This year, I hoped, would be different. Each of the previous years I’d finished the race had had some substantial gear issue. I was a little underprepared - both logistically and physically - for this year’s race, but I felt pretty confident that I wouldn’t repeat any issues from previous years, at least. And I was in good enough shape that that wouldn’t be an issue for making the finish.
At check-in there was gossip. RAAM is dead. The organizers killed The 508. The World Time Trial Championship was cancelled, also by the same organizers. Planet Ultra would take over running the time trials, and was looking to restore something like the original 508 course, but that would take time. Hopeful, because I think Debbie does a great job running the Planet Ultra events, but concerning that more events were disappearing. Friends: Hoodoo 500 is absolutely my favorite course, and I’m looking to help get together a relay team for next year, so if you’re up for riding ~130 mi in gorgeous areas spread over 2 days, get in touch!
Looking up the weather before the race, things looked… okayish. Likely rain, but not too hard, risk of cold weather on top of the mountains. Probably not too hot. I hadn’t brought rain gear aside from a lightweight disposable poncho, more carried in case of emergency than planning for rain. Maybe I should have brought my rain jacket, but it was back in Pasadena and the rain shouldn’t be that bad. Overall likely conditions: slight tailwind on the way out, possibly for the first 200-ish miles, and potentially bad headwinds for parts of the last 200. The middle might be calm. Rain around Boulder Mountain (as usual), and potentially quite cold in Cedar Breaks at night. Without real rain gear and with limited cold weather gear, I was pretty sure I could get through everything if I approached it right, but it could get very uncomfortable quickly if I did not. It would be ok. Probably.
The day before the race, I swapped my saddle. I’d been meaning to put a different saddle on that bike for a while, but had been unsure of which bike I’d race on and was putting it off. The Scott, which I’d raced on several years before, which was more comfortable and felt faster, but had rim brakes. Or, my newer Winspace, which just never felt quite right, didn’t have as good of climbing gears, but is 12-speed and has disc brakes. I ended up bringing the Winspace and put on the saddle, rode it for 2 blocks and decided the saddle was too high and lowered it, and hoped that was close enough.
I shared a hotel room with Roehl. He had joined the unsupported 300-mi race last minute, partly because The 508 had been cancelled. He’s still looking for a couple more 508 finishes, but we’ll have to see what happens with that race.
Unsupported racers start at 5 am. Solo supported racers at 7, and then relay teams at 9.
5 am on Saturday, the self supported 300 and 500 mile racers started. Holly was also racing the 500, the only other woman in my field. She’s a strong racer, and given my sporadic preparation this year, I knew she’d be ahead of me. Some other familiar faces, some brand new faces. We took some group photos and took off.
The first 8 miles getting out of the city are neutral, and we rode as a group. By mile 12, it was obvious that my saddle was still too high, and I stopped to readjust it. Most of the group was ahead of me, but 2 people passed while I was fixing my saddle. I got back on and passed the two of them, and was on the tail of the next rider.
Leaving Hurricane, there’s a section of road that just kind of sucks. There’s a climb with limited shoulder, followed by a flatter section where the shoulder sometimes disappears, or the edge of the road is the paint line with a rumble strip, and then it falls down a few inches into powdery sand. You can ride in the car lane with fast moving trucks that often don’t move over for you at all, and pass at 60 mph with 4” clearance, or ride on the rumble strip and have nearly a foot of clearance as you get violently bounced around. Sometimes there are a few inches of smooth asphalt to the right of the rumble strip, if you want to try to balance precariously there. It’s not quite as bad early in the morning, since there’s less traffic, but it gets worse for racers who start later in the day. Over the past few years, Debbie has tried to find mitigations. Last year, if you had a support crew, you were allowed to get into the support car and drive up the climb. This year, she extended the distance you were allowed to shuttle all the way to the Arizona border, cutting 20 miles off the total distance to ride, and avoiding the high speed shoulder-less section. Of course, if you were riding self-supported, there was no way to avoid riding that section.
The climb was uneventful. Not too much traffic yet. I was solidly behind all of the people in front of me, and ahead of the people behind me, so I saw no one. Shortly after the climb, I got a flat. I pulled my bike off into the bushes to patch it. I was carrying a spare tube and a patch kit, and while it was unlikely that I’d get many flats, I preferred to use patches as long as I could and reserve the new tube for anything impossible to patch. I found the little metal wire that had punctured it, removed it, removed the tire, and found the hole in the tube. I went to put glue on it from the patch kit, and found the glue had completely dried out. I had thought this was a new patch kit, but apparently not. And the patches don’t stick without glue. I had another spare tube in my drop bag at Escalante, around mile 200. If I used the tube here, I’d just have to hope that the next 160 miles wouldn’t include another puncture. Pretty good odds there - punctures are not that common - but still, not great. I wondered if putting a patch on without glue would work anyway, as the pressure from the tire against the tube might make it seal. Who knows. I put on my spare tube, and kept the punctured one in my bag just in case it would be useful later. As I got back on the road, one of the other unsupported 500-mi racers caught up with me. He’d also gotten a flat, but was riding tubeless, so only had to stop for a couple minutes to put more air in. I took off ahead.
Did I have any good options for mitigating the danger from another flat? The glue in the patch kits seems like it’s basically rubber cement, and there was a tiny chance that gas stations would carry rubber cement. Not likely, but worth checking. Maybe there’d be something else I could stick the patches with. A while ago, I’d also had a cheap and probably lower quality patch kit that just had sticker patches, with no accompanying glue. Maybe there would be some sort of sticker-like… something that I could use? Band-aids are breathable, so not those, but maybe some sort of water resistant sticker would be able to sit over a hole? It didn’t have to resist that much pressure, as I assumed that once the tube was pressed against the tire, that pressure would be doing most of the work to keep the covering over the hole.
I stopped at the gas station at the UT/AZ border. I hadn’t planned on stopping here, but I wanted to see what I could do about the spare tube situation. They didn’t have rubber cement, of course, and certainly no bike supplies. I bought a roll of electrical tape and refilled my water. It seemed like it might work to put a little piece over a hole, and if not, I might be able to use it to hold a patch in place. Worst case, it would probably be good enough to reduce any leak to something pretty slow, and I’d be able to keep moving forward with occasional stops to put air back in. Having the tape gave me confidence that another flat would at least not be race-ending. But hopefully I wouldn’t have to use it.
So much for the tailwinds. So far, the race progress had been slow due to headwinds of varying strength. Nothing too rough so far, but just a neverending wind making everything slower, harder, a bit irritating. Headwinds and cross-headwinds that would hopefully go away, and sometimes start to slow down, but then pick back up again. The course turned east in Arizona. The headwinds turned with the course. The course turned northeast, and the headwinds finally turned into crosswinds, with the occasional relieving gust of a tailwind. It felt like we were finally freed and could go without fighting.
Previous years, I’d often get caught by some of the supported racers around Coral Pink Sand Dunes. But, with the newly increased distance they could shuttle with their crew, and the time I spent fixing a flat in the sketchy highway area, most of them had missed me, passing by in a car while I was on the extreme edge of the road.
As the road turned further north, the crosswinds finally turned to cross-tailwinds, and eventually tailwinds.
On to Time Station 1. TS 1 is at a gas station, where I usually make my first stop, fill my bottles and hydration pack, and get a quick snack. This time I barely stopped, texting my time to Debbie and continuing on, as I’d refilled everything just a couple of hours ago at another gas station. What I had should be enough to get me to the gas station at TS 2, especially given that it wasn’t that hot.
The tailwind was inconsistent, but it continued.
I saw another racer on the course, and slowly caught up with him. It was Roehl. The 300- and 500-mile courses overlap for the first 130 miles, and we rode together for a bit. He said his GPS tracker had somehow fallen out of his bag on a descent, and he had to go a little bit back up and look for it. When he found it, it wasn’t working anymore. He’d let the race organizers know, and would text them time updates at the time stations, but his location wasn’t updating on the map anymore. He texted a group of ultra racers and riders that we’re in to let them know, so that anyone dot-watching wouldn’t worry.
For the next several miles, I ended up leapfrogging with Roehl and one of the supported racers. Roehl and I are both small, and faster than most at climbing. When the roads get flatter, the larger and stronger racers have the advantage.
I was running low on water.
It was not THAT far to the next time station. Another 40 miles or so. But it was 2200 ft of climbing. It was not too hot, and there was a tailwind. Maybe that was ok? I’ve certainly done 40 miles without much water, and it was fine, but this might be pushing it. There was a gas station a few miles up ahead. Inconveniently located on the other side of the highway, but that’s ok. I finished my water. Roehl caught up to me just before the gas station, and we both went in to refill, along with another self-supported 300-mi racer. I left before them, and said goodbye for the rest of the race. The courses would split soon, so I wouldn’t see them again until after the finish.
There was so much roadkill. Throughout the course, so many dead deer in varying states of decay. Some bloated and swarmed with flies, some with their insides torn out, and some just scattered bones. It seemed worse than normal this year. They all have the same distinctive smell.
The course turned right towards Bryce. It was warm, and more humid than normal. There were storm clouds far off in the distance. Nothing threatening yet, but we were headed in that direction. The course would go onto a bike path that climbed through gorgeous rocks up to Time Station 2. I’d usually see other racers around here, but who knows where they were given the extra distance they were allowed to shuttle near the beginning of the race.
In some ways it’s a nice bike path. Nice trees, nice rocks, empty but not abandoned. It is also full of slightly too wide cracks that span the width of the path and go THUNK as you go over them every few seconds. They are jarring and uncomfortable, and you think, “maybe if I go over the part with some weeds growing out of it,” or, “maybe if I go over the part where the crack is at an angle,” or, “maybe if I go over it really fast or slow,” maybe then the next one will be less jarring. But it isn’t.
At TS 2 at the top of the climb, I ran into 2 relay teams. They had been just ahead of me, and stopped to swap riders and take care of some other logistics. People I knew from previous years’ races that are like family now. In these races, everyone cheers everyone else on, everyone wants everyone else to do well. Everyone cheers me on because I don’t have a crew and they want to be there for me. I cheer them on because they are the most wonderful people.
I texted Debbie my time, got water and ice, reapplied sunscreen and chamois cream, and continued. There’s a smooth and fast descent through Bryce into Tropic. Tropic was humid from the weather and humid from the agriculture. The air was full of bugs that you could eat if you were careless or adventurous.
Then the climb towards Escalante. I didn’t really see anyone after this. I got passed by a few support vehicles, and maybe a couple of riders, but they passed without a word.
On rides and races like this, you have time. Time to stare at the landscape, time to grind, time to sit alone and think. Time to go up the climb at 4 mph or 12 mph and remember that you should text that person in Colorado and wonder what that friend on the other side of the country is up to. Time to come up with an entire plan and evaluate it and scrap it. And time to come up with a new even better, or even worse, plan.
Around mile 178, the road gets steep. 8-11% for a couple of miles. I could tell at this point I was getting tired enough that I couldn’t, or maybe could but shouldn’t, just put in a rush of power to knock out the climb quickly. I could grind through it, though. Maybe if I had trained more consistently, maybe if I had just done more repeats on Chantry, maybe then I could have bumped up my output and powered up the hill. I went up at a slow but steady 5 mph. Good enough.
And then down to Escalante. I got rained on, then dried out, then rained on again before I got there. Later than I would have preferred, but substantially earlier than I would have considered concerning. Our first drop bags were at TS 3 in Escalante, where they had a hotel room and we could clean up or nap. Usually I’ve stopped for a nap here, but I was worried about the weather on Boulder mountain, and wanted to get as much of the climb in the light as I could. Previous years, I’d been caught in frigid rainstorms and I did not have real rain gear this time. Rain hadn’t been in the forecast for the mountain, but there’s always rain somewhere up there.
I grabbed the extra tube I’d put in my drop bag there, some food, and refilled my bottles. I realized as I was repacking that I actually had another spare tube that I’d forgotten I’d put in my saddle bag. Good. I didn’t bother changing into a new kit, because I just wanted to get out of there fast. At least now I didn’t have to be concerned about getting a flat without a spare tube.
I repacked so my warm clothing was most accessible, knowing that I was likely to underfuel if my food was too buried under leg warmers and warm gloves, but that was ok. I would unpack things to eat if I ran out of food in my pockets, or I wouldn’t and I would eat later.
It was still pretty light when I left. Sometimes I’ve left this time station in the dark, and that hasn’t generally gone well. Still possible to finish in time, but it’s a long climb in the dark. It rained again, but it let up. I didn’t put on the poncho, because I was hoping that if the rain was light enough, I would dry off afterwards, and a flimsy rain poncho adds all sorts of inconvenient air resistance. The temperature slowly fell. It was warm, then for a long time it was comfortable. I didn’t put on my wind jacket, because it was comfortable while I was climbing, a little chilly on the descents, and I didn’t want to risk it getting wet.
Huge flashes of lightning off in the distance. In all directions. The sky was cloudy, but the storm wasn’t here.
Thinking of you.
My headlight went out. I kind of expected this, since the battery doesn’t last forever. I had a spare one, but it was a bit annoying to mount without another light source, so I plugged in my power bank to the one on my bike, and held the spare one in my hand for a while while I rode. Good enough to see, good enough to be seen. Got enough charge into the one mounted on my bike to be confident in it for another couple of hours. I put on my headphones to listen to music.
A couple of miles from the top, it started getting colder. Just get to the top, and descend, and it will be warm again. And then huge raindrops started falling. I pulled over and got my rain poncho out of the top of my bag. Thin and flimsy, so it would take up no space in my bag, I had been hoping not to need it, but getting soaked on the top of a cold mountain would have been bad. The rain fell faster. Just as I was unfolding the poncho, a pickup truck going the opposite direction pulled over and yelled out the window, “DO YOU NEED HELP??” I told them that I was ok, just needed to get to the other side. “IT’S RAINING REALLY HARD, ARE YOU SURE??” I told them I had a flimsy rain jacket, and it would be ok. “DO YOU WANT A TRASH BAG??? WE HAVE A TRASH BAG. IT IS ONE OF THOSE HEAVY DUTY ONES AND WE CAN CUT HOLES SO YOU CAN WEAR IT.” I paused. You know, maybe that’s a good idea. “Uh, sure? Actually that would be really great. Do you know if it’s raining all the way down the other side of the mountain?” They got out of their car with their trash bag and cut head and arm holes. They told me they weren’t sure about the other side of the mountain, but it was raining really hard for the next few miles along this road, at least. They said they were just fishing up at the lake there, and were heading home now. I’m pretty sure there is no lake there, and people don’t fish at 11:30 pm, but you don’t question trail angels with trash bags in the middle of heavy rainstorms.
I thanked them, and they wished me luck, and I kept climbing. After another mile or so, right around the top, the rain stopped. I left the poncho and trash bag on, in case it started raining again. And they were good at blocking the wind to mitigate windchill. Besides, it’s not like I need to be aero on a descent in the dark when I’ll be riding my brakes the whole way down anyway.
The trash bag was surprisingly effective and warm. Maybe I should carry those instead of ponchos.
I got into Torrey and refilled my bottles at a spigot at a closed gas station. I held onto the poncho and the trash bag just in case, hoping it wouldn’t rain too much more. At least in the short term, it looked ok. Still huge flashes of lightning way off in the distance in multiple directions, but it was calm here. I ate a bunch of food, since I hadn’t been eating on the mountain. Swapped out my headlight to a fully charged one, and kept going. It was late. Normally I’d have taken a nap by now, at Escalante or while climbing the mountain, or both, but I had really wanted to get past Boulder as quickly as possible. Torrey wasn’t a very good place to stop, but if I went another 10 miles or so, just past the next time station, there were places I could lie down.
I rode towards Bicknell and texted in my time for TS 4. It started to rain, lightly, as I got there. I figured that then was as good a time as any to stop, and there was a closed business with a roof over the sidewalk that I could hide under. Not ideal, but I didn’t want to be taking a break sitting in a puddle in wet grass. Hard concrete is not the best place to lie down, but it was dry and I could use my hydration pack as a pillow. I was a little wet, but it was warm enough. I stopped for maybe 40 minutes. Not as long as I would have wanted to rest, but it wasn’t very comfortable and the rain stopped, so I thought I should keep going and ride while it was dry.
I got into Loa and threw out the trash bag and poncho. The sky didn’t look so heavy anymore, and if it did rain, it would probably be less. But I should do as much of the next section in the dark, or at least before it got hot, as I could. That section can be brutal some years, with hot sun and headwinds that pick up as you get into the day. Maybe I could make it through part of it while it was still cool and calm.
It started raining again. But it was getting light and warm enough that it didn’t matter. And it eventually stopped. Reaching the beginning of a long flat section, I thought this might be a good time to take a break. The rain had stopped. There was grass to sit in, or sand, and I might get in a nap. But the side of the road was mud. The grass was mud. The bushes were mud. The rocks were mud. I got off my bike and just stood there for a few minutes to take a break from sitting in the same position, but I couldn’t exactly relax here. I kept going.
It was overcast, thankfully, so it wasn’t hot. Occasionally I’d ride over road that looked like it had recently been soaked, and the water would spray up onto me. It was wet, but not raining. I like to think that the storms had something to do with the headwinds holding off until later in the day. I was tired. Everything was wet. But at least it wasn’t hot.
As I got towards Otter Creek Reservoir, the sky cleared, and everything dried out. It got warm. The headwinds started picking up. It was less dreary, but I don’t think it was an improvement. I will take light rain over headwinds any day.
The course turned towards Circleville. I had more water in my bottles than I ever had in any previous years. Perhaps the only year I’ve had zero concerns about water here. Everything had dried up enough that it would have been a good spot to stop, but the road has no space next to it here. It runs right up against a rock wall, and the other side falls down a slope into a river. I pulled off to a small space on the side and rearranged my clothing, and put on sunscreen. I kept going. Maybe I could take a break later.
The headwinds slowly increased and it started raining as I got to Circleville. The rain was not too hard, or too cold, and I was more concerned about the wind at this point. This area had had bad winds previous years.
Stronger headwinds. I went from 15 mph, down to 10, down to 8. Dropped into the small chainring on the flat sections and pushed through at 5 mph, up to 6 on any descents. After the race, I complained to another racer that I was stuck going 5 mph in those winds, and they responded, “That fast?? I don’t think I was going that fast.” When it’s that windy, you want to get off and walk. Walking is less demoralizing and less exhausting, but it doesn’t actually help. The only thing to do is to keep pushing past it, and eventually you will get out of it somehow. I did stop in some strong gusts. No use wearing myself out to push through at an even slower speed when hopefully the gust will end. I was tired.
Debbie texted me that the staff at TS 5 had to leave early, but my drop bag was in a hotel room there and to just ask the front desk and they’d let me in. She said I could leave my drop bag there once I got what I needed, and she would pick it up later and mail it to me. It’s the last stop before the climb up Cedar Breaks, and I debated staying there to rest for a bit, or just going straight up Cedar Breaks to try to finish the mountain before it got cold. The weather predictions had it in the 40s around the top this year if I got there too late at night.
Slowly, I crawled the rest of the way to Panguitch and TS 5. I was too tired to push harder, but I can keep grinding forever.
I got to the hotel. To the time station. The hotel manager was confused about why I would want to get into a room and said I couldn’t check in, but then saw multiple notes left for him about the race and about letting me in, and said he could open the room so I could get my bag and leave. I told him I needed a few minutes to reorganize things, so he let me into the room and stared at me while I opened my bag. I told him it would be a few minutes, so he doesn’t need to wait for me. I changed into a new kit, and dumped the contents of my drop bag on the bed. I put my feet up against the wall for a few minutes, and the hotel manager came back in and said I couldn’t stay there and that I need to leave, and that it’s already past time for check out. Previous years, we’ve had the hotel room all afternoon and they haven’t rushed us, but he didn’t understand what the event was, or why I was there, and kept telling me that I needed to leave. I told him I needed to repack my bag and would leave, and he told me I need to already have left. I went through my drop bag and picked out some food, swapped my power bank to a new one, put on a few new tail lights, new sunscreen and chamois cream, and left. The hotel manager repeatedly knocked on or stood in the door while I was doing this, and I left in a rush. I told him that Debbie said she’d pick up my bag a little later, and he could hold it at the front desk if he didn’t want it in the room. He was confused about why I was leaving a bag there, and I tried to explain it twice before I left. He eventually agreed to hold it at the front desk, but didn’t think it made sense. I texted Debbie to check with the hotel about the drop bag, because the manager seemed confused. And then I left.
The climb up Cedar Breaks wasn’t bad. Most years I’ve done it, it’s been miserably hot and exposed. Last year it was frigid rain. This year was overcast. Light headwinds, but they were forgivable. I was tired, but I didn’t want to take a break on the climb. If I took too long to get to the top, it might get really cold, and it would be better to rest on the other side. So I kept going. But I was so tired.
Sometimes you wonder if the % grade shown on your bike computer is correct. Sometimes it obviously isn’t, like when you’re on a hard climb and it says 1%, or when you’re on an easy climb and it claims 12%. But most of the time it is in the right ballpark. Usually I can spin pretty comfortably and keep a decent cadence up to 6-7%, then it becomes a slower grind. This climb was harder. I don’t know if it was because I was tired, or the elevation, or my computer was just lying to me, but I couldn’t spin comfortably above what it claimed was a 3% grade. 5% was hard. Anything over 6% and I was standing to keep going, when usually that doesn’t happen until 8-10%.
Everything was slow. The climbs were slow. The flat sections had light headwinds and were slow. But I only needed to average 4 mph to make it to the top before dark, and that was never in question.
I made it to the top in full light for the first time ever. And the best part is that this meant I could do the descent in the light. It’s a 17 mile descent into Parowan and starts very steep. Past years, it’s been sketchy on rim brakes, and last year a friend crashed on it. Not due to being reckless. But this time I went fast. For the first time, I could see the whole road up ahead, see where the turns were, choose my lines before going into them. Take the corners fast because I knew what was coming up. I think I did that descent in less than a third the time it normally takes me. I got to Parowan around sunset.
After the race, I learned that 2 different riders had overheated their brakes to the point of delaminating the carbon rims and destroying wheels on that descent.
Around sunset, especially around somewhat populated areas, is not a good time to take a break. If it’s the middle of the day, people think you’re just hanging out and don’t bother you. At night, no one sees you there. Around sunset, if you’re sitting off to the side of the road, people ask if you’re ok. People want to make sure, so they bother you.
I was tired, but I kept riding. It would get dark eventually. And it was mostly downhill from here. TS 6 was in Cedar City, not too far away.
TS 6 is at a big gas station. I texted in my time. I went inside and got some water and snacks, and asked one of the people working there if they sold pickles. Just looking for something salty. And she said, “No, but we have pickle juice! We put pickles on the food and we have a lot of pickle juice. I’ve sometimes given people shots of pickle juice if they want.” She was excited to be able to offer. I think she picked up on that I was on some sort of epic journey and she could help. “Oh that would be cool. Sure!” “Do you want more?? Usually I give people a little sauce cup of it but I could give you a whole cup if you want?!” “Uh, yes? Thank you?” She ran off to the back somewhere.
Someone else asked if I needed help. I replied that I was already being helped. Several minutes later, the woman came back with a cup full of pickle juice. She had the person at the register charge it as a fountain soda.
I drank it. It was probably too much pickle juice. I kept riding. Less than 90 miles left, overall downhill. A few little climbs in there, but nothing bad. Not really anywhere to stop between there and then end, but it was cool and dark and I had more than enough food and water.
The pickle juice did make me thirsty. I ended up drinking a lot of water over the next 10 miles. But I probably needed the salt and was probably dehydrated anyway.
Finally, it was completely dark, and the road went off into seemingly the middle of nowhere. I had been going pretty slowly because I was tired, and wasn’t making the time I wanted. But I could finally find somewhere to take a break and hopefully get a nap. At this point it wasn’t about getting rest to get energy back, it was about staving off sleepiness so that I could stay stable while riding. Don’t want to fall asleep on the bike.
I found a place off to the side of the road. It was dry. Sandy. Good for lying down. I set an alarm on my phone for 45 minutes, and tried to get some rest. I plugged in my lights to charge and laid down.
Some time later, I heard someone shout. “Hey! Can you pull over! Hey! I need to get some stuff!” It was another racer, shouting to his crew. He saw me off to the side of the road, and I think I surprised him. I told him I was fine, just taking a rest. It had been a little over a half hour, but I was awake now. I put my power bank back in my bag, readjusted my clothes, put on my headphones, turned on my lights, and got back on the road.
I went to turn on music, and realized my phone wasn’t in my pocket. Shit. I immediately stopped and turned around. I’d gone maybe a half a mile, and had no idea how I would find it. I slowly rode back up the wrong side of the road, looking. It would be invisible in the dark. I didn’t have any way to track it or make it make noise. I stopped and looked through my bike computer to see if there was any way to make my phone do anything from there. It said it wasn’t connected to my phone anymore. I pulled out my spare headlight and shone it on the side of the road. The sand was smooth. Maybe I could find the place where the sand was disturbed where I’d laid down. I rode up the road slowly, looking. Nothing.
I needed my phone. Not just in general, but also because Debbie wanted us to call as we get close to the finish, so she can be at the finish line when we get in. I kept going up the road, slowly. Even if I were to finish without my phone, there’d be no way I could find it here tomorrow.
And then I heard a sound. Quiet. Notes. I followed it. Just a little further up the road, the alarm on my phone was going off. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I was repacking, and was on the ground next to where I had been. Pure luck that I had forgotten to turn off the alarm, and that it had been audible from where I was. But I found it. I put it back in my pocket. And I turned on music.
From here to the end was a crawl. I was slow. I was sleepy and pulled over a few more times to rest, but didn’t want to take that long of a nap so close to the end. Just enough to stay safe and not fall asleep.
I had no power for the climbs anymore. I don’t think this was training related, though. I don’t think climbing Chantry more would have helped. I just hadn’t gotten enough rest earlier. I could still get up every climb, and I didn’t have to stop, but every climb, no matter how gradual, was at 6 mph. Just turning the cranks, one after another.
More time to think. To plan the things you should think through just enough to scrap, to play out in an alternate universe, to wish for, to know better than. It’s all far enough in the future that you don’t actually have to confront it yet, because right now you are stuck on this climb. And for the foreseeable future you are spinning your legs forever in surprisingly good weather at an agonizingly slow speed, inching closer to the end.
I made it to the top of Snow Canyon, and called Debbie so she could be awake when I got in. Later than I was hoping for, but I wasn’t unhappy about it. I bombed down Snow Canyon and into the outskirts of St. George. At least I would be getting in before any light in the sky. There were construction cones all over the road as I got into the city. Extra confusion that I didn’t need at the end of the 520 miles. But I got there. One last tiny agonizing hill at the end, and then the finish line.
Debbie was waiting for me at the finish line, along with Holly. Holly was the only other female 500-mi unsupported racer and had finished hours earlier. She met me with a huge smile as always, and congratulations. Debbie told me that one thing she knew she could count on with me is that I will always be ok, no matter what happens out on the course. That’s not the case for everyone. I am not always the fastest. But I will figure out anything that gets thrown at me.
Route: https://ridewithgps.com/routes/37246553
Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/19994188028
