Well, I am not sure if I conquered the race, or the race conquered me.  I did finish the journey across Costa Rica from the Pacific to the Caribbean and was able to squeak out a 3rd place finish, which proved to be no easy feat!  One word can not describe this race, but maybe the closest would be “INSANE”.  Before racing La Ruta (described as the hardest mountain bike race in the world), you hear crazy stories about the terrain, the culture, the distance, the wildlife, the climbing, the lack of safety standards and on and on.  I figured, as most do, that these reports were inflated.  “It can’t be that crazy, that hard, that weird,” I thought, as everyone does; BUT IT IS!!  Even more so than words can describe!!

Our adventure began as we landed in Costa Rica on November 9th.  Upon arrival, Michael was missing his luggage….big surprise.  The 2.5 hours in Miami obviously wasn’t enough time to get the luggage on the plane to Costa Rica.  So, in the mayhem of dealing with the luggage, we lost track of our driver.  This guy was supposed to take us the 2+ hours from San Jose, to Jaco where the race would start.  After a few frantic phone calls, we tracked the driver down.  The poor guy didn’t look to happy either as he had now been waiting for us for a few hours at the airport.  With catastrophe averted, we finally made it to Jaco on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica. 

So with pristine beaches, great surf, 80 degree humid as hell days, we took to resting at the hotel.  Michael got his luggage the next day, a minor miracle for sure.  We met up with a group of Canadians who were racing, some of whom I knew from the BC bike race.  It was Monday, and the race started Wednesday.  I took to avoiding anything questionable to eat or drink.  I did have my fair share of booze, but only because I was sure it would kill any harmful organisms I may have ingested.  I went for a “warm up” ride with a big group of Canadians.  I wanted an easy spin and after turning off the main highway, we started climbing like crazy…..seemed like a precursor for what was to come.  To make me more paranoid about eating and drinking, I found that 2 of these guys had already succumbed to a stomach bug, and they weren’t sure if they would be able to start the race.  I immediately went back to the hotel and had 4 shots of vodka (just kidding).

It was now Tuesday, I was feeling great.  I went for another short bike ride, and we went over to the race hotel to register and pick up our race bag. 

We had to put all of our belongings in this bag for the 4 days of racing and give the rest of our stuff to the race staff.  Anything that didn’t fit in the bag would meet us back in San Jose after the race was finished.  This is when my day began to unravel; 3 hours later, after 4 temper tantrums, after packing and repacking , after stomping on my bag to try to squeeze more in, after bribing Michael to stuff some of my crap in his bag (why was his bag so much bigger??), I was mildly convinced I had what I needed….maybe…..     To make matters worse, I began to do the math regarding what time I would have to wake up the next day to eat and get to the race start on time.   The race started at 5am!!!!!!!!!!  That meant we had to set the alarm for 2:30AM!!!!!!!!!  Not good!  I was contemplating not sleeping at all, but decided that wouldn’t be very smart.  So after our racer meeting that evening and our “last supper”, we settled in for a short and fitful slumber.

DAY 1- Jaco to Quinta del  Sol                                                                                                          

 74 miles/120kilometers. Total Ascent: 17,000ft /5220m.    

32% pavement; 30% mud; 38% gravel……….. 110% HELL!!!

 

In the pre dawn light, approximately 400 racers lined up in eager anticipation.  I had half heartedly stuffed down pancakes and coffee.  My camelbak was filled with 1.5 liters of water, tubes, tools, passport, phone, credit card, duct tape (duh…) food, and who knows what else.  The damn thing weighed 10 lbs, but I was scared to death of being trapped in the jungle with out supplies.  Michael had talked to the race director and before I knew it, I was lining up in the front.  When the gun went off, a peloton of squirrely mountain bikers when careening down the dark potholed streets.  We had an ATV leading us out of town.  Luckily there wasn’t much traffic.  I had marked another woman who was in front of me, and followed her through the paved streets, up the first relentless climb, and into the mud laden jungle

She was going to be a formidable opponent, and it seemed (though against the rules) that she had a support vehicle (turns out that many people did) following her along with another racer riding with her.  I was envious that she did not need to carry anything extra.   My first mistake may have been doing this race “unsupported.” 

As we hit the jungle, the red clay mud got really annoying.  It would gook up tires, and stop the bike in its tracks.  In addition, we were navigating jungle paths that went straight up and straight down, with body swallowing ruts running through.  As soon as you thought you had made it out, another steep and barely hikable hill would appear.  The tico (short for Costa Rican) woman was now behind me, and I was riding in first place, I kept plowing through, determined to make it out of the jungle. 

About 3 hours into the race, we emerged from the jungle.  Back on gravel and paved roads, support vehicles began appearing.  Ticos were set up on the side of the road to spray bikers’ chains with motor oil. It was crazy.  I was grateful, as I think that motor oil was the only thing that kept my chain from rusting off my bike.  I got sprayed down with water at one of the aid stations, and lost the Tico lady, as she did not have to stop to refill and refuel at the feed zone….bummer! 

I lost my mojo at the aid station after getting sprayed with a hose by some guy on the side of the road.   I had to de-mud my glasses, get my shit in order, and get on my way.  I navigated a few more waist deep rivers and was feeling sorry for myself on some rolling steep gravel roads.  I felt like I was getting no where fast, when my new best friend showed up from behind.  His name was Mario and he was from Argentina.  He gave me some food, and kept pressing me to ride fast as I was doing well.  At one point he began sputtering Spanish to some villagers on the side of the road.  Before I knew it, one of the villagers ran up to us and gave Mario a bottle of coke that was 3/4 full.  My first thought was, “GROSS! Some stranger has already drunk out of this bottle.  My second thought as Mario was sucking down the coke was, “I REALLY hope he offers me some of that!”.  Low and behold after taking a swig, Mario turned to me and asked if I wanted some.  All I could muster was a big smile and a head shake in the affirmative.  That was the best damn coke I have EVER had!

Mario finally went off ahead, and I caught up with a few other people.  As we took a right hand turn one of the guys said, “This is the start of our 10k climb.”  Ok, I could handle that.  I was eating and drinking and feeling ok.  I must have been about 5 hours into the day at this point, but I was feeling optimistic.  So up and up and up I went.  This climb had to have been longer than 10k/7 miles.  I passed horses and cows on the side of the road.  Even more unnerving was the Tico on the side of the road walking with rubber galoshes and a 4 foot long machete.  I kept looking at the horizon and was thinking I must be near the top, but NO.  On and on and on I climbed.  I was gobbling up people who could no longer even pedal.  I kept passing tiny stores on the side of the road called “sodas”.  They had shiny signs for coke and food.  I wanted to pull over so bad.  At one point, I was hoping to be hit by oncoming traffic; maybe not killed, but just maimed so I could stop. 

I finally made it to the last aid station of the day.  I wanted some salted potatoes SO BAD.  I pulled up yelling “potatoes!?!?”  I caught the poor volunteers off guard.  They started scrambling for potatoes that weren’t done cooking yet.  They put a bunch out and yelled that they were hot.  “Whatever,” I thought as I jammed them in the leg of my shorts.  Then, I frantically pulled them out as they burned my thigh.  I then squished them into my jersey pocket, where they fried my back.  I didn’t even care at that point.  Off I went, still climbing up and over the highest point of the day.

As I reached the summit, I was TOTALLY worked.  I was approaching 7 hours on the bike and was looking forward to a down hill.  Be careful what you wish for!  I veered off left, and the trail went straight down.  My arms were killing me, my shoulders dead tired, and my hands so cramped up I could barely pull the brake levers.  Fighting for control, I struggled down to the bottom of the climb that I worked so hard to conquer. 

Back down on the flats, I kept chugging along.  I was feeling terribly bad for myself, when I caught up with a racer with 1 leg and a prosthetic leg that was clipped into the other pedal of his bike.  Dammit!  This guy had a below the knee amputation and a prosthetic limb, and there he was, riding like a rock star!  I followed him for a bit which was great because he had some support cars with him.  They gave me a bag of fluid which I couldn’t bring myself to drink.  “I don’t know what the hell this is,” I was thinking to myself.  “I must be almost finished, I am not drinking this mystery fluid.”  I threw the bag off to the side and kept going.

A few miles later as the road turned up again, the one legged dynamo looked over at me and said, “Take it slow, this is a long climb.”  “LONG CLIMB!!!  WTF……I thought we were almost done.”  We weren’t done, and climb we did.  The stage was supposed to be 110k today, but it wasn’t.  It was LONGER.  To make matters worse, I was now by myself and thought I was lost.  I slowed down as a German guy pedaling triangles caught up and insisted we were going the right way.  Mildly convinced, I sped up and left him in the dust.  Eight hours into the day, I hit another brutal climb, short but steep.  As I crested the top of this steep pitch and turned the corner, I could see town.  “Hallelujah, I must be done now!”  No, not done.  I saw a sign that said 3 k (wrong!), as I almost got run off the road by a bus.  Head down, I kept going (5k- thank you very much) and was escorted the rest of the way through town by a guy on a motorcycle.   I was directed right into a park and finally crossed under the big blue finishing banners.

I finished this brutal day in just over 8 1/2 hours.  I was beginning to understand that my 3 hour training days were NOT going to cut the mustard.    I was the 73 person in for the day.  That meant there were well over 300 poor souls still out there.  I now understood why we started at 5am.  At 5:30 PM, there were still over 50 people still on course.  Many of them were unable to finish that stage.  They were cut off at 12 1/2 hours ON THE BIKE!!  due to lack of light!

Day 1 was the hardest day that I have EVER experienced on a bike.  I was so discombobulated that it took me another hour to drag my stuff to the shower and try to get all the mud off of me.  Then it was time to eat and take the shuttle back to the hotel for the evening.  I was hoping Michael was able to finish, and he did!  What a trooper.  He arrived in at 10 and 3/4 hours. 

Back at the hotel, we ate dinner with the Canadians.  One ended up in the hospital really sick from low sodium levels.  We rehashed our story, and I was explaining how I was hoping to get hit by oncoming traffic 2/3 through the day.  Four of the guys looked up and started laughing.  They had just said the same thing!  A bunch of these guys had done the race before (I found it unbelievable that you would subject yourself to this twice).  They assured us that after day 1, things got easier, but warned that the climbing on day 2 was even steeper.  “It can’t be that bad,” I  thought.                                                                                                                                                         

DAY 2- Quinta del Sol to Terramall 

47 miles/76 kilometers.  Total Ascent 13,200ft/4024m.    

50% pavement; 25% mud; 25% gravel……….. 105% HELL!!!

Since day 1 of La Ruta was the HARDEST day I have ever spent on a bike, day 2 was a close second.  I woke up to a blaring alarm and a very sore body.  Those 8.5 hours the first day had taken its toll.  I stumbled around and got all of my stuff in order at 5am.  At breakfast, I was greeted by many tired looking bike racers, but I was sure that I was more tired than anyone else there.  I was definitely one of the more cranky people at breakfast.   I gulped down some coffee and some beans and rice and some toast.  One of the most difficult things for me during stage racing was waking up and shoveling food down, but you have to, or else you will pay dearly later.

I couldn’t find my husband, so I opted to drag my bag over to the shuttle and get to the race start.  I would find him at some point.  Maybe he had thought better of things and slept in; if so, I was really jealous.  When I got to the race start, I found that the mechanics had not changed my rear tire as they were instructed to.  Not a huge deal, but this meant I still had a skinny mud tire on my bike, which was not very good for descending.  I found the mechanics and my voice was becoming a bit raised and frantic as I pointed to my rear tire.  The race started in 3o minutes, and I was not thrilled with them starting the change so close to the start.   I opted to leave the tire that I had on the bike, hoping I would not regret the decision.

I lined up and was able to start in the elite front box due to my finish the first day.  At 7am sharp, the gun went off and the peloton started frantically down the streets.  When I say frantically, this was an understatement.  The roads were not closed to traffic, and at one point the pack was separated by a garbage truck.  This sent racers careening through on the wrong side of the road and up sidewalks and over curbs.  I all but closed my eyes and followed the people in front of me weaving through traffic, lights, curbs, etc.  Finally we took a right hand turn off the main drag…..and guess what….oh yah….we started climbing and climbing and climbing. 

We were snaking up the mountains right outside of town, and the roads were steep.  To make matters worse, my legs were not feeling too spry.  They were more like peanut butter.  I was thinking I went way too hard day 1, and now I was going to pay for it.  About 30 min into the climb, I was passed by woman #2, so now I was sitting in 3rd, just hoping I could do damage control.  The mountain was getting crazy steep at this point.  There were Ticos on the sides of the road with ATVs and motorcycles, and bikes and cars….they were all cheering like crazy.  I was struggling, and when the terrain got even steeper I had to get off and push the bike up the globbed concrete.  

The roads got so steep at points that it looked the like people took handfuls of concrete and threw them at the side of the mountain.  These globs of concrete (it had to be textured or else no vehicle could ever get up or down….though I am still not sure how and if vehicles got up or down….the whole thing looked entirely terrifying to me….) formed an odd looking path up the side of these cliffs.  The grades must have approached 30% at points, and all I could do was look down at my feet and push the bike along with everyone else.   What was worse was that after each one of these demoralizing pitches, the road would level off for just a bit, maybe 50 yards, enough for you to think that maybe, just maybe, you had reached the top….but NO, another pitch from hell would emerge, so steep that you were not even sure you could walk it.  This went on for miles, maybe 5-10, who knows, seemed like 100s; crazy cheering Ticos, crazy steep pitches, demoralized racers.  At one point I was told an ATV was coming down one of these pitches and actually flipped over front wards the road was so steep!!!

At some point this horror ended and the road flattened.  As the pace quickened a bit I rode by villages and past tiny schools where school children were set free to watch the show.  These kids were cheering wildly at the sides of the roads with their hands out waiting to be slapped by their heroes riding by.  They were singing crazy chants and cheers in Spanish.  I really wish I could have understood them.  What I did understand was how much it meant to them that we were racing through their villages, and how excited they were to see us.  This was so motivating and amazing.  I couldn’t help letting out a huge smile as I went by. 

At some point we hit some steep dirt descents with more huge bike/person swallowing ruts.  I almost got run over by a motorcycle at one point….one of too many near misses.  My brake pads stunk as I gripped my bars and brakes and prayed that I would stay on the bike and on course.  I skidded out on some gravel and landed funny on my knee a few hours into the day.  Not a bad crash, but unfortunately I landed in such a way that my saddle popped off the rail on one side.  “Super,” I thought, “I hope this thing holds up for the rest of the day.”  Hold up it did, but it made a wretched squeaking noise for the next 4 hours as it precariously slid around on top off the seat post. 

At some point in the day, we hit pavement and must have climbed for 2 more hours (no, I am not exaggerating).  At one point, I turned to my new Canadian friend Erik and asked, “How can we still be climbing???  I don’t even see where we can be going??  There is nothing on the horizon higher than we are??”  Erik just looked at me and smiled.  He had done this race before (what a crazy mother f*^ker).  “We still have a ways to go.  When you get to a gravel pit, you are almost there”, he said, as he pointed to a ridge off somewhere in the distance. 

At this point, I was really hot and needed a Coke.  I had learned a lot from my friend Mario the previous day and started yelling “COKE” to anyone around.  Low and behold I got a bag of fluid from a support car driving down the road.  Today, I did not think about what was in the bag.  I bit into that bag of liquid gold with a new found vigor.  The fluid that came out was like manna sent from heaven…………I felt like I should be in a Coke commercial…. 

Up and up towards the heavens I went.   As I turned a corner through a tiny village, I heard a familiar sound; a sound like no other…..JOVI!!!!!   Oh hell yah, Bon Jovi’s ‘Livin on a Prayer’ was blaring out of some hut on the side of the road.  How bizarre, how surreal; I began to laugh out loud!  More potatoes, more bags of fluid, more bananas, more upward miles….was this ever going to end?  Some saint of a woman handed me a bag of ice out of a car window…..as I stuffed that down my bra, I couldn’t have been happier.

The miles slowly but surely ticked off.  At last I saw the gravel pit.  A Tico fan took hold of my saddle and pushed me 20-30 yards up the incline…..I clicked up a few gears….Now I was moving.  Then as he let go, it was as if an anchor had been dropped, and I was back to my own leg power or lack there of.  After the gravel pit, there were a few steep pitches up and a few down.  I almost lost my life to a street paver, as I careened down one of these pitches….another near miss….that could have put a quick stop to my misery. 

A quick left hand turn onto the dirt and the evil descending started.  Down we went.  Straight down.  God, what I would have done for some smooth silky single track descending, but NO!!!  All that lay ahead was steep, rocky, rutted downhill.  

Now I was super pissed that those mechanics had neglected to change my tire.  My arms were on fire, triceps killing me, shoulders yelling out in horror.  Back onto pavement we went; I got behind another racer who guy pulled me around for a bit.  “Oh God, NOT another climb….,” I yelled out as I saw a 5k sign on the road.   What were the chances there was only 5k left….. As 5k turned to 10k I knew I was close.  I rode into a village, up and around another steep pitch and was directed under a highway underpass, when I finally I saw them; those beautiful blue Crystal finish balloons. 

I crossed the finish line in just under 6 hours for the day.  I was the 3rd female finisher and still held 2nd place overall in the GC.  No rest for the weary, as it was now time to figure out if the mechanics could fix my saddle….I was a bit stressed about having to put a new one on that I wasn’t used to.  After finding my mechanic friend who spoke English, I watched as 3 of these guys struggled with this saddle taking screwdrivers, wrenches, and crow bars to it.  As I looked on with horror the damn thing finally popped onto its fragile titanium rail.  It was plenty crooked by this point, and after more crow barring, the guys were mildly convinced that it was even.  I tried to get it back on the seat post the way it was, and by this point was too tired to care.    After a shower, and some food, it was back into the shuttle to the race hotel.  Day 2 was finished!!!! 

DAY 3- Terramall to Turrialba

42 miles/67 kilometers.  Total Ascent 8,700ft/2654m.    

30% pavement; 11% mud; 59% gravel……….. 100% the way you DON‘T want to spend your birthday!!!

Although it seemed impossible the day before (I was feeling so bad), I woke up this morning feeling worse than ever and sort of sorry for myself…I know, lame.  Today was my birthday, and I ached so bad, and to make matters worse, this pain was self inflicted.  I had no one to blame but myself….this was MY idea…. This morning, Nov 14, 2008….my 33 birthday…. here I was in San Jose, Costa Rica, feeling at least 125 years old and sorry for myself at 4:45 AM, with eyes so puffy I could hardly see out of them, and kankles so big, I couldn’t imagine they really belonged to me.

So, I did what any racer with too much pride to quit would do.  I shuffled around, got my stuff in order, put my bike shorts on, and went to breakfast.  My husband was so haggard and in such a bad way, he had no idea what month it was, never mind that it was my birthday….this made me a bit sadder, but I couldn’t really blame him.  I sat down with my new found Canadian friends and gulped down breakfast…more  Fu*^king beans and rice.   I HATED beans and rice, well at least by now I did.   I mumbled 1/2 way through breakfast that it was my birthday.  My new friends looked up through swollen puffy bloodshot eyes and wished me a happy birthday.  My husband stared in haggard horror, and said, “I’m really sorry….Happy Birthday….”

So it began, I suffered more today on the bike than any other day of the race.  I just felt terrible, and things didn’t start very well when I got to the race start and retrieved my bike.  My bike mechanic friend and his pals had FAILED to change my rear tire for the 2nd day in a row.  Now I was in pure freak out mode.  We had to descend down a fricking volcano today, and these guys couldn’t get my tire changed.   I looked around and found the mechanic I had been talking to the few days prior.  He gave me a sheepish look, as I frantically began pointing to my rear tire.  “OK, OK,” he said arms flailing… Things got worse when he wasn’t able to find the tire and sealant that I had given him.  He called over no less than 4 mechanics who started sputtering in Spanish, wide eyed, as they looked over and saw me completely melting down.  These men definitely knew what to do with a melting down crazy eyed female……they found that tire and sealant, and in 5 minutes flat had my new tire on the bike and big smiles on their faces.  “Thank you so much,” I said with a brand new smile of my own.

With a new tire and not so new feeling legs, the gun sounded, and I was off.  We wound our way through town and up the first 15k climb.  About 8k in, we hit sections of slippery concrete tracks the width of a car footprint and grades up to 20%.  I churned away and was racing in 3^rd, as we hit the last section of steep muddy rutted trail.  There were Ticos lining both sides cheering.  I turned right at the pavement and pedaled the flats heading up to the 20k climb up the Irazu Volcano.  This would be the high point of the race, topping out at 10,000ft above sea level. 

As I stopped at the 2nd feed zone, I was bummed out when a woman and her partner passed by me.  They did not have to stop as they had a car following them for support.  Angry, I got back on my way after stuffing the legs of my shorts with potatoes and bananas.  I took to churning up the pavement.  I worked to catch the woman and the guy with her and went by them.  I was eating and drinking as much as I could, but just felt like I had no power.  To make matters worse, I was all by myself and the wind was whipping.  I really could have used someone to hide behind.  About 2k from the top (pseudo top), the woman and her partner chugged by.  I was pissed.  A friend of mine chugged by a few minutes after motioning for me to get on his wheel, but I couldn’t.  I was relegated to no man’s land. 

After about 2 hours of straight climbing, I reached the high point.  We were so high, that as you looked out across the horizon, there were clouds below you.  It was absolutely beautiful.  There were tons of people cheering, but I was in no mood.  I wanted to be done, and I was looking for my ride down this Volcano from Hell.  After a short descent, I started climbing again.  Then began the slow traverse across the top of the volcano…about 10k worth.  I had really misjudged this stage, as I thought it was up and then down.  I was not prepared for an hour long grind across the top. 

This was definitely the low point of the race for me.  I was fighting to go forward, up at 10,000 feet, feeling dizzy and weak and awful.  To make matters worse, the trail was supper rough and rocky.  It was also cold up there; maybe 50 degrees from the 80+ degrees it was at the bottom.  I figured I should stop and put my jacket on, but I couldn’t even bring myself to stop and do it.  I had to be going down soon.  I knew that once I dropped in elevation, it would get warmer pretty quick.

It was a fight to keep moving forward and I thought it would never end.  At one point, a guy went by asking if I was ok.  “I think I am going to die up here,” I mumbled.  I vividly remember saying this, and I wasn’t joking.  To die on top of a volcano in Costa Rica, with my bike by my side, on my birthday, would definitely have been an interesting way to go, and I was SURE it would happen.  The guy slowed down and looked at me oddly.  “What? Are you ok,” he said.  “Yah, yah, I’m fine,” I mumbled.  I did not want to slow the guy down.

After what felt like days, I got to the 4th feed zone.  Of course I grabbed more potatoes and some drink mix and was on my way.  I thought I was home free for a good 20k of straight descending, but I was sure in for a shock.  As the terrain started to point down, the rocks got really big, and the dirt was loose.  What I did not know was that I was now in for a good 1.5 hours of descending on super lose and rough rocks and gravel, almost like a dry river bed.  On top of that was the not so occasional horse, heard of cows, Tico, turkey, etc, etc.  Turning a corner and coming face to face with  few wild horses, at 20-30 miles per hour sure does get the blood flowing.  

My upper body was trashed.  My forearms ached and my brakes smelled horrific.  I had to stop a few times just to rest my hands and arms on the way down.  The last thing I wanted to happen was to face plant at 30 mph and do myself in.  After about an hour of descending, I was flying through coffee fields; zig zagging through one of the biggest coffee plantations in Costa Rica.  There were coffee plants everywhere.  I managed a smile, as I thought about how cool this was.  After about 5:30 on the bike, I crossed under the blue balloons for the stage finish.  It wasn’t a great day for me.  I think I ended up in 5th place for the day, but I had gotten through it.  I hadn’t died on top of the Irazu Volcano. 

Michael descending the volcano:

At the finish line there were kids everywhere.  They were cheering and yelling for the finishers.  They wanted autographs.  I couldn’t help myself as I went over and took the pens out of their hands and signed shirts, and pants, and arms, and papers…..”Ok,” I thought, “Maybe this isn’t such a terrible way to spend my 33rd birthday ;-)”

So, I had slipped into 3rd place in the standings overall.  I was a bit bummed out, but I was going as fast as my body would take me.  After food and a massage, I boarded the bus to Rio Perlas.  We were told this was the furthest place to stay from the start of the race (45 Costa Rican minutes away), but it was also the nicest.  The bus finally left, and after an hour we were still winding our way through the country side.  After 1:15 and in the middle of no where, we pulled into an oasis called Hotel Rio Perlas. 

This place was nuts (http://www.rioperlasspaandresort.com).  It was an amazing spa and resort.  About 100 racers ended up here, and we were all in awe.  We checked into our chalet and then on the way to find dinner, stumbled upon heated pools.  My body ached so bad, I opted to just go into the big heated pool in my underwear.  I couldn’t have cared less at that point.  I swished around, so happy and content.  Michael decided that this place was my birthday present….LOL.  As we made our way to dinner past a flowing river and coconut trees, we were trying to decide how we could just stay here for a few nights and forget about the race.  The funny thing was, we had NO idea where we were!  How many times in your life can you really say that??  Honestly, we knew we were in Costa Rica, but beyond that, no idea!  That is a pretty cool feeling to have.

At dinner we ran into a bunch of other racers who were plotting their escape from the race in order to stay at this place too.  Dinner was AMAZING!  All was well until I started to figure out what time we would have to get up in order to eat and get to the race for a 7am start.  With full bellies, and weary bodies, we set our alarm for 3:30 AM.  1 day left…..

DAY 4- Turrialba to Bonita Beach  (Limon)  

78 miles/125 kilometers.  Total Ascent 5,650ft/1720m. 

15% pavement; 65% gravel/dirt; 20% rail bed…..150% terrifying!!

I bet you know how happy I was to wake up at 3:30am today.  It was Friday, November 15th…. the last day of this fiasco.  This was a long day, almost 80 miles of mountain biking.  The first 50k were uphill, and the remaining 75k were descending and then fairly flat with traverses across the fabled rail road trestles and rail bed.   Part of the course description for this day is as follows, “besides the kilometers of  riding that have already made muscles deep-down weary, there is one final obstacle to be faced: the train tracks.  Two long sections with rail and ties intact- force riders to choose between a bone jarring ride or squeezing along single file next to the track where possible.  Add to that the long trestle bridges some over 20 meters over fast flowing rivers that have to be navigated, and this is definitely not a ‘cruise beside the beach’!”

So, up we were at this beautiful Shangri-la, as I stuffed down my last breakfast and wondered how in the hell I was going to finish this stage.  My stomach was in revolt, and I was hoping for divine intervention; I almost got it!  We boarded the buses back to the race start at 5am, which I already felt was cutting it close for a 7am start.  As our bus rolled out, I tried to fall asleep.  About 1/2 way to the race start, I awoke to loud noises bellowing from the bus.  We were still probably 45 minutes away from the start, when our bus ground to a halt somewhere in the Costa Rican country side.

We were now sitting on the side of the road.  The driver took out the cell phone and  started chatting away while tinkering with the guts of the now defunct bus.  No dice, this bus was done for.   Nobody on the bus seemed very concerned, maybe they were all thinking what I was, “Hallelujah!!! My prayers have been answered.”  After some Spanish muttering back and forth, we found out that there was another bus following, and we were to stuff into that bus.  As the new bus rolled in (smaller than the one we were on), I was wondering how in the hell we were going to stuff everyone/thing on the bus.  After a few minutes of jamming big yellow race bags and stuffing people into the bus, we were off.  A few people were left on the side of the road, allegedly waiting for another bus, they may still be there waiting.

It was now way past 6am, and we were nowhere near the race start.  Our poor overstuffed bus was chugging up and down the crazy roadways.  “Will they delay the start?,” I asked someone half heartedly.  “Maybe,” was all the response I got. 

As the clock hit 6:45, we began ascending through the coffee plantations, and I knew we were close.  At 6:50, the bus came to a stop.  I kissed my husband goodbye for the day, grabbed my bag, got off the bus, dropped my bag off, found my bike, found a bathroom, and flew up to the start.  It was now 2 minutes to 7:00.  I arrived just in time to hear that they had delayed the start by 10 min.   I was trying to relax for a few minutes, when a fellow racer got my attention. “Sara, look up there!!” she exclaimed.  I look up to see that damn Irazu volcano billowing black and gray smoke from its top!!! “I thought that thing was dormant?!?!?!,” I sputtered, “we went up and over that yesterday!!!”   And so it was, I did almost die up on top of that volcano on my birthday!!!

As the gun went off, I already felt like I had been in a race that morning, and it was only 7:10 am!  I started the opening 5k grind back up through the coffee plantations that we had descended down the previous day.  I wasn’t feeling half bad.  I was drafting in a group of guys and rolling up and down at quite a good pace.  As bad as I felt the day before, was as good as I felt today; you just never know how the body is going to respond.  A couple of hours into the race, we hit the FINAL climb of the race.  This was an awful 5k steep gravely climb.  I was pacing myself and trying to stay at a good temp.  Support cars were everywhere billowing diesel while handing their riders water and whatever else they needed.  As the temperature reached 40.5 degrees celcius/105 Fahrenheit, I felt like I was going melt.  I begged the drivers of these diesel monsters for water and fluids and my requests were granted.  I reached the top of the last climb and stopped at the feed-zone for (you guessed it) potatoes, bananas and more fluids.  My friend Mario from day 1 showed up behind me.  I knew we had some descending coming up, and he was a good guy to draft off of, so I waited for him and we left together.

The pavement now pointed down and off we went.  We were hauling ass down the road at well over 30-40 mph, bunny hopping raised cross walks and just LOVING the ride.  As we came to the end of that amazing descent, we took a right hand turn and the awful bone jarring of the rail beds began.  I stayed on Mario’s wheel as he dragged me through the flats of Costa Rica.  As I was hiding behind his wonderful draft, I decided I owed him my life, or at least the naming of my first born after him.  Mario is not such a bad name ;-). 

Just as I was settling into a nice rhythm of wheel sucking behind my friend Mario, we came to our first railroad trestle.  Now, I have to preface this by saying that I am afraid of heights….very afraid!  I was NOT happy as Mario dismounted his bike and began hopping from wooden rail tie to wooden rail tie.  “You have to be F^*KING kidding me,” I yelled as I stared frozen looking down.  What lay before me was a railroad bridge with wooden ties running horizontally and metal rail running vertically.  There was no railing, there were no boards running between the wooden ties that were spaced at least 2 feet apart at points.  There was NOTHING between these rail ties but a 60ft drop and a rushing river below.  The ties were spaced so far apart that you couldn’t even ride these damn bridges or your wheels would fall through the ties and your bike would end up in the river along with your mangled body. 

By this point Mario was getting away, and I needed him!! I did not want to be stuck out on these flats for another 70k by myself.  Thank God I didn’t have much time to contemplate, as I picked my bike up and began hopping from tie to tie across this bridge.  I was praying that my stiff soled bike shoes did not slip.  “Did people fall off these bridges??? Are these rail lines active??? How is this legal??” are all thoughts that went racing through as I stared at each tie with eyes as big as saucers. 

I made it across that first trestle and Mario, bless his soul, slowed up a tiny bit allowing me to catch back on to his wheel.  As we rolled on we picked up a few more racers.  All these guys were drafting and I was enjoying a pretty good ride.  It took a lot of concentration to stay behind the wheel in front of you as we were flying over dirt and potholes and crazy pavement.  In spite of this, everyone was working pretty well together  I hate to admit that I used the female card to avoid taking any pulls; sorry ladies, women’s lib was dead at this point, and I was shameless.  The guys did not seem to mind too much, maybe they enjoyed watching a lady’s butt over another dude’s at this point.

As we reached another trestle, we had caught up with the one legged racer again.  How in the hell was this guy going to cross the bridge.  I ended up in front of him gingerly hopping across the trestle thinking what an ass I was that I had two good legs and was terrified and this poor guy had only one leg and was managing!  As I got back on my bike after the rail bridge, I looked back and saw him coming up behind.  The locals had guided him across.  How cool.

The kilometers ticked by, and I was thrilled to have this group to ride with.  I was working pretty hard but was hell bent on staying with these guys as long as possible.  About 90k into the race, one of the guys yelled out, “Hey, here is your race leader, and she looks blown.”  I looked ahead and saw the women’s race leader up ahead looking pretty bad.  I was feeling good and ready to stick the screws to her a bit.  She jumped on the back of our group and hung on for a while.  We hit a long section of rail bed and the jarring began; kilometers of it….thump, thump, thump….OMG…..this sucked.  The race leader was right ahead of me, and she was struggling bad as I was sitting on her wheel.  At one point she hit a tie and fell off the bike.  I went by her feeling good. 

The group was strung out a bit now, bodies aching.  At one point, I heard a commotion and saw racers bush whacking over to a fire road beside the tracks.  “Oh thank God, get me off these tracks,” I thought.  As we hit the fire road, the guys picked up pace, and I struggled to stay on a bit.  The race leader had fallen off the back, and I wanted to put some time into her.  I was chugging along the best I could.  The ocean was now to our left, and we were churning up the coast along dirt roads with huge hot water muddy puddles across them.  It was pretty gross getting splashed by hot mud puddles.  I could only imagine what was living in those water holes. 

About 1k later, I lost the group of guys.  I just couldn’t hang on any longer.  I took up a pace that I could handle and after a little bit, hit the last aid station.  I saw an ATV head back behind me a few kilometers before and oddly enough, while I was filling up my camelbak and begging a can of coke off of someone at the aid station, the Costa Rican female race leader came up behind me with her ATV in tow…..hhhmmm……I wondered how many kilometers they had just pulled her so that she caught back up to me…..LAME!!!!

At the aid station they said there was 10k to go.  I had NO faith that that was correct.  I got on the race leader’s wheel and was content to just sit there. We came up to another racer who asked if she needed help and told her to get on his wheel.  I sat behind her and pedaled away as we passed kids hosing us down by the sides of the road.  Throughout the day, they would throw buckets of water on us and hose us down whether we wanted their help or not.  They found it amusing, but most of us found it pretty annoying.  

As we pedaled along, we came into the town of Jaco.  The ocean had been teasing us for at least 20k by now, and I wanted to get to that beach!  Before I knew it, we took a left hand turn, and there were the big blue balloons, there was the beach, there was the finish line.  I flew off the ramp onto the beach and across the finish line in second place for the day and third place overall. 

 The journey from the Pacific Coast to the Caribbean Coast was over, and I had made it.  It took me 26 hours 25 minutes total over 4 days.  I finished 3rd female overall and first US female finisher overall.  I also finished 82 out of all the racers who started the race; men and women.  Of the almost 400 racers who started, only about 275 actually finished.  Michael held his own as well.  Despite not being able to train as he had hoped leading up to the race, he was able to complete the journey, which was no small feat!

 Well, If you got this far, God Bless you; it must have been a slow day at work!  I can’t leaving you with a few great cycling quotes:”It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them.  Thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motor car only a high hill impresses you, and you have no such accurate remembrance of country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle.”  ~Ernest Hemingway

“A bicycle does get you there and more…. And there is always the thin edge of danger to keep you alert and comfortably apprehensive.  Dogs become dogs again and snap at your raincoat; potholes become personal.  And getting there is all the fun.”  ~Bill Emerson, “On Bicycling,” Saturday Evening Post, 29 July 1967

“I have always struggled to achieve excellence.  One thing that cycling has taught me ist that if you achieve something without a struggle it’s not going to be satisfying”- Greg Leeond

Happy Trails

Sara

So, the time has almost come.  Believe me, it has been a long time coming.  Michael and I signed up for this race across Costa Rica in 2007.  Our plans took a quick turn when I dislocated and broke my shoulder last fall.  So, after waiting a entire year…..we are slated to leave for this adventure on Sunday, November 9th!  You can check out the website at www.adventurerace.com.  The race is Nov 12-15.  What a great way to spend my birthday….LOL

 I guess my mood is one of anxious anticipation.  I haven’t had much time to think about the trip, and today it finally dawned on me; we are leaving in a few days.   La Ruta is described as “The toughest Mountain Bike Race in the World”.  It starts on the Pacific coast and after 4 days of racing, 224 miles (360km),  with 46,000 feet of climbing (14,000 meters), ends on the Caribbean coast.

So, in the last few days, we have been to the bike shop 3 times a day, been fussing over bikes, been trying to decide what the heck we need to take, and finally have booked a Spa hotel for a few days after the race.  When I signed up for this race last year it sounded like a wonderful idea.  A group of people I knew were racing and I was ready to jump on their coat tails and head on down.  Well, a year has passed, and those people have returned…..and boy did they have some terrifying stories….so now I am wondering…..”Is this really a good idea?” 

I informed my Grandmother the other day that we were going to Costa Rica.to race.  First words out of her mouth were, “Why do you need to go there?  Why don’t you bike in the United States?”  “Well, Grandma, because it is there,”  I say.  She didn’t seem to get it.  In fact, when I talked to her yesterday she said, “Oh, you are leaving for Costa Rica on Sunday, I thought you were joking when you said you were going to race down there!  HHmmm…..I when do I ever joke about racing??

 Anyhow, I have been trying to avoid learning too much about this race.  I have been taking an ignorance is bliss policy, but this does not seem to be working.  I keep hearing about how hard and horrendous it is and how wonderful it is all at the same time.  I have compiled the top 10 reasons NOT to go race La Ruta (people have sent me these)

1.  Poisonous snakes!(My boss keeps telling me they jump down on you from the trees…..I think this is a ploy to keep me from taking time off work.  But I am terrified by this.  I saw a tiny little snake on my ride last week and almost pooped in my pants…..NOT a good sign!)

2.  Crocodiles! (WTF!!!  I don’t think I need to elaborate on this one)

3.  “I got lost for most of the day” (This was from my friend John.  Poor guy, was in the lead group and went off course somehow.  Lost in the jungle, not being able to speak spanish, now thats a BAD DAY!)

4.  First day the race starts at 5:00am (Ummm….are you F*^king kidding me.  The only thing that is supposed to be happening at 5:00am is SLEEP!  I AM NOT a morning person.  I don’t even want to think about what time that means I have to get up!!!)

5.  Cow Poop! (For my vegetable garden….GOOD!  For riding through and eating…..BAD!  Apparently many a person has had to drop out with stomach malfunction after riding through cow poop and sucking it off their water bottles….not on  purpose of course.   Ick!)

6.  Poison Frogs (Is this a negative?)

7.  Mud, Mud, Mud (This can be horrible.  I call it West Virginia mud.  The type that sticks to your bike, and globs up on your tires so bad that you cant even roll the bike that now weighs 50 lbs.  NOT KIDDING.  This is bad and makes for a LONG DAY!!)

8.  Water (Innocuous sounding until you refer to numbers 1,2, and  7.  Apparently puddles can be as deep as your eyeballs.  Not great to go plowing into!)

9.  Infections (My friend came back with a knee that was pretty cut up from a crash.  He went to the hospital in Costa Rica where they “cleaned it” and sent him on his way.  Lets just say that a long course of antibiotics was needed back in the states……)

10.  WIMPINESS (Yah thats right.  The final reason NOT to go Race La Ruta….  OH HELL YAH, I AM GOING!  Besides….What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…..and if it does kill you, then your problems are over anyhow

SO…..stay tuned!  I wont have a computer with me, but I will try to post somehow.  The race website is www.adventurerace.com   Michael and I maybe back on the 19th, but maybe we will retire on the beach….who knows.

Happy Trails

Sara

7 Days- 32 hours ride time-  531kilometers/330 miles covered-

I am back home, still tired, but ready to tell all about the BC bike race.

For anyone who wants to look up the race, go to www.bcbikerace.com

Cycling news also covered it each day.  You can find that at http://www.cyclingnews.com/mtb.php?id=mtb/2008/jun08/bcbike08/default

http://www.cyclingnews.com/mtb.php?id=news/2008/jul08/jul11mtbnews (scroll down)

Wednesday, June 25th: 

The adventure starts.  Michael and I boarded the plane to Vancouver via Philadelphia (it was a free ticket on miles…though not so direct).  Upon landing in Vancouver, we found out that my teammate, Kelli Emmett, missed her connection.  She would be arriving on Thursday AM.  We met Michael’s teammate Rich at the airport hotel, had some wine (hey, we made it this far!) and went to sleep.

Thursday, June 26th: 

Thursday was spent doing some “planes, trains, and automobiles.”  I never realized that getting from our hotel in Vancouver to our hotel in Victoria would be so complicated.  It ended up taking the better part of a day and went like this….

We woke up,  ate some breakfast,  and hauled all of our luggage back to the airport to meet Kelli.  Once Kelli was found, we bought tickets for our shuttle to Victoria.  We boarded the bus that would take us to the ferry .  Once on the ferry we crossed the bay from Vancouver to Victoria.  When the ferry docked, we boarded our bus again and  headed to the bus depot in Victoria.  The bus depot was 1+ kilometers from the hotel.  We got a map, found out where the hotel was, then “borrowed” a cargo cart from the bus depot.  We then managed to and put our 4 bike cases, and numerous luggage bags on the cart.  Off we went, down the streets of Victoria looking for our hotel.  We sure did get a few odd looks!

Friday, June 27th (Day ZERO):  

Today we have to catch a shuttle from the hotel to Shawnigan Lake School.  It ends up taking over 2 hours before a bus shows up that has room for us on it.  To make matters worse, our bikes are built and we watch as our lovely and expensive machines get crammed into a box truck. ”I guess it is time to give up some control,” I think.  Hopefully my rig will be in ok shape by the time I see it again. 

We made it to the school and started the registration process.  For some reason Kelli had trouble telling the staff what our team name was.  “Tain…sllooo….” she would mumble.  “What,” they would say.  “Taint slo…” we would say with a giggle.  This went on for a bit.  I can’t really say how our team name came to be, but….by the end of Seven days we were saying it with pride!

Day Zero was moving along slowly but smoothly until we received our “BC Bike Race bag.”  This would be the bag that EVERYTHING we would need for Seven Days would have to fit  in.  This was where meltdown number one occurred.  I looked with horror at this bag.  “How in the hell am I going to fit my stuff in here?!,” I pleaded.  I had a sleeping bag, seven days of biking clothing, casual clothing, race food and drink mix, some tools, a helmet, bike shoes, regular shoes…….I was freaking out.  Kelli didn’t seem phased.  I began the laborious process of taking things from my large and packed to the gills luggage bag, and placing them into this “Race bag.”  I fought back tears, and sweat was beading on my brow.  There was no going back.  The rest of my stuff would meet me in Whistler, seven long days from now.

By this time my parents had shown up.  They had a rental car and were staying in Hotels along the route as were Michael and Rich.  Kelli and I had opted for the camping….we were tough after all.  My parents took a few choice things in the car, and I gave the rest to the people in charge of reuniting me with my stuff in Whistler.

After dinner and a racers meeting, we were off to bed.  Time for some sleep, this would be the last bed I would see for a while!

Saturday, June 28th (Day 1):  Shawnigan Lake to Lake Cowichan- 89k

We were up early shoveling food in.  After breakfast we packed up the bag, and made our way over to the start line.  Kelli and I thought we were early, until we found hundreds of people lined up already.  “Oh geez, we are going to be starting in the back!”  The gun went off, the helicopter was buzzing over head, and the race began!  3 start loops later we were on our way.  The masses started to thin out a bit and as we made our way through bunches of people. 

We were pretty excited thinking about the riding and adventure that he next 7 days would bring.  We spent the day pedaling up  wicked climbs and down crazy logging roads where we easily hit about 40 mph on the bike.  There were some great views, but we were going a bit too fast to really enjoy them.  We crossed the line in first place for the women for the day.  After a quick interview, and some coke and cookies, we found a tent and took a shower.  My parents were called in to bring some chicken sandwiches….I was starving!  I ended up eating 3 plus dinner.   After dinner we had the first of many awards ceremonies.  It was great to be up there in the orange leaders jersey.  Just six more days to  go!                                                                                                                                                                                    Sunday, June 29^th (Day 2):  Lake Cowichan to Port Alberni-                                                                                                                                                                                           The  legs were a bit stiff waking up this morning!  Infact, they ached like crazy.  I decided it was due to the long “hike a bike” section from Day 1.   We were up early for breakfast.  It appeared that the wake up call for this week would be a guy blowing into a device that sounded like a dying rooster, a REALLY loud dying rooster.  “This is going to get old really fast,” Kelli mumbled.                                                                                                                                                                            We had a call up for day 2 so were up front and ready when the gun went off.   The whole peloton stayed together for the first 11k of logging roads, then broke up a bit on  a short climb.  After a short chase, we were back with the lead group that kept swelling in numbers.  Nothing is more frightening than bunch of mountain bikers in a group racing down the road at 30 mph.  That is a recipe for disaster.  As if the group weren’t scary enough, a school bus got caught behind us and in an act of frustration, the driver sped up and flew by the group on the left side of the road…terrifying!!!                                                                                                                                                                                                                               The pack got smaller and smaller as the day went on and broke up at the 90k mark on a tough climb.  We spent the next 20k riding with a small group and then entered some sweet single track to the finish.  We ended on a track at a sport complex.  First place again for day 2.  The orange jerseys would be ours for the start of day 3.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 It must have been 90+ degrees out.  Kelli and I decided to head down to the hotel with Michael and my parents for some sweet air conditioning and food.  Big burgers have never tasted so good.  My parents came back to dinner and the awards ceremony with us that evening.  They could not believe the massive amounts of food everyone was eating.  They got some pics of Kelli and I on the podium.  It was time to get some rest for day 3.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Monday , June 30^th (Day 3) - Port Alberni to Cumberland-80k                                                                                                                                                                       Legs were a bit more sore this morning, though I didn’t think that was possible.  I was wondering if I could actually make it through seven days.  It was getting tougher to plow through breakfast, but I knew I had to eat in order to make it through the stage and the days to come.  Like magic though, once back on the bike, the legs knew what to do; Pedal, pedal, and keep pedaling.                                                                                                                                                                       There were beautiful views to be had on day 3.  I didn’t know how it was possible to get used to seeing snow capped mountains and such beautiful forest.  I was feeling pretty good today and after a tough first climb, Kelli and I were moving and grooving with a group of people.  It is funny how we ended up riding with many of the same people each day.  It just kind of settles out like that.  The guys never seemed to mind riding with Kelli and I…LOL.

Stage 3 was going splendidly until we came to a raging river. 

I was looking skeptically across at the other side as there was a super steep embankment that we had to get up and over with our bikes.  I was not thrilled about hoisting my bike way over head and trying to get it up that cliff.  There were people on the other side helping the racers which gave me hope.                                                                                                                                                                           Kelli plunged into the icy water first with me following.  The cold river sure did feel good as temperatures were soaring into the 90s  (unseasonably warm for the area).  We both struggled a bit, but made it through the strong current with the bikes to the other side.  As I was fumbling to get out of the water, I looked up to see Kelli dangling by a root ½ way up the embankment.  “Hell no,” I thought, “not with  my shoulders!”  Luckily there was a camera man at the bottom.  “Hey, can you help me with my bike,” I pleaded.  “Sure, just hold this,” he said as he plopped his 30 thousand dollar camera into my hands, just above the raging river.  Luckily I didn’t drop his equipment, and he was able to hoist my bike up and over.                                                                                                                                                                         Once on dry land, we pressed forward.  We hit some amazing trail somewhere near the finish of the day.   I was beginning to “bonk” and I needed food, but I was tired and figured we were almost there.   This is when I came across the odd phenomenon of what we aptly named “The Canadian K.”  Let me explain.  There were numerous volunteers and spectators on course throughout the race.  For some reason they would always yell out, “only 2 k to go” or “5 min up and 5 min down” or “3 k to the next feed zone”.  Unfortunately this “Canadian K” unit of measurement is not exact; the 2k would really be 4k, the 5 min would turn into 15.  Since I was fooled by the Canadian K, I crossed the line seeing stars and totally out of energy.  Over the course of the voyage, I became skeptical when someone would yell out “Only 1 k to go, almost there.”                                                                                                                                                                                          We had completed day 3,  and the Orange Leaders Jersey was still ours.                                                                                                                                                            Tuesday, July 1^st  (Day 4): Cumberlandto Sechelt- 60k                                                  Canada Day….EH!                                                                                                                                                                                                Day 4 began ridiculously early with that damn rooster wake up call.  We had to take 2 ferries before the race started at 11am.  I want to say we had to get up at 4:30am, though I’m not sure, I blocked it out.  We boarded a bus, which took us to the first ferry.  We ate breakfast on the first ferry, then got on a bus to ferry number two.  The second ferry docked 2o min before the start of Stage 4.  As we got off the ferry, we found our bikes, and made a mad dash to the starting line.                                                                                                                                                                                          After frantically making sure the bikes were ready, we were off.  The legs felt pretty bad after hanging out on the ferries all morning and then jumping on the bikes.  There was no time to get them moving as we started climbing right away. We climbed a bit then hit some super fast downhill trails.                                                                                                                                                                                 I was leading the pack, flying down the trail…..until…..before I knew it I was lying on the ground in a heap.  I guess, from what Kelli said, I must have hit something with  my front wheel.  As I did this, my bike stopped dead, and I pile drove myself over the bars.  I immediately  jumped up (adrenaline) as Kelli yelled, “Oh my God, don’t move”.   I got my whits about me, sort of, and got back on the bike only to notice that I had totally bent my saddle.  We stopped again, as I tried to fix it.  In the mean time, my ribs started hurting pretty bad and we were passed by a few of the women’s teams. Realizing, the saddle was not going to straighten out, I got back on the bike, as Kelli plowed forward passing all of the other women’s teams within a minute or two.                                                                                                                                                                          The rest of the day was great riding, though I was getting a bit sore.  At the four hour mark, as we closed in on the finish, I saw my parents out there cheering us on.  Day 4 was  in the books, and we were still flashing that orange jersey!                                                                                                                                                                                                  After finishing up, I went on a hunt for a new saddle with my parents.  My father couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t happy with any of the 30 saddles the bike store had in stock.  “I need my saddle,” I kept telling him.  “This one looks good,” he would say over and over again.  A new saddle wasn’t in the stars but I was able to get some laundry done after begging a poor bartender for laundry soap.                                                                                                                                                                                            Since it was Canada Day….EH…. a Canadian cyclist asked to place a Canadian flag tattoo on my arm.  I kept insisting it would give me hives since I was from the US,  and that it wasn’t a very good idea.  She looked up insulted and I just busted out laughing.  She quickly realized I was joking, and stuck the flay on.   I also commandeered a Dr. Seuss looking red and white Canada Day hat from our waitress at pre dinner (real dinner was still later when I stuffed more food into my mouth).  I explained that  I was racing and we had won today’s and I would wear the hat on the podium.  The waitress was excited by that idea and gave up her hat.   I did get a few odd looks when I appeared on the podium with it on.                                                                                                                                                                                                         Wednesday, July 2^nd (Day 5):  Sechelt to Squamish-65k                                                                                                                                                                                     The best word to describe the way I woke up this morning  was “shambles”.  I had tried to sleep on a sweet pink inflatable raft inside the tent, but the ribs were NOT happy.                                                                                                                     To make matters worse, the coffee was not at breakfast, and I could just go on and on, but it was a BAD morning.                                                                                                                                                                                      I managed to get onto the bike, and wouldn’t you know it, I started to pedal.   The ribs were super angry at this point, and I was sure I broke them.  The riding today was amazing and kept me going.  I kept thinking I was in a scene from Jerrassic Park.  There were big huge ferns, and huge trees, it was just awesome.  After climbing all day we hit the high point and got to enjoy an incredible descent.  There were crazy bridges, and the trails just put a huge smile on my face.  After at least a 30 min of screaming downhill, we crossed the finish line yet again.  We had to shower up quick and walk down to the ferry terminal for our 3^rd ferry trip of the race.  Of course I was starving, and without money.  Luckily,  a nice guy who was also racing loaned me money for a sandwich.  He is forever in my debt.

My parents picked us up from the ferry terminal and drove us up to Squamish.   It was a beautiful 45 min ride up the coast.  I was able to get a massage,  and due to the ribs, I broke down and slept in the hotel with Michael as Kelli bunked in with my parents.  The two of us definitely woke up in a better mood.   Finally, some sleep!!!

Thursday, July 3rd (Day 6): Squamish- 65k                                                                                                                                                                         Sleep does wonders, especially having a bed for the cranky ribbies.  I definitely woke up a bit more chipper, though no less sore this morning.  It was hard to believe it was day six already.  It almost felt bitter sweet.  We were still dressed in Orange, and at 9am the gun went off.                                                                                                                                                                         The riding today was super technical.  There were crazy stunts and drops.  I was mad because if not for my ribs, I really would have enjoyed it.  There were great descents, followed by some not so fun climbing.  Kelli was riding like the energizer bunny.  At one point I pulled beside her, grimaced,  and said, “I am going to kill you in your sleep tonight.”  She didn’t seem phased, and kept on riding.                                                                                                                                                                             We met up with our friends Katie Compton and Mark Legg on the ride today which was nice.  They weren’t having a great day, but it was nice to do some riding together.  The 4 of us crossed the line together…another day in the books.                                                                                                                                                                                         We met my parents and Michael for a great dinner at a restaurant overlooking a beautiful river,  I even had a glass of wine…. it didn’t take much to feel tipsy at this point.  After dinner we hurried back to the venue for our awards ceremony, and were quickly off to our tent for bed.                                                                                                                                                                      Friday, July 4^th (Day 7):  Whistler- 47k                                                                                                                                                                                                         Completely haggard and in shambles was how day 7 started for me.  I wasn’t able to sleep at all with the ribs.  The inflatable raft did not work…so half way through the night I threw it out of the tent.  Unfortunately, the ground was no better.  Kelli looked happily asleep…hhmmm….                                                                                                                                                                           The morning started with breakfast, packing of bags, and then a bus trip up to Whistler.  We arrived at Whistler, gathered our bikes off the truck,  and got over to the line.  It was the final day of the race; dressed in orange and hopped up on celebrex, I was good to go.                                                                                                                                                                                           The course went straight up a ski slope today, then up some more, and more, and more.  I was suffering BAD.  After what seemed like forever, we went down, down, down…which unfortunately was only slightly better.  There was some great trail today, including one called “River Runs Through It” which had bridges and crazy stunts all over it.  That definitely brought a smile to my face.  We thought it would be a short day today, but after 4 hours we crossed the finish line, arms raised high.  We had won the BC Bike race.                                                                                                                                                                              I want to send a huge shout out a few people:                                                                                      First to Kelli who lead me all around British Columbia…LOL.                                                                My parents were a huge help as they shuttled us around, grabbed us food and generally were there to help.  My father even paid for dinner a few times!!                                                                       Our amazing Mechanic Tim was invaluable, as was John, our “cruise director”.  Tim and John were out helping the Spike Shooter teams and graciously took Kelli and I under their wing.  They made sure our bikes were washed and ready, which was more of a help than you can ever imagine.  Additionally, John found me a brand new saddle to start Day 6!  My buttocks are forever greatful!I also want to thank Landry’s Bicycles for their help this season and Bill Hand of Trek Bicycles for securing an amazing Trek Top Fuel for me to ride this season.  The bike was amazing!                                                                                                                                                                                  Thanks for reading.  I am not sure if anyone actually got this far!                                                                                                                                                                                       Happy trails :-)                                                                                                                                                 Sara

Hi all.

A quick update for you.

We have made it to British Columbia. More specifically, Victoria.

We will be competing in the BC Bike race.

Check it out at www.bcbikerace.com

I will be competing with my good friend Kelli Emmett.

Michael will be competing with our friend Rich.

This is a seven day mountain bike stage race from Victoria, British Columbia to Whistler, British Columbia.

I estimate we will race 400 miles, though I have been too afraid to look.

I will try to post over the seven days, but am not sure if I will have internet, or be awake long enough to post anything!!

I think you can keep tabs on the website. Our team name is “Taint Slo” (don’t ask)

Happy trails!!

Sara

So as per usual, it has been way to long since my last post.

The season has started off really well.  I would like to send a shout out to my sponsors for the season. 

Landrys Bicycles has been a huge help, and it is great to be able to be riding for them this season.  Trek has hooked me up with a sweet mountain bike, the Trek Top Fuel….I love it!

A great new bike company called Aerocat has hooked me up with one of their Carbon Road  Machines.  What a nice bike; along with my new Zipp 202 wheels, it is a rocket ship! 

I have also received product help from Zipp, Shimano, and Time, Zeal Optics, and Maxxis Tires.  Thanks to all of those great companies.

Last but not least, Michael Engleman and his US Womens Cycling Development Program has been of great assistance.

So on to the racing…. I started out down in muddy West Virginia in early March.  My friend Jesse was more than willing to beat up on me.  It was so muddy and gross down there, my Trek was definitely broken in!  Mud everywhere.  The “training camp” culminated with a great local Mountain Bike Race.  It was 35 degrees and precipitating.  Boy did I feel at home.  I beat up a bit on the local talent, but my greatest feat was beating Jesse…he broke his chain and had to run the last 5 miles.  He was so angry, but in proper form, I had to rib him a bit about beating him in the race as he beat up on me all weekend!  Thanks Jesse ;-), and no, I am not ready to move to West Virginia.

After West Virginia it was time for some Local Racing.  I forgot how much I enjoy local mountain bike courses.  I have been having a great time at the local Root 66 Race series.  Here I am leading the pack in Connecticut.  It has been great to see so many women out racing too!  I think that is a smile on my face!

This past weekend I went out and tested my Aerocat road bike in the Jiminy Peak Road Race.  I also had my new Zipp wheels on thanks to Zipp, and I was flying.  I managed a 2nd place podium finish and first US finisher out of 70 women.  It was nice to be back out on the road.  This weekend I will try again for the big “W”.  Here I am on the road rig…

Last but not least was my trip back out to the Sea Otter Classic in Monterey, California.  It was great to be back out there.  The course was a bit sandy for my liking, but it was a great trip.  A big thanks to Neil, Tracy, and Madeline for letting me share their camper.  What fun!

Thats all for now. 

Happy Trails

Sara