The Death Ride

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip

That started from fine Markleeville, aboard our two-wheeled ships.

Coach Jim was a mighty biking man, so strong and brave and kind,

His Death Riders rode out that day for a fifteen hour grind,

 A fifteen hour grind.

The weather started getting hot, with mountains to be crossed,

                If not for the courage of the fearless Team,

The Death Ride would be lost, the Death Ride would be lost.

Now this is the tale of the Death Riders, who rode for a long, long time.

They had to make the best of things, it was an uphill climb.

Coach Jim and all the mentors too, they did their very best,

                To make the riders comfortable, as they rode upon this quest.

With no motors, no beer, no pillowed seats, not a single luxury,

                They rode for cancer research, as noble as can be.

As noble as can be.

Welcome back, my friends. So all these months later, the ride has finally happened. I attempted something I never thought I could do. The Death Ride. Let’s recap:

·         129 miles.

·         15,000 vertical feet of climbing.

·         Five passes in the Sierra Mountains, all above 8000 feet.

·         It must be completed between 5am and 8pm.

·         One in three people who start don’t finish.

·         I finished the whole thing.

My rider number, showing stickers for finishing
all five mountain passes

I have to stop here and just let that sink in for a minute. I FINISHED it. And more than just finishing, I felt great when I was done! Tired, sure, and abused from the simple wear and tear of that much continuous time in the saddle. But I wasn’t destroyed the way I expected to be; the way I saw so many others who gave up physically or mentally along the ride. Honestly, after some of the season’s training rides, the Death Ride itself almost felt like cheating.

The Death Ride is no mean thing. It’s an astonishingly long, grueling torture devised to break cyclists into their constituent parts. Looking back on it, I think I’m still in shock. I did what? How? Who?

Well, here’s the quick details. I initially tried writing out all of my experiences on this ride, but before I got halfway I was already at ten pages of exposition. The editor in me finally kicked in. Rather than bore you to sleep, I’m going to write this out in presentation style. Enjoy!

The time cutoff signs were everywhere.

Good Morning, Markleeville!

Statistics:

·         Alarm Rang: 2:30am

·         Sleep achieved: Approximately 2 hours.

·         Sleep desired: A whole lot more than that.

·         Temperature: About 50 degrees.

·         Ride Start: 5:00am.

Favorite Moments:

·         Our ride groups met at Turtle Rock Park shortly before 5am. The crescent moon hung beautiful and bright in the sky, with Mars following nearby. The stars were bright pinholes of light scattered across the sky in a way I never get to see in the Bay Area.

Mountain Pass #1: Monitor (front side)

Sunrise across the Monitor valley.

Statistics:

·         8.1 miles uphill, 2656’ of vertical

·         Cutoff 10:00 am, made the cutoff at 7:00 am, 3 hours to spare.

·         Max altitude 8,314’

·         Temperature was over 70 degrees by the time I was over the top.

Strategy:

·         Go slow. Save energy for later in the day. So I climbed at somewhat less than 5mph.

·         Drink lots of water. I made sure I was out by the time I got to the top.

·         All I had to do was survive the Death Ride. I wasn’t looking to place first. I was looking to complete it, whatever that took. Slow pace, good hydration.

Worst Moments:

·         The ride food at the rest stop was the worst I’ve seen at any major cycling event. Our own Team SAGs generously laid out incredible spreads all season long. I was used to feeding on roast boar, quail eggs, grapes peeled by soft-skinned maidens, and all manner of delicious, hallucination-induced pleasures. This rest stop, like all at the Death Ride, was filled with ancient potato chips, waterlogged potato bits, stale bread, gruel, and a variety of chemicals outlawed by the Geneva Convention.

I was still all smiles at this point in the ride.

Favorite Moments:

·         Watching the sunrise slice its way across the barren mountains, a knife-edge illuminating the stark bunches of chaparral huddled against ever-increasing desolation.

·         My friend Ben caught up to me partway up the hill, hanging out and chatting. He wasn’t on our Death Ride team, I thought it was neat that he even found me in the pack.

·         Descending the far side, into the barren Nevada desert, slaloming around slower bicyclists like it was an Olympic downhill.

Mountain Pass #2: Monitor (back side)

Statistics: 

Climbers to the right, descenders to the left.

·         9.5 miles uphill, 3261’ of vertical

·         Cutoff 11:00 am, made the cutoff at 9:30 am, 1.5 hours to spare.

·         Max altitude 8,314’

·         Average climbing speed 4.7mph

Strategy:

·         The backside of Monitor was a return climb up the descent I’d just made. It was barren, long, and exposed to the Sun. I kept it slow and steady, drinking all the water I could along the way.

Worst Moments:

·         Getting passed by tons of people on the climb. It was on this climb that I had the first hints that maybe I was going too slow for this ride.
·        Getting gnawed on by some giant insect that attached itself to my calf and gorged on a couple pounds of blood before dropping away. I still have a welt!

·         At the top, just before the descent, my right pedal clip stopped working. I finally got it to go again, but for the rest of the ride I had to jump on that pedal to clip in and it was quite difficult to unclip at stops.

Favorite Moments:

·         Most of the way up, there was a really nice turnout. More than a few cyclists had stopped there and were taking pictures back down into the valley from whence we came, and I hazarded a glance over my shoulder. Behind me, the road snaked down the side of the desolate mountain for miles, a ribbon of black that faded into the far horizon. And the entire way, I could see the train of bicycles, shrinking away like ants, at last melting into the black.

·         The descent back down the front side of Monitor was fantastically fun. The road is wide and by this time I was so far back in the ride pack that nobody was climbing in the opposite lane. I hopped into that lane, tucked in, and descended for all I was worth. At best, I crossed over 51 mph, rushing past cyclists who not long before had passed me on the climb.

Mountain Pass #3: Ebbetts (front side)

By the time I made this lake on Ebbetts, I didn't have
the presence of mind to jump in like he did.

Statistics:

·         10.6 miles uphill, 2837’ of vertical

·         Cutoff 1:30 pm, made the cutoff at 12:15 pm, 1.25 hours to spare.

·         Max altitude 8,736’

·         Average climbing speed 4.2mph

·         Temperature around 90 degrees

Strategy:

·         I continued slow and steady. Ebbetts is the toughest hill. In places my speed dropped to 3.5 mph.

·         Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. More than on any other hill, this one required the most mental effort to get through.

·         Keep shifting the body, don’t let any one part get too sore or too tired.

Worst Moments:

·         I mentally lost it on this hill. The last half hour was a blur of pain and agony. Somehow I’d managed to keep riding, keep pushing. But when I finally made it to the top, I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t unclip. I almost hit the line handlers at the top. When I finally pulled over, every thought was a four-letter curse. It took me minutes to calm down and put myself back together.

·         Physically, I hit a couple of low points on this hill. For the first time, I was dealing with severe hot foot, as my toes felt completely jammed in the cycling shoes. My butt was aching unconscionably. My shoulders were sore and it was getting too hot.

Favorite Moments:



The stop I couldn't stop at. Sorry all!

·         Ebbetts is my favorite of the mountains on the Death Ride. It’s just beautiful. The road is a tough but scenic climb, with cliffs, sharp switchbacks and an incredibly beautiful valley to climb through. The sound of running water, the sight of waterfalls and lakes, flying hawks: these were the accompaniments that our silent cycles had.

·         In the lower reaches of the climb, the locals had setup viewing stations. I counted three observing stations – one, at the site of a former brothel, was staffed by a half dozen women in tropical garb, cheering on all the riders. The next two were manned by a diverse congregation of folks who seemed to take joy at pointing at the riders, laughing and raising beers to us as if to say, “better you than me, suckers!”

·         Joseph handing me a freezing-cold V8 at the top, when I couldn’t even form whole sentences. It was a Godsend. Thank you, Joseph!

Mountain Pass #4: Ebbetts (back side)

Statistics:

I know it's not a ride picture, but my hat was being
attacked by mini-domos. Aren't they cute?

·         5.7 miles uphill, 1724’ of vertical

·         Cutoff 3:00 pm, made the cutoff at 2:00 pm, 1 hour to spare.

·         Max altitude 8,736’

·         Average climbing speed 4.1mph

·         Temperature around 90 degrees

Strategy:

·         It had now been truly impressed upon me that I was running out of time. I was going too slow. Still, I didn’t significantly pick up the pace. I was getting tired and I didn’t want to risk blowing myself out on this hill.

·         I spent a chunk of recovery time at the rest stop at the bottom before this climb. I decided to blow through the rest stop at the top this time, skipping it just to make tracks for the lunch stop at the bottom on the other side.

Worst Moments:

·         None really on this hill. I did have to stop once while climbing. It was the first time that day I became so tired to make that a necessity.

Favorite Moments:

·         This is a pretty climb as well. My favorite moments were just looking out across the valley, the green trees here so much more verdant than Monitor, and realizing how lucky I was to be alive in the open, quiet air of the mountain.

·         Coming down front side of Ebbetts, by total descending time was 10 minutes, 42 seconds. At altitude camp I had made the same descent in 10:36, which (as of this writing) is the #2 women’s time on Strava. Not so bad, and apparently I’m pretty consistently reckless on that descent. =D

The Critical Cutoffs: Woodsford and Pickett’s Junction

Best cold shower ever.

Statistics:
       ·         13.7 miles into the wind to Woodsford

·         Woodsford Cutoff 4:00 pm, made the cutoff at 3:40 pm, 20 minutes to spare.

·         Pickett’s Junction Cutoff 5:15 pm, made the cutoff at 4:30 pm, 45 minutes to spare

Strategy:

·         The clock was well and truly against us. At the top of Ebbetts I calculated how far we had to go to make it by 4:00, and realized we pretty much had to skip every rest stop between here and there and simply push.

·         Thirst, hunger and tiredness no longer mattered. If we lost to the clock, we were out of the race.  

Worst Moments:

·         The moment of panic realizing how under the gun I was. It was one thing to fight physical or mental fatigue, I’ve trained all season for that. I was mentally prepared to have a mechanical or physical illness keep me from completing. But to lose to the ticking clock, simply because I didn’t push fast enough earlier in the ride? That was completely unacceptable. There was some sheer panic at the thought that being conservative might’ve cost me the whole season of training, and it took every bit of mental focus I could muster to push myself through that and keep performing, to make the Woodsford cutoff and the Pickett’s cutoff beyond.

·         About a mile short of Pickett’s my hot foot became so bad I had to stop for a few minutes and take off my shoes. My feet literally couldn’t pedal anymore, every stroke was making me cry out.

Beth and Laura. Great to see you, Laura!

Favorite Moments:

·         Making it to Woodsford was a palpable relief. The Grim Reaper himself was hanging out and gave us all high-fives as we rode in.

·         Walking my bike through the cold shower at Woodsford.

·         Drinking a small stack of chilled cans of V8.

·         Realizing once we’d made Pickett’s we could practically walk our bikes to the top of Carson and make the final cutoff time there. As long as my body or bike didn’t give out, this ride was in the bag!

·         Running into a pair of old ride friends at Pickett’s! Laura and Bob, go Team!

Mountain Pass #5: Carson

Climbing up Carson.

Statistics:

·         8.8 miles final uphill push from Pickett’s, 1671’ of vertical

·         Cutoff 8:00 pm, made the cutoff at 6:30 pm, 1.5 hour to spare.

·         Max altitude 8,574’

·         Average climbing speed 4.5 mph

·         Temperatures back down to the 70’s.

·         Made it back down to the car by 7:45pm, with nearly 13 hours of saddle time on the day.

Strategy:

·         On this last mountain, all I had to do was finish. I passed a number of folks who were blown out, heads hung on their bikes or lying on the side of the road, insensible. They had bonked. Not us!

·         Slow and steady, slow and steady.

·         Stop whenever necessary. Time was on our side now. So I stopped about three different times, just to rest by butt, my feet, and to stretch my back.

Autographing the Finishers' sign.

Favorite Moments:

·         The cheering folks who said “only one and a half miles to the summit!”

·         Seeing the last turn before the summit

·         Reaching the final check-in point and getting to put my autograph on the finishers’ sign.

·         The thirty-minute long descent back down this very long mountain.

Worst Moments:

·         Being slightly too late to get the promised ice cream bar at the top. That, at least, would’ve made up for the lack of good ride food the rest of the day.

In Conclusion

Approaching the finish line.

The Death Ride was an incredible experience and one I’m glad to have had. For me, however, it was anticlimactic. Several of the rides we did in training had felt significantly harder and pushed me further than the Death Ride required. Indeed, afterward several of us joked that we didn’t need Death Ride finisher jerseys, we instead needed shirts that say “I survived Death Ride Training”.

My ability to finish the Death Ride was never in question. My ability to finish it in time, however, was. Even knowing that, I definitely underestimated the time pressure part of the ride equation. I’m just glad I was with a group that helped me finish it out just under the wire, especially considering that not everyone on our team was able to finish.

Will I ever do the Death Ride again? I certainly hope not. I learned an awful lot about myself, my strengths and my limitations. I think I need some time to mull that over. Plus I’d like to think I’m not so much of a slow learner that I need a repeated lesson anytime soon. =D


The sun was setting on one tired lady.

No, for now I’m taking a well-earned rest. I do have a ride scheduled to climb up Mt. Shasta in a couple of weeks. Tomorrow I’ll head out for a little 75-mile loop. Compared to what I’ve been doing, this is really not a big deal. Later this year, I plan on riding the Tucson Century. That should be a piece of cake by comparison to what I’ve been through.

And in other, important news - our Team raised over $120,000 for cancer research this season! That even exceeded our goal! Thanks to all who contributed and helped us bring cures one step closer to reality.

So to wrap up with the wrapping up - Thank you all for riding along with me through this season! It’s been fun. Now that I’m all trained up, I imagine I’ll have to record some sort of cycling experience here from time to time. Stay tuned to see what thrills the future holds!


The whole team, post-ride picture. Coach Jim (that mighty biking man) is front and center in black.

My Swan Song begins...

I drew a countdown on my Office Door.

Well, look at that. I’ve nearly made it to the Death Ride!

It only took five-plus months of near-daily training. Every Saturday, most Sundays were given over. Early mornings and late nights alike. Cold, rain, heat, cramps, illness all joined the ride at different times. 

There were times this season where I doubted I was going to make it this far. All of the Death Riders are a little crazy to even try to get through the training program. Some of those training routes are a step beyond just brutal, they’re sadistic. I’ve had my bike broken, my Achilles damaged. I’ve felt sick as a dog. I’ve had no energy. I’ve cried going up hills. I’ve seen spots. I’ve been so dehydrated I could barely think straight.

Some part of my brain is still in shock. I don't do things like this, ever. Yet here I am. 

My heartfelt thanks to all of you who’ve supported me in this mad endeavor: whether close at hand or far away, with donations or words, everything you’ve said and done has made me accountable to you. That accountability has driven me this far, and it will drive me to the Finish Line on Saturday.

Thanks to you, I’ve discovered depths within myself I’ve never before plumbed. I’ve recalibrated the lengths to which I can push myself: physically, mentally, and emotionally. I’m more in touch with all the myriad signals of my body than ever before. I’ve never been as physically fit, I cannot be more ready than I am.

Now…now it all comes down to this. The waiting. Counting hours…as I’m writing this there are about 50-odd of them left before I’m on the Start Line. Tapering is hard. The energy in me is building and I can’t get on a bike and spend it. I’m supposed to sit and conserve for the big day.

So I won’t give any long missives tonight. I can barely sit still. I’ve got too many things to do. Packing lists to check and cross-check. Bicycling supplies to put in order. Documents to print. Nervous energy to spend. I may have to take pills to fall asleep tonight, tomorrow night. So be it.

My mind keeps racing through strategies, mulling it all over. Then I remind myself: this isn’t a race, the only goal is to survive. That simplifies everything.

My love goes out to you all. See you on the other side!

Altitude Camp

I've never before seen a sign with this large a grade listed on it!

A few weeks have elapsed, with two big events to catalogue. Only I won’t, simply because the first, while epic and huge in its own right, doesn’t hold a candle to the second.

That first ride, a large peninsula adventure taking in Big Basin and the Santa Cruz mountains, was fun and challenging as always. You’ve heard it all before. In summary: Warm-up, climb, climb, descend, rest, leg pain, climb, redwood trees, climb, descend, coast headwinds, leg pain, climb, leg pain, leg pain, butt pain, climb, descend. I’ll include the Strava link at the end of this blog entry for the curious.

Rather than dwell on the detailed, myriad ways that time blurred into a dull fog of generalized pain on that first ride, I’ll cut straight to the real treat of the last few weeks: Altitude Camp!

Altitude camp prep. I travel light!

Altitude Camp was a weekend spent camping and riding in the Sierras. It was presented as a “fun” time: the goal being to ride the entirety of the Death Ride route, over the course of three days. In between there would be camping, relaxing and general camaraderie. We were told “You will learn a few things”. Personally, I was expecting an education covering the course itself, riding at altitude, and strategies for surviving insect swarms by day and bear attacks by night.

The names of the passes we would ride have haunted my mind for months: Monitor, Ebbetts, Carson. I was eager and scared to see the reality.

Evidence of nearby Liquid Courage(tm)

I arrived at camp on Friday, just missing the first day of riding on Monitor Pass. This was somewhat intentional, as I wasn’t really in a rush to throw myself at the mountain. I knew I could use the extra time to adapt to the altitude, check my bike, and learn from my teammates what conditions were like. It was a palatable excuse, taking a few critical extra hours in which to conserve my strength and gather my courage. Plus I knew that I could find the universal salve at camp: booze. Enough liquid courage and I wouldn’t need to know about the challenges I faced on that first pass!

As we drove the last miles we cruised slowly past teammates that had actually had the courage to get there early and ride Monitor Pass. We passed them on their way back to camp, at first just a few stragglers, then small, shaking clusters, huddled for courage. All shared haunted, wild eyes, frothing mouths, ashen skin: the shell-shocked refugees of some unseen apocalypse. My mind numbly took in the scene. I had to do something to help! I shifted my iced lemonade from one hand to the other, rolled down the window and took an awful inferno-blast of heated air straight to the face as I shouted, “Keep going! You’re looking great!” I even gave them a smile.

Bugs! Why did it have to be Bugs?!?

Slowly, mechanically, heads swiveled to glare. Emotions flickered and lit across faces. I recognized bewilderment. Anguish. Disbelief. Wait, was that anger on her face? Hatred on his? Then, like a wildfire, that seething emotion lit and spread through the group as they found a target for their misery. Quickly, I rolled up the window. “Get us out of here!” I urgently hissed, "They've got bikes!"

The driver gunned it. Liquid Courage couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Camp was quickly raised, a tent city of cars, canvas and bicycles. Large bear lockers were present in every campsite. I’d never seen bear lockers before. They’re strong metal boxes cemented to the ground that bears cannot open. They’re big enough to store all your food. Also, I noticed, they’re big enough to store one person in a pinch.

That night I tossed and turned in my tent, spooked by every strange sound. Was a branch going to fall out of the trees and crash into my tent? What was that shuffling sound? A snore? No, perhaps it was one of the bears! I mentally rehearsed plans. I could dive for the bear locker, get myself inside, that would be safe. Then I remembered – I only had to be faster than the other people in camp. Which way would the bears come from? Would they try for my tent first? What if I heard them somewhere else? Augh! What was that crack of wood? Was somebody out there? What was that rattle on the bear locker? Is one trying to open it? There are crazy people in the hills, right? What if they come into the camps? Do bears travel in herds? Maybe one of the crazy people trained the bears and was bringing a whole herd to our camp? On and on my mind spun through the night.

I approach the Ebbetts climb...

The next morning, having skipped Monitor and carefully avoiding personal interactions with anyone I might’ve passed in the car, I took my first ride on Ebbetts pass. It’s an incredibly scenic mountain pass, climbing up a road that quickly shrinks to be slightly more than a lane wide. There’s a fine section with a sheer cliff rising on one side and plummeting down the other. It was quite a challenge and really pretty fundamentally unsafe given my state of mind. Honestly, the whole day probably would’ve gone better if I’d gotten any real sleep the night before. Thinking about the wild man of the woods and his trained attack bears isn’t really a good way to prep for a big ride!

Nonetheless, the day went better than I had expected after a season of whispered legends. The altitude was hard, but after twenty miles I rapidly learned to scale back my effort to account for the thinner air. The most difficult issue was that nearly all of the ride involved climbing or descending. These are two activities that separate out riders – and that’s exactly what happened. Our group fragmented by ability, and I ended up riding most of the return route alone. That’s more challenging and honestly not as much fun as riding with the group as we’ve done the rest of the season.

Dinnertime at Camp

Back at camp in the evening, there was a huge open bar, a campfire, and a long strategy session. Our Head Coach went over how to handle ourselves at each rest stop, how to shave minutes, and very importantly when to leave people behind to insure that we could finish the route in time. This is the big challenge. All of us there could ride the hills, given enough time. But we have to do it in one day. There is so little time for error in actually completing the course that every strategy of conserving effort or helping teammates must be weighed against the movement of the Sun.

That night, I laid in my tent, too tired to worry about the bears, too wound up with strategy discussions to sleep. So I pulled out the earplugs, swallowed my emergency Tylenol PM, and plunged into a deep, dreamless void.

There's lots of scenery like this on the ride!

The next morning we broke camp, packed the cars and then rode the last pass: Carson. This is also the last pass done during the Death Ride event. It’s a long, slow grind to the top, about 15 miles of slow climbing with a real bit of elevation at the end. There’s nothing remarkable about it except for the ongoing psychological trauma of it simply not ending. On the descent back down, I exceeded 50 mph, but of course my bike sensor gave out at about 47 mph. I had one of the scariest experiences of my life when a large tractor/trailer rig passed me doing just about 3 mph faster than me – about a foot off my shoulder. There was no place for me to go, no way to get further off the road – and the draft of the trailer did its best to pull me off the bike and under the wheels. The seconds it crawled past me were some of the longest of my life! Fortunately, I made it down the hill safely back to the cars, and feeling absolutely sick I headed home directly thereafter.

Post-Ride Recovery food. The only meal that could save me.

I learned quite a bit from Altitude Camp, and not just about bears and tractor-trailers. First, physical exertion at altitude is harder. That’s a no-brainer, right? Well, maybe so, but it was dramatic to see what it did to my heart rate and perceived exertion. Normally I know that I can keep my heart rate at about 150 bpm and maximize my effort over time. At 6000’, I had the same perceived level of exertion at 140 bpm, any faster and I was quickly tiring out. I could actually feel that reduce further as I climbed, by the time I was crossing the 8000’ mark, it was in the low 130’s. Anything above that would just make me wind out and it was difficult to recover.

In net, I had to go slower.

Top of Ebbetts!

My second piece of learning was all about dehydration. I became very dehydrated, especially on the last day when I rode Carson. Altitude sucks the water out of you during days two through five of adapting to it, because your body thickens the blood in order to carry more oxygen. It does this quickly by eliminating water. So on your first day up, you’re still reasonably hydrated. After that, you have to make a special effort to drink extra, just to stay even! Also, add to this physical exertion. Because you’re breathing more to get the oxygen you need, you’re pushing more water out of your body on every breath.

And the top of Carson!

This combination can be deadly. Normally when I get dehydrated the first thing I notice is a headache coming on. However, while on these big rides I’m usually on some type of painkiller, plus I’ve got so many other things on which to focus my attention that a headache is lost in the noise. It’s all too easy for dehydration to become really bad before I even notice it. Altitude, heat, exertion – it’s a recipe for quickly becoming lightheaded, disoriented and incapacitated.

Third, we rode big chunks of the actual Death Ride course. This was extremely important because we saw exactly what we’re up against. We saw the areas of the course that are dangerous. We discussed strategy for rest stops, for maximizing our time on the bike and minimizing down time. Knowing where to spend energy, where to conserve, when to get in a pace-line, when to let others fall back, where to regroup – these are the strategies that spell the difference between success and failure.

The final piece of learning? Three days is entirely enough to summit all the Death Ride passes and still be able to walk, form coherent sentences, and take care of personal bodily functions without assistance.

Doing all the passes in a single day? Madness.

The earlier in the day, the more pictures I took.

But there is hope! Altitude Camp provided a huge psychological edge, and I need every psychological advantage I can muster to finish the Death Ride successfully. We have fought fire with fire in the method of the intense training I’ve done. Training has built my strength and taught me how to manage my energy throughout a long endurance event. The hills on which I’ve trained have been steeper, granting an important mental edge to those I face on event day. The rides have grown nearly as long, the total climbing nearly as great. And finally, by riding the actual passes at altitude, I’ve discovered that not only are they surmountable but I’ve discovered a dangerous new threat from dehydration. A known threat can be managed.

And now? Now it’s nearly time. All these months of intense training have come to their penultimate moment: the single largest ride of my life is this Saturday in Marin County. After that, a two week taper, then the main event. 16 days to go! Hang on to your hats all, we’re nearly there!

The TNT Death Ride Team. GO TEAM!