The Way I See It

Denver, Done That

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Here's a link to the 2009 race wrap-up (I'm not in it):
Mt Evans Hill Climb July 18, 2009 Start

When I did this race in 2001, I was about 11% faster on the flats, a world of difference. I didn't have speed, but I had other things. I also had nothing to lose but my life, and that wasn't worth much anymore. I'd written a poem about dying on a mountain in 1999. Perhaps it would be self-fulfilling. Or maybe I'd crash, hit my head, lose my memory, be raised by deer, and become Bambi Man.
I weighed everything. My old trusty insulated water bottles were two ounces heavier per bottle than cheap, non-insulated bottles, and the cheap ones were smaller and easier to handle. Who needed insulation when the temperature at the finish was in the 40's? I weighed my clothing and found that the differences between the lightest and heaviest sets was ten ounces. Free speed. I put lighter tires on my bicycle, lighter wheels, and for the first time in five years, had a bicycle designed to race. I dug out my old green helmet from 1996 to save an ounce. Probably wasn't as safe, but I didn't plan on hitting my head. I'd considered nose-reduction surgery, although with my old helmet, I thought I could use it to break the fall. And since my fiancee/girlfriend of four years crapped me out, I had an extra organ I could've done without. Gizmo seemed pretty happy without his. Here's a photo of it:
Psych! I prepared to leave on the July 15th but ran into some unexpected problems--my bicycle computer stopped working. It broke hours before I was to turn in for a night of rest for the trip. Without it, I wouldn't be able to effectively pace myself. So after spending hours to find a new one and installing and programming it, I did some hard riding on Streuh Hendricks Road nearby, with one of the only good hills in the area. I got too tense on a downhill and very nearly crashed, and then, at the top of a hill, four dogs came out, brought me to a stop, and circled me, taking swipes at me. It was like a bad re-enactment of West Side Story during an actor's strike. This went on for about two minutes while the owner yelled at them. They didn't listen. This is not the first time I had problems with these dogs, but you do what you can. One got a good swipe at my ankle and it began bleeding. It was my first dog bite on a bicycle ride,
and I didn't have time to deal with it. I did ride home, grab two bottles of mace, and return to the scene of the crime to draw the dogs out, spray them, and then kick the crap out of them, but I didn't want to get bitten again or crash. I had to leave the next morning for a race I'd wanted to do for years.
Gizmo was wonderful, lying on my lap and gazing into my eyes, lovingly, as if I were a giant, bleeding fire-hydrant. Here he is ordering food from a drive through while I used the restroom. He was very handy to have around (click on thumbnails for photos and videos).

We stopped at WaKeeny, Kansas the first night, then plowed on to Georgetown, Colorado. Georgetown was a gorgeous little mining town, population 1100, altitude 8519 feet. Here's my motel--it wasn't much, but what do you expect? I didn't mine. It's the same motel I stayed at in 2001. And here's a lovely picture of Georgetown>>>
As soon as I exited my car, I had trouble standing. I unloaded my luggage and lay in bed for three hours watching Court TV, or as Jerry Lewis would say, "Court Television". I tried to get up, but it was like dragging a dead, pregant deer behind me. This was not what I had in mind when I envisioned Bambi Man.

I didn't have this much trouble with the altitude in 2001. Back then I was just dragging a bunny on a skateboard. I was in much better shape, but not on anti-depressants, which can cause dizziness. I read a small book I brought along, and it said that when conditioning to altitude, don't go anaerobic in the first week. It was a little late--adjustment to altitude takes three weeks. I'd just take the hit, but I didn't think I'd be hit this hard. I did a 15 mile training ride which was supposed to be spirited, but with my lethargy, and the deer, it was best to go easy. I crested a hill on Interstate 70, checked my pulse, and was down to about ten miles an hour just to stay aerobic. This was not the body I left Evansville with!
I felt discouraged, but then, thinking of my mission, I knew I'd just push all the harder and try not to pass out. God could make me win, but I couldn't do anything without him. If I could just beat my best time from 2001, I'd be thrilled. The race aside, July 17th was my boy's birthday! He was seven, but he tells everyone he's four. Vanity! Or perhaps it's because if he holds up more than four toes, he'd fall on his face. Here he is posing with the new car I bought him. I later told him it was all a joke and let him smell Mountain Goat poo. The morning of the race I switched out my Mickey Mouse jersey, the lightest one I had, for my new, ill-fitting, high-visibility yellow jersey. It was 20 grams heavier, but had the added bonus of a full front zipper which I could open all the way down. If I became overheated, dropping my body temp a few degrees would blow away any advantage I'd have from a jersey that was 20 grams lighter. I put two No Doz in my jersey pocket just in case the altitude got too bad. I didn't know if it would work but it was worth a try. I slept well before the race and didn't experience the tenseness I usually experienced in races. I smiled all day before and just enjoyed being back as a serious cyclist. I was so thrilled at that, the results didn't bother me as much. I dreamed about Amy the night before the race, and dreamed that I'd do well and phone her and she'd tell me not to call her, she had a new boyfriend. I awoke sad and had to remind myself about the race. I ate half my Subway sandwich and tried to get the negative pictures of Amy out of my head. The night before the race, I had the crazy idea I'd like to break away early in the race, before the real climbers took over.

I arrived early with my Rocky Mountain High beard and sunglasses from the side of the road. I also stopped trimming my nose hair.
Unfortunately, once we got going, I was boxed in, and not being comfortable riding with a large group (hadn't been in a mass-start race in eight years!) couldn't figure how to get outside to attack. We started at 22 miles an hour, extremely fast for a climb, but the bottom slopes were less aggressive. I just wanted to hang on as long as possible--in 2001, I let go too soon. As the road kept angling up, it became harder to hang with the real climbers, and then at about five miles, we hit this corner at 8800 feet and it was all over:

I shot these photos from my bicycle on the way down. But this is the first bad turn (far left). The lower half is steeper than the top half, but the top half has altitude, and fatigue, so it seems a lot harder. And I was really feeling the effects of altitude like I never did in 2001. Nevertheless, I had a little kick at this level, but I'd go, die, recoup, keep steady, attack again, die, repeat. And the hills kept going and going.
Still, there was some pretty scenery at the bottom parts. Here's a section that winds around a cliff at 9000 feet with a clear view of the previous switchback just 200 feet below.

We reached Echo Lake at 12 miles, 10,597 feet, and exchanged our empty water bottles for full ones. This was a race, so we didn't stop and chat and compare shoes--I threw my empty bottle at someone and he threw a full one back at me as I tried not to swerve so much I'd crash or get my skirt caught in my chain. Here is Echo lake from a higher slope at about 10,900 feet.>>>
I could not stay hydrated! I'd drink desperately and it would squirt all over me, and then as I was trying to catch my breath, I'd lose momentum while I coughed. In 2001 I prayed,"Lord, be my strength", but this year, I couldn't concentrate on anything. I soon began weaving in my lane, and every time I'd try to pray, I'd lose track and think to myself,"Who am I talking to? Look, a bird. Where am I?" You know it's going to be a good race when 90% of the race you keep asking yourself,"What have I gotten myself into?"

I kept singing to myself, "Have Thine Own Way" by Johnny Cash. But I couldn't stay on it. Maybe instead I should've been singing 'Hurt'. By now, I was really hurting. My average speed, which had been good, was dropping very low. I was doing 8-10 miles an hour on a slope where I should've been doing 10-12. The altitude--I kept telling myself, in a slurred inner-monologue,"Altitude--I need to adjust next time". Then I'd see a bird and forget what I was thinking about. A guy tried to pass me on my left and I couldn't figure which way to go, so I zig zagged for a while. Here's Lincoln Lake, just about at treeline at 11,600 feet. Note the road winding around it. You don't want to drive or ride off these cliffs. I'm at 12,500 feet here, mile 19:
After about 22 miles we reached Summit Lake, and our first views of the summit. I'm at 12,900 feet here, but the road drops and you go down to Summit Lake for the only real drop on the climb. You loose the altitude you just gained and have to work it back. This is why the summit is at 14,130 feet, the start is at 7,555 feet, but the total climbing in the race is actually 6915 feet. I enjoyed it because one of my errors in training was I used big gears, so I had a lot of bulk that didn't help me. It felt good to fire up the old pistons and scream past the skinny guys in my big chainring, and the screaming matched the skirt. We still had about five hard miles to go, but at this point, you began having hope that you'd make it. This is the view from the first corner when I first saw Summit Lake at 12,803 feet (I shot this from a cliff on the way back down, not during the race) at mile 21:

And when I zoomed in, I could see the weather station at the summit at 14,264 feet:
And here is a video of me explaining the same thing:
http://video.yahoo.com/watch/5579251/14650639
Here is Summit Lake:

Then the road levels a little, makes a pass by the beautiful lake, and angles up sharply. This looked very steep, but there was a breeze skipping across the lake, and most of us flew up the lower portions of this section. I guess the slight downhill break gave our climbing muscles a needed rest. This road, and all the roads above it, were bumpy going up, dangerous going down. At speed, the size of the dips, holes, and bumps could throw you off the bicycle, or break a wheel. Zoom in on the section to the viewer's right. Note how the road keeps winding around above, like a ribbon in the sky:
And another video clip of the exact same thing, narrated by me:
http://video.yahoo.com/watch/5578977/14650007
Here are some shots taken off the internet rising from Summit Lake--super great photos, courtesy of FOTOJACK! I look about the same on all of these.
This was the final push, although it was hardly a push. I looked at my watch and saw that, based on the distance, much to my great surprise, I was within reach of beating my time from 2001. But I had nothing to give. I'd push hard, die, and then, at this altitude, on a few instances, became so light-headed, I thought I'd pass out. At 14,000 feet, you only have 40% of the oxygen you have at sea level, so I was not playing with a full deck, I was a few sandwhiches short of a picnic, one Michael short of a Jackson-Five. But my goodness, the birds and the colors were so pretty! And I thought a bunny rabbit spoke to me. This is one of the more scary sections, especially coming down:
Around this spot, about 1 1/2 miles from the finish, 2 hours and 35 minutes into the race, I charged hard. I went for about three minutes and passed a lot of people. I was coming around some guy really fast and yelled,"On your left!" As I was coming around him, I hit a wall (not literally) and went to almost a dead stop, mumbling to the guy,"Okay, you win". I saw him grin as I dropped back and almost had to stop. No air, no oxygen, and I almost lost balance again. I believe that's where these shots were taken. I have the look and posture of defeat. My new jersey didn't fit well either. But pretty colors.

I'd been looking for the 1 kilometer sign. I was in such pitiful shape that those surges were not helping. I'd gain time and lose it when I tried to stay conscious. Only problem was, they didn't have a 1 kilometer-to-go sign this year like they did in 2001. That was where I was going to give everything I had and collapse at the finish. Here's a video clip I shot coming down the mountain at this location. My dizziness was still a problem.
Here's another video clip from that spot on the course, filmed later on my descent:
http://video.yahoo.com/watch/5579083/14650105
My time from 2001 was 2 hours, 46 minutes, 49 seconds, and my bicycle computer clicked over to 2 hours, 46 minutes, and I hadn't even seen the 1 kilometer-to-go sign. I'd finish okay, but I wouldn't beat my best time. I was defeated. The odds were against me the whole time. In 2001 I'd been racing for 13 years and was in the shape of my life. I just told Jesus thanks for getting me to the top and to give me peace about this. I rounded a corner and saw this:

It was the finish! My computer clicked over to 2 hours, 46 minutes, 12 seconds! I'd taken 37 seconds off my best time! I dropped the bike, and started gagging uncontrollably for about a minute. I thought I would vomit but there was nothing to vomit. I sat down and looked around for a while. It was peace, it was me and God (and 50 other people). I had to do my victory pose--I picked my lightest clothing, but not the prettiest. Obviously either my shorts or my jersey didn't fit right. The purple socks were free too. One day I just had them--I haven't a clue where they came from. Shoes imported from Great Britain. I didn't even shave my legs for this one.

Thanks to Keith and Brenda Fisher for the gloves which were a Christmas present. They were the lightest and even color-coordinated with my bicycle! Thanks to Amy, my lost love who kicked me in the butt in 2007 and told me that if I wanted to get into shape, I just had to do it. I owed this to her. I took her ring to the top on my hand, but I carry her in my heart always. If only she could've been there to hold my hair back as I gagged. I would've shaved everything for her.
I shot a short video clip at the top, interrupted by the guy who shot the photo below. Here's the link:
http://video.yahoo.com/watch/5577992/14647039
And here's the photo the guy shot of me throwing my bicycle off the top of the mountain:

A more candid shot:
I didn't ride up to the top with my camera. Understanding the need for warm clothing at the summit (the base was about 75 degrees, the summit was in the 40's), the organizers drove a truck to the summit full of bags of warm clothing and other things we might have needed to the ride down. They also gave rides down, and although I descend slower than Orson Wells's pallbearers, I told my brother, Darrel, that if I was going to drive 2200 miles just to race up a mountain, I should at least enjoy the terror of riding down.
I spoke to many at the top, complaining about the lack of the 1K marker, which I'm sure would've given me a faster time, because I never had a final all-out push to the finish. Pushed a little harder, I could've promoted that gag to a vomit. One guy asked me where I was from--I replied,"Sea Level". He asked me my time and then replied,"That's a good time for a sea-leveler". I guess that's our nickname. My finish was not spectacular. Out of those in my category, I was only 57th of the 82 riders in my category, but was 522 of 921 total competitors. Also, I must note, that only 2.6% of the finishers were from a sea-level state. Most were from Colorado (about 90%) and the rest were from mountainous states, which gave them a great advantage with the altitude. In my category, of the 82 riders, 79 were from Colorado.
Total competitors that day were 1015, but 94 were too young to do the full distance (juniors and teen categories) and only raced halfway up the summit, and into the arms of their mothers. There was also a pro-category--this is a very high profile race, although only the pros get national attention. Alexi Grewal, 1984 Olympic Gold medallist has won this race many times, Jeanie Longo, winner of the women's Tour de France (it isn't run anymore) the greatest female cyclist of all time, holds the record here for women (just under 2 hours) and there are many world-class riders in the pro category.
There were bugs everywhere at the summit. I also kept hearing squeeze toys, and I suspected, with the altitude and dizziness, it was just my guilt making me feel bad about leaving poor Gizmo in his room for so long. Then I noticed there were baby mountain goats making the noise (obviously hired by Gizmo). I went over to say high to them, and all was going well until Momma made a pass of hostility to me (you can hear me apologize to her). Click link for video:
http://video.yahoo.com/watch/5578165/14648036
Here's the baby, lamenting his lost kidhood:
After 30 minutes at the summit, a storm was rolling in, so I booked on down the mountain. I felt like I was being hit by sleet but it was just bugs coming at me. It took me two hours because I stopped frequently to shoot photos and video clips. I was more afraid to drive up here than to ride it. I was thankful I'd installed new brake pads on my bicycle, because they were very useful here. Here I am back at my car:
And my machine. I angled the handlebars up the day before I left so I could sit higher and breathe better. It's not pretty, but more functional on a race that's 99% uphill:
I arrived back at my room to Gizmo, just leaping and jumping with joy. He'd been holding out on his eating, but when I got back from the race, I phoned Mom, and while I was talking, I noticed Gizmo looking at the wash rag I'd laid on the floor to put his food dish on, to keep the carpet clean. While I was speaking, he began smelling it, and then with his teeth, kept moving it from one side to the other and looking underneath it to see if any food was still there. Still when I gave him his usual gourmet dog food, this is the look I got. He didn't want to eat it:

The next day I went to the Fort Logan Cemetery to visit my Uncle Ben and Aunt Irma. They were both dead. I hadn't seen Ben since 1991, and Irma since 1982. Here are Ben and I the last time I saw him, August 3rd, 1991. It was also the last photo ever taken of him.
They were buried there, and I doubt anyone ever visited them. July 19th was Ben's 83rd birthday, and Irma's 79th (they had the same birthdays), so I brought them presents. I shot a video clip as I approached his and Irma's graves for the very first time:

http://video.yahoo.com/watch/5579338/14650951
I knew Ben liked pink.

And dogs: I also drove by their old house nearby. We visited them three or four times when I was a child and twice when I was in the Air Force. Ben was my friend. Here we are in June 1976 on the front yard, Ben with his dog Teddy Bear, Irma with the black hair, me with the red pants and blue jacket, baby sister Brenda, and older brother Darrel (with glasses). The other lady with glasses is Mom. Ben was a little nuts, but a sweet guy.

And now, the same house, 33 years later:
After that, I couldn't think of any reason to hang around, although I loved Denver and Colorado, there's not much to do alone here unless you want to leave your dog in his room by himself. So Gizmo and I headed out to Kansas. I wish I had some good jokes to tell here, but this is it guys. Now I want to go on another trip. It's boring here.

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