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!

A Study in Saturdays

We ride.

Saturdays.

Every Saturday marks the hardest ride I have ever done.

Saturdays come now with a regularity like raindrops, heavy drumbeats drips of trepidation, laden with unspoken fears. Every Saturday I leave the house before dawn. To ride, ride, and ride until I transcend time itself. I ride until the demons are burned away by the light of a lactic acid endorphin haze that carries me beyond my own body. I ride until my soul stretches thin across the mountain slopes, subsumed by spotless sunshine.

A 50 mile leg of just us, the road and the sky.

I ride and the mountains rise to meet me.

I ride and the ocean crashes upon my face.

I ride. And still I ride on.

There is something Transcendent in all of this. Beneath sun-dappled branches we quietly climb, slowly, like any animal in the woods. There is only the moment, the rich smell of loam, the sharpened cry of a bird. Then like scattering doves we leap across a hill crest to take flight down the far slopes. With wings gathering speed we might even rise to touch the sky. Always this grounded flight, rising and falling in communion with the land, with ourselves, our peers, our Creator.

The Pacific, somewhere near Fort Ross.

Afterwards? Is there ever an afterwards? Afterwards I stumble home in the dark to try to remember what I even am.

Are Death Riders even human anymore? As we transcend our own physicalities, as our minds retreat, overwhelmed by the sheer effort of what we drive our bodies to do, can we even say who, what we become?




Always on a Saturday. This last one I remember like a dream. Sonoma Wine Country, with my Team. A beautiful beginning - miles of rolling vines and rich wineries to behold. And as I reflect, I can easily say that this was one of the most beautiful rides I've ever known. The views of ocean cliffs carved by crashing waves, of rolling hills covered in verdant trees, the smell of grapes and the spray of salt all served to mitigate the difficulty we faced. It was a ride worthy of taking my measure and I am glad to have accomplished it.

Then I recall the hills. Sheer hills, wrapped in tortured, rutted strips of asphalt expelled by a phlegmatic sadist. We rode up slopes that left me no choice but to stand and keep pressing my feet forward, lest my front wheel rise back to topple me to the ground. Never a place to stop. No way to rest.

An entry to the vaulted temple of nature.

The turn of the pedals, so slow, so silent. Just the push along the bare contour of the land, through the temple of trees and dancing motes of dust disturbed by our passing. My computer pulses as it shuts itself off, as I climb too slowly for it to register. Pulses again, on. Off. Pattering rain, a rhythm: Breath, Heartbeats, Pedal stroke, Pulse, Breath, Heartbeats, Pedal stroke, Pulse. Where does the machine end, where do I begin? Where do I end, where does the sky begin? In the moment, there is no demarcation.

There comes a time when you can no longer afford to think. You must simply know how to react. You must stand a safe distance outside your body and command it to continue, because if you dwell there for even a moment you will lose heart and give up, perish beneath the gripping pressure of it all.

At different times we were all left gasping.

I think this then is a critical piece of my training. To know the signals of my body well enough, to feel the desire to leap at the gate and temper it, to know that I am capable of more and mete out less in order to sustain under pressure. To transcend myself, survive, succeed.

Most of my Team finished this ride. None were unfazed. This ride was a beast and we took pride in our accomplishment, staggering together and hugging one another in the foggy haze of arms, laughter and post-ride delirium.

Now? Only 36 days remain. I am counting in days. Each morning waking, marking the calendar, one less empty square left to prepare for what is coming. One more dripping drumbeat of doubt. Will I be ready? My Achilles tendon still aches, already aware of what is coming. Can I go on? Must I? I shudder, my body staggers before the blow even falls. Transcend. I must transcend.

The Sun will rise as still I ride on.

That's me on the right, still riding on.

Three Rides and a Bite to Eat

As I write this, the Death Ride is only 6 weeks away. Six weeks! I've been busy getting ready, have no fear. "Too busy to blog?" you ask? Well, maybe. It's a good excuse anyway, yeah, that's it...I've been too busy riding to blog, plus there was the dog that chased me, plus I saw a squirrel...

Whatever. What I’ll provide instead of more excuses are three brief updates; one for each of three significant rides I did since the last blog entry. Also, to make up for my tardiness I'll throw down some notes to answer the most common question I get asked "wtf do you eat all day?" Maybe I can even answer the second most common question at the same time!

On to the rides!

Ride One: "Hardest. Ride. Ever."   (May 12th, Page Mill/Tunitas, ~95miles, ~8k ft.)

Go Team Go!

I didn't expect a hard ride when this one started. A few weeks ago the Team ride was a loop on the Penninsula. We went out to the coast via Page Mill road, a climb which a couple of months before had taught me two things: 

• I can stay vertical on my bike at 3.5 mph
• Normally latent Tourette’s Syndrome can manifest itself under extreme duress. 

It was amazing to discover that this time the climb was significantly easier! I was actually really excited, because I was switching up the food I was eating during the ride, experimenting with new cycling "performance enhancers", and so far the ride had gone well.

 

Biggest Motorcycle Gang Ever.
We had to wait 10 minutes to cross their traffic.

The complication arose around the time I hit the 40-ish mile mark, near Pescadero. As we rolled to the coast and intersected a motorcycle convention that had drawn every gang member on two wheels within a six-county radius, the ride became much more challenging. I was at a loss to figure out why. We rode down the coast for about 10 miles in a paceline, the entire time I felt like I was climbing hard just to keep in the line! How could it be so easy for everyone else? I kept questioning myself – was it my new diet? Was it poor sleep the night before? Too much salt? Too little fluid? Had the singing motorcyclists stolen my vitality? Hard to say. All I knew was that this "easy" stretch of road really sucked. 

When we reached the next stopping point, I hopped off the bike and pushed it towards a fence…or tried to. The back wheel wouldn’t rotate. In fact, it had taco’d – bent itself into a taco shape – because a spoke had broken and it was rubbing the rear brakes on every rotation. Aha! That explained it. With my typical full head of stubbornness I had simply pushed through the difficulty, thinking it had to me, rather than something mechanical. 



Broken spoke meets electrical tape

Once again, my team helped me out. We were as far away from the start as we could’ve been and there was no support to call – but one person donated some tape, another helped me open the back brakes completely, and between the two it was rideable. Oy, but I was tired by that point. And the Tunitas Creek climb to get back over the hill and home still was ahead! There were those who suggested I just wait until somebody finished, then they could come and get me…nothing doing. I was going to push this one through.

Tunitas Creek was a climb I’d always wanted to try, the only major climb close to home that I hadn’t yet attempted. Three times before I'd bailed on it because of mechanical issues. I’ve now done it once, on a mangled wheel and sore legs. Between the tiredness and the wheel it was the hardest climb I’d ever done. I made it to the top, shedding tears of agony along the way. I was so glad to have my great teammates there to cheer me on! 

Ride Two: "And the Moon ate the Sun" (May 20th, Page Mill, et.al, ~60 miles, ~6.5k ft)

I didn't take this picture, but this was the eclipse!

On May 20^th I created my own little make-up ride, to try to compensate to some degree for missing the grueling team ride the day before up Sierra Road and Mt. Hamilton. More excuses - Family in town, the Maker’s Faire was happening, blah blah - bottom line, I skipped the Team ride. So to try to make up even a franction of the punishment in the time I had, I rushed out for a quick run up and down the hills, once again tackling Page Mill, then Old La Honda. Finally, I figured to cap it all off by climbing the CrestView wall on my way home. This is a local hill near my house and the only place I’ve ever broken 50mph. Point downwards, of course. Climbing up it’s a ridiculous, vertical ascent, mitigated only by the fact that it’s short-ish. For those familiar with an east-bay climb known as “South Park” I’ll simply say that I’d rather have “South Park” than CrestView any day of the week.

Testing my climbing ability by going up Crestview had seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, partway up I had to stop and rest. Then I had to stop again. And again. Each time, the same tired chat with my old friend "Max Heart Rate" and his ever sociable date, "Dry Heaves". When I finally lurched to the top just after 6pm, completely spent, my legs decided it would be a good time to let me know they were going on strike by completely cramping up. It was all I could do not to fall over and cry on the spot. Fortunately there was a small crowd watching my arrival and some residual sense of decorum kept me biting my lower lip and grimacing instead of screaming.

Much to my surprise, I’d arrived just in time to watch the solar eclipse from the top of the ridge. All the amateur astronomers were overjoyed to have a hobbling cyclist admire their telescopes and lenses. Thanks to my timing (and no doubt my bedraggled state) I garnered enough sympathy to peer through some nice equipment and watch the moon very nearly eclipse the whole Sun. It was a great show! By the time it was over my legs worked well enough to get me home. I couldn’t have timed the day any better!

Ride Three: "South Park Meets Devil Mountain" (May 26th, Mt. Diablo, et.al., ~100 miles, ~10.5k ft)

It's Bone Domo! Our Team Spirit Award!
I Love You, Domo!

And this brings us up to ride three of the set, made last Saturday, the 26^th  of May. For those keeping track, this one was another near-miss on the Century list, clocking in at 99 miles. Sigh.

However, there was one immediately wonderful thing about this entire ride - I got to carry Domo on my bike! Domo is the Team Spirit Award, and every week one rider who best demonstrates the indominatable spirit required of Death Riders everywhere gets to take this totem on their bike. It was my turn, due to the events described in the first Ride on this blog - in which I pushed through to completion despite a bent wheel and hard times!

Pushing Max HR, at the very summit of Mt. Diablo!

Domo is a huge pick-me-up. He really kept me going. All through the hard parts of this ride I found myself talking to him, gaining his encouragement, telling him in turn to "Scream Louder" as the wind ripped across my ears on death-defying descents...good times, good times!

The ride of the day was a big East Bay tour, covering some well-known territory, including another summit of Mt. Diablo and transecting the Vampiric-Butterfly infested fields of the Grizzly Peak Century. Not so long ago such a ride should have struck fear into my bones!

Summiting the Pig Farm

Yet Mt. Diablo, with the hellish grade at the top, held no fear. I made it up that ghoulish last pitch without pause, Domo screaming his encouragement the whole way! 

There then followed the meandering hills of the three bears, with nary a blood-sucking butterfly to worry me. Finally, the day gone, sun setting and 90+ miles reached, we tackled the final climb: "South Park Lane". That's one nasty climb, short and brutal. Especially in the cold and dark, at the end of a long day of riding. To be fair, I had to pause twice to make it to the top, but once again, my teammates never left me behind. Love it!

My DR Roomie!

So somehow…though everything was difficult, it was all achievable. I think the hardest part was that it took all day! We were on the bikes at 8am, only making it back to the cars around 7pm. That's been hard to adapt to - as these rides grow longer and the climbing more intense, I simply have to be prepared for entire days spent in the Sun, pushing my pedals.

And yet...week by week, my body becomes ever more hardened, carved in wood. The seat still tries to destroy my butt, but it takes longer every time. This type of riding isn't easy, it’s never been easy. As the wise man said, “It never gets easier. You just get faster.” I would add to that - you get tougher. A lot tougher. Six more weeks! Will I be tough enough?!? OMG O_o

Ride Nutrition: "Do you eat while you ride?"

So I thought I'd throw in some quick thoughts on things not really nutrition related. Basically I get asked a lot, “Do you eat while you ride?” The answer is an emphatic “yes!”

There are some really fun challenges in doing endurance events like this. Not just the physical challenges, either. The body is a machine, and it has been fascinating for me to discover how that machine can be run. There are a couple of critical things that need to be watched during these events. The first one is heart rate (HR). How fast your heart is beating while you exercise is telling you how hard you’re working. How hard you’re working dictates what type of energy you’re burning, whether it’s energy from the muscles (anaerobic) or from fat (aerobic). There’s only so much anaerobic energy available. It has to be conserved and portioned out at critical intervals to climb hills or sprint ahead. The rest of the time you have to be smart, watch the HR, and insure you’re burning easily renewable energy. That’s where eating while you ride really comes into play.


About a Century's worth of calories and supplements.
Okay, I only eat a fraction of the big powder
bins in one go, but you get the idea.

Check out the photo with the various food-stuffs in it. That’s typical ride-prep for me. There are supplements to restore electrolytes and maintain glycogen levels. There’s a pre-ride FRS drink and a post-ride FRS drink. There are bottles of gel, which is like a sugary syrup, for times when a rapid hit of energy is required. There are the longer-burning elements, like peanut butter sandwiches, fig newtons, energy bars and the like. And of course, the real secret? Painkillers. My personal choice is Aleve. I’m amazed at what a difference those little pills can make over the long haul!

All told, I’ll end up carrying somewhere between 2,000-3,000 calories with me. In many ways, long-distance endurance cycling is a numbers game. When operating in aerobic zones, the body uses glycogen as a catalyst for all its energy conversion. You can’t burn fat if you don’t have glycogen, and if you’re not burning fat you’re burning the energy in the muscles directly, which is a quick path to bonking out and ending the ride.

The way we ride, with all the climbing, 30 miles is a bit less than three hours of effort, and something like 1500 calories. That’s about all the body is really good for in terms of glycogen reserves. If you want to maintain performance levels after that, you have to be eating along the way.


A demonstration of my patented quick-activation technique
to maximize the efficacy of cycling "performance enhancers".
Don't try this at home. I'm what you call "a professional".

Our Team rides have been getting up to 10+ hours in duration. The Death Ride itself might take 15 hours. At a minimum, I have to be taking in about 300 calories an hour to keep the engine running, perhaps more. So on a 10-hour ride, I try to pack about 3,000 calories and eat it all. That 3,000 plus the initial 1,500 in reserve gives me approximately a nine-hour range at good performance levels. Simple math, right? Hopefully now you have some insight into why so many bikers go around with big lumps of junk on their backs. We’re like camels on wheels, eating our own humps as we go!


A Final Word

Thanks for reading this far and thanks to all of you for your friendship and support! For those unaware, I've hit my fundraising milestone. You've been a huge inspiration to me and one of the biggest reasons I keep on going. To all of you who've helped me and by extension helped in the fight against cancer, I extend my heartfelt love and gratitude!

Of course, as I write this, it's time to face the next challenge. Tomorrow is the biggest ride yet for the season. I'm told it's 110 miles and 11k of vertical feet, and I have to drive about 2.5 hours just to get to the start line. I have to leave the house before Starbucks opens, for crying out loud! Does the world even exist at that hour?!? Stay tuned...if I make it back, you'll hear all about it here!