Author: Bill

This morning resembles a rain forest. The rain fell all last night and the clouds are hugging all the mountains around Missoula. Not exactly a day one would think of riding a 50 mile mountain bike loop. A loop that has a monster climb and traverses some high country that at last report could contain huge snow drifts. The entire day is mysterious. Who knows what we will encounter.

Yesterday was a pretty full day of “stay in town laziness” or SITL and I would like to call it. No races, no big adventure rides, no traveling. Just hanging out in Missoula and interfacing with good friends.  The day started with a farmers market meet up with Ed, Laurie, Julie, and Ron. I was able to shine in regards to caloric consumption. Also my choice of calories to consume were pretty impressive. I started with a blueberry scone, this after a blueberry scone at City Brew earlier. But this blueberry scone was home made and with a dedicated layer of blueberries was truly a scone to admire. My taste buds did so.

I moved on to another level of tastiness. I scored a cardamom coffee cake. A big fan of cardamom I was skeptical that this would do the exotic spice justice. But after a few bites my mouth was a spice party. Major Yum!

Being in a social environment, wheather it be that people make me nervous, or the fact that everyone else was eating stuff, I did not stop at the coffee cake. I went on to do a scrumptious sun dried tomato focaccia. Then as we approached dinner time I scored a potato ball from Saw Wa De. Thank goodness a big rain storm drove me home. I would of continued to eat all day.

So after the morning of hanging and eating I had to take a nap. A nap was a good choice. Just enough to recharge my batteries for a afternoon ride. I headed out the the Bass Creek trails. On the way my friend Ross texted me that he wanted in on the adventure. So we hit the trails together. It was a fun little loop with lots of swoopy single track. Plus just in case riding a bike for one hour was to strenuous there were plenty horse people available to get off the bikes and talk to.

Most were nice people but the locations of the interactions were ill placed. It seems every time we got our momentum up and was whooping it up on some single track section we would come upon the beast riders. As I passed the horses I looked into their eyes. It seems they were like, “dude, your so lucky, I wish I could just go out and exercise without this lard ass on my back”. I wonder if I would mountain bike if I had to carry my bike all the time.

To finish off the perfect SITL I stopped in at Julie and Ron’s for a BBQ and cake bake. We (Julie did but we consulted her) made this interesting chocolate, chocolate chip, ginger, cardamom, cake.  While watching the movie Secretariat I was the lucky one to bite into the surprise cardamom chunks. The day ended with a half baked plan to ride 50 miles today … in which case, I had better get prepared.  Hope everyone has great adventures today.

• more photos

The air seems better and the sun has decided to make an appearance. A clear mind makes for a better day. Yesterday I got a job offer from Bozeman working at the University. So I have finally reached the fork in the trail I was looking for.  I have been to the left on that loop before, the Missoula loop. It’s a great loop but I know there is more to be experienced. So I have decided to take the right fork and head on down that trail towards Bozeman. I am excited and new experiences await.

So what better way to mull over a choice and celebrate a new direction then to go on a mountain bike ride. I decided upon going up Grant Creek and hitting up the Ravine Trail. At the top I put some flowers near Marcy’s ashes and was surprised at the realization that I subconsciously came to that spot to say goodbye. I was all teary eyed as I approached the top and the tree where I spread her ashes and revisit every year during the RMVQ. Missoula has many great things and many tragedies since living here and now as I move on, I really “move on”.

I felt like in some way something let go of my heart and started to descend into the Rattlesnake. I flew down the hill with a Zen like flow. I was truly having a great ride and the trails were finally in great condition. I felt free to enjoy the ride and seemed to posses bat like reaction skills. Once I rounded a corner to discover the trail missing and in its place a washed out canyon trench. I flew over it and landed on the other side like a deer jumping a fence.

Heading home I went by the winery and decided to stop in. I discovered Ed playing in a jazz band outdoors in a pleasant evening sunset. I managed to talk them into a Bridge meet up and we talked about the new path over fresh slices and pints of local fair. Perfect evening after another perfect loop around the Missoula trail. Tomorrow I will take the new path to see where it goes.

This coffee is horrible. Maybe I am in a bad mood that makes me think so. But maybe it is just bad coffee. Maybe I am just upset at myself for drinking coffee when I know I shouldn’t be drinking coffee this close to a 24 hour effort. Whatever the case, this is bad coffee.

Last night the brave souls of the Missoula Thursday Night Ride did the University Beacon ride. To me the ride was cold, wet, and yucky. Maybe I was in a bad mood and that made me feel so. But maybe not feeling your fingers enough to descend a head-wall in the pouring rain is horrible. Maybe I was just irritated at myself for not performing so well during a previous “opportunity” discussion. Whatever the case, last night was cold.

My observations are a little skewed but they are my observations. And this is my therapy, blogging the way I do. So this is my observation. There were 3 distinct groups last night. The weekly warriors, the socialites, and the la-la-landers.

Up front were the weekly warriors, the ones that are pent up all week. Let loose on a ride they just scramble up the trail quicker then anyone. Secretly they take pride in “beating” everyone to the top. They do it discreetly, starting off at group pace and just going harder and harder to try and out pace everyone. Sometimes they use the “breakaway group” trick. This is were they identify another warrior and ride with them until they are close to a stopping point or top of a climb. Then they really expose their intentions and go pretty darn hard to secure the king of the trail title. At certain points they look back as if to say, “Oh, my bad, I didn’t know how fast I was going”.

Next down the trail are the socialites. This is the largest pack and made up of the curious ones. The ones that snuggle up beside you to see what’s going on. They are connoisseurs of information. This group can be heard coming up the trail from great distances. For many this is the weekly social event, kind of like a church. It is the closest group and made up of the weekly ride elders. These folks are actually the ones that know the trails the best and chuckle to themselves as the weekly warriors speed up the trail to only take a wrong turn. They know that it is they that control the real pace of the ride. No one goes on without them.

After the main peloton is the la-la-landers. They hang off the back alone most of the time and for various reasons. It may look like they are the outcasts or the un-fit but in reality they are the ones enjoying riding the most. Even if the pace is too high and they are back because of fitness they are not blowing a gasket to out perform anyone like the weekly warriors. And unlike the socialites they actually get to see, smell, and hear nature, the very reason to be out riding.

I observed all of this from the la-la-landers position. But even though I was lolly-gagging I ended up home taking my shower decades before anyone else. How does a la-la-lander make it to the front of the pack and finish the ride while all the socialites are still up on the hill snapping photos and posing in fields of flowers?  Well let me explain.

Initially I was late and as I stepped out into the pouring rain I noticed the parking lot was empty. I figured that I was the only one stupid enough to try and ride University with the real possibility of hitting a big snow storm on top. As I began to pedal up the road and was trying to come up with reasons to just go home I spotted Lydia and Katie coming towards me. My plans to go home went right out the window. Upon talking to them I realized that I was also starting from the wrong parking lot. That is how I ended up riding la-la-landers.

We finally caught the group and I was amazed at how many crazy people were out in the rain riding up a mountain. Katie bridged up to the socialites immediately and could of even been aiming for the weekly warriors.  It was quite an impressive display of power. I drifted back to Lydia and took up residence in the la-la-landers for the remainder of the climb. Far ahead you could see the weekly warriors charging up the switchbacks. Leading the pace was Larry, Arron, and some new riders.

I couldn’t hang out on the summit because I was shivering violently. So I hunkered down on the ridge just below them and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to walk down and retain the little body heat I had left or ride down and let fear and speed keep the blood flowing. Suddenly the weekly warriors and the socialites came past me and down the wild flower strewn ridge. The ridge was very beautiful so I jumped on my bike and took up position in the la-la-landers group again.

One time I did bridge up to try my hand at socializing but while I waited In the rain for a photo op I discovered that I was really not dressed correctly and I had better get back to the trail head. I took to the trail and pulled back on the brakes as hard as I could with numb hands. Soon I caught up to the weekly warriors all huddled up on a knoll and waiting for the socialites. I recommended every person for themselves and continued down the mountain, brakes squealing wildly.

The rest of the ride down was more like kayaking then biking. It was creek, mud hole, creek, mud hole, creek, shiver shiver, shutter shutter, mud hole. I did finally make it to my car and drove home with heated seats and inside heater going full blast.  Next thing I knew I was standing in a hot shower wondering if everyone made it out. A hour after that I found my phone which to my horror was a distress text from Lydia. They were stranded on the mountain with a blown sidewall.

I quickly called while jumping into my car. I rang Lydia’s phone and she answered with a stern, “FINALLY”.  I was happy to hear the Lydia and Katie did finally stumble out of Crazy Canyon and were held up at Julies house recovering.  Just your typical Missoula Thursday Night Ride.

To me the ride was beautiful and resembled Chile, Argentina, Brazil, and Alaska all rolled into one. Maybe my mood had changed and that made me feel so. But maybe riding with a group gives you reason to be outside when the weather doesn’t agree. Maybe I was just overwhelmed by the beauty of the landscape. Whatever the case, last night was fun.

My body is emitting signs that yesterday was a rough day. I am stiff with a dull pain in my legs. And a new gash on my shin doesn’t look as bad as it feels. Ahh yea, the gash, the crash.

My initial laps in the day’s effort provided me with enough mishaps to kill my confidence that I even raced mountain bikes let alone at a level higher then beginner. My first lap on the new course at Marshall Mountain was dismal. I ran off the trail just past a scary looking jump on the “easy” way. I freaked out and walked down a headwall like a big baby. Then I miss judges some drops before just walking the last section that looked a lot like the Mount Snow course of my past. I always hated Mount Snow and after a couple broken noses, concussions, and getting knocked out it was no wonder. I thought, “great, another course I am afraid of”.

On the second lap I just walked everything so as to “asses” how I would ride them. At the end of that lap I talked to someone working on the trail and in doing so got the feeling that the head wall was just a “skidder”. So I vowed on the next lap to give it a go.

There is that moment before a crash where you know your ass is grass and time slows down. Each second is like 5 entire minutes of thought. Things like wondering where I will land. How my body should be positioned when contacting the ground. I not only think about but visualize the days following the accident. The big come back and rehabilitation. There are scenes of calling a helicopter to extract my body when a trail worker finds me with a broken neck. Also there are little safety meetings were I discuss with myself how to plant my head as to avoid another concussion. Throw in some life flash backs and some stern self-thrashings about how “you shouldn’t be this daring at your age”. After about 10 crash minutes (about 3.5 seconds) the initial body parts start contacting some earth elements.

First I decided to grab that tree that just whizzed past my head. I cringed at the thought of breaking my handlebars or ripping the hydraulic brake levers to bits. Turns my tree grabbing aim is not so good as my shoulder contacted it instead.  Then my bike decided to save itself and used me as a crash pad. It was like the bike was angry at me for doing this to it and thrusted its front chain ring solidly into my shin. I fell down around the base of the tree like a tree skirt during christmas. My yard sale items were the gifts.

I laid at the base of the tree until I realized my mommy wouldn’t come running to pick me back up. I moaned and groaned just in case a passerby would come upon me and think my crash was not the most amazing accident they had ever seen. Apparently I was alone and had to pick my self up, slowly, and limped down the trail, my complaints falling on deaf ears.

“I tried that headwall section”, I said to the trail worker I encountered earlier.

“Yea? How did that work out?”

“Not so good, I crashed … HARD”

“Wow, that’s going to be a huge contusion”

I finished up the lap and decided that I needed to either put on my big boy panties or go home with my tail between my legs. I stopped off at my cooler for some ice and a ace bandage. After making a cold compression that would endure abusive riding I set fourth on another lap. There was shooting pain but overall I was amazed that I didn’t get hurt much worse. Needless to say I spent the rest of the day practicing my dismount and downhill running technique. No way I wanted to try and ride that thing again.

Around hour 3 or 4 Sam Schultz came whistling by me and I thought, “great a playmate”. I let him get a tad ahead and went into chase mode. I brought the heart rate to new highs and suffered greatly for three laps. Finally there was no sign of Sam. The dude is pretty fast. Damn world cuppers.

In the end I perfected the entire loop except for the headwall where I had no issues getting off and plunging down the hill on foot. The numbers are like this, 14 laps for 35 miles and 10,000 feet of climbing. My entire day is at http://connect.garmin.com/activity/92115133 and my best lap http://connect.garmin.com/activity/92152748.

“What do you think about during all that time you are out there … pedaling”, a team mate asked me after one of my most successful 24 hour races in which I covered 311 miles. This is a question that I am asked the most. The process usually goes like …

1. The subject comes up and information given in the form of how far and in how many hours on which kind of terrain.
2. The person post a puzzled look while their brain starts to crunch the numbers. A follow up question is then required … “How many miles and how long?”
3. I repeat the figures, this particular time I say, “311 miles in 25 or so hours on pitchy climb-y rock garden strewn trails.”
4. More puzzled looks as the extra processing starts to overheat the brain. This is about the time when a certain glaze of overload appears in their eyes. Then all they can come up with is, “Holy [insert some profanity] what the [more possible profanity depending upon the person] do you think about all that time?”

So I figured I would write a post about last nights training ride, what I thought about, and what I can remember thinking about two weeks ago during that race.  I found a new place to do my hill intervals and I swear it is the hardest pitch to climb in town. It is the hidden trail, so named at the East Missoula trail head. It goes up pretty steeply then after a switchback it get aggressive. So aggressive that you must perch on the tip of your saddle and grind out in extreme agony until the HRM beeps and the interval is complete … around 9 minutes. No way to keep it HR zone 4. More like 5. Ouch!

“Am I overdoing it”, was my initial thought as I suffered into zone 4 for the first time in 2 weeks. It hurt a lot.

“When will I blow up?”, I thought as a flat cause me to go into catch up panic mode two weeks ago. I spent much of the initial laps doing complex math calculations. HR zone 5 for 3 laps plus HR zone 4 for another 2 equals death by dusk.

After the initial interval I descended back into East Missoula noticing some Friday evening parties in the back yards that bordered Jumbo Mountain. I turned at the base of the trail and rested a bit for my next effort. I had serious doubts that I could do 5 of these climbs. After a bit I sprinted back out of the valley.

“Is it me, do I suck, am I fat, what gives”, was pretty much the chant on interval 2.

Going back 2 weeks after the initial laps I was thinking, “Wonder what Jill is doing today and more importantly is she reading Normans updates”.  (Insert a visual image of my friends smile as she sees that I am about 35 minutes into the lead). Yep that is about what I was thinking mostly. How I wanted to impress my friends and also feeling a sort of connection through Norman’s updates.

The second interval finished was sooner then I thought. After the first I envisioned a 3 week pain battle but after a mere 9 minutes I was happy to turn around and let gravity take over. I ripped downwards back to the valley floor.

“Hmmm, wonder what I should do this weekend”, I thought as I endured interval 3 seemingly consuming the worlds oxygen supply in a mere 9 minutes. I went over numerous scenarios of how the weekend should progress.

Back two weeks prior my thought process slowed to absolutely no thoughts at all. In fact I sat back and enjoyed slide shows and movies (memories) of past times. Topping the playlist mostly was the adventures of Bill and Marcy. All night I was on cruise control with maybe 1 single thought making its way to my brain which was, “this lap don’t forget to pick up the Marcy tribute”.

My third interval was tough, even tougher then the previous. And rightly so because that is what intervals do. They get harder.

“Wow, I am doing it, maybe I am not so bad, MAYBE I WILL make is through 5 intervals”, I thought as I almost lost my balance due to my impressive speed of 2 mph on the steepest section. My heart rate was maxing out.

“Everyone will be so freaked out … so impressed … so inspired. I think I will finish this race without succumbing to death after all”, I thought as morning drew near and the skies started to show signs of illumination.  From those initial thoughts my brain is usually flooded with inspirational stuff, mantras, and self-back-patting. Self encouragement complete with imaginary sideline cheerleaders (mostly Swedish blonds) is the usual fair.

The forth interval was a combination of hitting the wall buffered with a “light at the end of the tunnel” embodiment.

“Just one more to go … this is going to be so great … when this is done I am going to the bridge to celebrate … almost there … be brave be … holy [insert profanity] this is ….”, I think is how it went as black spots started to overlay my visual sight of the trail just a mere 4 feet below my nose. I dreamed of falling over and dying and how comforting that would be. Also I wondered how [insert another profanity] long this damn interval was going to take. Maybe my GPS bike computer was broke. I tapped on the glass a few times.

“OK … my story will be that I just don’t remember what happened, no … a bear attacked me and I had to hide”, I thought as the race entered into its final hours two weekends ago. I needed to come up with a excuse. A excuse to stop. All the joys of the morning “happy cheers” wore off and the reality of a aftermath of fighting my own biology started to show its ugly face. My body was a shell and the only thing keeping me going were the internal battles in my mind. Mostly, “I cant go on but first I have to rationalize why, no I cant, where am I … WHAT THE [to tired to come up with a profanity] AM I DOING THIS FOR?”

The fifth lap is so trivial because I had to climb out of the valley one more time to go home anyway. But that doesn’t mean it was not tough. It was, but once on top I took my time to check the views and smell the wildflowers.

“I should stop by Ed’s house to see if he wants to do some riding this weekend”, I thought as the last interval came to a conclusion and I skirted Mount Jumbo high above Hellgate Canyon. Most of my thoughts were about how I wished I could spend time with friends this weekend. I miss my friend so much.

“I cant believe I did it. I cant wait to see my team mates faces at the finish line, Normans face, the faces at the finish line. I cant wait to see the joy in their eyes. THIS is why I am doing this.”

Wouldn’t you know it. As soon as I started writing this piece the sun came out and it is as beautiful as can be.

It is quite obvious to me that it is my calling to build an ark. Let me clarify though, that I am not saying I think the bible is actual fact but a great piece of literature. Ok, maybe not even great in my opinion, just that a professor once said it was. I mean, it is not Jonathan Livingston Seagull quality. But this post in not to argue religion or literature but to explain why I have started visiting place like Lowes and Home Depot in search of tools and supplies.

First off, why? Well just look around. The Clark Fork is about to start flowing down Broadway and we have seen rain every single day since it changed from snow to liquid. The snow pack may be finally receding but every other day it seems to get a “set-back coating”. It is even worse then my 2006 gripe blog year or even last year. So yea, chances are in a month or two Missoula will return to Lake Missoula.  So I need to build a boat.

Secondly, I saw two rabbits. I saw another last night on the TNR. That makes two. And I think the story goes that if I were to help save all the animals from the impending waters I need two of each. I think we all know why. So I saw two rabbits and I figure that is a sign. One even talked to me but that is debatable as well. So I need a very large boat … like an ark.

Thirdly, I am onto the “grand plan”. Upon completing the TNR last night we stopped on the pedestrian bridge near the university for a natural light show. Hellgate canyon was lit up in an unbelievable color display from the setting sun. Or was it? I turned around and took a look at the source light. It was no sun but a laser scanner from something in the sky. I think we were just “scanned” by some aliens. That or Google is going to start offering the Missoula Valley in 3d. In any case I have my suspicions.

Finally, I leaving my job anyway and a boat could come in handy to live in. You know, just in case other opportunities don’t pan out. So yea, a very large boat. The only thing I haven’t decided on is where to build it. Anyone have some land I could use?

 

I walked into my apartment last night feeling like I got ran over by a truck. It has been 10 days since my 311 mile effort at the 24 Hours of Round the Clock so it doesn’t surprise me that I am not ready for any “heavy duty” training. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t try.

My first interval and my last were similar. It was tough to get going and when the ol ticker got up to 150 I was suffering like a dog. Good thing they only lasted 30 seconds. But I made it through all 20 of them; well minus one when I decided that running around deadfall constituted a “effort”.

The way back from the Stuart Peak Trail was a different story. I was a thrashing lunatic biker in training mode going up. But once turned around (because of bad trail conditions http://twitpic.com/594b53) I was  a stumbling slow poke. But that is not a bad thing. I got to slow down and see all the elements of a wild forest in slo-mo.

Meet Bernard the rabbit. I met Bernard on the trail just after I turned around. I was attempting to ride but was about to get off to walk. I was getting coated in cold water spray. I hit the brakes and they screeched wildly. I grabbed harder just trying to heat up the brakes so they wouldn’t be so noisy. I felt guilty being out in the wilderness and making so much unnecessary noise.

Within a few moments I was sitting back up after the plummeting off the front of the bike. “Ok, I am walking it from here on out”, I said to myself and looked around to find my glasses.

“Excuse me … why all the fuss”, a voice said. I looked suddenly to the source. Sitting across the trail from me was a rabbit.

“Bernard is my name and you my friend are really noisy”, he said without looking up from his lunch, a nice green patch of new grass.

“Excuse me?”

“That screeching sound. At first it scared the hell out of me. I thought a canadien goose was dive-bombing me. …  What?”, he must of noticed my shocked look. “Are you surprised to see me? All you humans just plow through here like the forest is on fire or something. No, I am not afraid any more; this is the first time someone stopped by though. Although a noisy stop at that. And I must say that is a particular way you get off your wheel thingy.”

“Ah, yea, my mountain bike. Sorry about that. And I have to say I am not as surprised to see you. But to have you … ah … interacting with me like this …”

“Well no one has ever stopped before. The way you are shaking I am sensing you better get to a heat source within the half hour. You are going to get creeping cold disease.”

“Hypothermia?”

“Yea, that’s it. Well continue on my friend, I must get back to dinner.”

I picked my bike up and took a couple photos of my new friend. And he was right, I was super cold. I mounted my bike and rode back to town. I must visit my friends up there more. Maybe with out the “wheel thingy”.

I would like to dedicate this blog post to my friend Jill’s upcoming new book Be Brave, Be Strong because I thought a lot about it while riding my bike last weekend. I have benefited greatly from my friendship with her and can attribute it to the next round of big life adventures. Last weekend was the 24 Hours of Round the Clock mountain bike race. I raced solo and was really targeting this race to do my best. Come to find out “my best” would be more then I expected to do. It was more then I thought I could do.

First a little background is in order. I tend to play it safe. Instead of confronting a bad land lord I just take environmental and verbal abuse so as to stay in a affordable apartment. And why am I in such economic hardship? Well because I have a low paying job. But do I confront my fears of confrontation and stand up to my employers for more cash. No, I play it safe. To raise above the norm could mean failure and I just didn’t want to risk it. So I just stay in my little box of comfort riding a bike for miles and miles. I feel safe on my bike.

During the pre race meeting with my pit person Norman I expressed my desire to “pace myself” so that I would have enough laps to win the race. The month leading up to the race my training went south and I was left with nothing but a strict diet to get me through. I could not survive a “balls out” start and I needed to be safe and careful that I didn’t falter later down the line.

Also on my mind also was a decision concerning a new direction in life. I have played it safe for too long and now I was contemplating a move from my job and town for a new adventure, a new opportunity. I tried to put it all out of my mind and got to the starting line committed to pacing myself.

5 minutes from the start and a mere 30 seconds on the bike and my rear tire went flat. I stepped off non-nonchalantly, pressed my air cartridge to the valve, and aired the tire back up. The entire process took like 45 seconds but that was enough to put me behind the remaining 20 riders of a pretty large field. There were something like 800 or 900 racers, and 60 or so were solo racers. Now I was standing in line as people stumbled one at a time through the first big rock garden. All the while the front runners were putting a big distance on me. Panic set in.

Once set free I was getting reports from the engine room that I was zone 5 on what I call the “heart rate richter scale”. My goal was a zone 2 pace. Heart rate zones are just what I use to gauge my effort. Zone 1 and 2 are just burning low amounts of fuel without any body breakdown. 3 and 4 would be breaking down body parts after 8 hours. Zone 5 is just not sustainable and can contribute to hallucinating with outbursts for “mommy”. But it was too late for pacing and I was stressed out that the front runners would get too far out. This paranoia pushed me to put in a 60 minute first lap. And that was including the run.

“Your in 4th place”, Norman shouted after me as I rode from a unscheduled stop in the pits to get another air cartridge and a bottle of Carbo Rocket.  I knew I blew it already by going too hard so I figured I might as well keep going at 60 minute laps. And that is what I did for the first 3 laps. I knew that since I hit zone 5 it was only a matter of time before I would cramp up then start to feel the horrid effects of going too hard. I wondered if I could make it through the night without falling to pieces and taking a “time out” in the pits to overcome exhaustion. So I continued to go hard even when I heard on lap 2 that I was in the lead. My “new” plan was to get out as far as I could before the inevitable slow down occurred.

I rattled off laps 4 and 5 in 61 minutes and finally I was hearing reports that I was a half hour out in front. It seemed to me I was going to be able to lap the field and that would be good because I could gain the mental advantage and then have a target when I reached my “just hold on” phase. I dialed back the throttle a bit and for the first time in the race my heart rate was settling down to zone 3 although the climbs were still requiring zone 5 efforts.

Darkness fell and we slipped into night mode. There was some confusion in the pits on light placement and I was frustrated because I figured “we had gone over this”. There was also some debate on shims and how to turn on my tail light but soon they had me under way, all within a 2 minute time span. I was busting through the night with 900 lumens on my helmet and 300 on my bars. No wait, make that 0 lumens on my bars. My handle bar light was not working. I pushed the buttons and yanked the wires around. Nope! Nothing! Now I was riding without a back up light and a spot for high speeds. My kick ass helmet mounted one (made by my friend Erik) was awesome except it had a diffuser lens to diffuse tons of light all around me for unreal peripheral vision. The only problem is that it diffused enough that I would out run it when speeds got up to 20 or so. Kind of unsettling on some of the technical rocky bomber descents. Did I say the loop was awesome?

“My light is broken”, I yelled out as I swerved into my pits and skidded to a stop. Erik stepped forward a little concerned. Everyone looked as though were were going into a meeting on the Cuban missile crises or something.

“No not my head lamp, this one”, gesturing towards my handle bar. Norman was already yanking at the wires.

“I tried that, let me have a headlamp for a back up and take that thing off”, I was highly agitated about my lighting situation.  I grabbed the light off Normans head after a tiny amount of power searching in the dark. Once in my pocket I notice this was all my pit crew had to see.  There was no time to worry about the pit crew now. After all I had to keep up the pressure and try and lap the field before I fell apart. I ripped down pit row and back out for another lap.

I was crossing the threshold into the second half of the race and that fact alone was depressing. It was only midnight, how on earth could I make it another 12 hours? And if I couldn’t, would I have enough of a lead to still win? I pushed on trying desperately to find the guy in second place in the dark night. I didn’t know what he looked like only that he had left the pits just 10 minutes before I did. As I climbed up one of the short punchy climbs my rear tire felt soft. I jumped off and sure enough it was going flat.

“No worries”, I whispered to an imaginary audience. I imagined I was in a movie and needed some dialog to explain the situation and show how calmly I was going to fix this flat tire.

“Usually in these races we carry a air cartridge so we can just jump off and quickly air the tire like this”, I was talking in a mater of fact tone that I remember from reality shows like American Chopper. I fumbled a little with the little cartridge and giggled. I had to look smooth for the cameras. I kept fumbling. I twisted it a little harder trying to figure out why this one wouldn’t puncture its seal and fill my tire with much needed air. Nothing! I stood up and investigated it more closely forgetting that I was pretending to be on the reality show “American 24 Hour Madness”.

“Ahhh shit … F&%$#. NORMAN!!!”, the reality of it all came crashing into my fuzzy brain. The damn air cartridge was used. Norman had handed me a spent cartridge and I had 10 miles to complete the lap. I closed the air cap on my rear wheel. I couldn’t stay in the woods and cry, I needed to keep forward progress. I went to work softly riding my bike with its rear tire holding about 10 psi. It seemed to be holding. Soon the extra fumbling and a ever increasing fear that I didn’t get a fresh battery pack was too much. Suddenly it was dark … and I was descending the rockiest downhill on the course.

As I approached my pit area I put together a “bitch list”. I wanted to express my frustration that I had to ride a flat tire with no lights for more then half the lap. But as soon as I swerved into the confines of my pit I was overcome with joy that I made it home to my friends who were looking at me with such admiration and a hint of anticipation. It looked as thought they were like dogs when you are about to throw a stick.

“Norman you gave me a empty cartridge”, I looked at him with a furled brow.

“OK”, … and that was it. He said it in a tone that said he understood and it wouldn’t happen again. He said it in a way that suggested that I just get over it now and it was all behind us. And that was it. I got a new battery pack and my handlebar light was repaired.  Normal subtly handed me a Action Wipe. With that the ruminants of my frustration were wiped away as I swabbed at my nose and face. I thought how strange … why a action wipe for a nose wipe and I had to giggle. I made such a big deal out of them people thought that I used them for everything.

“OK Bill, go go go”, and I was outta there.

I chased second place through the night but somehow lapping him eluded me. At one time I had passed him, then I didn’t, then we didn’t know where he was. Finally I took it all down another notch in hopes to keep going and hold onto my lead. Now I just wanted to finish this thing and I looked forward to the sun rise. I planned a lap dedication to my friend Jill, the person I watched a sun rise with in my last 24 hour race. I patted myself in the back for coming up with the idea just as I noticed the sky turning a dark cobalt blue. Was it dawn already?

“I need Marcy”, I shouted back at my pits. I almost left again with out remembering the “Marcy lap”, a lap I did every 24 hour race in the middle of the night. I had almost forgot due to all the “stuff to do” and trying to extend my lead. I ran back to the pits almost taking out another rider zipping down pit row.

The sun was about to come up and I posted the photo on top of a climb and finished out my last truly night lap.  I finished out the lap and pulled into my pits.

“How are we doing”

“Well your definitely in control, you have nothing to worr ……”, my mind drifted off as I looked directly up into the sky. The stars were barely visible now but I could see the big dipper still and it was right above pit row.

“Post a twitter for me … for Jill … this lap is for Jill”, and I rode off to go find a good sunrise watching place along the course.

I found it just as the sun was bursting through the trees on the far side of the basin. Suddenly it was warm and the warm yellow rays blinded me and I rubbed my eyes. When I opened them again I was looking across the Virgin River towards the tawny Zion cliffs. The colors were fantastic and I felt true peace. I was not tired. Maybe I drifted off to sleep and this was a dream. No matter. I was back in Utah watching the sun come up with my friend Jill. I turned to ask her what she was doing next Wednesday, maybe we c
ould go for a ride up Blue Mountain or something. As my eyes adjusted I saw only evergreens … no Jill.

Everything else was “about” the same. Instead of the Virgin River I was looking out over the Spokane River. Instead of the desert cliffs of Zion there were evergreen lined ridges. I turned to get back on my bike and continue the quest. I started to wonder how the winner of the previous year did 20 laps. I was 5 or 6 away from that and it didn’t seem likely I could pull that off. I turned and looked at the beautiful morning sun and paused.

“Go for 300”, a voice whispered in my ear.

I jumped so much my foot slipped off a rock I was balancing on. I toppled over into the grass. I jumped back up swinging my head back and fourth. The voice sound like Jill’s. Had she traveled up to watch the race and surprise me? No. No way, I was half way around the course all by myself. A hallucination probably. I remounted my bike and finished another lap.

“How many laps have I done”, I asked Norman.

“Um”, everyone converged on the pit table where a notebook with a list of scribbles sat almost frozen in terror as 4 people approached it with hungry eyes.

The list went to 21 with times written in up to 18. A dread washed over me that I was at 18 laps.

“19”, as he quickly penciled in 1:16, “you really put in a fast lap”.

“19”? … “Are you sure”?

Just then my friend Sten got all up in my face.

“Be safe Bill. No pressure on the pedals. Just finish this as slow as you can and don’t take any chances. BE SAFE here. You have the win, don’t be stupid”.

“But I want to go for 300”.

The group of friends gasped and Sten turned away in disgust.

“Of course … of course you WOULD want to go for 300. OF COURSE YOU WOULD”, as he exited the pit area.  I paused to think about what I just said. I wasn’t sure I could even finish another lap let alone two. One thing was for certain I had won the race and had the nearest competition beat by a lap with a hour and a half remaining in the race. The chances of me pulling off a fast lap to make the 11:59 am cut off was iffy at best. Still though 1 more lap would be the record if I could do it in 2 hours or so. The previous record was 20 laps in 24:45(something).

“Lets go for the record”, and at that I jumped on my bike and passed through the gathering crowd at the transition area. I swiped my timing chip … “BLEEP”. That was it, I was out on what could be my final lap. I would finish and win the 2011 24 Hours of Round the Clock.

I counted down from each obstacle and picked up my pace ever so slightly as the idea of getting in 300 miles started to seep into my soul. Even though each climb I was seeing black splotches while keeping on the edge of consciousness I still was hoping to make it in under the cut off time. I dropped into the Spokane River basin ripping through the single-track as fast as I could. When I slowed on a flat section I looked down at my computer.  35 minutes to noon. There was no way I could finish the second half of the course that quickly. Sten’s words came back.

“Be safe … don’t push it … be careful … don’t throw it away”

I pulled over and sat on the river bank and let my heart rate come back to normal. Maybe Sten was right. I mean, I have the win. I should just take it easy and just make it to the finish line. Norman would understand plus I would have the record. Then I thought about my current opportunity in Bozeman. Maybe I shouldn’t make the change. Maybe I should stay at a job I hate and be safe. Stay in Missoula. Why take chances? I slowly ate the “pot pie crust sandwich” I made a hour earlier. The river surged past me and I started to drift off to sleep. Suddenly I snapped out of the hazy sleep coma just moments before succumbing to its beckoning comfort.

“I have to finish this lap”, I thought to myself and hopped back on my bike.  I Slowly crept up the climbs and my mind drifted off to other thoughts just to pass time. I had just read Jill’s book and was playing it all back as she used the mantra “Be brave, be strong” and I thought to myself. If she can slog through the Susitna 100 in 40 something hours I can make it through this “tiny” little event. I caught up to another rider on the last rock garden section.

“Last rock garden”, I said and my trail companion just giggled.

“Yea, cool isn’t it”?

“I don’t think we will make the cut off any more”

“No, not me anyway, I am through”

I rode off and started up the last climb. I glanced down at my computer. It was 11:55. I looked again … 11:56 and I spun to the crest of the hill.

“Go for 300”, this time the voice did not shock me. I just bolted like a race horse when their gates open. I flew down the hill with 1.5 miles to go and got into a tuck. I glanced down again. It was my hope that I “at least” looked like I tried to go for 300. 11:58.

I turned on the last straight away to the finish line. I never glanced down at the compute
r, this was going to be close. Then the crowd carried me. I heard everyone erupt and was hearing cheers.

“Go Bill … go get em….”

“You got it go go go”

My heart was trying to rip its way out of my chest and I pounded the pedals. the crowd roared and the announcer piped in.

“Bill Martin making his way … no way … will he make it, give it up people, does he want to do another lap?”

I came in under the start finish but I was focused on the timing chip sensor. I dove for it and ….

“BLEEP”

In Jill’s latest book she writes, “I had won the fight. I only had to complete my victory lap” ~  Be Brave, Be Strong

OMG, I just found a Google Map and it is happening everywhere [map].

Just like the game falling sands our sky is falling here in Missoula.  This morning I noticed that Sentinel was on fire and everyone is leaving town. I just got this photo this morning of the South Hills … Now I am getting scared.  What is going on? I did a search on the Internet (no news stations up here in Missoula, no power, nothing).

Mary Nunaley in Tennessee is blogging, “very odd driving to work today- overslept no power- no cars on street but seeing lots of power lines down & overturned cars in sumner … one of this cylinder objects is in the field of the college in gallatin, tn. Also see seems, plus smoke coming from them. looking now” ~http://twitter.com/maryn

Mack Reed in LA is reporting, “Griffith Park cylinder UNSCREWING. Deep ultraviolet light inside! TV crews all bitching about satellites being down/tape demagged. Can’t wait to bring photos home to upload. iPHone camera sucks at this distance.” ~http://twitter.com/MackReed

Ian Cory Drake from Jackson MS … “Heading into Madison, the other side looks like it did when katrina was gonna hit. Packed. A buddy of mine says Madison is packed with onlookers. Says the meteor is flaking apart. Gonna head that way for lunch.” ~http://twitter.com/idrake76

More later … going home to prepare … I think it is the Republicans trying to derail the election!

The forecast looks wet and right now it is so cold outside our mountains are increasing their snowpack. I have heard reports that we will not get to do some of the course due to flooding. What this all boils down to is epic. Just as I hope to be outside soaking, literally, up life it is also my hope that everyone gets out for this long holiday weekend. If not, shame on you. And if you must, then at least follow my epic. You can do it in two places

Pick your poison. I am hoping my pit dude Norman, titled as “watercraft engineer”, will post some updates. But sometimes conditions and cell coverage can play havoc so don’t be alarmed to see just white noise. In that case you know I’ll be back to blog about it. Stay dry my friends.