Keep Hope Alive

Cheers!

Even since the weather tanked a few weeks ago it's been a bit frustrating for me.  Normally I would embrace Mother Nature's evil wrath and continue knocking down my miles with little complaint.  However, I've quickly realized how difficult it is to stay even remotely warm on a bike when you are traveling 3 to 4 times faster than on foot.  Even with a 500 lumen light, riding in the dark isn't that appealing.  Which is strange to me because I've covered hundreds if not thousands of miles with little more than the light of the moon, random farm lights spotted across the countryside and the dim glow of Lansing's light pollution.  I've only been out for a few rides as time and weather have allowed but most of all I've been punishing myself on the loaner cycle trainer in my basement.  It's terribly boring, but just about my only reasonable option at this point. 

I don't want to dwell on fact that I've been depressed, but I am and I'm dealing with it.  My injury shook the depths of my soul and attempting to fill that void has become increasingly difficult.  It's been just over seven months since my loss of foot function and I have seen little if any improvements since July.  There are days when it is actually worse.  Sometimes by the end of the day I'm literally dragging my foot across the floor.  Stop and consider that for a moment...its a load of shit!  I originally told myself that I was going to wait 12 months before I pursued any sort of AFO (ankle foot orthosis) but since there has been NO improvement in roughly 5 months I'm moving forward.

I'm still hopeful that the nerves are repairing themselves and that one day I will walk with a normal gait, but for now the power is turned off.  I get flashes of hope from time to time when I feel sharp pains in my lower leg/foot.  It feels like electrical impulses shooting down my leg and at times it can be really painful.  I know the if the function comes back it's not going to be overnight but when I have these strange sensations I have to believe something good is happening.

It seems very hard for people to understand that I can't lift my foot as it is something that is very much taken for granted.  I look down at my foot, fully understanding the simplistic motion required for the task, attempt to lift it and it only moves perhaps and inch and a half on a good day.  Frustrating!  The best analogy I have come up with to describe the frustration is this:

Clothespin be dammed!

1.) Place a clothespin between your your thumb and forefinger.
2.) Pinch the pin to open the jaw (do this several times noticing how simple and effortless the motion is).
3. Now place the clothespin between your ring finger and pinkie, using the insides of your fingers pinch the pin to open the jaw.


What?  You can't open the jaw?  I don't understand...so simple.

Really, don't worry about me, I'll be fine.  I'm not giving up.  I'll never give up.  I have decided that my motto for 2012 will be "keep hope alive." My neurosurgeon offered to prescribe an AFO that could help me walk but I didn't want it at the time and I was highly suspect that is was some stretchy fabric POS designed for 70-year-old men...not for me.  I've done some of my own research and have learned that they make carbon fiber AFO's designed for athletes.  That's what I'm after.  Not because I think I'm some elite athlete but only because I want the same opportunities as the best.  The problem has been finding a clinic nearby that will fit me, but my research is still in its infancy.  Maria referred me to MSU Sports Med, but they declined to see me because I'm not a candidate for full recovery.  I will travel out of state as needed but am hopeful that I won't need to.

Really?

I won't like running with some space age looking device and I'm sure a select few will think it is some sort of unfair advantage...but I really don't care and I'm not out to impress.  I just want to run.

I will give another update as soon as I have something more to share.  Before I sign off I would like to thank all of my friends and family that have supported me through this setback.  There is only a handful of you reading this, but I thank you very much for your encouragement and support.  I've been fragile over past seven months and most of my friends have been very supportive.  To be specific, Tony, thanks brother...you've been there for me and I appreciate it.  Josh, you've been super supportive whether you know it or not and for that I thank you.  And of course Maria...without you I would still be waiting for surgery and likely racked up on the side of the road, drunk and passed out in a ditch.

To all of you, have a Merry Christmas and remember to never sell yourself short.  You are capable of much more than you give yourself credit for. 

Last week

I didn't accomplish much in the past week on my bikes, but I did manage a few rides and a couple of them were pretty good. 

Nice tenderloins!

Sugar beets anyone?

Short UP rides

I think Mother Nature got the memo late or something, because on Friday AM there was a nice covering of sloppy snow in the Northern Lower and Eastern UP.  This is the weather I would have expected for a race called Iceman. 

Either way I was able to get in a couple of short rides over the weekend.  One in complete darkness with a really insane wind coming off Whitefish Bay and the other under warm sunny skies.  No complaints. 

The night ride was a little nerve wracking as I spun through Andrus Lake campground because my in-laws swear up and down that they saw a large cat over that way a few weeks ago.  I've been through it with them a half dozen times and they say it was definitely a cat and much larger than a bobcat (nearly twice the size).  It could have been an lynx, however that would be very rare.  If so, I understand lynx are very docile in the wild.  My bigger fear is that it was a cougar but their sighting is 100% unsubstantiated.  Cougars have been know to stalk and kill humans in the American West.  I don't need that. 

large boat passing Whitefish Point proper

On Saturday I decided to do a little tour of St. Ignace.  I've always though it looked like a nice little town and I wanted to get a closer look at the boat docks, Mackinac Bridge and some of the side streets.  The weather was spot on for November. 

look out moose

2011 Iceman Cometh Challenge

"ATTACK!  ATTACK!  ATTACK THE GODD*MN COURSE!"  With less than a 1/4 mile to go and stacked six men deep on the final stretch of tight single track, I had finally reached my breaking point.  I was fed up with the pathetic standard of mountain biking that was holding up the line and as a result I lashed out at a fellow racer. 

I never sleep well the night before a race and as expected this race was no exception.  When I crawled into my hotel room (my Chevy Suburban) in the back of the Days Inn parking lot in Traverse City the lot was almost completely empty and quiet.  As the night wore on, vehicles continued to stream in and by 2 AM cars with bikes on the roof were circling the lot.  I was up by five and going through my pre-race routine.  If you know my pre-race running routine you know that I'm ridiculously OCD and rather superstitious.  My pre-race biking routine is turning out to be a real doosey.  I'll spare you the details.
 
The race was well organized in that they offered multiple shuttle options for both racers and spectators.  Tony, Matt and I caught a shuttle to Kalkaska at 8:00 AM.  We were delivered to a bustling downtown Kalkaska by 8:40 AM.  The temperature was around 21 F and the sun was barley breaking above the trees.  The sheer amount of competitors, spandex and carbon fiber was enough to intimidate a newb such as myself but I didn't let it.  

I had the opportunity to ride the course the day before with a couple of guys from the Rapid Wheelmen Cycling Club out of Grand Rapids.  To me it was very helpful to see the route firsthand and be able to identify problem areas and pick my lines in advance.  The course was very well marked with large red arrows and signs pointing out trail hazards.  I was initially worried about excessive sand, but didn't feel like there was much that couldn't be easily avoided.  The biggest benefit was to see the ridiculousness that was the finish area at Timber Ridge.  The route funneled into what at first appeared to be the chute but simply just routed you through the madness of spectators and spit you back out on a brutal section of tight single track.  Then back up a steep hill to the real finish chute that seemed to go on forever.  Not knowing this could have played wicked tricks on the mind of a tired and weary racer.  I did my best to fill Matt and Tony in on my recon efforts from the day prior.

Since none of us had a previous time in this race our wave assignments were based on age.  Matt was placed in wave 21 and Tony and I in wave 22.  There were 48 waves in all and two more for pro/cat 1 men and women.  The race started at 9 AM and wave 22 went out at 10:03.  They had a very systematic and efficient method of queuing the waves and kept the race on time down to the second. 

I was very nervous going into this one just because I always put too much pressure on myself and more so the reality that if you experience mechanical failure with your bike, your day is done in the blink of an eye.  I usually never disclose my goals before a race and in following that tradition I didn't tell anybody that I wanted to finish in two hours.  My goals are always unrealistic and sometimes I even lie just so people don't think I'm a total freak.  I attempted to size up my competition among the guys in my wave but couldn't.  Everybody looked fast.  Tony and I waited as the other waves went off ahead of us and the knots in my stomach became increasingly more intense.  I kept telling Tony, "nine more minutes", "now six" and "three".  Then "two minutes", "one", "thirty seconds" and I remember saying "ten seconds...good luck". 

Tony at the start

They actually blew a whistle.  That's right, a silly little whistle that sounded like something they pulled out of a Cracker Jack box.  I say the least they could have done was used a real whistle like a Fox 40 or an Acme Thunder, something that takes control and screams, "listen up mother f*cker!"  I didn't waste too much time worrying about the pathetic whistle because there were 29 miles of race course in front of me and I was bound and determined to attack hard and attack often. 

I was immediately out of the saddle and veering to the right side of the course to make a move towards the front of the wave.  There was about a half mile of pavement before the trail turned West and slipped off into the woods.  I was pretty shocked at how quickly the pack or riders in front of me thinned.  They just seemed to shatter like splinters right before my eyes.  The next thing I knew I was chasing down the final three riders.  I settled in right behind the leader and sat on his wheel until just before the trail started.  I remember feeling so cold. It was around 28 F at the start but I was dressed more appropriately for 40 F and at 20 MPH I was freezing, but that soon would fade.  Just before we hit the trail I slipped past the leader and had nothing but wide open real estate in front of me.  I attacked, and attacked and attacked until my lungs burned and my legs felt like they were going to explode.  I didn't care.  I kept telling myself, "Its only 29 miles, you've got this." 

Remus at the start

I hadn't really done the math and didn't know what to expect but it wasn't long at all before I started catching riders from wave 21.  We were only a couple of miles in and some of these people looked really defeated.  The course was mixed with single track, two track and a tiny bit of narrow dirt/sand roads (snowmobile trails).  It seemed that most of the time I could pass, but there were several miles of frustrating tight single track where passing wasn't an option.  So in turn I started my redundant dialogue:

"ON YOUR LEFT"
"COMING ON YOUR LEFT"
"LEFT SIDE"
"EXTREME LEFT"
"LEFT SIDE, NO RIGHT, SORRY"
"LEFT"
"STILL ON YOUR LEFT"
"SPLITTING"

It was incredibly redundant, but I called my pass every time and thanked every rider I passed.  I've also made a habit of thanking the race marshals, police and spectators. So I got to mix it up a bit with:

"THANKS FOR DOING THIS"
"THANKS GUYS"
"THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT"


At mile seven I came around a corner and right up on Matt's tail.  There was nobody around so I took the opportunity to mess with him.  As I approached I yelled, "ON YOUR LEFT MOTHER FU*KER!"  He later told me that he wondered what kind of jacka*s would actually say that to somebody and then he realized it was me.  He said I blew by him like a cat 1 racer.  Thanks Matt, but if I was a pro I would have been decked out head to toe in my sponsor's spandex. 

I had decided the day before to keep my front suspension locked out because the course wasn't terribly demanding and I felt like it could have been safely ridden with no suspension at all.  As it turned out there were plenty sections where I wished I had reached down and unlocked it, but instead I held on for dear life and took the punishment.  When your taking hits like that it makes it hard to see.  All you can do is look out about ten to fifteen feet in front of you and aim for the middle of the trail.  I took risks that could have ended very badly, but I did what I had to do.  The best example I can remember was passing a line of riders in a straight, flat section of trail that narrowed and swept into a steep downhill.  There was one guy left in the line and he wouldn't give me an inch on the trail as it narrowed.  I had called several times, "ON YOUR LEFT" to no avail.  As we swept left I was next to him just out of his line of vision. I screamed, "STILL ON YOUR LEFT!"  My shoulder in the brush mowing down saplings and spectators had they been in the way.  A full shot of adrenaline surged through my veins and as I made the seat-of-my-pants pass I let out a yelp of excitement and mashed the pedals never to see him again.  As I sped along I said to myself, "now this is racing!"

the edge of Williamsburg

 Williamsburg Road was the only paved road crossing on the course (Tony, sorry if I jinxed you) and a short steep hill lead to the road crossing.  There were hundreds of spectators lining the hill and roadside.  It was a sureal experience passing through the tunnel of people.  I remember hearing a lot of cowbells as I sped through the intersection.  At that point I felt like I was on the homestretch with only 12 miles to go.  However, once you cross Williamsburg the course starts to gain some elevation and the riding gets more difficult.  There were a lot of people walking hills.  I did lose traction and had to partially walk/run one...it was pretty steep and I couldn't clean it on my pre-ride so I expected to walk it again.  By this time people started to look like zombies and they didn't seem to be having fun. 

It was in the last few miles that I finally caught some MSU and UofM club riders that had gone off in wave 21.  I slapped the UofM guy on the back and told him good race and he told me to "go get 'em." 


Before long I could hear the roar of the crowd at Timber Ridge...but I knew better. There were still a couple of long brutal hills to go.  I had managed to choke down four or five shot blocks on the course but was still feeling my energy fading.  I was starting to feel foggy and my vision was blurry.  At one point I thought I was going to vomit and I told myself, "save it for the finish line."  In addition to it all, my legs were starting to cramp.  I knew I could deal with the physical discomfort but I scanned over my bike and though to myself, don't fail me know.   I started watching the clock and trying to estimate my finish time...the two hour mark wasn't looking good as I knew there were still two sections of tight trail and the final brutal hill which I would likely have to walk. 

As I came in to the "fake finish" I started to feel the energy of the crowd and knew the only thing that stood between me and the real finish was a steep descending section of off camber single track with a log crossing at the bottom and one more big hill.  We were stacked six riders deep, tire to tire as the trail tightened up.  I was in the fifth position.  The guy leading the pack refused to let his bike run; subsequently he was standing on the brakes.  The guy behind me was getting antsy and he shouted, "COME ON GUYS, PICK IT UP!"  I glanced at my Garmin and saw that I wasn't going to make my time goal and lost it.

Insert my "attack" line from the first paragraph here:

At that moment I had hoped that he would just ride off the course and let us all pass, but he continued to plod along.  Just as the trail widened the line exploded to life and we all made our move. I dipped my shoulder and went right then left.  As I passed slowpoke our handle bars and elbows made incidental contact.  I looked over my shoulder and was happy to see that he was still upright, I didn't want to take him out, just remind him that this was a race for over $50,000 in prize money.  Clearly none of us were going to win money, but come on we weren't joy riding at the local park.  

As expected, I only made it about half way up the big hill at the finish before I hit a mob of walkers and traffic.  I jumped off my bike and pushed it to the top of the hill, remounted and sprinted towards the chute.  I wish I would have taken it all in as I sped by hundreds if not thousands of spectators cheering, but I honestly don't remember much of it.  I didn't want to leave any more time on the course than I already had.  Physically I had nothing left.  As I was filing out of the shoot, I was dizzy, foggy and seeing double.  It really was a wonderful feeling.

the corral with an estimated value of contents at $1,000,000

After attempting to catch my breath I made my way to the bike corral and checked my rig, grabbed some orange slices and a cookie and then found Sarah and Patti.  It was then that Patti told me Tony was at Williamsburg Road with a catastrophic mechanical failure that had taken him out of the race.  His day was done.  I felt sick to my stomach and angry.  Tony had worked hard leading into this race and not being able to finish was a load of sh*t.  Tony, you deserved better, but don't let it get you down.  You'll be back to race another day!


Shortly after I finished Matt came screaming past in a blaze of blue for a strong finish.  I met him at the chute exit and handed him a Bells Two Hearted brew. He seemed pretty appreciative.  I have two finish line dreams that have never been fulfilled.  1.) To be handed a beer.  2.) To vomit.

the Matts

Matt, Sarah and I spent the better part of the afternoon enjoying the incredible weather, chugging beer and watching the race unfold.  It was impressive and very humbling to see the pros come in.  They were fast, crushing my modest time by almost 30 minutes.  

My official time was 2:01:51 which was good enough for 12 of 71 for 35 year old men and 522 of 3757 overall.  Of the finishers, 3299 were men and 458 were women.  Next year I will have a much better seed and hope to go off in one of the top ten waves.  This should almost completely eliminate the need for me to call out, "ON YOUR LEFT."

official results

A nice example of the course and the pros.

Watch more video of ICEMAN Cometh Challenge 2011 on cyclingdirt.org

The real chute and finish line...it went on forever.

I'm with you dude!

Luton sans crashes

Another incredible day for late season riding.  The trails were dry and glorious.  I rode the first loop while waiting on Tony to get out of work.  Tony's bike was in the shop so he rode my SS.  Good times.

it looks a little small but he rode it like a champ

near the end of the ride we ran into Jason

The Lowell 50

rac·ing/ˈrāsiNG/:  1.) To compete in a contest of speed.  2.) Steady or rapid onward movement.  3.)  Moving swiftly.

 

Its been almost six months since my injury and I've seen little improvement in my foot function.  It's still dropped and weak.  I've accepted the fact that I may never run again.  I made running a big part of my life.  The gaping void that has been left without it has been difficult to fill.  More than anything I miss racing; its in my blood. 

On Friday morning Tony told me about a gravel road race in Lowell called the Lowell 50.  I badly wanted in just as a warm up for Iceman.  Registration was closed and my attempts to contact the race promoter fell on deaf ears.  The website made no mention of same-day registrations so I made the decision to show up an hope to get a number.  In all honesty, I was riding that race whether I had a legit number or had to poach the course.  As it turned out, 10 minutes before the race, I was able to locate the race director and get registered.  

The race offered two distances; 50 miles and 27.  Tony was riding the 27 and our friend Matt was riding the 50.  We are all riding Iceman on Saturday so I thought it wise to do 27.  Matt, well I have no idea what he was thinking because he got punished out there on a hilly course with plenty of soft sloppy roads.   

They sent the 50 milers off in a blaze of colorful spandex and a nice mix of cross and mountain bikes.  Tony and I started near the end of the pack of maybe 50 riders.  I've never raced on a bike so my strategy was very similar to my running race strategy; get to the front of the pack as fast as possible and stay there.  I know it sounds like basic strategy but it's easier said than done.  It was an uneventful start and I think I may have heard the race director say "go" but basically everybody just started moving forward.  I stood and started hammering away at the pedals.  I had to weave my through a colorful sea of spandex, crunching metal gears and tires streaming water and mud.  Within the first mile or so there was a nice climb and the pack really started to thin.  I grabbed the wheel of a three-man line and we quickly pulled away from the field never to see them again.  My heart was pounding and I could feel the blood rushing through my veins.  A blissful feeling washed over me as my mind was free of my daily burdens.  I was racing for the first time in 6 months and feeling very fortunate to be doing so. 

Ethan at the finish.

Right out of the gates one of the guys stepped up and took control of our pace line.  We'll call him Ethan.  Ethan was a member of Bissell Racing, or so his jersey said.  He was riding a 29'er just like me.  There was another guy in a Bissell jersey riding a cross bike.  When I got my first chance to pull the line I couldn't control my adrenalin.  I was immediately out of the saddle hammering down.  Ethan barked, "Easy, easy we've got a long ways to go."  I glanced at my Garmin and it read 4.70 miles.  We took our turns and moved along the course like a well oiled machine.  

Before long I saw two more Bissell jerseys in front us.  My initial though (read inexperienced here) was that we're going to ride through them and leave them for dead.  Ethan pipes up, "When we come up on these guys we are going to pick them up and bring them with us." Sure enough they fell in line and Ethan continued to control our pace.  "OK guys, now we are six strong and there is only one guy ahead of us, we are going to let him sit up there alone for awhile and then we'll go after him."  I had no idea we were at the front of the field with a chance to launch an attack on the leader.  I was pretty ecstatic and had a hard time containing myself.  I've never raced as a team like that and it was a really incredible feeling.  I told myself that I could not fall off the back of the line, I was going to stay with these guys come hell or high water. 

We continued to work together taking turns as we watched the leader slowly slip away.  I knew at some point someone in a red jersey was going to launch an attack and I wanted badly to be in a position to go with them.  I kept a close eye on Ethan.  Somewhere around 17 miles or so we crossed a covered bridge and headed into a brutal climb.  One of the guys on a cross bike attacked and Ethan and I gave chase.  He crushed us on the climb but once it leveled out we ran him down.  At that point we had put some distance between the other three but we couldn't hold them off.  They caught us and we were six again.  

The advertised distance was 27 miles and around 24 miles the pace really started to pick up.  I knew another attack was coming.  Unfortunately I didn't know the area so nothing looked familiar.  I was pulling the line as we headed into a right turn and an immediate uphill.  As we rounded the corner Ethan attacked hard.  He was gone and I was pissed that I had nothing left to give chase.  I though we still had a few miles to go so I wasn't that concerned.  As it turned out we were very close to the end as the course was a couple miles short.  A few hundred yards from the finish there was a right turn and you finished at the top of a hill.  At the intersection I saw Ethan go left and was like, WTF?  He blew it, made a wrong turn and cost himself five positions. At first I felt bad for him but then I realized that part of racing is racing smart.  

decent award

I tried my best to give one last surge on the final hill, but the guys I was riding with were too strong.  I had to settle for fifth place overall.  The cool part was I guess they were all in their 40's because I ended up winning my age group (30-39).  I'm hoping official results will be posted on the website at some point. OFFICIAL RESULTS

Tony at the finish.

This is strange because it appears that I actually got second in my age group since the overall winner was in there too.  I suppose he got an overall winner award so by default I ended up with first.  I am happy to see that I was less than three minutes from the overall winner. 

 It was a really great race that gave me a lot of confidence going into Iceman.  I know I won't win anything at Iceman in a field of 5000 racers, but I will give my best.  I thought the course was an excellent mix of gravel and pavement.  The rain the night before made for some sloppy conditions which for me just added to the enjoyment of this race.  

Vapor beard.

Tony kind of got hung out to dry and ended up riding most of the race alone which made for much cleaner clothes at the finish.  Thanks Tony for telling me about this race, it was a ton of fun as always.  I should have brought some post race beers.  As far as Matt, well I heard that he finished in less than four hours but as I understand he didn't have a lot of fun. 

 

Cute.

 

Last week in October

Seems like the weather has been brutal these last couple of weeks.  If it isn't rain then its wind or temps in the sub-forties.  I know what's coming so I really shouldn't be complaining.  Anyway I got a few rides in. 

Muskrat Lake in all her swampy glory.