complete panic. It was hot, I was thirsty, and the finish line was at least an hour and a half away, as slow as I was crawling against the wind. Two riders passed me and I yelled at them “I’m out of water!” They said that there was a support tent right at the end of the road. I could see what looked like a light blue canopy just ahead, so I pedaled towards it. It was a false alarm. It was just an old semi at the side of the road. I then looked to my right and saw a house, the first one that I had seen in many miles. I knew I had no choice but to knock on their door. As I got off the bike I saw there was a man and woman sitting in the backyard, between the house and garage. I approached them and asked if I could use their hose. The woman was very friendly, and she filled both of my bottles with very cold water from a pump in her backyard. She said that they had considered buying water for the riders, and that another rider had stopped and asked for a drink before I had. She said that he left before she could get it for him. She said “I guess I did’t move fast enough for him”. I thanked her profusely and told her that her kind deed wouldn’t go unrewarded. I felt like someone had been watching over me, because I had not seen any sign of civilization for miles, and this house happened to be there the moment I ran out of water!

The final 18 miles are just a blur. There is something about an incessant headwind that sucks everything that you have. Those last few miles should have been fast, as they were flat and hard packed gravel, but the wind made it a sufferfest. As I rode into town, the last few blocks before the finish line were exceptionally cruel because I had to wind through the city streets and the university campus, and it seemed to take forever. As I pulled across the road that led to the finish sprint downtown I noticed that right in front of me were the two young guys who had shaken me off of their wheel earlier in the day. I decided to pass them as I sprinted for the finish line, and I gave it all I had. I pulled in front of them at over 25 mph. The two of them raced to catch up with me and passed me just before we made it across the finish line. I didn’t care that they had passed me, because I felt happy that I hadn’t needed them to pull for me after all. As I crossed the finish, I heard the announcer say my name and the name of my hometown. I was then handed a Dirty Kanza glass, the finishers’ award, and a woman at the finishers’ tent hugged me. I found out later that I had finished 13th overall in the women’s 100, and my sprint across the finish line had earned me an unexpected QOM on Strava.

This is a race that I would love to do again, but I wouldn’t forget my Go Pro camera the next time. The scenery was so breathtaking and difficult to describe, that I regret not having more photos of this incredible adventure.

The HellKaat Hundie is a 100 mile gravel road race in Hudsonville, Michigan. The race is sponsored by a local bike shop called 3rd Coast Cycles, and proceeds from the race go to benefit the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. The 50 mile option is called the HellKitten Fiddie, and for those not wanting to race 50 or 100 miles, there’s an Itty Bitty Kitty 25 mile fun ride. The winner in each division of the HellKaat Hundie was to be awarded a pair of “Hundie Undies”, and the winner in each division of the 50 mile race was to be awarded “Kitten Mittens”. When I read about the race on-line, it all sounded just too creative to not be a fun experience.

Marc and our friend James signed up for the 100 mile race, and I signed up for the 50 mile race. I had only been given the doctor’s all clear to get back on the bike six weeks earlier, since fracturing my humerus in December.  Also, I wasn’t sure how I would handle an all-out race of 100 miles, because it had been at least six months since I had ridden a century. I also wasn’t really sure how my arm would handle a 50 mile ride if road conditions were bad. I had raced the Dirty Mudd’r 37 mile race the weekend prior, and the 22 mile Barry Roubaix the weekend before the Dirty Mudd’r.  Luckily, the road conditions in both of the races were perfect and my arm felt fine. The gravel roads in Streator, Illinois, where the Dirty Mudd’r is held, are usually covered in inches of freshly poured gravel. This year the roads had been freshly graded and the gravel was thick for only a few miles.  This made for a much faster race. It was also sunny and over 70 degrees for both races! I managed to win 1st place at the Dirty Mudd’r, and although I was tired, I was really anxious to do another race because I felt like my arm and shoulders were starting to get back to normal.

We decided to get a hotel the night before the race because the start time was 7:00 am Indiana time, and it was at least a two hour drive to Hudsonville. We both had to work Friday the 29th. Then we had to pack, load the bikes, and drive to Michigan City to pick up James. We arrived at our hotel at almost 11:00 pm Michigan time. We figured we would have to get up by 5:30 am in order to pick up our packets and numbers before the race. This is always the hardest part of racing – the time change and the early start time.

The next morning we woke up, re-packed, and went to the lobby for the hotel’s continental breakfast. James was extremely happy to see that the hotel had a waffle maker! He talked Marc and me into the perfect pre-race breakfast – a waffle with peanut butter and sliced bananas and just a drizzle of syrup. Even though it tasted great, I always have a difficult time eating so early in the morning. I only managed to eat half a waffle and half a banana. I made a mental note to eat a gel five minutes before the race.

As we went outside to load the bikes James commented on how awesome the sunrise was. It was cold, about 40 degrees, but it looked like it was going to be a clear day! I walked to the edge of the parking lot to take a photo, and then posted the photo on Instagram and labeled it #coldmichiganmorning.

We were then on our way to the bike shop to pick up our packets. Shortly after we picked up our packets and put the number plates on our bikes, we were all called into the empty shop next to the bike shop for a pre-race meeting to go over the ground rules. We would have a neutral start and police escort for about a mile to get out of the city, then we were on our own. This was a non-supported race, so there were no sag stops or police blocking traffic. We were to stop at a halfway check point to get a sticker for our number plates.

After the meeting, it was time to line up for the race. There was no time for any warm up.  I quickly snapped a picture of a smiling James and Marc in front of me, then I snapped a picture of the riders behind me, then barely got my gloves on and my phone back in my jersey pocket before it was time to start.

As we rolled out it occurred to me that I had forgotten to eat a gel. I figured I would eat one while we slowly rolled out. The race wasn’t supposed to start until we crested the top of a paved hill as we headed out of town. Well, we rolled out, but it wasn’t slow! Riders were going over 20 mph from the very beginning and were already passing each other long before we got to the hill. I was not warmed up and I was already suffering. There was no time to eat a gel. I struggled to stay as close to the front of the pack as I could, but as we climbed the hill I was totally blow away by half of the riders. Within just a few miles I could barely see the lead pack, and the race settled into just me and a few others. There was a terrible east (or was it west?!) headwind almost immediately. I looked at the sky and couldn’t tell what direction I was facing because the partly sunny day had quickly turned into a cold, overcast sky. I passed a man with a “Grayhound Racing Team” jersey early on in the race, and he caught up and stayed with me for awhile. He was much older and heavier than I am, and I thought that I should have been able to keep a faster pace. We talked for a while, then two of his friends who were doing the hundie caught up to us. I then passed them and spent quite a few miles drafting behind a man and a woman. I thought she looked my age, so I tried hard to keep up with the two of them. They would pass me on hills, then I would struggle for a half a mile to catch back up to them.

Because this was a non-supported race, we had to stop at busy intersections, which there seemed to be a lot of. I began to get frustrated by all of the pavement and stopping. We would ride gravel for a few miles, then turn onto a paved road to get to the next section of gravel. The race also turned about to be a lot hillier than I expected, and it was difficult to get gels out of the pouch on the front of my bike one handed while maneuvering the hills, many of which were washboard and rutted.

When we got to the checkpoint at mile 26, I rolled up, got my sticker, and immediately took off. There was a convenience store at the checkpoint, and I noticed there were dozens of riders who had stopped. The couple that I had been following had stopped as well, and I never saw them again. At the end of the road the 50 milers separated from the 100 milers. The 50 milers followed the yellow sign to the left, and the 100 milers followed the sign to the right. This is where, I would learn later, that Marc had taken a wrong turn because he had not seen the sign, but had followed a group of riders to the left. He ended up not finishing the 100 mile race because he didn’t realize his mistake until he was almost back to town.

The few riders that were with me by this time all turned to the right, and I found myself alone on the 50 mile route. The next five miles or so were torturous. The roads were rutted and filled with pot holes, and the hills were nonstop. There was no way to get enough speed going to get to the top of the next hill, as most of the hills were steady inclines and were not rolling. By mile 35 I was exhausted. I had my head down, trying to just focus on pedaling, and I ended up missing a sign to turn. My Garmin flashed that I was off course, so I turned around and rode back to the last intersection. I had missed the sign telling me to turn left!

Shortly after I turned left I heard a man and woman’s voice behind me, and I assumed it was the couple I had been following earlier. Since I had not seen any other women who looked like they were in my age group pass me, I knew if I let this woman pass me it could cost me first place. I struggled to stay far enough ahead of them that I couldn’t hear them, and then I could hear them getting closer again. It was at this point that I got my second wind because the roads had turned into either smooth, hard packed dirt, or pavement. I also had a tailwind! I started riding as hard as I could and was riding well over 20 mph for about 5 miles. I didn’t think there was any way they could catch me. Then I came to an intersection where a man in a pickup truck told me to turn right. I thought he was messing with me, because there was no sign. He insisted that the sign had been stolen, so I turned right. It was shortly after this that my Garmin kept flashing that I was off course! I stopped twice and looked behind me to see if there were other riders behind me, and I could see the man and woman in the distance. So I hoped the man in the pickup hadn’t steered us all in the wrong direction, and I kept riding. I caught up with a man on a mountain bike, and he said we were on course. He said he had already taken a wrong turn and had gone four miles out of his way.

After passing the man on the MTB, I looked down at my Garmin, and it said that I had a little over two miles until the finish. I was starting to get completely worn out by this point, when I saw a hill ahead. I thought it was particularly cruel for there to be such a big hill so close to the finish. It was on this hill that I was passed by the man and woman, and I thought “where did they come from?!” because I thought they had fallen far behind. This was a woman I had not seen before on the course, and she looked older than me. I had very little left, but I kept telling myself that the finish was just more than a mile away and I needed to ride it like a Strava segment! So I sprinted as hard and fast as I could and caught up with them just as they rounded the corner which was less than a quarter of a mile from the finish line. I saw the man go off the road to the left, and I realized what he was doing. He was getting to the left side of the road because we had to turn left ahead on a busy road. If there was on-coming traffic I would have to stop, and they would just turn the corner. Out of the corner of my eye I then saw them both stop and I wondered what had happened. Maybe he had was confused by the intersection, which was a three way road? I didn’t look back at that point, and rode as hard and fast as I could towards the finish line. Marc was there, and took my picture. I wondered if he had crashed or had a flat, only to find out about his wrong turn.

We found out a few minutes later that I had gotten 1st place in the Women’s Masters division. After the ceremony, the woman who got second place by 20 seconds introduced herself and said her name was Rhonda. She said that she had been trying to catch up to me for miles, and when she passed me she thought I was too young to be in her age group. She said her husband had dropped a chain when I saw them stop shortly before the finish line, and he had yelled at her to keep going. She said she told him not to worry because I wasn’t in her age group! She said by the time she tried to sprint and catch me, it was too late. She also complemented me and said that I was doing it all alone and she had her husband to pull for her.

James ended up finishing the 100 miler at over 18 mph, an incredible pace for a gravel hundie, and he finished 10th overall. This is a race that we definitely want to do again.

Winter 2015/2016 in Northwest Indiana was off to a great start.  The weather had been mild throughout the months of November and December, with temperatures hovering mostly in the 30 to 40 degree range. There had only been one small snowfall, and only a handful of days with temperatures in the 20’s. I had ridden 9,733 miles since January, and I was looking forward to another 10,000 mile year. It seemed that this would be an easy feat, with the weather’s cooperation.

Winter riding is so much different than summer riding. The winter layers, boots, winter helmet, ski goggles, and thick gloves mean I have to transition to the fat bike or MTB, even when there is no snow. It is difficult to maneuver the gears on a road bike with winter gloves on, and I need to be in a more upright position to see out of the goggles and winter helmet. Also, the roads can be covered in frost, which can be precarious on a road bike. And finally, most riding is in the dark because of the short days.

In some ways, winter riding is like being transported back in time to being 10 years old. There’s no road bike pressure to maintain a high average speed, and no pressure to nab a Queen of the Mountain. It’s an adventure that reminds me of childhood days when I played outside with my friends until my feet were frozen, and I was sad to hear my mom calling me to come home for supper. Back then, my playground was the park down the street. Now, my winter playground is Lake Michigan. In the winter, the sand at the National Lakeshore becomes hard packed and frozen, and there are few tourists on the beach. Dodging the waves along the shore is amazing fun, but moving the fat tires through the sand is also an incredible workout.

Our local riding group, which calls itself “Rollaphati”, spent several weekends on the beach in the month of December.

December 6th was our friend Eric’s 57th birthday. Eric wanted to ride 57 miles to celebrate one mile for every year he has been on the earth. We rode from Kemil Beach to the pavilion at the state park along the lakeshore, but it was slow going. It was unseasonably warm, and there were dozens of tourists along the beach. The sand wasn’t frozen, and it was kicked up from all the foot traffic. Eric popped wheelies as we made our way to the pavilion, where we met the rest of the group who had taken a detour through the woods. After we made it to the pavilion, we headed north to hook back up with the Calumet Trail.

At one point we found ourselves at a dead end on a road that had been closed and barricaded by a tall barbed wire fence. In true male fashion, all the guys insisted that we haul our bikes over the fence and climb it, rather than turn around and find a different route. Climbing the fence was a bit dramatic when I got stuck and had to get a ride on James’ back to get over the fence. Eric ended up ripping his new winter tights.

Because winter had been so mild and there had been no snow, I had been alternating rides between the fat bike and the MTB. On December 19th, Jeff, James, Marc and I met up to ride at Imagination Glen, a local park with 10 miles of MTB trails. It was beautiful and sunny, but temperatures had dropped to the 20’s. I had never been to the Glen before, and I found a series of dirt ramps that reminded me of the ramp I used to jump at the bottom of Linden Hill on my banana seat bike when I was a kid . Linden Street was around the corner from my childhood home. This was a dead end street that descended into an open field where the neighborhood kids built a dirt bike ramp that was crazy fun. I still like to tell the story of how when I was 10 I thought flying over the ramp with no hands was a good idea!

December 20th was about 20 degrees warmer than the previous day, and Marc and I headed north to meet up with Jeff, Greg, Shari, Eric, and Mike to take a ride along the bike trail that runs from Chesterton to Munster. It was sunny outside and the entire group was in a very good mood. We were riding at a nice social pace, about 16 mph, as we headed onto the trail. This bike trail has fences at each road crossing, and there is a lot of starting and stopping. As the trail crossed Samuelson Road in Portage, there was the usual fence that we had to slow down and go around. We went around the fence, checked for traffic, then went straight ahead to get back to the trail. On the other side of the street there wasn’t the usual fence blocking the trail, but rather three concrete, short poles. I saw the yellow pole on the right where there was a walker on the trail, and I saw the pole to the left. However, I didn’t see the yellow pole in the center until it was too late because its view was blocked by the riders in front of me. I hit the pole at a very slow pace, maybe 5 mph, and it was a fall that I thought I would just get up from and brush myself off. As I went down I remember thinking “Well that was stupid of me”. What should have been a minor fall, however, turned out to have major consequences. Before I landed I saw my right arm snap about 5 inches from my shoulder. As it snapped, it hung loosely like a fake arm, then bent backwards behind my back. For a split second, I thought my arm had been severed. Jeff said he saw my arm get wedged between the pole and the handlebars, and it stayed behind as my body flipped forward.

My immediate reaction was to grab my arm and pull it in front of me as I yelled that someone should call 911. I heard Greg say “Call 911?” because he hadn’t seen what had happened and he thought it was a minor spill. A passerby stopped and gave me a blanket as I sat on the concrete for what seemed like hours until the ambulance came. The EMTs in the ambulance were two very young men and they seemed scared to handle me. One of them kept apologizing for having to cut off my shirt, and they both seemed extremely nervous about hurting me when they tried to immobilize my arm with a blow up splint. While they continued to apologize for hurting me, I told them I was sorry for crying.

Xrays taken at the hospital showed that my right humerus had a spiral fracture and had been shattered into what looked like three pieces. Surgery, however, was not to be scheduled until Wednesday! I spent the next three days in terrible pain. I threw up until midnight the first night home, and I could hear my bones grating against each other every time I moved.

To my surprise, I was not the least bit nervous about surgery.  By the time 6 AM December 23rd came, I was more than ready to have my arm fixed.  We were the first to arrive at the surgery center, and I waited only about 5 minutes before they took me back to get me prepped for surgery.  I changed into a gown, got hooked up to an IV, and then the anesthesiologist came into to talk to me and give me a block which would completely numb my arm.  A few minutes later, the surgeon came in to ask me how I was doing.  Then, what seemed like seconds later, the surgeon told me I had done well and was done.  Because of the nerve block I would have no pain for the next 6-12 hours.  I remember thinking, “Well that was easy!”  I had originally thought I would need 3 or 4 screws to bolt my arm back together, however it ended up taking 14 screws and a titanium plate.

After surgery, Marc took me to the pharmacy to get a stronger pain medication than was given to me at ER so I would have it when the nerve block wore off. The pharmacy wouldn’t fill the prescription because of narcotics laws, because I had already gotten a narcotic a few days earlier.  Marc said they would fill it Monday.  I wasn’t in terrible pain and I still had the ER prescription, so I wasn’t worried.  By 10:00 PM the nerve block had worn off.  I took a pill from the ER and nothing happened.  Then I took some Ibuprofen because I was afraid to take another pain pill.  By 12:00 I was hysterical.  I was pacing the floor and crying, and cursing the drug addicts for causing the stiff narcotics laws that were preventing me from getting pain medication! It was a rough night.  The next week was a complete blur of almost constant sleeping interspersed with pain.

Now, at day 11 since surgery, I feel almost back to normal.  When my staples come out, hopefully this week, the doctor has given me the OK to sweat and do the bike trainer.  I hadn’t intended to do a blog entry about my accident, but the forced down time has given me a lot of time to think about and process what happened.  Initially, I was so worried about the consequences of such a minor fall that I wondered if I should stop riding.  Then I realized if I stopped riding I would stop living.  After all, getting in my car and driving to work each day is a huge risk, as is walking to the mailbox on an icy day.  Every day that I get to ride is a blessing, and I hope I have many more riding days.

The Iceman Cometh Challenge is a point to point MTB race held traditionally each year on the first Saturday of November. The race starts in downtown Kalkaska, Michigan and finishes thirty miles later on the eastern edge of Traverse City. The course consists primarily of dirt roads, two track jeep roads, abandoned railroad beds, logging roads, and the world famous Vasa Nordic ski trail. It crosses only one paved road (Williamsburg Road at mile 17) as it winds through the Pere Marquette State Forest in Northern Lower Michigan. This is a huge race, with approximately 4,000-5,000 riders of all skill levels racing each year, as well as pro riders.  Snow during the race is common, and temperatures are typically in the 30’s.

Iceman 2014 was my first MTB race.  At the time I was a diehard experienced roadie with no interest in mountain biking, and I also had no clue what I was in for.  I had only recently started riding a fat bike the previous winter, and I didn’t own a MTB at the time.  However, we had a group of friends who convinced me that my endurance and fitness level would make this race a piece of cake in the fat bike class.

Several weeks prior to the race, five of us went to Kalkaska to do a pre-ride of the course because I had insisted that I needed to know what I was in for.  Northern Michigan has much harsher weather than Indiana, and it was already in the 40’s in mid-October. It drizzled rain all morning as we headed north to do a pre-ride on October 18th.

We parked in the parking lot in downtown Kalkaska, which was yards from where the start of the race would be. As we unloaded the bikes, the steady drizzle had stopped, and it had settled into a cold and gloomy day. Kalkaska is a not a big city, and I wondered what it would be like on race day with over 5,000 riders and their families crammed into this small town.

We started riding on pavement and proceeded several blocks to an open field, where we soon found ourselves on a grassy doubletrack that ran along a fence line. The start seemed precarious to me, as I couldn’t imagine a wave of 100+ riders vying for position on this narrow course, that soon turned into a dirt track that ran into the woods. Since there are thousands of riders, there are usually about 50 waves of 100 riders or so leaving the starting line every 3 minutes. That first year I had been assigned to a relatively early wave, number 14, because I had logged the most training miles in the month of October for women in the Ice Society. The Ice Society is found on the Iceman webpage and connects to your Strava account and gives you points for distance ridden and elevation. I was thankful for that, as I was hoping I would be riding with more skilled riders. Wave assignments are usually given based on your last year’s performance. For those who have never raced before, like me, I had earned a higher wave assignment based on my training the month before the race. (I also won a Galaxy 500 Note Tablet!)

As we rode through the forest with a very heavy leaf cover, I knew almost immediately that riding a 33 pound fat bike for 30 miles through this terrain was not going to be easy. It took a great deal of effort pushing the big tires through the mud, leaves, and sand. Plus, this race included over 2,000 feet of climbing.

The ride was beautiful as we rode through the forest, but it turned sketchy at about mile 10 when the sandy hills began.  I crashed as I tried to descend one of these hills.  Thankfully I wasn’t hurt because it was like landing on a sandy beach. This hill quickly turned onto a logging road with foot deep, muddy ruts that had been left by the logging trucks. The mud was so thick that this road was completely unrideable in sections. We paused to take pictures on the logs in a clearing while James assured me that the course would be completely cleared and fixed by the week of the race.

The pre-ride was fun and the scenery was beautiful, however, I was completely exhausted. Still, I was happy that I had ridden it because I now knew what to expect on race day.  Or so I thought…

The day of the race, November 8, 2014, arrived quickly. The week prior to the race it had rained almost every day. Race day was no different. It was just above freezing with a constant drizzle as we pulled into the school parking lot in Kalkaska to unload our bikes. The small town was jam packed with cars, spectators, and racers as we rode to the starting line. Marc was in an earlier wave, and I was left to huddle under a tent with dozens of other riders while waiting for my wave to start. I was shaking in the cold and I just wanted to move. My wave started 15 minutes after Marc, and soon I was off. I was surrounded by MTBs that quickly passed me as we headed into the forest. I noticed immediately that this was nothing like the pre-ride. Mud was 6 inches deep in spots and my chain quickly became so coated with mud that shifting was difficult. My hands were freezing because I had made the mistake of wearing my waterproof scuba gloves. They were waterproof, but they weren’t very insulated.

Soon we came across the logging roads. There were ruts in the center of the road that were now several feet deep. Literally hundreds of riders were walking their bikes either through the center of the ruts or along the road edges. This was much worse than the pre-ride.  My feet sank ankle deep in mud as I tried to drag my 33 pound bike through the mud and then up a hill. This was exhausting.  Marc had called me on my phone while I was stopped earlier and had said his chain was broken and the repair he attempted didn’t hold, so he was finished. He would end up waiting hours for a rescue in the cold rain. When he was picked up he was not allowed to sit in the rescuer’s truck because he was muddy, so he shivered in the truck bed while they drove to the race finish.

After we passed the logging roads, my gears had become so caked with mud that I could no longer shift. All along the course I saw riders down with flat tires, broken chains, and other technical problems. One rider was awaiting a medical rescue with some friends as it looked like he might have a broken leg.

The singletrack through the forest was a nightmare.  There was a traffic jam of riders, and each time I would hit a muddy rut and get knocked off the bike I’d have to stand and wait for a break in traffic to get back on the track. Getting enough traction in the mud to get moving again was difficult, and it was also hard dodging riders in front of me who would wipe out in the mud.  Throughout the race I ate ShotBlok energy chews that were in a bag on my handlebars.  There was no way to eat these without also eating gritty sand and mud.  Every part of me and the bike was coated.  I had long ditched my glasses because I couldn’t see, and mud was getting spattered in my eyes.

At about 5K before the finish line (there are red markers on trees throughout the course) my chain kinked and I could no longer pedal. A man at the top of the hill told me the chain was probably destroyed.  His chain was broken, but he said he had come too far to quit and he intended to finish by coasting the downhills and walking the rest. I managed to get the kink out and get back on the bike, when I realized I had run out of water. By this time I had been on the course over 4 hours, which is not something I had intended. I was cold and exhausted, and now I was thirsty too. Shortly thereafter, I noticed that the rain had turned into snow flurries.

After what seemed like an eternity in the forest,  I heard cheers and saw an orange plastic snow fence lining what I believed to be the final sprint.  Relief swept over me as I thought I must be yards away from the finish line. I was wrong! The track turned away from the crowd and back into the woods.  I thought this false finish was unnecessarily cruel. As we came back out of the woods along the orange fence lined with a cheering crowd ringing cow bells, the track headed downhill through a tunnel. At this point I had no idea where the finish line was, until I came up through the tunnel and saw the banner. The race photographer snapped a very unflattering picture of me as I approached the finish line that I both love and hate. I hate it because it is not a pretty picture, but I love it because the picture says it all. I was covered from head to toe in mud, and I even had mud in my lips and teeth. The race was agony but I had made it. I finished at a slow 4:21:53,  but I somehow managed to finish 7th in the women’s fat bike class.  Overall, because of the terrible race conditions, only 4,013 riders finished out of the approximately 5,400 that were registered. When we met up briefly with our friends Kelly and Jeff after the race, I told them my race time and Kelly gave me a surprised look and said “You finished?!”  I still tease him about his apparent lack of faith in me!

Registration for Iceman usually opens in March and historically sells out within days. Registration opened in March for Iceman 2015 and Marc was adamant that we were not going to do this race again. Marc wasn’t happy with the way his rescue was handled, and he wasn’t pleased that registration had gone up to $100, yet race sponsors offer nothing in return. Most races have fees under $50, and they offer a free t-shirt of the event, a meal, or a memento such as a race water bottle. Despite the high entry fee, Iceman offers none of these things. Bags given on race day contain advertisement pamphlets and a small donation from a sponsor, such as a bite sized energy bar. I agreed that we shouldn’t do it again because of the high entry fee, and because of the terrible course conditions. I knew the race sponsors had no control over the weather, however, I felt the course should have been re-routed around the impassable logging roads. Apparently many people agreed, because by October, Iceman had still not sold out.

About a month before the race, our friend Jeff said he had rented a condo in Traverse city that he wanted us to share with his brother Greg and wife Amber, and he repeatedly asked us to give Iceman another try. So I agreed and entered in the MTB class in my age group. I had gotten a Trek Top Fuel MTB that spring, and I was curious as to how I would do on a different bike. Marc said he would tag along and be a photographer and shuttle us to our car, but he wouldn’t race. I began to look forward to the race, because I was curious how I could perform in better racing conditions on a bike weighing 14 pounds less.

The week before the race was dry in Kalkaska, and I was told that a dry course would make for a very fast race. I decided that finishing the race in under 3 hours was a lofty goal for me, and that is what I was going to try to do.

The day of the race, November 7, 2015, came quickly. It was just above 30 degrees on race day, but it was dry, and the sun had made an appearance. I was to be in wave 25 of 49 waves based on last year’s performance. I decided to set myself at the front of the wave and stay with the lead group for as long as I could to avoid having to dodge riders. I am front and center in this photo, tag number 2935.

The race announcer began counting down, and soon we were off. Within seconds I knew this race was going to be much different than last year. I had no trouble staying with the lead group as we rode through town on pavement to get to the grassy field that would lead us to the woods. When we hit the dirt, I could see that the course was hard packed dirt and sand, and it was very fast! I kept looking at my Garmin and marveled that I was going 18 mph through the woods. It was this way for miles, and I remember thinking that I may possibly finish the race in 2 1/2 hours. Soon after I had this thought I looked up and saw a sign that said “sand” that was warning riders of a deep sand pit ahead. There were riders in front of me and I couldn’t see a way around it. so I jumped off the bike with the other riders, ran through the sand, then got back on my bike.

Soon we approached a very small sandy hill that I should have been able to easily spin up, however, there were so many riders ahead of me that I couldn’t go fast enough to get the necessary traction. I had to walk up this hill because of it, and I wasn’t happy because this wasn’t a hill that anyone should have walked. We had caught up with slower riders in the wave ahead of us, and there started to be a lot of traffic on the course. As we hit another two track road, I took the opportunity to pass as many riders as I could.

Marc had signed up for text alerts so he would know where I was on the course. There were electronic timing devices at various road crossings that would send a signal to his phone to let him know when I had passed the crossing. Marc waited at the Williamsburg intersection at mile 17, the one paved road that the trail crossed, to get a picture as I passed. This was a long climb with dozens of spectators cheering at the top of the hill. I saw riders in front of me walking their bikes, which I couldn’t imagine doing with such a cheering squad. The pictures Marc took show a rider behind me walking, while I look like I’m concentrating heavily on working my way up the hill.

After the Williamsburg crossing, it seemed as if I was flying. The course had been re-routed around the logging roads, and the ground was hard packed and dry. I was riding so fast that I was not prepared for an extremely rough descent over hard packed dirt holes, and it looked like other riders weren’t either, as there were dozens of water bottles littering the ground that had fallen out of bottle cages. This was scary, dodging holes and bottles, while listening to other riders shouting out as they did the same.

As the course wound through doubletrack and back into the woods, I was really happy about my performance on the singletrack. I stayed with a line of riders and never got knocked off track, nor did anyone pass me. Maneuvering a carbon MTB through the woods was completely different than handling the fat bike. Because I had raced last year, I knew that the false finish was coming soon, and sure enough, the course ran alongside an orange snow fence before veering back into the woods. As I rode along the fence, I got a cramp in my left calf which I found annoying because I wanted to sprint across the finish line. The cramp soon went away, and I saw the finish banner in the distance. There was a dirt ramp yards before the finish line and I rode as fast as I could over the ramp as the rider to the left of me crashed. I heard Jeff yell “Go Lou!” after I came over the ramp and across the finish line. I had finished at 2:52:53, almost 1 1/2 hours faster than last year! I ended up finishing 20th in my age group.

After finishing the race I retrieved my backpack that had been loaded onto a truck at the starting line and had been driven to the finish line. I had packed a change of clothes so I could shower in one of the mobile shower trucks. The lines for the men’s showers were extremely long, but there was no waiting for the women’s showers. Trying to get undressed in the tiny stall with a flimsy curtain was a challenge. After I got undressed I was not happy to hear that there were men in the women’s showers who had apparently not wanted to wait in line.

After showering and changing, I went outside to find Marc. It was extremely cold, and we looked around to find our friends. The atmosphere was extremely chaotic, to put it mildly. More than 5,000 people were crammed into a small campground, and there was no sense of organization at all. Long lines wrapped around the small number of food trucks, and we noticed that some of the trucks were running out of food. We ended up standing in line in the cold for over half an hour to get something to eat. After we got something to eat, we stayed to watch the pros come across the finish line.  Shortly before the pros came in, an elderly women came limping across the finish with her bike.  She had been on the course for over 5 hours, but she had finished! Medics came to walk alongside her as the crowd cheered.

 

The Gravel Grovel that starts and ends in Norman Indiana and crosses through the Hoosier National Forest was to be held two days after Thanksgiving on November 28, 2015.  The Gravel Grovel is a 60 mile CX/MTB race with a mix of gravel roads, singletrack trail, unmaintained “fire roads”, and a small amount of pavement.  The elevation gain over the course of 60 miles was estimated to be about 4,000 feet, with 7 category 5 climbs throughout the course.

Marc and his friends had been talking for months about doing the Gravel Grovel. Initially, I was completely uninterested because I am not a fan of singletrack racing.  Riding a MTB through a forest on singletrack is incredibly fun and it offers some pretty awesome scenery through Brown County.  However, racing on singletrack is an entirely different animal.  I’ll be the first to admit that I am way too cautious of a road rider to go barreling down a singeltrack muddy descent and possibly jumping over tree roots, rocks, and dodging trees.  I thought the race was too big for me. However, James, Jeff, and Marc all assured me that the race was 90% gravel roads and the singletrack was only two small sections.  So with that reassurance, I told them I was in.  Marc registered us both in the MTB class and he paid the $130 registration fee for the two of us. He told me “once I pay, there’s no backing out.”

A week before the race, the weather was looking awesome in Norman, Indiana. It was sunny and unseasonably warm, in the 50’s and 60’s.  The weather for the weekend of the race was predicted to be dry, with temperatures in the 50’s.  I was excited about that, because November weather, even in southern Indiana, can sometimes mean snow.  However, as luck would have it, the weather took a turn mid week.  Rain was predicted for days before the race, the day of the race, and for days after.  The temperature was also dropping.  I started to get nervous.

On Friday November 27th, we left for Norman around 1:00 PM.  With the time difference and a stop to eat, that meant we would arrive at our destination sometime around 8:00 PM.  Jeff had rented a cabin in the park just yards from the start/finish line for the four of us.  It rained steadily the entire drive, and it continued to rain as we unpacked.  It was 50 degrees, but the weather for the race was predicted to be in the mid-40’s, with rain continuing all day.  I was secretly hoping one of the guys would bail out, and that would give me the OK to bail out too.

When we took the bikes off of the back of the car, Jeff noticed that my Trek had a rear flat tire.  I was running tubeless tires and it didn’t look like any sealant had leaked around a hole, so this was not a good sign. Jeff pumped up the tire to 40 psi and we all watched as the sealant sprayed through the spokes of the wheel. Somehow sealant had gotten underneath the plastic rim strip.  The guys had packed plenty of spare tubes, however, they were all 29″.  My Trek Top Fuel is an old school 26″.  That meant I was going to have to put a 29″ tube in my 26″ tire and hope for the best.  Jeff said that it would get me through the race.  He quickly changed the tire.  I looked with dread as he spun the tire and it looked like it had a bulge in it.  I was thinking it was seriously going to slow me down, but Jeff reassured me that it would be fine.  I had no other choice at this point.

That night, I lay in my bunk and listened as it rained steadily.  I got up several times during the night to go to the bathroom, and the rain was still coming down in a constant drizzle.  The temperature had also dropped to the mid 40’s.

When we got up the next morning, I was secretly hoping the race would be cancelled.  Of course I knew that was a crazy idea, because races don’t get called off because of bad weather.  We got dressed and drove over to the park pavilion to pick up our packets. There was a small line of people in front of the “Pre-registration” table, and no one in line at the “Registration” table.  I didn’t think there would be too many people jumping to register the day of the race if they hadn’t already paid the fee.  There was an extremely muscular looking woman in line in front of me picking up her packet, and I remember thinking that I was way out of my league.

We drove back to the cabin to get our bikes ready and finish getting dressed.  I forced myself to choke down an English muffin with peanut butter and a banana because I knew I needed it to race, but I had no appetite.  It was also tough deciding what to wear.  I had no idea how long I would be out on the course because of the conditions.  I covered my wool socks with plastic bags and wrapped plastic wrap around the top of my socks to keep my feet dry because my MTB boots weren’t water proof.  I also made sure to pull my fleece leggings and Amfib tights over the top of my boots so water wouldn’t run into my shoes from the tights.  I then wore two base layers, a jersey, and a rain jacket.  I wore my thickest Castelli gloves because even though they aren’t waterproof I knew they would keep my hands warm when soaking wet.

We then all gathered outside the cabin for a picture before we set off to warm up before the race.

I rode around the park to warm up, but it was difficult because of all the riders, and because I was dodging huge puddles of mud. I didn’t want to get soaked before the race even began, so it was a short warm up. Soon it was almost 10:00 and time to line up at the start. I got behind Jeff and Marc, as Marc promised to stay with me and pull for me during the race. The rain had stopped temporarily, and I was thankful for that. I noticed a couple on a tandem in front of me and I marveled that the woman was wearing makeup and lipstick, and she looked fabulous. I always ride what I call “race ugly”, without makeup, because it would be quite the sight with mascara running down my face. I laughed to myself and made a mental note to rock the hair and makeup the next race!

Soon we were off. I rode hard to stay on Jeff and Marc’s wheel as they moved to the left to pass riders. The start of the race was on pavement and was flat, so it was an easy start. I saw one woman on a MTB pass me at a good clip to catch the leaders. After about a mile or so, I began having trouble staying with Marc and Jeff. I had no energy, and I think a part of the reason was that my heart really wasn’t in this race. I was discouraged about the weather, and I felt I was surrounded by hardcore mountain bikers that were way out of my league. Jeff soon rode out of my sight, but Marc stayed with me. It seemed that we quickly turned left off of the pavement to a seasonal road that was in horrible condition. It was completely flooded, and we were dodging huge puddles. It was a mental game to ride as fast as I could while trying to calculate the best course along this muddy path that was supposed to be a road.

The next 20 miles were a blur, because it seemed that the seasonal road turned into an endless singletrack that twisted and turned along a creek. We had to cross the creek so many times I lost count. At one point Marc crashed and went all the way down in the water. I asked if he was OK, but he quickly got up, so I kept going. When this singletrack finally ended, I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that most of the course would now be gravel. I was wrong. It seemed as if within minutes we were back on a singletrack on the Nebo Ridge Trail through the Hoosier National Forest. There were deep muddy ruts, and my tires were too slick to have any kind of traction. I kept slipping and sliding. This singletrack seemed never ending. I didn’t have enough traction to get up the steep ascents, so I had to haul my bike up the hills. I was getting exhausted. At one point I crashed on a descent and went down hard. I got back up only to crash again not even 50 feet later. I was covered in mud. I saw a man stopped at the trail crossing and I asked if he was OK. He said that he had been sick and he had twins at home, so he was finished. He said he had done the race last year, so he was fine with calling it off. I told him he had made a good choice, and to go home and hug his babies.

At this point, Marc asked if I had a map because he wanted to find a shortcut out. We had been on the course almost 3 hours and had gone only 23 miles. Marc said it was useless because we weren’t going to make the 7 hour cutoff at this pace. He wanted to quit. I told him no, because I was sure the singletrack was almost over and we could fly the rest of the race and make good time. Every time he wanted to quit I kept telling him we could make it. Then it started to rain, and rain, and rain, and rain…

The rain was cold. I was soaked and shivering, but I didn’t want to stop to put on my raincoat. I finally had no choice. I couldn’t get it zipped up, and Marc put chain lube on the wet zipper. My glasses also kept getting covered in mud and I couldn’t see, so I would take them off, then I ended up getting sand and mud in my contacts. It was a terrible dance. Glasses on, and I couldn’t see, glasses off, and mud in the eyes. Sometime mid race, I saw another girl on a MTB pass me. I now calculated I was in 3rd place.

About 30 miles into the race, a young girl on a MTB passed me. I knew I was in 4th place, so I struggled to pass her. We passed each other a few times, before she passed me and I didn’t see her again. I was really deflated them, because I knew any chance of a podium spot was gone. About 5 miles later, I saw the girl at the side of the road with her boyfriend/husband. He was hurting and he was doing leg stretches. They got back on the road, and she was soon beside me on a long, steady climb. She said it was her first MTB race and that she didn’t know how she was going to finish because she couldn’t shift. I told her to stop at the next SAG stop and pour water on her chain and derailleur because it was caked with mud. The next SAG stop was at the top of the hill and we both stopped. I filled my Camelbak and I think she got some water to clean her bike. The woman at the SAG stop said there were lots of flats and the record that day was a guy with 5 flats. He had 2 tubes with him and had borrowed 3.

At this SAG stop, there were two signs and I was confused which way to go. There was a man standing in the road, and I asked him which way. He asked how far we were going. I told him all the way, and he directed us to the left. This was the 38 mile mark, and if someone wanted to bail out they could go to the right. When we went left, this was a loop that would bring us back to the SAG stop and then towards the finish. When we finished the loop, I saw the super muscular girl at the beginning of the loop. She was talking to the man in the road, and I wondered if she was going to take the short route or try to finish.

Somewhere around mile 40, I got a cramp in my left quadricep that made me scream out in pain. I had never experienced this before in a race, and I was worried I couldn’t finish. I yelled at Marc and asked what I should do, and he said “Keep pedaling!” Soon, the cramps began alternating between my left and right quadricep, my left hamsting, and my left calf. It got to the point that I couldn’t pedal up even the slightest incline. I was also shivering from being wet and cold and not being able to move fast enough to get warm. Marc gave me his bottle of Skratch Labs hydration mix, and a caffeine energy gel. The rest of the race was a blur of painful cramps, and getting off and on the bike to try and ride it out. I realized that I had made a terrible mistake of putting only water in my Camelbak instead of a hydration mix. The electrolyte imbalance, along with the cold, had put me in a terrible place. At mile 50 or so, I saw that we were less than an hour from the cutoff time and I told Marc we needed to stop. I told him there was no way we were going to make the cutoff time and he yelled “You can’t know that! Keep moving!” By then, the gravel roads had turned into rolling hills that made it easier to try to get up enough speed to make it to the top of the next hill. I rode as fast as I could on the descents in an attempt to get up the next hill. On one extremely steep descent, I hit a pothole that I saw too late because my glasses were completely covered in mud. I yelled “NO!” as I hit it because I knew I was going down. Miraculously, I sailed over this pothole.

By this time, the pain in my legs had become almost unbearable. Marc yelled “The finish is right ahead! Move faster!” I looked down at my Garmin and saw that we were 2 minutes from the cutoff time to finish the race. I thought we could make it, but then I saw a bridge ahead that was barricaded. We had to stop and haul our bikes over the barricade. Marc yelled “Go! Hand me your bike!” I handed him my bike and I could barely raise my leg to get across the barricade. I cried out in pain and I limped to the other side of the bridge, and over the next barricade, where Marc handed me my bike. I looked at my Garmin. We were hundreds of feet from the finish line with less than a minute. We raced towards the finish, which was a creek crossing. I rode into the water and almost made it to the other side before crashing into the creek. I got up and ran my bike up the creek bank across the finish line. We were just over 1 minute over the cutoff time. Marc asked if we had made it, and Brian Holzhausen, the race director, said not to worry. We had finished!

I was completely covered in mud, and even my lips were coated with mud. We went to the cabin, and got together our things to go shower. After I showered, I headed into the park pavilion where food was being served. By this point, there were only a handful of people eating. I thought I had finished 3rd, but I couldn’t find results posted anywhere. I didn’t know where Marc, James, and Jeff were, so I sat in the pavilion and drank Power Aid and ate. I then heard the announcer saying there were women’s awards that had not yet been given out. The men’s award ceremony had been long before. He then announced the women’s CX results, and then the women’s MTB results. I had gotten 3rd place! It was funny, because most of the women had just picked up their awards and left before the ceremony. There were only three of us left, the women’s 2nd place MTB, me, and the women’s 2nd place CX. The three of us happily posed for a picture. Shortly thereafter, James, Jeff, and Marc came to the paviolion where I learned that James got 3rd place in the men’s MTB class!

Immediately after the race, I vowed I’d never do it again. But as I sit here thinking, I’d say that this was an extremely fun course through beautiful countryside that became a sufferfest because of the weather. So I would definitely do it again, but I think next year I will wait for the weather report and pay the extra $10 to register the day of the race!

The Michigan Mountain Mayhem Gravel Grinder in Boyne City, Michigan was scheduled for October 3, 2015.  Boyne City is at the very tip of the fingers of the Michigan mitten, and fall comes much earlier to Northern Michigan than it does to Indiana.  Weeks before the race, I anxiously checked weather reports and discovered that Michigan, like Indiana, was having a very nice extended summer.  The entire week before the race was predicted to be high 50s, sunny skies, and dry.  The day of the race was predicted to be cloudy, with no chance of rain, and temperatures ranging from 44 to 55 degrees.

I had planned on riding my new Niner RLT gravel specific bike, but I really wanted to try it out on Michigan Gravel prior to the race.  I was a bit anxious about the way the thinner 35 mm tires would handle on gravel compared to the MTB, and I also wanted to know how it would do on a descent on gravel and dirt hills, as the MMM Gravel Grinder was said to have lots of climbing.  Marc and I did two 50 mile gravel ride courses just over the state line in Michigan a few weeks prior to the race, and I discovered that the RLT was lightning fast compared to my MTB, and it had absolutely no problem with traction.  It felt very stable.  I was looking forward to seeing what kind of average speed I could accomplish with the RLT.  I had checked the previous year results, and the average winning speed in my age group was only 13.6 mph.  This spooked me just a bit, because that meant that the course must be pretty rough if the average winning speed was so low.

The night before the race, Marc, James, Jeff and I all headed to Michigan with our bikes in the back of Jeff’s truck and James’ camper in tow.  It was a 5 1/2 hour drive to Boyne City, and we had to eat dinner along the way.  By the time we pulled into the Young State Park campground, it was after 10:30 pm.  We set up the camper and immediately went to sleep.

When I woke up the morning of the 3rd, I stepped out of the camper to find it was in the low 40’s.  It had been so warm in Indiana the previous week that the chill really got to me.  I was glad that I had packed a backpack filled with different bike clothes, as I opted for my fall jacket and a thin base layer instead of the jersey and long sleeved shirt I was going to wear. I looked around at the campground and was taken aback by the incredible beauty of the lodgepole pines. I also noticed we were just steps away from the lake! I walked to the shore and took some pictures before getting ready for the race.

After getting ready, we drove into Boyne City to pick up our packets and racing numbers at a local bike shop in town. There was a farmer’s market going on downtown, and we had to drive around to find parking. We then drove to the park where the race was to start. James, Jeff, and Mark were all doing the 60 mile race and their start time was 10:00. I was doing the 45 mile race, and my start time was 10:15. We all rode around the area streets to warm up, and then the guys got in line for their wave. I had a hard time snapping a picture because of all the other riders. It was funny that the one picture that I managed to take with all three of them was one with a guy in the foreground who looked like he could be Jeff’s twin.

After the guys’ wave was off, we were allowed to immediately line up. I got all the way up front, to the left, so I would be in a position to both pass riders and to try and catch the wheel of the leaders. It was cold waiting for the announcer to begin counting down, and Pharrell Williams’ song “Happy” played from the loudspeaker. Some riders were singing along, and I wished that I could take a video. The announcer started counting down from 10, and we were off. I immediately had issues clipping in my left shoe, and the start was on grass, so I was off to a slow start. By the time we got to the pavement, I was pretty far behind the leaders and I hammered it as hard as I could to catch the wheel of the three or four guys leading the pack. It was hard staying on the wheel in front of me, because everyone was going so fast. We were riding 24-25 miles per hour right from the beginning, and riders were aggressively trying to squeeze out other riders. After about 3 miles, the guy on the left of me motioned to the guy on the right of me, and I thought they were going to make me crash. My hesitation cost me the wheel in front of me, and I fell behind. I found out later from a post on Instagram that this team of guys pulled a girl to 2nd place. They apparently were not happy that I had been drafting behind one of their guys. By the time we turned onto the gravel at about mile 4, I lost the leaders. But I was happy because it looked like the entire wave had been split in two and that gave me enough time so that the back half of the wave would have a hard time catching up.

As soon as we turned onto the first gravel road, I knew that this gravel was much different from Southern Michigan gravel. It was sandier, and there were spots where fresh rock had been poured to give drivers more traction. My bike was doing some slipping and sliding, and it was hard trying to keep a decent pace. This gravel road turned back onto pavement shortly before we were to climb Mt. Diablo, a category 4 climb that is a 520 feet elevation gain in about 1.8 miles. As we turned onto the pavement I saw an extremely fit, tall girl that I had noticed at the start of the race, along the side of the road. I asked her if she was OK and she said she had broken her chain. It looked like she had a repair kit and was fixing it. I then saw an older guy on a mountain bike in front of me and I rode as hard as I could to get behind his wheel for some protection because of a terrible east wind. I was happy to see he was maintaining a 16-17 mph pace in spite of the wind, which was more than I could do on my own. I decided to enjoy his wheel for a while and eat a gel because the climb was coming up in about 2 or 3 miles, according to my Garmin route. As I rode, I noticed he was slowing down considerably because he was having a hard time maintaining that pace against the wind. I rode around him and set my sight on two guys on mountain bikes ahead of me. I caught up to them and stayed behind them for a while, then I had to move on because they were too slow. It was shortly after I passed them that I noticed the elevation going up and I knew I was at the start of the Mt. Diablo climb. I switched to my smaller ring and put my head down. I heard two guys and a girl behind me talking and I thought they were going to pass me on the climb for sure. Indiana is very flat, and even though I try and train and do hill repeats, I don’t do well with climbing. As I passed a younger guy on a mountain bike, I noticed that the voices behind me had stopped. I didn’t know if they had fallen behind, or if it was too hard for them to talk. I just kept my head down and kept climbing, trying to keep an 8 mph pace. The road was winding and it was frustrating because I couldn’t see the top of the climb. I just kept watching my Garmin, being amazed that as much as I sucked on this climb, no one was passing me.

Shortly after we reached the top, the road turned back onto gravel. From this point on there would be very little pavement until the last few miles of the course. It was challenging maintaining a decent pace while slipping on sand, dodging rocks, and at times being blasted by wind. As the course turned onto seasonal roads, I was taken aback by the beauty. There were tons of lodgepole pines and evergreens that blanketed the roads and made me feel like I was riding through a magical tunnel. The seasonal roads had small sections that were hard packed dirt that made it easy to fly almost 20 mph. I quickly found that as soon as I would start flying there would be ruts, potholes, rocks, or mud to dodge. The most frustrating sections had deep sand pits that were ankle deep. The first sand pit I came across I managed to ride to the left onto the grass. Then I hit another and tried to shift to a lower gear to get some traction. My wheels just sunk in the sand and I had to jump off and run through it with my bike. I ended up doing this three times. It was frustrating because every time I’d get off the bike my legs did not want to pedal when I got back on. I was relieved when the seasonal roads ended and the course turned back onto a gravel road. Shortly thereafter, the second category 4 climb of the ride started. It was a sandy, dirt and gravel wall! This was the hardest part of the race, and I saw at the top of the climb there was a SAG stop with people handing out water and bananas, and there was a woman taking pictures. I hope I didn’t get my picture taken, because I’m sure I did not have a pretty look on my face! I passed two girls on this hill, and I never saw them again. At the top of the hill there was a woman in a cute “Cat in the Hat” jersey on a mountain bike and she looked about my age. She passed me as the road turned onto a flat gravel road with a tailwind. I tried to catch up to her, but I was having difficulty as she was on a mountain bike and my skinnier tires were slipping and sliding. It was discouraging that I couldn’t go faster on this road. There was a lot of sand and freshly poured gravel that made it extremely treacherous. I managed to catch up with her and she said that she was from Denver. We said goodbye shorty before another gravel hill that led me to pavement. I knew I was on the last stretch of the race, and I hammered it as hard as I could as soon as my wheels hit the asphalt. I flew down Mount Diablo, and marveled at how much shorter it seemed on the way down. I was very happy to be flying fast, but I knew my joy would be short lived because the course was going to turn back onto gravel before the final home stretch.

As I turned into the park towards the finish line, I was wondering how well I did. I knew if I had finished in the top 10 they would announce my name and position as I crossed the line. I was hoping that I would have good news for my Daddy, because it was his birthday. I felt bad about not being able to see him, so I wanted to give him some good news. The finish was extremely frustrating because they had made a little course with orange snow fences so that riders had to zig zag through the grass like a maze. As I crossed the line I heard the announcer say my name, my city, and that I had gotten 9th place overall in the Women’s 45 miler. I was extremely happy with the results.

James finished 28th in the Men’s 60 miler, but would have most likely made top 10 if his brakes hadn’t broken and he had to stop to repair them. Marc finished 43rd. We were all concerned about Jeff because 15 or 20 minutes had passed and he had still not come across the finish line. Marc said that Jeff had passed him, and that he had not seen him again. We were worried that if Jeff had technical problems he probably would have called, so we wondered if he had crashed. Marc called him, and Jeff said that he had gone off course. He ended up climbing Mt. Diablo twice and adding an extra 8 miles. I snapped a picture of Jeff making a face as he approached the finish line.

We ate lunch in the park and there was a raffle drawing while we waited for the awards ceremony.  I got a medal and $75 for my 9th place win, and Marc snapped a picture of the top 10 girls. I’m on the far left in a baseball cap. This is a race I can’t wait to do again.

My only regret is that I didn’t have time to take more pictures. Northern Michigan is beautiful. I snapped a picture of the lake again before we packed up to head home and was sad that we couldn’t stay longer.

I am forever infatuated with the grand majestic barns of Indiana. It takes me back to a simpler time when families and friends lived in the same community for generations. Whenever I pass an old barn, I imagine what it must have been like for the people who celebrated the barn raising all those years ago. Some of the older barns are in such disrepair that with every thunderstorm another one seems to go down.  Then, a metal pole barn goes up in its place, if it is replaced at all.

Since Indiana is filled with corn and soybean fields and wide open spaces, I am always on the lookout for new roads and new barns to add a sense of adventure when I am riding. I like to think that my need for exploration and adventure came from my ancestors, who were a part of the Lewis and Clark expedition. And with every new adventure, there is always a sense of joy when I see that an old barn has been restored, or a new one has gone up in the traditional style.

I love the architecture of Indiana barns, because most of them from the 1800’s to the early 1900’s include cupolas. I’ve noticed when riding through other areas, that the architecture of barns is incredibly different. For instance, when I raced in the Dirty Mudd’r race in Illinois this Spring, I noticed there were dozens of round barns. I wondered why? Was it because there was an architect in the area who just happened to like that style? Or was it because a certain group of people settled in the area? I also love the simple and pure white barns of the Amish.

 

I ride my bike for so many reasons. I love riding until my legs hurt and I can’t breathe. I love the wind in my hair. I love the competition of a race. I love the freedom. And I love finding new adventures. Since I work full time, and have a house and boys still at home to take care of, discovering new barns helps to feed my need for the sense of adventure! And it reminds me of my dream that someday I will ride my bike from coast to coast and document all of the grand old majestic barns that are still standing.

The CICA 4th Annual Dirty Mudd’r was held in Streator, Illinois on Sunday, April 26th. The Dirty Mudd’r is a gravel and dirt road race across open farmland, where the winds have been known to be pretty brutal.   I had been sick with the flu for 4 days, and I had thought about not going.  Marc, however, insisted that we go since we had paid an entry fee of $60 for the two of us that was non-refundable.  He informed me that it was actually a ride and not a race, and that he, Jeff, Eric and I were going to do this ride as a fun social event.  He said that if Eric and Jeff wanted to race it, that he would stay with me. There was to be a dinner and free beer in the park after the ride.

The ride was to start at 10:00 am.  At 7:00 am Jeff and Eric came to our house to load the bikes in the back of Jeff’s pickup truck. It was beautiful and sunny and about 40 degrees when we left.  Illinois is even more flat, if that seems possible, than Indiana.  We passed miles and miles of open farmland, a few wind farms, and more incredible looking barns than I could count.  I am a big fan of old majestic barns and their architecture, and I thought it was interesting that there were lots of round barns in the area.  Perhaps that was the specialty of a certain builder 100 years ago?  I tried to take pictures out of the truck window of some of the barns, and I actually succeeded getting a few nice shots, even though Jeff was flying 70 mph because he was worried about being late.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get any good pictures of any of the round barns.

On the way there, I started talking to Eric about this being a ride and not a race, and he looked at me as if I was crazy.  He said “Oh no, it’s a race”, and he said that there were trophies awarded at the end.  I was not feeling well, and I wasn’t happy about suddenly having to get psyched up for a competition instead of a nice social ride!

When we got to the park to register for the event, I went to the ladies’ restroom to change into my bike clothes. Since men outnumber women about 20 to 1 at cycling events, there is usually a line at the men’s restroom with no waiting for the ladies. I was not happy to see men waiting in line for BOTH restrooms. I pointed out the “Ladies” sign to the guy in front of me and he looked embarrassed and went to wait in line for the men’s room.

After I changed clothes I rode up and down the road that runs through the park to try to warm up. There was a gravel hill that had to be climbed immediately to get out of the park, and my legs protested loudly. I had only ridden about 40 miles the entire previous week because I had been sick, and I hadn’t eaten well all week. I was not looking forward to the start of the race.

The race started promptly at 10:00. It was a neutral start, with everyone riding slowly through the park and up the hill, and then sprinting once we reached the main road. When we got to the top of the hill, riders immediately began flying past us. I was riding my Trek Top Fuel mountain bike, and it was the only mountain bike I saw during the entire race. Everyone was riding a CX bike, and I knew I had a huge disadvantage. I didn’t have drop handlebars, and there was nowhere for me to go against the wind.

As more and more riders pulled away from us, Marc yelled at me to hang on to his back tire. I couldn’t close the gap at all, and he pulled farther and farther away from me. We were riding against the wind, and I was pedaling with all my strength to go 12 mph. Some of the roads were covered in fresh gravel, and it was very slow riding. There was absolutely nothing to see except miles and miles of open farmland, dirt, gravel, and a few isolated barns and farms. There wasn’t a single tree, and the entire area just looked desolate.  I looked down at my Garmin when we were about 4 miles into the race, and I couldn’t believe it. I could barely move, and it felt like we had been riding for hours. After about 8 miles, Marc was so frustrated he snapped that by the time we got back to the park it would be dark and everyone would have packed up and gone! It was about this point that we saw another woman rider in a red jersey with a man drafting behind her. She looked very strong, and it appeared the man was struggling. I pedaled as hard and fast as I could and passed them both on a downhill. Shortly thereafter, she caught back up to me and drafted behind me for a while, then the two of them pulled ahead again. Marc got mad and yelled “When you pass somebody, don’t let them pass you again!” The two of them ended up riding off into the distance, and I felt totally defeated. It was at this point that I actually started to cry, and then I began to hyperventilate. I was sobbing and gasping, and Marc suddenly got such a worried look on his face that he tried to pat me on the back, almost knocking me off the bike. I am not a crier, and I am not a quitter, but the flu and the wind had just gotten the best of me. I thought briefly that we were going to have to abandon the race, because there was no way we could finish the 62 mile race we had intended to do, going the speed we were going. We had maps with us, and I thought about finding our way back to the park with the map.

Shortly after I had this thought, I noticed that the woman in the red jersey and the man she was with had stopped at an intersection ahead of us. As we passed them, I noticed the man looked very tired, and I wondered if they were dropping out. We never saw them again. Just a little while later, an older man and a very heavyset man passed us. I glanced over at them, and something in me clicked. These two appeared to be nowhere near my fitness level, and they were passing me. I suddenly sprouted wings, and I rode as fast as I could to catch them. I pulled alongside the older man and asked him if he was doing the 35 mile race or the 62 mile race. He said he was doing the 35 miles. I asked him where the turnoff was, and he said that there would be a well marked sign not too far ahead. I thanked him, then I took off. It was at that point I resolved to ride as hard and fast as I could, and to have the best finish I could in the 35 mile race.

We passed the SAG stop at about mile 26, and I noticed a half a dozen or so riders had stopped. The SAG people were waving at us, but there was no way I was going to stop. We only had about 10 miles to go, and I had plenty of water and Shot Bloks. I heard Marc yell behind me “There’s a girl who just pulled out and she’s going to try and catch you. Move!” I was in the highest gear on the Top Fuel, and I was spinning as fast as I could. We were on a brief stretch of pavement, but even with a tailwind, the fastest I could go was about 24 mph. The pavement quickly ended, and there was an arrow pointing to the right, so I turned right. The sign was tipped a little bit, and it turns out it was actually pointing straight ahead to a dirt road. I had turned the wrong way! Marc got out his map and yelled at me to turn around, but by this time I was about 1/4 mile down the road. I turned around to come back against a head wind, and I saw the girl rider going straight. I was on mud and dirt now, and I knew my mountain bike had a brief advantage over her CX bike. I could tell she was riding cautiously in the mud, so after about 2 or 3 minutes, I caught up to the girl and passed her. We then turned right onto a hard packed road, and I could hear her gaining on me. Marc had zoomed on ahead, but I wasn’t able to close the gap and get behind his wheel. It was then that the girl passed me and caught up to Marc and began drafting behind him. This was just the fire I needed, because no way was I going to let her draft behind Marc! I caught up to them both and passed them. I looked back and noticed that Marc had slowed down a little bit, and it appeared he was talking to her. A light bulb went off and I realized what he was doing. He was slowing down while she was drafting so I could move ahead! I moved fast up a dirt hill, and when I got to the top I could see we were very close to the main road that led to the park and the finish line. It was paved, so I knew once we hit pavement she would be gaining on me quickly. About 100 yards from the park entrance I heard her behind me, and she quickly passed me. As we turned into the park, I flew down the gravel hill as fast as I could, and I almost caught up with her as we reached the bottom. I couldn’t see the finish line because it was just a line of tape in the parking lot and there was no banner, so I sprinted until I thought my lungs would burst and I passed her by less than a foot as we crossed the line. I rode through the parking lot to slow down, and circled back around to where a man standing next to the finish line asked my name and wrote it down on a sheet of paper. I had finished 2nd place, and the girl, whose name was Erica, had finished 3rd. She was a very nice girl from the Chicago area who very graciously said I deserved 2nd place because I had done the race on a mountain bike! Her friend, whose name was also Erica, had finished in 1st place.

I forgave Marc, who had simply been acting as my coach by being so brutal! After the race, the organizers had an incredible meal prepared, which included pulled pork (for the meat eaters!), huge baked potatoes, and locally crafted beer.