Saturday, September 12, I’d finally settled in enough after my move to look beyond immediate organizational needs. I’d barely been outside since moving, due to a heatwave followed by the Bay Area being blanketed in hellish levels of smoke. The 508 was in 6 days. I emailed the race director to ask if it was too late to register. It wasn’t.
Rushing through all the planning and packing last minute, almost everything happened on Wednesday. Thursday would be the drive to Reno and registration, and Friday through Saturday the race. The disarray of clothes, equipment, and food I’d laid out on the floor fit neatly into 5 drop bags - I would be doing the race self supported. I counted the calories in the food, more out of curiosity than planning. 6800.
I pulled off the almost new bar tape I’d just put on with gel pads, and put on Supacaz. I knew that at least any issues I’d have with that tape I was experienced with, and it was more comfortable than the gel pads.
Thursday I picked up a rental car, packed my stuff into it, and started the drive to Reno. An hour into the drive, I realized that I’d forgotten my shoes. I didn’t have time to turn around to get them, so figured I’d have to find a bike store in Reno.
I got to Reno, checked in for the race, and went to search for shoes. The first store didn’t have any in my size. The second didn’t have any at all. The third had a pair of Specialized in my size. Under other conditions I wouldn’t have bought them - they’re much stiffer than I’m used to (I like shoes with just a little give for the very long races), and I don’t want to own any Specialized brand anything (anyone interested in a barely used pair of size 37 shoes?). But they would have to do. The only cleats they had were zero float, which they initially recommended against me buying “because they’re only for really serious cyclists,” but then said I had to buy because they were the only Look cleats they had in stock. Not the best combination. But I didn’t have time to be picky.
Reno was smoky. The race director and racers had all been watching the air quality index over the past several days. Tuesday it was over 200. Wednesday it was just below 200. The forecast said there should be a dramatic reduction in smoke Thursday night, and Friday should be below 100. Saturday could get worse, though, as winds drew more smoke from the CA fires to Reno. The race director sent out an email in advance, saying that if the air was too smoky on Friday morning we would move the start and end to Silver Springs, 50 mi into the course. Worst case we would move it to Fallon, 75 mi in. Silver Springs and Fallon had both had AQI in the 40s for the past week, and the air was supposed to dramatically clear once we left Reno.
Friday morning at 4:40 am, the racers stood spread out around the parking lot, wearing masks. One of them had on street clothes and a fixie with flat bars. He looked like he was dressed for an easy ride. He was racing self supported. The air was smoky, but not as bad as the previous day, and they decided to start in Reno because we’d be getting out of the smoke soon enough. 5 am, we rolled out of the parking lot for the 10 mile neutral section. Several riders took off their masks; I left mine on because the air at least smelled less smoky in it, whether or not it was actually making much of a difference. 3 mi into the neutral section of the 508 mi race, a small group tried to break away. We didn’t try to chase them. They gave up and slowed down to rejoin the group.
The beginning of the race almost immediately starts up a climb. As we climbed higher, the smoke got denser. With my mask on, I couldn’t breathe well enough to keep up with most of the other racers. Mask off, and everything smelled smoky. I opted to keep it on and get dropped. My goal this year was to beat my time last year, not to compete with the men who had support cars. They were racing a different race. I realized that while I was wearing a mask, I was neglecting to drink or eat anything, so tried to correct that. I got to the top and began the descent down the other side. Probably 90% of the racers were ahead of me by now.
The smoke did not clear on the other side. It was supposed to clear on the other side. Not ideal, but it was only 20 mi to Silver Springs, and if it would be clear there, it should start clearing up some time soon.
A train of wild horses walked along the highway we were on.
Silver Springs was not better. In fact, it looked even worse than Reno, but this may have been because it was so flat that you could see the accumulated smoke over a great distance. I checked into the first time station, and was near the end of the solo racers. Fallon was only 25 more miles. Fallon should be clear. Fallon was not clear.
I talked to the staff at the time station in Fallon when I checked in. They said it should be much clearer a bit further east. Though this was seeming less and less likely, there weren’t really any better options than to keep riding: bail on the ride and ride 75 mi back through increasingly dense smoke? Sit at the time station and try to get a ride from someone, possibly many hours later? I wanted to do the race, though, so long as I didn’t have to be riding in this much smoke for the next two days.
Leaving Fallon, the smoke started to let up a little bit. It still smelled smoky, but it was less dense. Then the wind picked up to a strong headwind, and we got hit with the first tentative touches of sprinkles for the day. The sort of headwind where you have to drop to your little chainring and pedal hard to maintain 10mph on a slight downhill. Now, solo riders with support crews are not allowed to work together. Self supported riders, though, are allowed to work together. I was fighting the headwinds alone, and was slowly gaining on another rider. As I got close to him, I saw he was carrying some sort of small backpack, so knew he was a self supported rider and I pushed hard to close the gap between us. He was the fixie rider with street clothes and flat bars. He had mountain bike shoes. I told him that we could work together to fight the wind, but that I wouldn’t be able to go much faster, just save him some energy at the same speed. So we did for a little bit. It was easier. It was slow. I dropped him after a bit.
The rain came by in light patches. I didn’t have rain gear, but it was barely enough to get you wet before it would stop. Sometimes it was fast, though, with the wind whipping it enough to sting your skin. I suspect some of the stinging hits were small balls of hail, but it disappeared too quickly to confirm.
The next stop was Middlegate. It’s not a time station, but they set up an extra spot for self supported riders to resupply from their drop bags. 125 mi in, the air was substantially clearer. The air was still smoky. I was well behind the racers in front of me, and well ahead of the ones behind me. The relay teams had started from Reno at 7 am and would start passing the solo riders soon. It’s kind of funny, 140 mi into a race, to see someone zoom past you at twice your pace because they’ve only just started their leg of the relay and haven’t had time to get tired yet.
We started up the biggest climb in the course. Indecisive wind blew from all directions, interrupted by spatterings of rain. It was a nice temperature - the sun had yet to come out from behind the smoke, but it wasn’t cold, so riding in wet clothes was bearable. I still had on some arm warmers that I’d started the ride with, and was just a little too warm in them. The wind stopped. It rained more. The rain stopped. A strong, cold tail wind picked up, threatening to pull away all my excess body heat and then some. And then it was calm. The sun cut through to shine light onto four feet of road. We kept climbing. It was still faintly smoky.
There’s a long flat section after the climb before getting to the next time station at Austin. Last year it was plentiful with animation - a windmill, a dust devil, and some jets overhead. Patches of road sparkling with thousands of frenzied ants. This year it was all dead and grey. The weight of the smoke lay over the land and blocked out the sun. The only point of interest was the 15 mile section on really bad roads, going over deep cracks that make your bike go ka-THUNK at three hertz. Every once in a while some rain drops tentatively smacked the ground and retreated. I slowly went up the climb to Austin.
I had gotten into Austin a bit later than I wanted. I was hoping to get to Eureka - the turnaround point - by 11 pm, which I knew would let me beat my time from last year. I got into Austin a bit after 6, and Eureka was just under 70 miles from there. Doable, but there were some climbs in there and I had been climbing unusually slowly so far due to the smoke. Now that I was tired, I didn’t expect my speed to increase much, even if the smoke were to let up more. I got a new kit out of my drop bag and changed, refilled my pockets with food, and was ready to go a bit before 7. I had packed my rain gear in my Eureka drop bag, so didn’t have access to it yet, but it didn’t seem like it should rain too much more. Besides, my arm warmers tended to let most rain roll off instead of absorbing it. I asked the staff at the time station if they knew if it was supposed to rain more, and they said that the forecast said there was a 50% chance of rain between now and 11. A distant clap of thunder rolled into an ominous rumble.
I left Austin and it immediately began to sprinkle as I climbed higher. It was still warm, though, and I had the choice of putting on my slightly water resistant wind jacket and getting everything wet with sweat, or leaving the jacket off and getting everything wet with rain. I chose the latter.
The dull grey slowly sunk into a deep black. The sky was a black unlike one that I’d seen before. No stars shone through the smoke and clouds, no moon backlit them, and there were no city lights to reflect off the bottom. It felt like a closed lid on a sky that should open out to infinity.
Flashes of lightning lit up corners of the sky. As I rode on, they grew larger. The small ones lit up large fields in the sky. The medium ones lit the entire sky. The large ones lit the entire landscape. A brief camera flash to expose the otherwise hidden world that had only been revealed in a spot by a headlight. Occasionally, the lightning would be followed by gentle thunder. Most of the time it was silent.
A searing white flashed across everything. For an uncomfortably long second, everything was black until my vision readjusted so that I could see the road by my headlight again. I wondered if I should preemptively blink at the hint of any lightning to avoid getting blinded. Twenty more lightning flashes and it happened again. I yelled at the sky.
The rain continued in fits and starts. The air cooled off, and the wind still couldn’t decide which way it was blowing. I was starting to get cold.
I climb slower in the dark when I can’t see where the road goes or what’s around me. I descend slower in the cold. I ride slower in the rain. I do everything slower when I’m tired. Only 20 miles left to Eureka, but so much time had already passed. There was no way I could get there by 11. Midnight maybe, but likely later. I stopped for a minute to try to warm up. It was just barely warm enough if I wasn’t riding. Back on the bike. Stop again to warm up. Back on the bike.
It was late. I could tell I was starting to have trouble concentrating on the road. There was no one else on the road, so it’s not like I was going to hit anyone, but that’s still not a situation you want to be in. I stopped to regroup mentally. 10 more miles. After stopping I was fine riding for a little while, but would start to get fuzzy again and stop to fix it. Stop to regain concentration. Stop to warm up. Stop to regain concentration. Stop to warm up. By the time I got to Eureka it was past 2. I was cold and wet. I had warm and dry clothes there.
My plan had been to get to Eureka before 11, turn around there without taking a break, and make it back to Austin and take a longer break and a nap there. But I knew that given how late it was, I wouldn’t make it back to Austin, so took a break there. They had some hotel rooms open for any self supported racers to share, so I took an hour long nap. At this point it was just about finishing. There was no way I could beat my previous year’s time, so I figured as long as I left by 5 am I was good - there was a 48 hour time limit, and the way back was overall downhill so it should be faster.
There wasn’t supposed to be any more rain in the race, but I put my rain gear on anyway. And new warm dry clothes - an undershirt, arm warmers, water and wind proof gloves, leg warmers, rain pants, toe covers. A scarf around my neck. I stuck some hand warmers down my shirt, which someone had suggested doing last year. Couldn’t hurt, and it was supposed to get really cold.
I left Eureka. A mile out, I realized I’d forgotten my water bottles and had to go back for them.
Surprisingly, it did not get cold. Forecasts said mid 20s, actual temperatures were likely in the 40s and 50s.
As the sun rose, I encountered fog. It started off light, but became so dense that you would be concerned about what may be invisible 30 feet in front of you. It condensed on everything. I had to take off my clear glasses because they collected drops of water. My rain jacket had formed a coating of droplets of water that condensed out of the air. My gloves had water on the outside. I was dry, but I was getting cold. This fog had a way of cooling down the material of your clothes, which would then eventually cool down your skin. I stopped multiple times to warm up my fingers. I stuck hand warmers in my gloves, but they only helped a little.
Can’t go fast into fog if you can’t see what’s in the fog.
Finally, the fog let up. The sun shone on the course for the first time during the race. I hoped it wouldn’t heat up too much before I got to Austin, since I didn’t have space in my bags to carry all of my rain gear.
The temperature inched upwards. Thin wisps of smoke crept around the hills in the distance.
I kept setting time goals for myself. If I could make it to Austin by 11, and I could maintain 11 mph after that, I would be good. Getting to Austin by 11 seemed iffy, but maintaining 11 mph should not be any sort of issue. Getting to Austin a bit later and going faster than 11 mph would also work.
There are two medium sized climbs getting into Austin from Eureka. Going up the first one, I was getting too hot and took off the rain jacket. I could store that one, but didn’t have anywhere to put my rain pants, so they had to stay on. In my initial planning for this race, I had assumed I’d leave Eureka by 11, or if I decided to nap there, by 2 am latest, so there was no need to worry about either getting rid of or finding a way to carry warm clothes before getting to Austin. The first climb was slow. I was too hot. It was a tiny bit smoky. My butt hurt.
I can keep spinning the pedals forever, but under some conditions it’s not going to be fast. But on rides like this, even if I go slowly up the climbs, I can generally make up for it on the flats and descents. I estimated I’d be into Austin around 11:30. Much, much later than I had aimed for, and making the cutoff time somewhat harder to hit, but it should still be doable.
But there might be smoke.
Towards the top of the climb, I ran into another solo racer, sitting with his crew. I asked what he was thinking about the rest of the race. He said he’d decided to DNF. I had considered that briefly, but I really wanted the finish. But this race was just not stacking up well. The smoke, getting very chilled, the cleats that weren’t quite right…
His team said they’d meet me in Austin in a few miles if I wanted to DNF and catch a ride off the mountain with them. I said I’d see them there.
I spent the next while thinking about what the rest of the race would look like.
The next climb would be long and hot. Then there was a long, easy descent, followed by over a hundred flat miles. That area was always a toss up for winds, and could be 100 miles fighting headwinds. Smoky headwinds. Then there was a long climb, then descent to the finish line. There was a good chance that towards the end I’d be under a little time pressure and want to push harder to make sure I made it. Push harder up a climb in the smoke. In the dark. In the early hours of the morning. Earlier in the race, the smoke had been bothering me even when I wasn’t pushing hard on the climbs. Now, when the smoke was supposed to have gotten even worse, that seemed like a dubious proposal.
I got to Austin. The time station staff confirmed that the smoke in Reno was indeed bad. I had a friendly ride off the mountain right there. I decided to DNF.
