RudAwkning
09-23-2009, 04:13 PM
Knoxville Double Redux. In a word, “OUCH”. In two words, “F*CKING OUCH”. This double really put the screws to me. It’s been 4 days since the ride and my legs are just starting to feel normal again.
Leading up to the Sunday before the ride, I’d been putting in a lot of saddle time. Nothing longer than 80 miles, but a lot of speedwork and fixed gear saddle time. 9 out of 10 days are spent riding, including a brutal fixed gear climb up Centennial and an atrociously hot fixed gear ride from Oakland out to Calaveras, By Sunday I’m feeling a little cooked and, even though I don’t want to stop riding, I know it’s probably the smart thing to do a week before the ride. Of course compulsion takes over, and I decide to hit the Wednesday night crit training ride at the Port Of Oakland. Not only that, but I decide to bring out my vintage Mercian, which is made of lugged 531, period correct Campy bits and weighs in at a hefty 23 lbs. I manage to hang in there, but know I’m working harder than I should. I get home tired but figure I have 3 days to recover. Not a big deal. I feel like I’m ready for this one.
Friday rolls around. It’s the day before the ride and my head hits the pillow by 7:00pm. Amazingly, I wake up 5 minutes before the alarm goes off. 1:25am. Good. I’m not too tired. I still haven’t prepped anything so I spend the next hour readying the bike, nutrition, water bottles, saddle bag, etc. I hop in the car and head off to pick up my friend Nicole who is attempting her 2nd double (the first being LAGT). I arrive and start loading her stuff into the car. “Did you sleep?” I ask. “Nope” she replies. Anxiety got the best of her, and she spent 6 hours lying in bed waiting for her alarm clock to go off. Same thing happened to her on LAGT. Ugh. I’ve done doubles on 3 hours sleep, but can’t imagine doing them on ZERO.
It’s about an hour’s drive to Vacaville. Registration is brisk. It’s an un-timed event so people are leaving at random. We arrive at about 4:20, unload the bikes, get our numbers and route sheets, turn on our lights and hit the road by 4:45. As we’re leaving I run into a fellow I’d met on the Tam Double (his first double). Shar is his name and he’s ridiculously fast. He was going to wait for fellow friend Bryan but decides he doesn’t want to wait around the parking lot so he joins us and about 3 others.
And we’re off! No pre-ride jitters for me this morning. I’m feeling pretty good about this ride. I’m hoping to make a personal best and ride into the finish before sundown. Totally possible as I’d missed a daylight finish by only 15 minutes the year prior and it was only my 2nd double ever. I could easily shave that much time if I don’t dally at rest stops, don’t miss the turn on Atlas Drive, and avoid the cramping I suffered the year before.
The morning whizzes by. I’m flying along, effortlessly pressing up the first climb (Mount George) and finding a good paceline. I remember gassing pretty hard last year on the initial climb. If the rest of the day goes this well, I may make it under 14 hours! I hit the first rest stop, top the bottles off and head straight back out. On the way out, I see Nicole rolling in. I yell out “You made it!”, and catch up to friend Kitty Gourselle, who’d just rolled out. Before I know it, Isabelle Drake is on our wheel. Good company to be in. Kitty had finished the 2009 Gold Rush Randonee and Isabelle is a really strong Ultra rider. She also towed me into the Bradley rest stop on CCD, which is where I’d first met her. We eventually catch up to 3 more riders. “Hey Jason. No fixie today?” the rider in the Davis Double jersey yells out. “Not today!” I reply. Hrm. We’ve obviously met before so I look at the name next to his number. Mick Jordan. I’d friended him on Facebook, but I don’t remember him having an English accent. Doh! I’ve friended the wrong person. But he still knows me from someplace. I won’t figure from where til later.
The second significant climb of the day comes. This one is up Mt. Howell. I fall off the back of the back of the pack and end up riding with a fellow in a Tam jersey. We chat all the way up the hill. Then we crest and I barrel down the backside. Going fast. Way too fast. ****-eating-grin, dangerously fast. I end up catching up to 2 riders who’d passed me earlier but can’t find a line around them, for all the nasty switchbacks. I finally find a place I can “safely” tuck and I whiz by the first one. Coming around another corner I close on rider 2. Before I can yell “coming around your left”, she pumps her brakes and I nearly slam into her at 35mph!!! “Sorry, I didn’t see you!” she yells. Ironically, she was wearing a helmet mirror.
I reach the base of the descent and am feeling frisky. If memory serves, it’s just a series of about 10 miles of rollers. I get into a tuck, grab my hoods aero style, and drop the hammer. I start gobbling up riders like a vacuum cleaner. About 5 miles in I pass 2 guys who jump on my wheel. Thank God. I pull for another 2 minutes or so, and then rotate out. They maintain the pace and I’m able to jump back in line. This goes on for the next 3 or 4 miles til things pitch up. I’m still feeling punchy and I can see another group of riders ahead. I pass them on the climb like they’re standing still. I drop again, then climb again, about 3 more times until the last roller. I’m starting to fade and I dump my gears and spin to the top. I crest the hill, and drop down to Rest Stop 2.
I scan for the person taking the numbers and recognize the fellow. It’s fellow clubrider Jason McPhate. He’s been out of action with a back injury, and lack of decent saddle time has allowed him to volunteer for this event. I pull up to the water coolers and before I know it, my friend Alfie is holding my bike and buddy Mike is filling my water bottles. But that’s weird. Mike is supposed to be riding this ride. I ask him what’s up and he says he crashed and broke the downtube on his bike. “Earlier in the week?” I ask. “No, this morning.”, he replies. “On the descent?” “No, barely 5 miles into the ride.” Doh! Apparently a mutual friend of ours lost a light, panicked, crashed, and when Mike went to hit the brakes, the reinforcement gusset under the downtube (the very gusset that certain builders use to reinforce a frame) gave way. The bike folded and he flipped over. A bit of a swollen thumb and a sore hip but not too worse for wear. The bad news is he’s got The Furnace Creek 508 coming up in 2 weeks and is without a bike! While I’m there, I make a quick adjustment to my bars, which had dropped when I hit a pothole.
Well, enough dallying. I want to get rolling before my legs get cold. So off I go. My legs are kind of tight though. Perhaps I stayed at the rest stop too long? I get about 1 mile and my left thigh seizes up. Oh sh*t. What’s this? A cramp? Not at the base of a 25 mile climb! Maybe I wasn’t taking enough enduralytes? I’d been drinking plenty of water. I ease up on my stroke, the pain subsides and I pick up steam again. Ow! This time I have to stop and shake the leg out. A couple guys pass me and ask if I’m OK. “Cramps.” I say and they reply “Hang in there!” I guess I’m not mashing up this sucker. I drop to my 40/26 and spin out the next 10 or so miles. Amazingly, I feel ok doing this. I guess all that speedwork at the Port has helped my cardio, because I’m able to maintain a silly cadence and barely feel like I’m working. As I’m climbing, I’m actively scouting the ride to see if it’s “fixed gear friendly”. So far, everything I’ve encountered seems doable in my preferred 50x19 gear. Then I hit a pitch. I don’t remember this from last year. I drop to my 40x29, then my 30x23, then my 30x26. Leg starts to twinge a bit so I bail out all the way to my 30x29. I crest before the leg goes limp. Grumble. I’m barely 80 miles into this ride and I’m suffering already. Not good. I hit at least 2 more pitches like this and am forced to spin them out.
I’m taking in water like crazy too and am down to about 1/3 a bottle. Fortunately a Quack SAG vehicle had actually noticed my bottles as she had passed me earlier and pulls up next to me. “You need any water?” she asks. “I’ve got about 1/3 of a bottle left. How far to the next rest stop?” I reply. “I’m not sure. 3, 4…maybe 5 miles. Better safe than sorry!” she warns. I nod and we pull over. She tops off both of my bottles. A handful of riders who’ve bridged up to me take advantage of this impromptu rest stop as well. Testament to how awesome the Quackcyclists are. I should send her a dozen roses.
As I’m hitting the last pitch before the next rest stop, a tandem comes screaming by me. “Hi Jason!” a voice booms. It’s Peter Burnett, stoking the same tandem he rolled on Tam. “Hey Peter!” I reply, but they’re already out of earshot. How a tandem can climb that fast, I’ll never know. I don’t see him again until the end of the ride.
I grind my way to the next rest stop. Surprisingly enough, I run into “Yellow Trek” Chris. I originally met him on the Solvang Spring Double and have seen him at every other double he’s ridden since (Solvang, Eastern Sierra, Mount Tam and now Knoxville). “Not riding today?” I ask. “Naw. Did this staff ride last week so I could volunteer today.” “How was it?” “Brutal” he replies. I inform him of my cramping issue and he warns me that there are a few more miles of rollers before the descent to lunch.
While I’m at the stop, a fellow I’d been riding with earlier introduces me to a woman named Deborah. “I know you. We’ve met on a few other doubles. Good to see you again.” She had stopped by our shop 2 days before the Devil Mountain Double and was looking to get outfitted with something “climbing” friendly. I ran into her again on the Tam Double. I’d friended her on Facebook, after noticing that several friends had her linked as a friend. As we’re rolling along, I notice the name below her number reads “Debra Pogran”. Oh ****. Did I do it again? I friended the wrong person! The person I met on Facebook was Debra Hoag.
So Mick (the guy I’d mistaken for Rick) and Debra Pogran (the woman I’d thought was Deborah Hoag) peel off as my legs start cramping again. The rollers are short but are certainly taking their toll on me. Finally I can see the skyline and I know I’m at the top. I pick up my cadence, and have locked into my big ring by the time I crest. It’s a fast and fairly straight descent. I tuck and gobble up at least half a dozen riders.
Things flatten out and I’m rolling solo when about a mile from lunch, a cylist whizzes by me and yells “Hey Jason!”. It’s my friend Bruce Carroll who I crewed for on 2 Ultras. “What time did you start?” I ask. “6ish” he says. Geez. He made up an hour and 15 minutes on me! I tell him I’ll see him at the rest stop and he flies off. Goddam him. Nobody should be allowed to be that fast.
I roll into the lunch stop and am definitely feeling the ride. I’d originally wanted to blow through lunch and rest at the top of the climb that follows lunch but my legs are just too cooked. I drink an entire bottle of water, 2 V8s and a devour bag of Shotblocks. They’re offering up burritos and sandwiches but solid food just doesn’t seem appealing to me at the time. I see another Ultra veteran, Graham Pollock, and wave. He and about 6 others (my friend Bruce included) are all wearing their 25th Anniversary FC508 Jerseys. I grab a seat next to Bruce and ask how he’s doing. He tells me the heat is getting to him and I concur. It must be at least high 90s by now. And we still have a nasty climb less than 2 miles ahead of us.
I take a quick bio break and decide to roll on. I run into the guy in the Tam jersey that I’d met on Howell and we climb the first section of Siegler together. Then the leg starts to twinge and I’m forced to back off. The climb rolls for a bit and then kicks up. I dump my gears and turn on the MP3 player to take my mind off of the pain in my left quad. It works for all of 5 minutes. I see a shady spot on the other side of the road , so I cross and dismount. I let the legs cool off for a couple of minutes before I hit the climb again. Up, up and up. I see the signs to Loch Lomond. This is what might be considered the “signature” climb of the day. About 1.5 miles of relentless 10-12% grade. I remember cramping severely on this section last year and having to traverse the last section, even with a 34x28 low. I thought this would be a cakewalk with the 30x29. Nope. I make it about a mile up the climb and for whatever reason, decide I should stand up. The second I’m out of the saddle, BANG! Both legs completely seize up on me. I position my legs at 9 and 3 and double unclip as fast as I can, both cleats touching the ground simultaneously. Oh f*ck, oh f*ck, oh f*ck. The pain is unbearable. Maybe I should sit down. Here’s a good spot. NO-ow-ow-ow! I can’t sit, I can’t stand. As I’m dancing from foot to foot to relieve whatever pressure on my legs that I can, Kitty and a few others roll by. She asks if I’m ok and I inform her of the double leg cramp situation. She throws some advice my way as she passes but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I walk about 20 paces just to stretch things out and remount the bike. The legs are still searing but I can see things level out ever so slightly ahead. If I can just get my cadence up, it won’t hurt as bad. Just DON’T STAND UP!.
I finally make it to the top. Sweet RELIEF! I drop down the backside and see a convenience store before the T junction. I buy a V8 and a 7up. I throw back the V8, drink half of the 7up, and put the other half of the bottle in my jersey pocket. I may need that later. I grind through the next few miles of rollers and hit two steep descents. “Trucks on cheese” someone points out as we pass the sign with the 11% grade on it. My legs are still a little wobbly so I’ve got my hands firmly grasping the drops for full control. And good thing too as I hit a ridge in the road at about 45mph that tosses my bike about. Holy crap! If I’d been a little more relaxed, I’d have lost my **** and gone down! Uncool. I shake it off and pick up speed again.
There’s not really much to recall about the next 15 or so miles. Flat with a mild headwind all the way to the next rest stop. A few groups pass me, but I’m unable to get into the line as I still can’t stand and sprint. So it’s basically solo TT time. I suck it up and hit a comfortable cadence. DIY.
I finally get to Rest Stop 4 at Butts Canyon. I give my number and am greeted by the same friends who were at Rest Stop 2. Alfie parks my bike. Friends Lisa, Mike and Joan all ask how I’m doing. “Stupid legs” I tell them. “Well you look like you’re fairing better than Bruce. He threw up right next to where you’re standing.” Doh. I look down and see a moist spot to my right. Blech! I grab a seat on a cooler and look up, only to see fellow distance rider Sean Smith. “Ugh. Suffering.” I tell him. “I went through that last weekend.” he tells me. I grab some potatoes and start munching. I’m pretty hungry at this point, as I had passed on lunch earlier in the day. As I’m contemplating whether or not to get back on my bike I see Mick, Kitty and a few others roll out. Deb Pogran rolls up. “I thought you were way ahead of me!” I tell her. “I was feeling ill back there. Needed a breather.” Another victim of the heat. I mull about a bit longer. Drink a Coke. Then a V8. Top of my Hammer Gel flask. Take some Enduralytes. Whatever I can do to NOT get back on the road. But it’s only about 25 or so miles til the next rest stop, so I get on the bike, take a deep breath and press on.
Nothing much to speak of til rest stop 5. More rollers. More solo time. Nothing to do but find a good cadence and lock into a groove that won’t tax the quads. Surprisingly only about 4 riders pass me during this entire stretch. Either everyone else is hurting, or I’m at the tail end of the pack, because I’m not averaging more that 14 or 15mph. I finally get to a point I recognize. It’s the big descent into Rest stop 5. I tuck and relax and let gravity do the work.
I’m starving at this point. I put my bike in the stand and make a b-line for the hot dogs. Mick is sitting in a chair in the shade. “I could be done with this ride right now.” he says. Me too. But it’s only 41 miles to the end! That’s the distance of a mellow Sunday club ride. I can do that. I wolf down a hot dog. Then use the restroom. Upon exiting, I tell the guy manning the dog station to hook me up with another. “That’s rather suspicious”, he comments as I wait. “I’m bulimic.” I joke. “I’ll be back in there after the next.” I take a last look around before I get back on the saddle. Lots of suffering. At least I’m not alone.
I’m probably on the bike for about 5 miles when someone pulls up next to me. “Fixie Dude!” he yells. It’s Robert, whom I’d met on Solvang and Eastern Sierra. “Does it seem like we’ve been climbing all day?” he asks. “Yeah, this definitely feels like more than 12,000 feet.” I reply. He eases up his pace and we climb and chat for the next hour. Definitely good to take the mind off of the climbing. A fellow he’d been riding with since morning catches up to us and they take off at the sight of the crest. I don’t have the juice, so I dawdle my way up to the descent to the dam. It’s dark already. I was already at the final rest stop at dusk last year. I can forget about a personal best. But at this point, I’m just glad to know I’ll finish.
I pull into the last rest stop and see Kitty and Becky. “Wow. You caught up to us. You must’ve been cooking!” I tell them the only thing cooking are my legs. They take off. V8 time again. And I smell Cup O Noodles too! I start feasting, but about two mouthfuls in, I see Robert and his friend saddling up. What do I do? Finish my meal, or roll out. ???? it. These last few miles could be miserable by myself. I take a final fork full and leave the rest behind. It’s pretty dark at this point and we all have our lights on. Nothing but a 2 by 2 paceline from here on out to the finish. I even take a few pulls! Almost there. We hit the last turn at the T, make a left and ride over the Highway. Home sweet home!
We pull in at 8:45. Exactly 16 hours from when I’d started. I’ve rarely been this happy for a ride to be over. I shake hands with the 3 other guys I’d pulled in with, park my bike, and simply stand around for a minute. I did it. Suffered through another double. 130 miles of lousy cramps to boot. Joan and Mike are there. “You’re not ready for team DNF yet!” she kids. “Go get some food.” I grab a plateful of pasta and chicken and nibble at what’s on my plate. But I’m not really that hungry. I do drink 2 Mountain Dews and a Red Bull though. I hang out for the next 3 hours and watch my fellow Knoxville riders roll in. Nicole pulls in at 10:30. She finishes. I knew she would. Big grin on her face too. She’s hurting and tired, but she’s definitely got the right attitude for this kind of thing.
It’s near midnight and the effects of the caffeine are wearing off. Time to head home and sleep. Another one in the books. I think I’ve found my “Achilles Heel” of doubles. But I’ll be back next year. I’m already re-strategizing :D
Leading up to the Sunday before the ride, I’d been putting in a lot of saddle time. Nothing longer than 80 miles, but a lot of speedwork and fixed gear saddle time. 9 out of 10 days are spent riding, including a brutal fixed gear climb up Centennial and an atrociously hot fixed gear ride from Oakland out to Calaveras, By Sunday I’m feeling a little cooked and, even though I don’t want to stop riding, I know it’s probably the smart thing to do a week before the ride. Of course compulsion takes over, and I decide to hit the Wednesday night crit training ride at the Port Of Oakland. Not only that, but I decide to bring out my vintage Mercian, which is made of lugged 531, period correct Campy bits and weighs in at a hefty 23 lbs. I manage to hang in there, but know I’m working harder than I should. I get home tired but figure I have 3 days to recover. Not a big deal. I feel like I’m ready for this one.
Friday rolls around. It’s the day before the ride and my head hits the pillow by 7:00pm. Amazingly, I wake up 5 minutes before the alarm goes off. 1:25am. Good. I’m not too tired. I still haven’t prepped anything so I spend the next hour readying the bike, nutrition, water bottles, saddle bag, etc. I hop in the car and head off to pick up my friend Nicole who is attempting her 2nd double (the first being LAGT). I arrive and start loading her stuff into the car. “Did you sleep?” I ask. “Nope” she replies. Anxiety got the best of her, and she spent 6 hours lying in bed waiting for her alarm clock to go off. Same thing happened to her on LAGT. Ugh. I’ve done doubles on 3 hours sleep, but can’t imagine doing them on ZERO.
It’s about an hour’s drive to Vacaville. Registration is brisk. It’s an un-timed event so people are leaving at random. We arrive at about 4:20, unload the bikes, get our numbers and route sheets, turn on our lights and hit the road by 4:45. As we’re leaving I run into a fellow I’d met on the Tam Double (his first double). Shar is his name and he’s ridiculously fast. He was going to wait for fellow friend Bryan but decides he doesn’t want to wait around the parking lot so he joins us and about 3 others.
And we’re off! No pre-ride jitters for me this morning. I’m feeling pretty good about this ride. I’m hoping to make a personal best and ride into the finish before sundown. Totally possible as I’d missed a daylight finish by only 15 minutes the year prior and it was only my 2nd double ever. I could easily shave that much time if I don’t dally at rest stops, don’t miss the turn on Atlas Drive, and avoid the cramping I suffered the year before.
The morning whizzes by. I’m flying along, effortlessly pressing up the first climb (Mount George) and finding a good paceline. I remember gassing pretty hard last year on the initial climb. If the rest of the day goes this well, I may make it under 14 hours! I hit the first rest stop, top the bottles off and head straight back out. On the way out, I see Nicole rolling in. I yell out “You made it!”, and catch up to friend Kitty Gourselle, who’d just rolled out. Before I know it, Isabelle Drake is on our wheel. Good company to be in. Kitty had finished the 2009 Gold Rush Randonee and Isabelle is a really strong Ultra rider. She also towed me into the Bradley rest stop on CCD, which is where I’d first met her. We eventually catch up to 3 more riders. “Hey Jason. No fixie today?” the rider in the Davis Double jersey yells out. “Not today!” I reply. Hrm. We’ve obviously met before so I look at the name next to his number. Mick Jordan. I’d friended him on Facebook, but I don’t remember him having an English accent. Doh! I’ve friended the wrong person. But he still knows me from someplace. I won’t figure from where til later.
The second significant climb of the day comes. This one is up Mt. Howell. I fall off the back of the back of the pack and end up riding with a fellow in a Tam jersey. We chat all the way up the hill. Then we crest and I barrel down the backside. Going fast. Way too fast. ****-eating-grin, dangerously fast. I end up catching up to 2 riders who’d passed me earlier but can’t find a line around them, for all the nasty switchbacks. I finally find a place I can “safely” tuck and I whiz by the first one. Coming around another corner I close on rider 2. Before I can yell “coming around your left”, she pumps her brakes and I nearly slam into her at 35mph!!! “Sorry, I didn’t see you!” she yells. Ironically, she was wearing a helmet mirror.
I reach the base of the descent and am feeling frisky. If memory serves, it’s just a series of about 10 miles of rollers. I get into a tuck, grab my hoods aero style, and drop the hammer. I start gobbling up riders like a vacuum cleaner. About 5 miles in I pass 2 guys who jump on my wheel. Thank God. I pull for another 2 minutes or so, and then rotate out. They maintain the pace and I’m able to jump back in line. This goes on for the next 3 or 4 miles til things pitch up. I’m still feeling punchy and I can see another group of riders ahead. I pass them on the climb like they’re standing still. I drop again, then climb again, about 3 more times until the last roller. I’m starting to fade and I dump my gears and spin to the top. I crest the hill, and drop down to Rest Stop 2.
I scan for the person taking the numbers and recognize the fellow. It’s fellow clubrider Jason McPhate. He’s been out of action with a back injury, and lack of decent saddle time has allowed him to volunteer for this event. I pull up to the water coolers and before I know it, my friend Alfie is holding my bike and buddy Mike is filling my water bottles. But that’s weird. Mike is supposed to be riding this ride. I ask him what’s up and he says he crashed and broke the downtube on his bike. “Earlier in the week?” I ask. “No, this morning.”, he replies. “On the descent?” “No, barely 5 miles into the ride.” Doh! Apparently a mutual friend of ours lost a light, panicked, crashed, and when Mike went to hit the brakes, the reinforcement gusset under the downtube (the very gusset that certain builders use to reinforce a frame) gave way. The bike folded and he flipped over. A bit of a swollen thumb and a sore hip but not too worse for wear. The bad news is he’s got The Furnace Creek 508 coming up in 2 weeks and is without a bike! While I’m there, I make a quick adjustment to my bars, which had dropped when I hit a pothole.
Well, enough dallying. I want to get rolling before my legs get cold. So off I go. My legs are kind of tight though. Perhaps I stayed at the rest stop too long? I get about 1 mile and my left thigh seizes up. Oh sh*t. What’s this? A cramp? Not at the base of a 25 mile climb! Maybe I wasn’t taking enough enduralytes? I’d been drinking plenty of water. I ease up on my stroke, the pain subsides and I pick up steam again. Ow! This time I have to stop and shake the leg out. A couple guys pass me and ask if I’m OK. “Cramps.” I say and they reply “Hang in there!” I guess I’m not mashing up this sucker. I drop to my 40/26 and spin out the next 10 or so miles. Amazingly, I feel ok doing this. I guess all that speedwork at the Port has helped my cardio, because I’m able to maintain a silly cadence and barely feel like I’m working. As I’m climbing, I’m actively scouting the ride to see if it’s “fixed gear friendly”. So far, everything I’ve encountered seems doable in my preferred 50x19 gear. Then I hit a pitch. I don’t remember this from last year. I drop to my 40x29, then my 30x23, then my 30x26. Leg starts to twinge a bit so I bail out all the way to my 30x29. I crest before the leg goes limp. Grumble. I’m barely 80 miles into this ride and I’m suffering already. Not good. I hit at least 2 more pitches like this and am forced to spin them out.
I’m taking in water like crazy too and am down to about 1/3 a bottle. Fortunately a Quack SAG vehicle had actually noticed my bottles as she had passed me earlier and pulls up next to me. “You need any water?” she asks. “I’ve got about 1/3 of a bottle left. How far to the next rest stop?” I reply. “I’m not sure. 3, 4…maybe 5 miles. Better safe than sorry!” she warns. I nod and we pull over. She tops off both of my bottles. A handful of riders who’ve bridged up to me take advantage of this impromptu rest stop as well. Testament to how awesome the Quackcyclists are. I should send her a dozen roses.
As I’m hitting the last pitch before the next rest stop, a tandem comes screaming by me. “Hi Jason!” a voice booms. It’s Peter Burnett, stoking the same tandem he rolled on Tam. “Hey Peter!” I reply, but they’re already out of earshot. How a tandem can climb that fast, I’ll never know. I don’t see him again until the end of the ride.
I grind my way to the next rest stop. Surprisingly enough, I run into “Yellow Trek” Chris. I originally met him on the Solvang Spring Double and have seen him at every other double he’s ridden since (Solvang, Eastern Sierra, Mount Tam and now Knoxville). “Not riding today?” I ask. “Naw. Did this staff ride last week so I could volunteer today.” “How was it?” “Brutal” he replies. I inform him of my cramping issue and he warns me that there are a few more miles of rollers before the descent to lunch.
While I’m at the stop, a fellow I’d been riding with earlier introduces me to a woman named Deborah. “I know you. We’ve met on a few other doubles. Good to see you again.” She had stopped by our shop 2 days before the Devil Mountain Double and was looking to get outfitted with something “climbing” friendly. I ran into her again on the Tam Double. I’d friended her on Facebook, after noticing that several friends had her linked as a friend. As we’re rolling along, I notice the name below her number reads “Debra Pogran”. Oh ****. Did I do it again? I friended the wrong person! The person I met on Facebook was Debra Hoag.
So Mick (the guy I’d mistaken for Rick) and Debra Pogran (the woman I’d thought was Deborah Hoag) peel off as my legs start cramping again. The rollers are short but are certainly taking their toll on me. Finally I can see the skyline and I know I’m at the top. I pick up my cadence, and have locked into my big ring by the time I crest. It’s a fast and fairly straight descent. I tuck and gobble up at least half a dozen riders.
Things flatten out and I’m rolling solo when about a mile from lunch, a cylist whizzes by me and yells “Hey Jason!”. It’s my friend Bruce Carroll who I crewed for on 2 Ultras. “What time did you start?” I ask. “6ish” he says. Geez. He made up an hour and 15 minutes on me! I tell him I’ll see him at the rest stop and he flies off. Goddam him. Nobody should be allowed to be that fast.
I roll into the lunch stop and am definitely feeling the ride. I’d originally wanted to blow through lunch and rest at the top of the climb that follows lunch but my legs are just too cooked. I drink an entire bottle of water, 2 V8s and a devour bag of Shotblocks. They’re offering up burritos and sandwiches but solid food just doesn’t seem appealing to me at the time. I see another Ultra veteran, Graham Pollock, and wave. He and about 6 others (my friend Bruce included) are all wearing their 25th Anniversary FC508 Jerseys. I grab a seat next to Bruce and ask how he’s doing. He tells me the heat is getting to him and I concur. It must be at least high 90s by now. And we still have a nasty climb less than 2 miles ahead of us.
I take a quick bio break and decide to roll on. I run into the guy in the Tam jersey that I’d met on Howell and we climb the first section of Siegler together. Then the leg starts to twinge and I’m forced to back off. The climb rolls for a bit and then kicks up. I dump my gears and turn on the MP3 player to take my mind off of the pain in my left quad. It works for all of 5 minutes. I see a shady spot on the other side of the road , so I cross and dismount. I let the legs cool off for a couple of minutes before I hit the climb again. Up, up and up. I see the signs to Loch Lomond. This is what might be considered the “signature” climb of the day. About 1.5 miles of relentless 10-12% grade. I remember cramping severely on this section last year and having to traverse the last section, even with a 34x28 low. I thought this would be a cakewalk with the 30x29. Nope. I make it about a mile up the climb and for whatever reason, decide I should stand up. The second I’m out of the saddle, BANG! Both legs completely seize up on me. I position my legs at 9 and 3 and double unclip as fast as I can, both cleats touching the ground simultaneously. Oh f*ck, oh f*ck, oh f*ck. The pain is unbearable. Maybe I should sit down. Here’s a good spot. NO-ow-ow-ow! I can’t sit, I can’t stand. As I’m dancing from foot to foot to relieve whatever pressure on my legs that I can, Kitty and a few others roll by. She asks if I’m ok and I inform her of the double leg cramp situation. She throws some advice my way as she passes but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I walk about 20 paces just to stretch things out and remount the bike. The legs are still searing but I can see things level out ever so slightly ahead. If I can just get my cadence up, it won’t hurt as bad. Just DON’T STAND UP!.
I finally make it to the top. Sweet RELIEF! I drop down the backside and see a convenience store before the T junction. I buy a V8 and a 7up. I throw back the V8, drink half of the 7up, and put the other half of the bottle in my jersey pocket. I may need that later. I grind through the next few miles of rollers and hit two steep descents. “Trucks on cheese” someone points out as we pass the sign with the 11% grade on it. My legs are still a little wobbly so I’ve got my hands firmly grasping the drops for full control. And good thing too as I hit a ridge in the road at about 45mph that tosses my bike about. Holy crap! If I’d been a little more relaxed, I’d have lost my **** and gone down! Uncool. I shake it off and pick up speed again.
There’s not really much to recall about the next 15 or so miles. Flat with a mild headwind all the way to the next rest stop. A few groups pass me, but I’m unable to get into the line as I still can’t stand and sprint. So it’s basically solo TT time. I suck it up and hit a comfortable cadence. DIY.
I finally get to Rest Stop 4 at Butts Canyon. I give my number and am greeted by the same friends who were at Rest Stop 2. Alfie parks my bike. Friends Lisa, Mike and Joan all ask how I’m doing. “Stupid legs” I tell them. “Well you look like you’re fairing better than Bruce. He threw up right next to where you’re standing.” Doh. I look down and see a moist spot to my right. Blech! I grab a seat on a cooler and look up, only to see fellow distance rider Sean Smith. “Ugh. Suffering.” I tell him. “I went through that last weekend.” he tells me. I grab some potatoes and start munching. I’m pretty hungry at this point, as I had passed on lunch earlier in the day. As I’m contemplating whether or not to get back on my bike I see Mick, Kitty and a few others roll out. Deb Pogran rolls up. “I thought you were way ahead of me!” I tell her. “I was feeling ill back there. Needed a breather.” Another victim of the heat. I mull about a bit longer. Drink a Coke. Then a V8. Top of my Hammer Gel flask. Take some Enduralytes. Whatever I can do to NOT get back on the road. But it’s only about 25 or so miles til the next rest stop, so I get on the bike, take a deep breath and press on.
Nothing much to speak of til rest stop 5. More rollers. More solo time. Nothing to do but find a good cadence and lock into a groove that won’t tax the quads. Surprisingly only about 4 riders pass me during this entire stretch. Either everyone else is hurting, or I’m at the tail end of the pack, because I’m not averaging more that 14 or 15mph. I finally get to a point I recognize. It’s the big descent into Rest stop 5. I tuck and relax and let gravity do the work.
I’m starving at this point. I put my bike in the stand and make a b-line for the hot dogs. Mick is sitting in a chair in the shade. “I could be done with this ride right now.” he says. Me too. But it’s only 41 miles to the end! That’s the distance of a mellow Sunday club ride. I can do that. I wolf down a hot dog. Then use the restroom. Upon exiting, I tell the guy manning the dog station to hook me up with another. “That’s rather suspicious”, he comments as I wait. “I’m bulimic.” I joke. “I’ll be back in there after the next.” I take a last look around before I get back on the saddle. Lots of suffering. At least I’m not alone.
I’m probably on the bike for about 5 miles when someone pulls up next to me. “Fixie Dude!” he yells. It’s Robert, whom I’d met on Solvang and Eastern Sierra. “Does it seem like we’ve been climbing all day?” he asks. “Yeah, this definitely feels like more than 12,000 feet.” I reply. He eases up his pace and we climb and chat for the next hour. Definitely good to take the mind off of the climbing. A fellow he’d been riding with since morning catches up to us and they take off at the sight of the crest. I don’t have the juice, so I dawdle my way up to the descent to the dam. It’s dark already. I was already at the final rest stop at dusk last year. I can forget about a personal best. But at this point, I’m just glad to know I’ll finish.
I pull into the last rest stop and see Kitty and Becky. “Wow. You caught up to us. You must’ve been cooking!” I tell them the only thing cooking are my legs. They take off. V8 time again. And I smell Cup O Noodles too! I start feasting, but about two mouthfuls in, I see Robert and his friend saddling up. What do I do? Finish my meal, or roll out. ???? it. These last few miles could be miserable by myself. I take a final fork full and leave the rest behind. It’s pretty dark at this point and we all have our lights on. Nothing but a 2 by 2 paceline from here on out to the finish. I even take a few pulls! Almost there. We hit the last turn at the T, make a left and ride over the Highway. Home sweet home!
We pull in at 8:45. Exactly 16 hours from when I’d started. I’ve rarely been this happy for a ride to be over. I shake hands with the 3 other guys I’d pulled in with, park my bike, and simply stand around for a minute. I did it. Suffered through another double. 130 miles of lousy cramps to boot. Joan and Mike are there. “You’re not ready for team DNF yet!” she kids. “Go get some food.” I grab a plateful of pasta and chicken and nibble at what’s on my plate. But I’m not really that hungry. I do drink 2 Mountain Dews and a Red Bull though. I hang out for the next 3 hours and watch my fellow Knoxville riders roll in. Nicole pulls in at 10:30. She finishes. I knew she would. Big grin on her face too. She’s hurting and tired, but she’s definitely got the right attitude for this kind of thing.
It’s near midnight and the effects of the caffeine are wearing off. Time to head home and sleep. Another one in the books. I think I’ve found my “Achilles Heel” of doubles. But I’ll be back next year. I’m already re-strategizing :D