This year, The 508 was only 3 weeks after HooDoo500. Usually there are 4 weeks. For these 500-mile races, I usually take about 2 weeks recovery time after the race, and I don’t do too much riding the 1 week before the race. This meant that this year, I barely did any riding between the races - just one relatively easy 55 mi ride with a friend in east bay, and one trip up Mt. Um. In some ways, this made it feel like I wasn’t really preparing for the race, but at the same time, I was going into it well rested, so it was possible that would work out better than previous times.
The Mosquito fire is burning near Tahoe, and the wind has been blowing the smoke over Reno. The air in Reno has been dark and ashy, dimming the sun to a light orange circle that doesn’t seem to quite shine through. Like in 2020, the organizers said that it should clear up the day of the race, but of course there were no guarantees. After my experience riding through the smoke that year - and consequently dropping out due to the smoke - I planned to ride in a mask this year. It would slow me down, and be sweaty and uncomfortable, but I was much more likely to complete the race if I didn’t inhale a lot of smoke. And besides, looking at the smoke maps the days leading up to the race, it seemed like you’d only have to get 40 or so miles outside of Reno for the smoke to let up.
In addition to the smoke, I was watching the weather. Weather is always a big component of this race, and it was nice to see that there was no precipitation in the forecast, but it was likely to get down to freezing. The afternoon of the first day was likely to get hot around the long and exposed climb, but only into the 80s or maybe low 90s.
For the cold night, I went and bought a fleece vest. I wanted something insulative that I could put under my wind jacket, but that was breathable. One of the things I try most to avoid in the cold is getting hot enough that I get sweaty, and then having to ride in wet clothes. So I figured that if I was getting too warm, I could easily take off my jacket, and the wind would blow through the fleece and dry/cool it quickly. In addition to that, I had waterproof gloves, arm warmers, several neck gaiters, knee warmers, wool socks, and toe covers.
For the sun, I had a hat with a neck cover, sunsleeves, and always sunscreen.
Race prep:
Check the weather
Check the smoke
Review the course
When I raced HooDoo this year, I made note of the maximum heights and mile markers for the largest climbs, and wrote that on tape on my handlebars. I liked having that information easily accessible, so I did it again this time, in even more detail. I like to think that it helped with pacing to know how much further I’d have to go to the next landmark at any point in time.
This year the race was under new management, and they decided to get rid of the neutral section at the beginning. Several racers were disappointed with this, since the neutral section is really the only time you get to talk with and meet the other racers, and it’s a nice slow warmup following a lead car. This year there was no lead car, and they told us the race starts when we leave the start line.
We rolled out of the start line and rode at an easy pace. We rode the first section like it was neutral, even if it wasn’t. I chatted with several people, meeting a couple other randonneurs, and a woman from Boulder racing solo supported, as her first 500 mile race. I gave her some tips for the race, though I’m sure the information that people consider valuable varies from rider to rider.
About 10-15% of the riders wore masks. I’d chosen a N95 with a valve, which I hoped would prevent it from getting too gross and humid inside. It let in a little more smoke smell than another mask I had without a valve, but I wasn’t sure I could tolerate that other one for too long. Mirko had a reusable mask that looked high quality, and I meant to ask him what it was, but I forgot.
We reached the first climb, and the slow moving pack split up, as the real race began.
I kept my mask on through the climb. Keeping my mask on for this climb had put me behind almost every racer in 2020, but this time I figured that it didn’t matter if I got behind, because I’d likely be at an advantage later over people who would start to have trouble with the smoke. And I wasn’t really racing against any other people on the course - they were all in different categories. The time that I was trying to beat should be possible even if I go slow at the beginning. So I did.
I was surprised that, while most of the pack was ahead of me, I dropped a handful of people on the climb. I have an advantage climbing because I don’t have to push as much weight up the hill, but I’m carrying more gear than all the supported riders, so they tend to go a bit faster.
20 miles out was still smokey. 50 miles out I reached the first time station, and texted in my time to race HQ. Still smoke. I thought it would be clear by here. 80 miles out the smell of smoke finally started to clear, and while it still looked hazy, it seemed enough better (and was clearing rapidly enough) that I thought I could ditch my mask without putting the race at risk. It would be so much easier to breathe without it. I left my mask at the time station in Fallon, and continued into the hazy hills, hoping I’d made the right decision.
A message popped up on my GPS:
Kym, how's the smoke situation?
(oh wait she started already, never mind)
I’d told my team at work about this race (and the smoke), and messages to the team chat that were received by my phone got passed onto the little screen on my handlebars. I mute them when there are too many, but it’s kind of fun getting little connections to the outside world in the middle of nowhere on the race. I snapped a photo and sent it back with a few sentences.
After Fallon, there was a rest stop for randonneur (self supported) racers, around mile 125. The guy staffing it had raced self supported last year, and we’d met on the course. A few days before the race this year, I found a note from him on my desk at work, as he also apparently works at Google. He had set up a nice spot for us, with a table and chairs under an umbrella, and lots of goodies in addition to our drop bags. And the most necessary supply: water.
I got to Sean’s stop at Middlegate around the same time as multiple other randonneurs. I had been not too far behind Mirko for most of the race so far, and he was still there when I arrived. I had learned last year that he also works at Google, and while we all stood around talking, I brought it up.
I told Sean that after the race last year, Mirko and I had been chatting and when I mentioned Charlie’s name, we quickly determined we all worked at the same place. He asked who Charlie was, and neither I nor Mirko could recall a last name at the time (Mmmmm? I think it’s an M.). When I finally did recall “Martin”, another racer piped up, “Oh, I know Charlie! I’ve ridden with him, he’s a good guy!”
We left Middlegate and started up the long, hot climb. Here, finally, I was a bit faster than Mirko, and eventually dropped him.
I remember this climb always being more long, difficult, and hot than I expected. This time, it was exactly as long and difficult as I expected, since I had written the numbers on my handlebars. It was a little unexpected that it wasn’t more difficult than expected, and I was happy about that.
Past here, there’s a long, flat section of road that is full of little cracks. They’re just big enough to go THUNK every time you ride over one, and there are enough of them that there’s a constant thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk at maybe 60 hz for ~10 miles. Each thunk travels through the bike into your hands, then wrists, then hopefully most of the shock is absorbed by the time it hits your shoulders. It’s always made my hands hurt, and is the most unpleasant part of the race for me. This time, I brought extra pads to put in my gloves, specifically for this part.
I got to the cracked section. It looked like it had been resealed! Maybe it was better! But as I rode on it, it definitely was not.
It had been chip sealed. The new layer turned the surface a uniform dark gray, so you could no longer see the cracks as well, but each one still hurt. The chip seal hadn’t actually made it into the cracks to fill them. In addition to this, the newly added chips on the surface contributed a constant, angry vibration. The road was terrible before, and this was somehow much worse.
The rough section lasted much longer than I expected. It was unpleasant. Finally, the road started to approach Austin, and I was pleased to see that I was ahead of the pace I’d kept previous years.
When I got to Austin, it was still an hour until sunset. I chatted a little with my friend Paul who had volunteer to staff that time station, and other randonneurs on their way through. It’s always nice to have a break and be able to talk to people after being alone in the middle of nowhere for a while.
Someone said that Deanna ran into a cow, and then dropped out. She… ran into a cow?
The race rents a hotel room here for randonneurs to share for naps, cleaning up, changing clothes, or anything else. Previous years, I’d stopped to take a nap here before continuing, but this time it was too early for me to be able to sleep. I went into the room and took a quick shower to wash off the sunscreen and accumulated grime, then spent a while on one of the beds alternately putting my feet up and stretching my legs. Anything to increase bloodflow and refresh the muscles. It makes a big difference. I got some food from the gas station.
I came out of the room into the dark. It hadn’t gotten cold yet, but I put on my fleece vest, and put my wind jacket in my pocket.
The combination of clothes that I had turned out to be exactly right for the weather. I was pleased with that.
From Austin to Eureka is generally boring, and at night. So I listened to music. Over time, I’ve found that music can play a major role in keeping a consistent pace at night, and preventing me from getting too sleepy or zoning out due to the lack of visual stimulation. The week leading up to the race, I’d built a playlist, curated for tempo and energy. It served me well.
Many racers passed me going the opposite direction. I shouted cheers at every one of them. Some of them cheered back.
I got to Eureka. I had been considering sleeping there when I got there, but I was making good time, and thought I could make it back to Austin before I got too tired.
I went into the gas station next to the time station, and bought a large cup of hot chocolate. It burned my tongue.
It’s always a task to get enough calories on rides and races like these, so anything to get more calories is good. I had food in my pockets, but got some candy bars as well. You can’t ride with chocolate in your pockets during the day, as it will melt, but it’s good for sugar and calories at night.
I left Eureka and headed back towards Austin. There were only a few racers behind me, and I saw them approaching Eureka as I left.
I slowly caught up to and passed one, and then another supported rider. And a couple of randonneurs who were riding together. They seemed to be having difficulty keeping pace in the middle of the night. Understandable.
It only got down to about 40 degrees. We got lucky.
I was concerned about the climb up to Austin, as I usually get there late enough in the morning that it’s starting to get hot, while I’m dressed for very cold weather, and don’t have anywhere to put my jacket and other warm clothes if I take it off. Fortunately, this time I got there early enough that it hadn’t warmed up too much yet, and made it back to Paul at Austin.
I took my drop bag into the hotel room and rinsed off quickly in the shower, took a very, very brief nap, and changed into clothes for the sun. I put on sunscreen. I left my arm warmers and vest - I had room to carry the arm warmers, but it seemed likely that I’d be ok without them, even if it got chilly towards the end of the race.
And then I left Austin to battle that bumpy and jittery road again.
Part way through, the wind started to pick up. Blowing in a straight headwind, it slowly went from annoying to problematic. As the wind increased, I dropped into lower and lower gears, until I was spinning in my lowest gear, and going forward at around 6 mph. Without the wind, I could easily maintain 15-20 mph through this section. With it, I was getting nowhere. I definitely wouldn’t get back in time if I was stuck riding 6 mph.
Another randonneur and I occasionally caught up to each other and leapfrogged, as either one of us stopped to take a break from the wind and mentally regroup.
The bumps on the road ended. The wind continued. It was not too far that the road turned and climbed into mountains, which would hopefully at least put the wind at a different angle, but it seemed so far away at my slow pace. I stopped for a break and sat off the side of the road, in the minimal shade offered by a 2 ft bush.
Paul’s car zoomed past me without him noticing - all the racers had passed his time station and he’d closed it, and was now driving around to check on the racers. I texted him that he’d passed me, and saw him come to a stop and turn around a minute later.
The wind died down.
He pulled over his car and got out to ask how I was doing. I was fine, just taking a break from the rough winds. He said the winds were supposed to be much worse after the descent from the mountains. I told him that I didn’t think it could be much worse than this - or than it was, at least - it had gotten calmer since he stopped to check on me.
I finally got to the climb ahead of me and, in addition to the wind dying down some, it was no longer a headwind. There were some cows walking on the other side of the road, and I cautiously pedaled past them. They stopped to stare at me. Another group of cows further ahead did the same.
I reached the top of the climb, and dropped down the long descent to Middlegate. It was windy here, but not as bad. I stopped at Middlegate to resupply, and left with another randonneur who had gotten there shortly before me. We decided to try to ride together to fight the wind.
It quickly became apparent that we couldn’t ride together. When it was less windy, I was going much faster than he wanted to ride. When the wind picked up, it took all my effort to keep up with him for a few minutes, and then I would be dropped. While my size works to my benefit on climbs, it’s a big disadvantage in the wind - I get pushed around much more easily due to having less mass (and a higher surface area to mass ratio, as one scales with a square and the other a cube). So we split up.
It was starting to get smokey. My mask was 50 miles away.
Over the next 50 miles, I averaged maybe 14 mph. I run a lot of numbers in my head while I’m riding, and I reached a point where I’d have to maintain 12 mph average to beat my previous course record. That was very doable, assuming conditions didn’t change too much.
The wind gradually increased.
By the time I’d gotten to Fallon, the smoke cleared. I picked up my mask and put it in my bag in case I needed it later. The randonneur I’d been riding with had gotten to that time station just a bit before me, and was sitting and relaxing, chatting with the time station staff. I ended up spending longer than I intended there. The TS staff told us that it was supposed to be really windy from 5 until 8, but it should clear up around 8.
I hadn’t been eating enough, but all the sugary stuff was making my mouth sour and gross. I had more sweet snacks in my drop bag, but didn’t want those. I went into the gas station nearby and got some pickles, and a mango smoothie. I knew that I probably wouldn’t eat enough during the rest of the race with how my mouth was feeling, but that I wasn’t going to be going very hard and so it would be ok.
I left the time station while the other randonneur was still getting ready to go. The wind picked up.
At this point, I could only maintain about 12 mph in the wind. I might be able to beat my previous time, but it was seeming less and less likely. I had a lot of margin between that and the cutoff time, though, so I wasn’t too worried about making the cutoff.
The wind increased.
As I headed towards the final time station at Silver Springs, it got dark. My speed had dropped to 9-10 mph. I stopped a couple times to regroup. It was almost 8pm. One of the race officials drove past me and pulled over. She got out of her car and wanted to check on how I was doing. Slow, but ok. Frustrated with the wind. I wasn’t going to beat my previous time, but I was unconcerned about making the cutoff, so I was just taking it at an easy pace. She got back on the road to check on the others.
8pm passed. The wind increased. I passed the final time station with no one staffing it, texted in my time, and kept going. 18 miles to the turnoff to Six Mile Canyon Rd, the final steep climb in the race.
20 mph headwinds. I rode in my lowest gear, trying hard to stay above 5 mph. Every 20 minutes or so, I stopped to give my legs a break, or to stop and think about whether there was some better approach. 9pm. I pulled out my phone and checked the wind predictions. The wind was supposed to die down at 8pm in Reno. In Silver Springs, it was supposed to die down after 11. I pushed on a couple more blocks. I stopped and walked to sit behind some mound of dirt to get out of the wind for a few minutes. The wind increased. I got back on my bike and got a few blocks further.
10 pm. I had about 6 more miles to the turnoff to Six Mile Canyon. The headwinds would turn into crosswinds there and be much less of a problem. One mile at a time. I went for one mile and stopped again. I found a place to sit on the side of the road. Riding in this wind was wearing me out mentally, and I hadn’t gotten much sleep so far. I decided to just sit here for a bit - a half an hour sitting here wasn’t going to make or break the race, and I’d be in a better place to keep going afterwards.
I pulled off the side of the road and turned off my headlight. I found a place with a little shelter from the wind and closed my eyes. I thought through what remained in the race, whether I’d get too cold getting in later than I expected, how slow I would have to go to not be able to make the cutoff, how many other racers were still out there, anything but thinking about fighting the wind.
Finally, the wind started to die down. After sitting for 45 minutes, I got back on my bike. I could ride at 10 mph now. 12. 15. 17. I got to Six Mile Canyon and turned out of the headwinds. This was the last real challenge in the race, as everything after this was downhill, save for a couple miles on surface streets.
Six Mile Canyon is a steep road. Being at the end of the race, it hits you when you’re already spent, and can’t even think about going hard. A couple of years ago, I was riding with a racer who called it Eleven Mile Canyon, and another who changed it to Twenty Mile Canyon.
Progress up this was slow, but even with the elevation gain and grade, it wasn’t slower than that flat road out of Silver Springs. I told myself I could take breaks when I had to, since at this point I was guaranteed to finish, and had already missed my previous time. I only stopped once half way through, and once near the top when the road pitched up at an extreme angle for a block. I walked that block.
Finally at the top, I turned my headlight on to a brighter section and started the descent. The road was empty and wide enough to not have to be too careful on the turns. It was chilly, but not too cold. Descending felt good.
Eventually the road leveled out, and I was on a street with traffic lights and a bike lane. Just a couple more miles and a couple more turns until the finish line. I would get there around 3am. Cutoff at 6am. No need to rush.
Half a mile before the finish line, my headlight went out. I’d used up the battery putting it on the brighter setting for the descent. I stopped to plug it in and recharge it for a couple of minutes. I knew the race officials would be upset if I got to the finish line and was evidently riding without a headlight. Charging it for a few minutes would only give me a few minutes of time before it went dead again, but that should be enough for the last 5 blocks.
I got into the finish line. 3am. Paul was waiting with some grapes that I’d asked for. The race director said I'd descended the last hill faster than anyone else, and that he and Paul were watching my GPS tracker and were surprised at how quickly I'd gotten to the finish line from the top of the mountain. The race director handed me a finishers medal, I stood for a few pictures, and then went into the hotel to shower and sleep.
Even though I didn't beat my previous time, I consider this a win. I don't feel I made any mistakes in facing the challenges this year brought, and I was pleased with how well my night clothes worked with the temperatures.
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