In 2008 the lure of the 508 was still with me. My friend Rob and I conceived a plan to enter the 2008 Furnace Creek 508 as a 4-man team; Rob had a couple of friends that were potential team members.
Since the four of us did not live in the same area, I considered that there were unique complications that we would have to deal with right from the start. I felt that the main complication would be to judge the level of commitment for each team member before we could make a serious entry bid.
After discussing my concern with Rob I crafted a message to all of the tentative team members to address the question: How committed are you?
A few weeks passed and we got no response; it's easy to say that you'll do the 508. It's a bit more difficult to commit and actually do the 508.
The message said:
Team..
The 508 is a huge undertaking. The act of riding the bike is just a small part of having a successful event; the preparation and commitment is by far the most difficult stage.
Every team member needs to take a hard look at themselves and ask, "How committed am I?" The answer to that question cannot be a silent personal answer. That answer must be verbalized to every other team member. We all need to have complete confidence that each respective team member has a 100% sense of commitment to do what it takes to complete the 4X-Furnace Creek 508.
While I look forward to participating as a 4X Team entry, the prospect of negotiating through the team-dynamic introduces a whole new set of uncertainties. Because each of the team members here is not collocated, there will be additional uncertainty because of the distances between us. Typically 508 teams develop and train together leading up to the 508.
We must have a complete understanding of all rules and requirements. Take the time to read the rules a couple of times; we need to remove the uncertainty of a possible DQ because of a rules violation. For example, "Rule 14 D. Each team must enter with two or four racers (or eight if it is in the eight-racer tandem category). If one or more of the team members gets hurt or cannot ride, no substitutions or additions are allowed to their team roster. -DQ". We need a commitment to participate. My initial interpretation of the rule is once we register there can be no substitutions.
Training:
Everyone here is a cyclist; Training and physical preparation is a personal process. Ask yourself if you're willing to show up in October with the endurance and climbing skills that it takes to complete your stages. The 508 is a no-drafting solo event; you may want to prepare for that by doing most (or all) of your training solo; be prepared for wind. Before you can answer the commitment question you've got to consider the Team Entry rules. The rules state that if a team rider cannot complete a stage, the team must return to the last time station and start again with the next rider in the sequence (Rule 14 C.). Failure to complete an assigned stage will put a burden on the team's ability to complete the 508.
Equipment:
Every team member is responsible for the condition of their equipment. Everything should be in 100% operating condition well before the start of the 508. New bike, new wheels, new chain, new cassette, new chain-rings, etc. should be proven on a few shake-down rides before the October start. Discovering a problem on the day of the ride could result in a team DQ. Ask yourself if you can remove all uncertainties with your equipment before we line up at the starting line.
Support Van:
Each team member will be responsible to share in all of the support van rental, set-up, operating and maintenance expenses. We'll need to rent the van and have it ready for inspection on the Friday before the start. Those expenses will include: Rental Fees (including insurance), gas, lighting, signage, bicycle racks, etc. Ask yourself if you are able to commit to those expenses (and any other) that will arise. We need to have that financial commitment on the table before we can proceed as a team.
Logistics:
You're obviously going to be responsible to pay your portion of the entry fee and get yourself and all of your equipment to Santa Clarita early in the day on Friday before the start. In addition to that, every team member is required to share in the expenses for the accommodations at the start and for the accommodations at the finish (whether we make it to the finish or not). Ask yourself if you are able to commit to those expenses (and any other) that will arise. We'll also need to have that financial commitment on the table before we can proceed as a team.
This message is not meant to be the complete list of things needed to do the 508. The whole task is big. It is huge from the very beginning of our preparation. And it does not end until we shake hands and say good-bye back at the starting line in Valencia.
The 508 is a special event.
The 508 deserves 100% commitment.
Being part of a 4X_508 Team demands 100% commitment
How committed are you?
Eric Thrasher Troili
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Queen of Death Valley
Appendix 2 - The Queen of Death Valley
[Indigenous Peoples Literature - indigenouspeople.net]
"Ground Afire" is the meaning of the Indians' name for what is now known as Death Valley. "And in the height of summer there is no better name for this sun-tortured trench between blistered ranges. But when a group of forty-niners [1849] blundered into it, they renamed it Death Valley."
The valley and the high mountain ranges west and east of it are now called Death Valley National Monument. It is located in southeastern California and southwestern Nevada. Many square miles of the valley are below sea level--the lowest level in the Western Hemisphere.
More than 600 kinds of plants thrive in the valley. Its rocks make it a geologists' paradise. And for everyone, "the great charm of the area lies in its magnificent range of color, which varies from hour to hour."
Long, long ago, Indians used to say, this valley was beautiful and fertile. The people who lived there were ruled by a beautiful but capricious queen. One time she ordered them to build a mansion for her, one that would surpass any mansion ever built by their neighbors, the Aztecs.
For years, her people worked to make a palace that would please her. From places many miles away they dragged stones and logs. The queen, fearing that her age or an accident or an illness might prevent her from seeing her dream come true, ordered many of her people to assist in the work. Gradually, her tribe became a tribe of slaves.
The queen commanded even her own daughter to join those dragging logs and stones. When the noonday heat caused the workers to drag along slowly, with heads bowed, the queen strode angrily among them and lashed their naked backs.
Because royalty was sacred, the people did not complain. But when she struck her daughter, the girl turned, threw down her load of stone, and solemnly cursed her mother and her mother's kingdom. Then, overcome by heat and weariness, the girl sank to the ground and died.
In vain, the queen lamented and regretted. All nature seemed to punish her. The sun came out with blinding heat and light. Vegetation withered. Animals disappeared. Streams and wells dried up. At last the queen had to give up her life; she died with high fever. There was no one to soothe her last moments, for her people, too, were dead.
The mansion, half-completed, stands in the midst of this desolation. Sometimes it seems to rise into view of people at a distance, in the shifting mirage that plays along the horizon.
[Indigenous Peoples Literature - indigenouspeople.net]
"Ground Afire" is the meaning of the Indians' name for what is now known as Death Valley. "And in the height of summer there is no better name for this sun-tortured trench between blistered ranges. But when a group of forty-niners [1849] blundered into it, they renamed it Death Valley."
The valley and the high mountain ranges west and east of it are now called Death Valley National Monument. It is located in southeastern California and southwestern Nevada. Many square miles of the valley are below sea level--the lowest level in the Western Hemisphere.
More than 600 kinds of plants thrive in the valley. Its rocks make it a geologists' paradise. And for everyone, "the great charm of the area lies in its magnificent range of color, which varies from hour to hour."
Long, long ago, Indians used to say, this valley was beautiful and fertile. The people who lived there were ruled by a beautiful but capricious queen. One time she ordered them to build a mansion for her, one that would surpass any mansion ever built by their neighbors, the Aztecs.
For years, her people worked to make a palace that would please her. From places many miles away they dragged stones and logs. The queen, fearing that her age or an accident or an illness might prevent her from seeing her dream come true, ordered many of her people to assist in the work. Gradually, her tribe became a tribe of slaves.
The queen commanded even her own daughter to join those dragging logs and stones. When the noonday heat caused the workers to drag along slowly, with heads bowed, the queen strode angrily among them and lashed their naked backs.
Because royalty was sacred, the people did not complain. But when she struck her daughter, the girl turned, threw down her load of stone, and solemnly cursed her mother and her mother's kingdom. Then, overcome by heat and weariness, the girl sank to the ground and died.
In vain, the queen lamented and regretted. All nature seemed to punish her. The sun came out with blinding heat and light. Vegetation withered. Animals disappeared. Streams and wells dried up. At last the queen had to give up her life; she died with high fever. There was no one to soothe her last moments, for her people, too, were dead.
The mansion, half-completed, stands in the midst of this desolation. Sometimes it seems to rise into view of people at a distance, in the shifting mirage that plays along the horizon.
The Origin of People (Death Valley, California. Shoshoni)
Appendix 1 - Western Shoshoni Myth
[http://www.sacred-texts.com/nam/ca/wsm/wsm10.htm]
Coyote had a home. He hunted rabbits to make a rabbit-skin blanket. When he had a great many skins, he started to make the blanket in his house. While he was working on his blanket, he saw a shadow pass the door. He went out of the door to see what it was, and saw a woman running. She had a rabbit's tail on her buttocks. He chased the woman, and she ran toward the west. Coyote ran fast, but could get no closer to her. He chased her to the ocean.
At the edge of the ocean the woman stopped and sat down. She said, "I will lie on my back and swim across, and carry you over." They started across, the woman carrying him. When they had gone a little way, Coyote moved down on her. The woman dumped him off into the water. Coyote had already decided that, if she put him off into the water, he would turn himself into a water skate ("some little long-legged insect that runs on the water"). When she pushed him into the water, he turned into the skate and crossed the ocean. He reached the other side before the woman.
When Coyote got to the other side he found a tree and made himself a bow. He took green stringy stuff from the water, which he put on the back of his bow instead of sinew. He made the bow string of the same thing. Then he found some cane, made arrows, and began to shoot ducks. He took the ducks to the woman's house.
There were two women living at this house, the woman he had followed and her mother. The women were sitting outside their house. They told Coyote to go inside and sit down. When Coyote went in, he saw quivers made of fox skin hanging all over the wall.
The women started to cook the ducks. They ate the ducks; both women ate. Coyote was singing. He made a hole in the house and watched the women. After eating the meat, the women disposed of the bones. . . . Both of them did this.
They went into the house to sleep. Coyote made advances to the woman he had pursued. He was frustrated . . . In the morning, Coyote went out and got a hard stick. It was a kind of hard sage brush. He hid it by the house . . . The next morning, Coyote hunted mountain sheep. He killed a small one and took the bone from its neck. He put the neck bone by the house in the same place he had hidden the stick. . . . He made successful advances that night . . .
In the morning, both women were large in the belly. The older one started to weave a basketry water jug. She finished making the jug. Both women put their babies in the jug. When they had finished, they told Coyote to go back home and to take the jug full of babies with him. Coyote started. When he came to the ocean, the old woman put a flat stick across it and Coyote walked over on it. He came toward his home. He went to Owens Valley.
While he was carrying the jug, he heard a noise. He wondered what it was. He pulled the stopper out of the jug. Indians came out; many Indians. When only a few were left inside the jug, he put the stopper back. The woman had told him to pull it out when he came to the middle of the world, but he had pulled it out when he heard the noise. He put the stopper in again and came on to Death Valley. In Death Valley he pulled it out again, and the remaining Indians came out. They stayed here. That is why there are Indians here now.
[http://www.sacred-texts.com/nam/ca/wsm/wsm10.htm]
Coyote had a home. He hunted rabbits to make a rabbit-skin blanket. When he had a great many skins, he started to make the blanket in his house. While he was working on his blanket, he saw a shadow pass the door. He went out of the door to see what it was, and saw a woman running. She had a rabbit's tail on her buttocks. He chased the woman, and she ran toward the west. Coyote ran fast, but could get no closer to her. He chased her to the ocean.
At the edge of the ocean the woman stopped and sat down. She said, "I will lie on my back and swim across, and carry you over." They started across, the woman carrying him. When they had gone a little way, Coyote moved down on her. The woman dumped him off into the water. Coyote had already decided that, if she put him off into the water, he would turn himself into a water skate ("some little long-legged insect that runs on the water"). When she pushed him into the water, he turned into the skate and crossed the ocean. He reached the other side before the woman.
When Coyote got to the other side he found a tree and made himself a bow. He took green stringy stuff from the water, which he put on the back of his bow instead of sinew. He made the bow string of the same thing. Then he found some cane, made arrows, and began to shoot ducks. He took the ducks to the woman's house.
There were two women living at this house, the woman he had followed and her mother. The women were sitting outside their house. They told Coyote to go inside and sit down. When Coyote went in, he saw quivers made of fox skin hanging all over the wall.
The women started to cook the ducks. They ate the ducks; both women ate. Coyote was singing. He made a hole in the house and watched the women. After eating the meat, the women disposed of the bones. . . . Both of them did this.
They went into the house to sleep. Coyote made advances to the woman he had pursued. He was frustrated . . . In the morning, Coyote went out and got a hard stick. It was a kind of hard sage brush. He hid it by the house . . . The next morning, Coyote hunted mountain sheep. He killed a small one and took the bone from its neck. He put the neck bone by the house in the same place he had hidden the stick. . . . He made successful advances that night . . .
In the morning, both women were large in the belly. The older one started to weave a basketry water jug. She finished making the jug. Both women put their babies in the jug. When they had finished, they told Coyote to go back home and to take the jug full of babies with him. Coyote started. When he came to the ocean, the old woman put a flat stick across it and Coyote walked over on it. He came toward his home. He went to Owens Valley.
While he was carrying the jug, he heard a noise. He wondered what it was. He pulled the stopper out of the jug. Indians came out; many Indians. When only a few were left inside the jug, he put the stopper back. The woman had told him to pull it out when he came to the middle of the world, but he had pulled it out when he heard the noise. He put the stopper in again and came on to Death Valley. In Death Valley he pulled it out again, and the remaining Indians came out. They stayed here. That is why there are Indians here now.
Stage 8 - Almost Amboy to Twentynine Palms
THE ORIGIN OF PEOPLE (Death Valley, California. Shoshoni)
Part 8 - While he was carrying the jug, he heard a noise. He wondered what it was. He pulled the stopper out of the jug. Indians came out; many Indians. When only a few were left inside the jug, he put the stopper back. The woman had told him to pull it out when he came to the middle of the world, but he had pulled it out when he heard the noise. He put the stopper in again and came on to Death Valley. In Death Valley he pulled it out again, and the remaining Indians came out. They stayed here. That is why there are Indians here now.
Whether we are asleep, or awake, we are really watching the functioning of our own minds; we create the reality around us.
It was eleven o’clock when we made it to Amboy. I had been looking forward to the hula skirts and the crazy photo-op that I had read about. But since I had taken so long to get there, the officials at the time station may have lost some enthusiasm. I and the Thrasher crew lost some enthusiasm as well; we had been on the road since seven A.M. the day before.
After a brief tack west on National Trails Highway, the final 58 mile section climbs into the Sheep Hole Mountains on Amboy Road. The difficult climb terminates at Sheep Hole Pass and the subsequent descent into the Dale Lake basin is only a short relief. The final twenty miles are mostly upwind and slightly uphill.
Crossing the tracks and turning south on the Amboy Road was one of my last coherent recollections. Sleep deprivation and exhaustion conspired to crumble my sanity like Sheep Hole’s crumbling granitic domes.
In the darkness the eerily lit path ahead was a dim tunnel. The crosswind played night music through the power lines next to the road. My mind swayed in and out of consciousness; the boundary between sleep and reality blurred and finally disappeared as we approached the steepest part of the climb.
Slowly creeping up the pass I remember watching the tail lights of passing traffic. I wanted to keep the lights in sight as long as I could. My idea was that in the darkness I’d be able to see how much further it was to the top. I struggled to understand why the dim lights just kept going up and up. In my realistic dream state one particular set of tail lights became a UFO and left the planet. My assessment was definitely more dissimilar from reality than usual. The Thrasher crew must have known that I was losing it.
I woke up long enough to safely handle the descent from Sheep Hole summit. Any sense of realism quickly faded as I made the final bend towards the west; a mere twenty miles to the finish line in Twentynine Palms.
My cadence slowed to a near stop. The Thrasher crew must have been doing the math because they frequently reminded me that the clock was still ticking and the forty eight hour time limit was not going to wait for me to get my act together. Somewhere along this portion of the stage Vireo cranked past me like a bullet; that was the last time that I saw George until the finish.
Slogging upwind and uphill I sank into a deep multi-sensory shaman experience; looking back on it now it was truly a form of controlled madness. The wall that separates states of consciousness is a very fine veil.
Time had slowed to a crawl. It was the first time in my life that I truly saw my perception of the world; it was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Unable to perform optimally, my brain had begun to create images.
A powerful artifact of a past experience in this race became a reoccurring theme in my journey tunnel. Standing along the road Coyote, my spirit guide, manifested himself many times. He moved close from time to time, lying along the shoulder and raising his head to look at me as I rolled by. His reassuring gaze spoke. He said, “Keep going. You will do this. I’ll stay with you”.
In my state of cognitive deficit my brain created another set of images; bent and warped as if viewed through a fish-eye lens. The road became lined with clusters of seventy’s era muscle cars. Each collection was accompanied by a sullen few; their arms were crossed as if they were waiting for me to give up. Group after group quietly gestured and laughed at my plight. They were detailed, impressive and as believable as normal reality. I tried to keep their cigarette smoking negativity in my peripheral vision. Maybe I feared them. Or maybe I feared what they represented.
It wasn’t until the turn onto Utah Trail that I began to fully understand what was happening. I knew that I was going to finish; no question about it.
The final few miles on Twentynine Palms highway were waking miles. As I approached the last little climb before the finish line, I could see a light colored figure laying in the gutter near the base of the hill. I was awake. But the figure of Coyote, my spirit guide was right there. Coyote did not move. I kept pedaling straight at him expecting his image to evaporate. Coyote did not raise his head and I had to make a hard turn to avoid hitting him.
Coyote was real. He was there. He was right in my path to say goodbye; He stayed with me until the end. It was so powerful. I will spend the rest of my life trying to understand it. It was the most real experience that I have ever had.
I went through the toilet paper finish line at 4:21 A.M.; 45 hours: 21 minutes: and 31 seconds after leaving Santa Clarita. I fell off of the bike and rolled across the concrete. Vireo and Rob ran over and helped me back to my feet. Desiree hugged me and everything was right. Everything was just right.
Part 8 - While he was carrying the jug, he heard a noise. He wondered what it was. He pulled the stopper out of the jug. Indians came out; many Indians. When only a few were left inside the jug, he put the stopper back. The woman had told him to pull it out when he came to the middle of the world, but he had pulled it out when he heard the noise. He put the stopper in again and came on to Death Valley. In Death Valley he pulled it out again, and the remaining Indians came out. They stayed here. That is why there are Indians here now.
Whether we are asleep, or awake, we are really watching the functioning of our own minds; we create the reality around us.
It was eleven o’clock when we made it to Amboy. I had been looking forward to the hula skirts and the crazy photo-op that I had read about. But since I had taken so long to get there, the officials at the time station may have lost some enthusiasm. I and the Thrasher crew lost some enthusiasm as well; we had been on the road since seven A.M. the day before.
After a brief tack west on National Trails Highway, the final 58 mile section climbs into the Sheep Hole Mountains on Amboy Road. The difficult climb terminates at Sheep Hole Pass and the subsequent descent into the Dale Lake basin is only a short relief. The final twenty miles are mostly upwind and slightly uphill.
Crossing the tracks and turning south on the Amboy Road was one of my last coherent recollections. Sleep deprivation and exhaustion conspired to crumble my sanity like Sheep Hole’s crumbling granitic domes.
In the darkness the eerily lit path ahead was a dim tunnel. The crosswind played night music through the power lines next to the road. My mind swayed in and out of consciousness; the boundary between sleep and reality blurred and finally disappeared as we approached the steepest part of the climb.
Slowly creeping up the pass I remember watching the tail lights of passing traffic. I wanted to keep the lights in sight as long as I could. My idea was that in the darkness I’d be able to see how much further it was to the top. I struggled to understand why the dim lights just kept going up and up. In my realistic dream state one particular set of tail lights became a UFO and left the planet. My assessment was definitely more dissimilar from reality than usual. The Thrasher crew must have known that I was losing it.
I woke up long enough to safely handle the descent from Sheep Hole summit. Any sense of realism quickly faded as I made the final bend towards the west; a mere twenty miles to the finish line in Twentynine Palms.
My cadence slowed to a near stop. The Thrasher crew must have been doing the math because they frequently reminded me that the clock was still ticking and the forty eight hour time limit was not going to wait for me to get my act together. Somewhere along this portion of the stage Vireo cranked past me like a bullet; that was the last time that I saw George until the finish.
Slogging upwind and uphill I sank into a deep multi-sensory shaman experience; looking back on it now it was truly a form of controlled madness. The wall that separates states of consciousness is a very fine veil.
Time had slowed to a crawl. It was the first time in my life that I truly saw my perception of the world; it was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Unable to perform optimally, my brain had begun to create images.
A powerful artifact of a past experience in this race became a reoccurring theme in my journey tunnel. Standing along the road Coyote, my spirit guide, manifested himself many times. He moved close from time to time, lying along the shoulder and raising his head to look at me as I rolled by. His reassuring gaze spoke. He said, “Keep going. You will do this. I’ll stay with you”.
In my state of cognitive deficit my brain created another set of images; bent and warped as if viewed through a fish-eye lens. The road became lined with clusters of seventy’s era muscle cars. Each collection was accompanied by a sullen few; their arms were crossed as if they were waiting for me to give up. Group after group quietly gestured and laughed at my plight. They were detailed, impressive and as believable as normal reality. I tried to keep their cigarette smoking negativity in my peripheral vision. Maybe I feared them. Or maybe I feared what they represented.
It wasn’t until the turn onto Utah Trail that I began to fully understand what was happening. I knew that I was going to finish; no question about it.
The final few miles on Twentynine Palms highway were waking miles. As I approached the last little climb before the finish line, I could see a light colored figure laying in the gutter near the base of the hill. I was awake. But the figure of Coyote, my spirit guide was right there. Coyote did not move. I kept pedaling straight at him expecting his image to evaporate. Coyote did not raise his head and I had to make a hard turn to avoid hitting him.
Coyote was real. He was there. He was right in my path to say goodbye; He stayed with me until the end. It was so powerful. I will spend the rest of my life trying to understand it. It was the most real experience that I have ever had.
I went through the toilet paper finish line at 4:21 A.M.; 45 hours: 21 minutes: and 31 seconds after leaving Santa Clarita. I fell off of the bike and rolled across the concrete. Vireo and Rob ran over and helped me back to my feet. Desiree hugged me and everything was right. Everything was just right.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Stage 7 - Kelso to Almost Amboy
THE ORIGIN OF PEOPLE (Death Valley, California. Shoshoni)
Part 7 - In the morning, both women were large in the belly. The older one started to weave a basketry water jug. She finished making the jug. Both women put their babies in the jug. When they had finished, they told Coyote to go back home and to take the jug full of babies with him. Coyote started. When he came to the ocean, the old woman put a flat stick across it and Coyote walked over on it. He came toward his home. He went to Owens Valley.
We stopped at the Kelso time station for just a few minutes; we got back on course just as Red-Eye Vireo pulled in. Earlier, on the Kelbaker climb, Vireo and I had exchanged a few words of mutual encouragement as I crept pass him. The fixed gear that he was riding looked lean; but he had it set up with a tall gear that made the lean look mean.
After Kelso the course continues south on the Kelbaker Road adjacent to the Devil's Playground. The climb starts almost immediately. The twelve mile gain between the Granite Mountains and the Providence Mountains summits at Granite Pass. After a brief drop onto the flank of Van Winkle Mountain the descent rolls under I-40 and out of the Mojave National Preserve. The downhill section then continues all the way to the last time station before the finish in Twentynine Palms.
At the start of the climb I felt good. Vireo and I exchanged positions a number of times on the ascent; the last time I saw him on the Granite climb he was huddling inside his crew van covered in blankets.
I was cold and exhausted. I had slept only twenty minutes in the past two days. The stress from everything that happened so far finally overtook all of my training and preparation. More than three years of effort came crashing down in less than a few seconds. The rush of exhaustion felt like a spigot had opened and drained every last bit of energy from me; I cracked.
The climb wore on and on. I was having difficulty staying on the bike. I started a troubling tendency to stop pedaling and get off the bike. At every one of those stops Rob would jump out of the van and talk me into getting back on. I was past the pain but I could not get past the debilitating effects of sleep deprivation and complete exhaustion.
I made the summit of the Granite climb just in time to stave off the hallucinations that would eventually overtake my mind. The fast descent to the National Trails Highway and the Amboy time station slapped me back to reality.
Those miles were the last touch of waking reality that I would see until the finish in Twentynine Palms.
Part 7 - In the morning, both women were large in the belly. The older one started to weave a basketry water jug. She finished making the jug. Both women put their babies in the jug. When they had finished, they told Coyote to go back home and to take the jug full of babies with him. Coyote started. When he came to the ocean, the old woman put a flat stick across it and Coyote walked over on it. He came toward his home. He went to Owens Valley.
We stopped at the Kelso time station for just a few minutes; we got back on course just as Red-Eye Vireo pulled in. Earlier, on the Kelbaker climb, Vireo and I had exchanged a few words of mutual encouragement as I crept pass him. The fixed gear that he was riding looked lean; but he had it set up with a tall gear that made the lean look mean.
After Kelso the course continues south on the Kelbaker Road adjacent to the Devil's Playground. The climb starts almost immediately. The twelve mile gain between the Granite Mountains and the Providence Mountains summits at Granite Pass. After a brief drop onto the flank of Van Winkle Mountain the descent rolls under I-40 and out of the Mojave National Preserve. The downhill section then continues all the way to the last time station before the finish in Twentynine Palms.
At the start of the climb I felt good. Vireo and I exchanged positions a number of times on the ascent; the last time I saw him on the Granite climb he was huddling inside his crew van covered in blankets.
I was cold and exhausted. I had slept only twenty minutes in the past two days. The stress from everything that happened so far finally overtook all of my training and preparation. More than three years of effort came crashing down in less than a few seconds. The rush of exhaustion felt like a spigot had opened and drained every last bit of energy from me; I cracked.
The climb wore on and on. I was having difficulty staying on the bike. I started a troubling tendency to stop pedaling and get off the bike. At every one of those stops Rob would jump out of the van and talk me into getting back on. I was past the pain but I could not get past the debilitating effects of sleep deprivation and complete exhaustion.
I made the summit of the Granite climb just in time to stave off the hallucinations that would eventually overtake my mind. The fast descent to the National Trails Highway and the Amboy time station slapped me back to reality.
Those miles were the last touch of waking reality that I would see until the finish in Twentynine Palms.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Stage 6 - Baker to Kelso
THE ORIGIN OF PEOPLE (Death Valley, California. Shoshoni)
Part 6 - They went into the house to sleep. Coyote made advances to the woman he had pursued. He was frustrated . . . In the morning, Coyote went out and got a hard stick. It was a kind of hard sage brush. He hid it by the house . . . The next morning, Coyote hunted mountain sheep. He killed a small one and took the bone from its neck. He put the neck bone by the house in the same place he had hidden the stick. . . . He made successful advances that night . . .
Just after three in the afternoon we pulled into the Baker time station. My feet were sore and the Thrasher crew was frazzled. Our first priority was to scan the town for an auto parts store that might have anything that could help us out of our lighting dilemma. The suggestion that Baker was a possible place to find electrical assistance turned out to be overly optimistic. After we made a few forays into local businesses it became painfully obvious that we were in deep trouble.
Frustrated and tired, hungry and divided, the Thrasher crew made sandwiches and took care of personal details while I pleaded with the attending 508 race official to contact Chris Kostman to see if there was any way to salvage my race.
During that process I, and one of my crew, proceeded to troubleshoot our electrical problem. We discovered that we could make the lights work; but we could not get the lights to work and meet the letter of the rules. We really needed to get a direct ruling from Chris before we could continue.
A Thrasher crewman suggested that I should ride towards Kelso while he tried to get things sorted out. But until we got an official ruling on our predicament there was no way that I was leaving the presence of a race official. Also, there was no way that I was going to leave a lighting rewire job in anyone’s hands but my own. This 508 was my dream; and at this critical point I was not leaving it in anyone’s hands but my own.
While team after team passed us as we stalled in Baker, we hastily tore apart our wiring. As I band aided it back together with sweat and electrical tape, we finally got the official ruling from Chris. At around five in the afternoon we were approved to continue the race with a minor rule variance.
After two hours of stress and uncertainty I got back on the bike. With the Thrasher crew right behind me I pedaled across Baker Boulevard and up to the beginning of the 20 mile Kelbaker Grade.
Running through the heart of the Mojave National Preserve the Kelbaker Road is not much of a road at all. The surface looks like an evil comedian made a half baked attempt to smooth out the desert floor and then just poured some tar on top of the rocky mess that he created.
After more than three hundred and fifty miles on the bike the Kelbaker Road pounded an indelible memory into my every nerve ending. The slow endless climb wore on through the evening and into the night; in the darkness I never got to see the lava fields and the cinder cones that frame the route.
The long ascent eventually summits at a pass with no name. That wide gap between the Kelso Mountains and the Marl Mountains introduces you to a dangerous high speed descent to Kelso. With endless areas of broken pavement, the road jars its way across multiple cattle guards and over countless pot holes.
The constant pounding on that downhill section really took its toll on me. Eventually every single bump felt like a ball peen hammer strike; my already sore feet absorbed strike after excruciating strike. Halfway down the ten mile torture chamber I struggled to a stop. I hunched over my bike and cried; the pain was beyond anything that I had ever endured.
By the time that we made it to Kelso my feet and my brain were numb.
Part 6 - They went into the house to sleep. Coyote made advances to the woman he had pursued. He was frustrated . . . In the morning, Coyote went out and got a hard stick. It was a kind of hard sage brush. He hid it by the house . . . The next morning, Coyote hunted mountain sheep. He killed a small one and took the bone from its neck. He put the neck bone by the house in the same place he had hidden the stick. . . . He made successful advances that night . . .
Just after three in the afternoon we pulled into the Baker time station. My feet were sore and the Thrasher crew was frazzled. Our first priority was to scan the town for an auto parts store that might have anything that could help us out of our lighting dilemma. The suggestion that Baker was a possible place to find electrical assistance turned out to be overly optimistic. After we made a few forays into local businesses it became painfully obvious that we were in deep trouble.
Frustrated and tired, hungry and divided, the Thrasher crew made sandwiches and took care of personal details while I pleaded with the attending 508 race official to contact Chris Kostman to see if there was any way to salvage my race.
During that process I, and one of my crew, proceeded to troubleshoot our electrical problem. We discovered that we could make the lights work; but we could not get the lights to work and meet the letter of the rules. We really needed to get a direct ruling from Chris before we could continue.
A Thrasher crewman suggested that I should ride towards Kelso while he tried to get things sorted out. But until we got an official ruling on our predicament there was no way that I was leaving the presence of a race official. Also, there was no way that I was going to leave a lighting rewire job in anyone’s hands but my own. This 508 was my dream; and at this critical point I was not leaving it in anyone’s hands but my own.
While team after team passed us as we stalled in Baker, we hastily tore apart our wiring. As I band aided it back together with sweat and electrical tape, we finally got the official ruling from Chris. At around five in the afternoon we were approved to continue the race with a minor rule variance.
After two hours of stress and uncertainty I got back on the bike. With the Thrasher crew right behind me I pedaled across Baker Boulevard and up to the beginning of the 20 mile Kelbaker Grade.
Running through the heart of the Mojave National Preserve the Kelbaker Road is not much of a road at all. The surface looks like an evil comedian made a half baked attempt to smooth out the desert floor and then just poured some tar on top of the rocky mess that he created.
After more than three hundred and fifty miles on the bike the Kelbaker Road pounded an indelible memory into my every nerve ending. The slow endless climb wore on through the evening and into the night; in the darkness I never got to see the lava fields and the cinder cones that frame the route.
The long ascent eventually summits at a pass with no name. That wide gap between the Kelso Mountains and the Marl Mountains introduces you to a dangerous high speed descent to Kelso. With endless areas of broken pavement, the road jars its way across multiple cattle guards and over countless pot holes.
The constant pounding on that downhill section really took its toll on me. Eventually every single bump felt like a ball peen hammer strike; my already sore feet absorbed strike after excruciating strike. Halfway down the ten mile torture chamber I struggled to a stop. I hunched over my bike and cried; the pain was beyond anything that I had ever endured.
By the time that we made it to Kelso my feet and my brain were numb.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Stage 5 - Shoshone to Baker
THE ORIGIN OF PEOPLE (Death Valley, California. Shoshoni)
Part 5 - The women started to cook the ducks. They ate the ducks; both women ate. Coyote was singing. He made a hole in the house and watched the women. After eating the meat, the women disposed of the bones. . . . Both of them did this.
If it can go wrong, it will go wrong. The 508 is an extreme event undertaken in extreme conditions and circumstances; if there is a weak link, it will break. Unfortunately for me and the Thrasher crew there were two weak links that both had serious potential to end my 508.
The moment that I got off the bike at the Shoshone time station my wife ran up to me and spilled the news that there was a Thrasher crew member that was creating hardship for the team. The weak crewman was a longtime friend who had a selfish attitude and a hidden agenda that posed a real problem for the other crew members. My wife Desiree and my other crewman Rob had provided incredible support all along the course; In fact without that support there is no way that I would have survived this far.
During that drama we also discovered that the flashing amber lights had stopped working. I neglected to bring a spare set of lights and now there was a real possibility that we would have to DNF. Since Shoshone is little more than a gas station deli stop we made a decision to ride to the next time station to see if the town of Baker had the necessary electrical repair facilities.
Just a few miles south of Shoshone the cruise through Greenwater Valley gives way to an easy climb to Ibex Pass. Ibex Pass is just a brief gap between a set of three small ranges: Ibex Hills, Sperry Hills, and Saddle Peak Hills. While it hardly seemed worthy of being called a pass, we stopped for a photo-op anyways.
After Ibex Pass, I raced back down into the extreme south end of Death Valley. The wind was at my back and I couldn’t help but notice the Dumont Dunes just ahead and to the east. The dunes were littered with RV’s, ATV’s and motorcycles. The scene, back-dropped against the pure natural contour of pale living sand, was like something out of The Road Warrior. (Mad Max 2/The Road Warrior [1981] - In the post-apocalyptic Australian wasteland, a cynical drifter [Mel Gibson] agrees to help a small, gasoline rich, community escape the Humongous; a band of bandits led by Lord Humongous.)
The road out of the southernmost tip of Death Valley climbs slightly into what looks like a natural exit from Hell. The obvious gap in the Salt Spring Hills draws the curtain closed on Death Valley National Park and opens the way into the beautiful desert landscape of the Silurian Valley.
The grade is unnoticeably uphill and runs mostly straight south towards Baker. The mid afternoon the Humongous’ migration had begun in earnest. Loud fifth-wheel pulling diesel monsters howled around us again and again. Lord Humongous himself, riding a growling monster, belched out a gray-water spray of disrespect as he jammed his way back into the lane right in front of me. I was Mad Max for just a moment.
That incident made me lose focus and the excruciating pain in my feet and toes made me pull over for a roadside foot massage next to a dry lake. The Thrasher crew had a good laugh about the whole thing and I got back on the bike.
We rolled into time station 5 with a defective set of lights and a divided crew; not the formula for success that I had laid out thirty three hours ago.
Part 5 - The women started to cook the ducks. They ate the ducks; both women ate. Coyote was singing. He made a hole in the house and watched the women. After eating the meat, the women disposed of the bones. . . . Both of them did this.
If it can go wrong, it will go wrong. The 508 is an extreme event undertaken in extreme conditions and circumstances; if there is a weak link, it will break. Unfortunately for me and the Thrasher crew there were two weak links that both had serious potential to end my 508.
The moment that I got off the bike at the Shoshone time station my wife ran up to me and spilled the news that there was a Thrasher crew member that was creating hardship for the team. The weak crewman was a longtime friend who had a selfish attitude and a hidden agenda that posed a real problem for the other crew members. My wife Desiree and my other crewman Rob had provided incredible support all along the course; In fact without that support there is no way that I would have survived this far.
During that drama we also discovered that the flashing amber lights had stopped working. I neglected to bring a spare set of lights and now there was a real possibility that we would have to DNF. Since Shoshone is little more than a gas station deli stop we made a decision to ride to the next time station to see if the town of Baker had the necessary electrical repair facilities.
Just a few miles south of Shoshone the cruise through Greenwater Valley gives way to an easy climb to Ibex Pass. Ibex Pass is just a brief gap between a set of three small ranges: Ibex Hills, Sperry Hills, and Saddle Peak Hills. While it hardly seemed worthy of being called a pass, we stopped for a photo-op anyways.
After Ibex Pass, I raced back down into the extreme south end of Death Valley. The wind was at my back and I couldn’t help but notice the Dumont Dunes just ahead and to the east. The dunes were littered with RV’s, ATV’s and motorcycles. The scene, back-dropped against the pure natural contour of pale living sand, was like something out of The Road Warrior. (Mad Max 2/The Road Warrior [1981] - In the post-apocalyptic Australian wasteland, a cynical drifter [Mel Gibson] agrees to help a small, gasoline rich, community escape the Humongous; a band of bandits led by Lord Humongous.)
The road out of the southernmost tip of Death Valley climbs slightly into what looks like a natural exit from Hell. The obvious gap in the Salt Spring Hills draws the curtain closed on Death Valley National Park and opens the way into the beautiful desert landscape of the Silurian Valley.
The grade is unnoticeably uphill and runs mostly straight south towards Baker. The mid afternoon the Humongous’ migration had begun in earnest. Loud fifth-wheel pulling diesel monsters howled around us again and again. Lord Humongous himself, riding a growling monster, belched out a gray-water spray of disrespect as he jammed his way back into the lane right in front of me. I was Mad Max for just a moment.
That incident made me lose focus and the excruciating pain in my feet and toes made me pull over for a roadside foot massage next to a dry lake. The Thrasher crew had a good laugh about the whole thing and I got back on the bike.
We rolled into time station 5 with a defective set of lights and a divided crew; not the formula for success that I had laid out thirty three hours ago.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
