Saturday, November 22, 2008
I wake-up in a Tucson hotel room at 3:30 am and realize I probably have strep throat, if the burning pain surrounding my tonsils and my hot forehead mean anything. But I did not drag my wife, and youngest daughter on a 7 hour road trip just to pack it up and head home back to Lancaster, California. Besides, I didn't get to race at all in 2008, for various lame reasons, and I started training in earnest for this event in mid June - so the race had to go on and I'm in it.
This is the 26th El Tour De Tucson, or just El Tour. It covers 109 miles around the perimeter of Tucson. Over 8000 riders can show up for the event with up to 5000 of them riding the 109 mile version of the race. A certain group is in this event to win, another group is trying to make "platinum, gold, silver and bronze"; which are set times to finish created by the organizers of the event. Last year was my first El Tour and I missed platinum by 1 minute and 44 seconds. I needed to break 5 hours and missed it by the amount of time it took me to pee and also to fill up one of my water bottles (two separate events). I still averaged nearly 22 mph for the race but to miss platinum by such a slim margin...you just don't realize what that extra 9 miles does for this "century ride". In any case, I'm back in 2008 to break 5 hours and take my platinum designation and medal.
But now I'm sick and I'm going to have to pull off an exhausting day's ride. Last year I made the mistake of arriving at the starting line too late - 5:00 am for the 7:00 am start. This put me at the very back of the gold group, within 20m of the rear of gold. I spent the first half of the race working my way past the hundreds of riders that were between me and the first platinum rider. So my strategy this year was to get up early (hence my 3:30 wake-up time) and get to the start by no later than 4 to 4:30. And damn, it worked. I arrive just after 4:00 to find myself only 20m behind the platinum line - now I only have 2.5 hours of sitting in the cold street before I can start the race. This is made much easier though, if you enjoy people watching. I watch the hundreds and then thousands of other riders showing up and lining up mostly behind me. Finally the PA system comes to life and invigorating music begins to play. El Tour is one cool event and I'm glad, illness or no illness, that I'm sticking it out. Check out
El Tour's web site.
I listen to Robbie Ventura speak on the PA system. This year's tour is dedicated to the one time pro cyclist who placed 1st in the both the 2001 and 2002 El Tour. And now it's time to start. The platinum riders head out first and after about a minute my group at the front of the gold section begin to move. This has been a point of contention for many El Tour riders, as the race starts when the organizers say it does and the clock is ticking even if you are still stuck in traffic hundreds of meters behind the finish line. The event is very well organized and executed and all participants wear a timing chip on their left ankle so it is hard to believe they can't set up the computer timing system to start all racers when they actually cross the starting line - but what do I know?
Anyway, I'm into the first right turn before I know it and all riders are standing on their pedals and going hard for position. I'm minutes into this race and I'm already at 30 mph with a heart rate jumping into the 160s. Water bottles are skipping around the road ahead of us and everybody is jockeying for position. Even at 30 mph I have riders flying past me on the left and right and all riders are spread out on the street from curb to curb. Once again I realize that this is no fun ride but a ride that's going to take my full concentration from start to finish. As an experienced road racer I'm used to my competitors having certain skills on the bike. As a Master's racer, I can count on those skills but here you have skills all over the map and a single rider crash can take down an extremely large field. Also, in regular road races I'm used to the group taking it easy the first few kilometers, I can't remember a single road race where we leave at maximum speed with zero warm-up...part of El Tour's charm.
Map of the courseAround mile 7 or so, my Garmin tells me I'm averaging 25 mph. The first river crossing is coming up and the group begins to slow down dramatically. I'm just about to jump off my bike and run it across the quarter mile dry creek bed when many of the fans yell, "it's hard, you can ride it." So I make the mistake and attempt to ride through the sand bed. It is harder than last year but riders in front of me are mushing out and falling down. I leap off my bike and jam up a guy riding on my tail. I give my apologies and pick up my bike, cycle cross style and start running. Last year I was pretty cavalier about the crossing as I just walked my bike through the creek bed but I did miss platinum by less than two minutes so this year I'm running.
I climb out of the creek bed and mount my bike and aim it down the road. I look far out front and see just a thin line of riders as far as I can see. What I don't see is the motorcycle escort for the lead group and the lead chase group. So it is off at 25 mph again as I move up on one rider after another, resting behind certain riders to recover a little in their draft. If I think about it, I can feel my sore throat, and a little thought intrudes; I'm going to really pay for this after the race is over.
(see picture of 1st crossing above, taken in 2005 by
johnmirandaphoto.com)
I'm over 40 miles in now. I've hit speeds over 40 mph in the rollers, I've passed many riders and have come across my first platinum riders. I'm in a section of the tour, before the second river crossing, where there is a long down hill section. I'm just crusing with a pack of around 40 riders. You really need to be patient in El Tour and I have not. I know that I may have pushed myself a little too hard with over 60 miles still to go. I'm thinking this over when I hear something behind me. I look over my left shoulder and see a mixed tandem just blowing past the field on the outside. Most riders are just watching them fly by but I realize it's my ticket to the lead chase group. With the tandem still 10m behind me, I punch my campy shifters and begin to spool up my cranks and jump to over 35 mph which is just perfect for jumping on the back of the tandem. One other guy figures out that a tandem train is something you don't want to miss and he jumps on too. We ride this train for many miles, just blowing past scores of rider. This mix tandem is fast, the male captain and his female stoker are in full concentration at nearly 40 mph, with me and one other guy hanging on for all we got. Finally the road begins to level out and my garmin announces a 2% grade - that's it for the tandem. I feel like the 3rd stage of a rocket as I detach from the tandem and bridge up to a large group and then I see a magical thing; a motorcyle with flashing lights! I've reached the main chase group for El Tour. I know it can't be the front guys who will finish the tour in the low 4 hours but my garmin is telling me I'm at a pace to finish in around 4:30 so I know I'm sitting in with the platinum guys and I'm sitting pretty...but then the second river crossing comes up.
I still can't do it. How do you go 5 hours and not pee? This year, I put my 100 oz. camel pack on my back so I don't have to waste time filling up a water bottle. The two water bottles I'm carrying on my bike are full of a complex carbohydrate drink so I don't need to worry about fuel. But drinking a large percentage of my camel pack means I got a full bladder and damn, I have to stop again. A lot of guys are just peeing off the side of the dirt trail in full site of spectators and riders. Hell, I still have trouble peeing in a stall if just one guy is in the rest room with me let alone a few thousand people running and milling about. I stop at the porta potties, located within 60m of the end of the dry creek bed, lay down my bike and run for the first empty one. I resist the urge to time my urination but I know the seconds, and the chase group, are moving on. I finally finish and grab my bike and make it to the solid road surface. I grab a small banana piece from a volunteer and shove it down my throat and take off.
I'm now on the short but steep climb on Snyder. I stand on my pedals and push hard, passing rider after rider but I realize I've lost a lot of ground, as I can't see the motorcyles anymore. I notice the photographer on my right, just as I sit down and spool up my RPMs. I hear his digital camera firing like a machine gun, you can see one of his pictures at the top of this post. Near the top of the climb one of the spectators yells out encouragement. He tells us that we are all in the platinum group, my garmin agrees with him but it also shows that I'm real close to 5 hours now and I still have a long way to go.
I start running out of large groups to bridge up to. My style is to grab onto a big group, rest in their draft and then take a flyer, basically an attack in a typical road race, and I bridge up to the next group. Unfortunately, the next group is about a quarter of a mile up the road but two other guys jump on my wheel and we work together until we've caught the group. This group is too slow so off we go until we literally run out of people to chase. Hell, I still don't see a motorcycle but I also don't see any big groups ahead. This is troubling as we now have to work by ourselves. We're at mile 70 and the three of us are working hard. The wind is blowing about 10 mph and it seems to always be a right or left quarter head wind. We pass many stragglers and at around mile 80 I start feeling the first flickers of danger in my quads, a tightness whenever I stand on the pedals. We have now picked up another rider or two but one of them cramps hard and drops away. I know we are working too hard and I look back and spot a group of 20 strong cyclist working well together and coming up quickly behind us. I tell the other two to slow down and jump into this group. This is perfect. The group is young and strong. I'm probably the oldest guy by 10 years (this would make me feel pretty good but I know there are a lot of guys older than me in the lead group and they are so far out in front I can't even see them). This group has leaders and we start a very effective rotating pace line. We pass many groups and soon we have maybe 40 riders in our group. This breaks the effectiveness of the group down as wheel suckers begin to take there toll. I've pulled at the front many times now and realize I'm paying a price. I start to look with envy at the guys in the back who have avoided riding "at the front".
Around mile 95 we latch onto the main chase group again! The motorcycle with its beautiful blue and red lights are flashing. I remark to one of the original two guys that struggled with me for miles that all we have to do is hang with this group and we're in. My garmin now tells me we are on a 4:50 pace and I start having platinum dreams...and then it happens. The group does a surge and I spool up to match it and a blinding cramp travels down my left thigh. I immediately straighten this leg to work out the cramp when my right leg cramps too. I try to twist my foot out of my Look pedals but my feet might as well have been in a vice. My legs are cramping so bad I can't put out enough torque to get the pedals to release. Shit, it takes only a few ounces of pressure to normally release my foot from the pedals and I can't do it. My speed drops from 23 mph to 17 and I'm going backwards as far as my group is concerned. One of the two guys slows for a second and looks at me without saying anything but I can see that he wants to know what I'm doing. I say one word, "cramp". He acknowledges this with a head shake and scurries up the road to avoid being dropped by the pack. Finally the end of my group flows by and I'm officially OTB.
It is one of the most horrible feelings in bike racing, and the most lonely. I look behind me and can't see a single rider. I look down at my garmin and see I'm at mile 101 - so close. The next 8 miles are a nightmare. My legs are cramping so bad that I can barely maintain 15 mph and yet nobody is passing me. I come across a couple of riders that have flat tires and I think how bad they must feel to have come so close to breaking 5 hours...and I remember I'm one of them. Somehow I make it through the city and within a mile of the finish, a traffic cop doesn't see me and opens the intersection to traffic, forcing me to stop. This is real bad as my cramping legs don't want to hold me up, I need to keep moving. He apologises to me and says he just didn't see me. I lose two minutes waiting for the light to turn green.
I cross the finish line in 5 hours, 13 minutes and 26 seconds. I take 493 place out of over 3600 riders. My average pace is 20.7 mph. The announcer actually calls out my name and city. My wife and daughter perk up at my name and see me cross the line - the benefit of being shelled off the back and coming in alone. Here is the link for the results:
El Tour Unofficial Results 2008 I limp over to my wife, the only thing keeping me up is my bike. Quite a change from last year when I finished strong but still over 5 hours. I realize that I didn't put in enough long miles before the tour. I put in a lot of intensity which would have been great for a typical 60 mile road race. And once again, my first thought right after the girl took off my timing chip was, never again. But within 30 minutes I was telling my wife that next year...
