Logan to Jackson wrap-up
Monday, September 14, 2009 at 10:20PM My first Logan to Jackson is in the books. I finished, did not flat, did not bonk, suffered through some scary quadriceps cramps and nearly achieved my one lofty goal heading into it. It seems strange to have this long event behind me. The idea of it consumed me during much of the summer. There were few training rides this season where the thought of the race did not come up at some point. Even though I raced nearly every weekend for 3 months, some part of those races and the training leading up to each of them were geared toward preparation for the 330 km beat down I faced this past weekend.
There were so many unknowns for me heading into it as I had never ridden my bike that far or that long. I was able to ease some of my fear by riding almost that long on a few occasions leading up to the big day. This gave me some reassurance that I could pull off at least finishing the distance. But finishing was really not my concern. I've been riding my bike and punishing my body in one event or another for too many years to doubt that I could at least get through it. No, what I really was after was to win the damn thing. This was a goal I uttered to only a few close friends and one I only admitted to myself well into the season after a few tests suggested that it might be possible.
I felt very sheepish thinking such thoughts. I mean, come on. I had never done the race nor ridden that far. My nutrition was not dialed from repeated efforts at that distance nor did I possess a slew of solid performances in previous editions of the race. Hell, all the new chip seal on the course could deflate my tires and hinder my chances faster than you could say, "DNF". I rolled lots of scenarios through my head all summer long about how things might go down. I decided that even if I got dropped on the first climbs I would soldier on with whatever group I was with since finishing a 330 km bike ride was a worthy accomplishment. But I really loved the audacity of trying to win the thing first time through. It's been done before and those riders have gone on to multiple wins over successive years. So why not? The more I trained, the more sure I became that it was possible. I couldn't believe I could ride for 6-8 hours and then sprint at the end like I had ridden only 3 hours. But that's what was happening in the rides leading up to LOTOJA. So, in all my enthusiastic ignorance I dreamt of glory.
Even with encouraging results along the way, I stood at the start line early Saturday morning completely unsure of what lay ahead. I knew the terrain and many of my competitors. Few of them had gotten the better of me this season and I felt like the longer the event the better my odds to get the better of them. Still, I knew a lot of them had done this thing before, unlike me, and were probably thinking exactly the same thing. People asked me what my strategy was and I told them to not get dropped on the climbs in the first 160 km and then hang until the end. If I was there for the finale, I would sprint for the victory. Seems like a simple plan, right? In a race of attrition like LOTOJA, nothing happens too quickly and the key moves in the race happen in slow motion. So, if you pay attention, stay fed, don't flat and can keep up with the main players, the opportunity for a high placing is within your grasp.
When my group of 50 or 60 rode from the line at 0634 hrs. the weather was mercifully fine. Not too cold in the city and little wind to complain about. The temps dropped as we rode out into the farmlands around Preston but nothing some full-fingered gloves, arm warmers and a well-placed section of newspaper couldn't defend. When the lead car pulled off after getting us out of town in the dark, the early attacks started in earnest. I stayed near the front, following wheels at 45-50 kpm for several minutes. It seemed silly to be going that fast so early but I figured the protagonists would pay for their enthusiasm later.
We started catching groups right away and soon there was a steady stream of riders that stretched all the way to Preston almost 30 miles ahead. There were lots of riders changing flats along the way and I feared for a bad omen. But that fear was never realized for me and I was thankful for having the sense to put new Continental Grand Prix 4-Season tires on for the race. The only incident was watching a guy hit the deck in a gravelly turn outside of Preston and skid across the rocks on his hip. Turns out he was a previous winner and would be a factor all day. He was soon back with us, a little bloodier but game to continue.
We rolled through the first feed zone and out toward more challenging terrain and the first of four significant climbs of the day. There are some big rollers leading to the Strawberry Canyon climb and some early selections were made on them. I was caught out briefly during my first pee stop and chased up one of the big ones, breathing hard but passing many riders going backwards. We settled onto the early slopes of the canyon with a tolerable tempo and started cleaving riders off the back. The first half of the climb did not feel easy to me but I felt that I could suffer through and stay with the leaders. One strong climber decided to open things up a bit after he and I discussed the "softening" process of some of the wheel suckers. His acceleration whittled the pack down to about 25 before the false flat 2/3 of the way up.
A head wind kicked up across the flat and things really slowed as we inched our way up the final 4 km. I suddenly found myself impatient and went to the front. I started feeling good and began some short surges that I knew would torture anyone on the edge. I love speed changes for the toll they can take on climbs. Some riders can hang if the pace is steady but are mentally crushed and eventually dropped when the pace changes constantly. We rolled over the top with about 15 and headed to Montpelier. The pace varied down in the flats with half the guys unwilling to commit to the effort. Several of us did the majority of the work, keeping any chasers from returning.
Before the race I was worried that the feed zones would be a place where I could lose the pack if I did not rush through. However, my group remained civilized and we re-grouped and even had a pee break outside of town before starting to race again. We faced a ripping tailwind leading up to the Geneva climb and the pace remained high. One or two more riders were dropped here. I went to the front at the base and did not relinquish the lead until the top. More fast riding on the descent followed and we approached the final climb of the day, Salt River Pass, with the expectations of being done with the majority of the uphill riding. The tail wind inspired some accelerations of nearly 50 kph at times in the canyon before the climb and we lost more riders here, starting the climb with only ten.
Two of our group were up the road 15 or 20 seconds through most of this section but we slowly reeled them back during the climb. I stayed in the pack for the first half, breathing comfortably and following the easy tempo of the group. We were at least 150 km into it and the fatigue of some riders was apparent. About 3 km from the top I went to the front and upped the pace. There was a KOM at the top that was a timed affair with each of us triggering our own individual time trial at a bottom sensor pad. The elastic snapped near the top for several of our group as I accelerated for the KOM line. Even though I was first across in our group, the guy just behind me won the KOM by less than 2 seconds. The only thing I could figure is that he was at the back of the group at the bottom and his surge with me at the top gave him a shorter overall time. Oh well.
We re-grouped on the way down and rolled toward Afton with a big tail wind. As I stood up to stretch at the bottom of the descent, both of my quads seized up in a painful cramp! Shit, what was this? There was a moment of panic as I pondered not being able to finish the race. I had never had this happen in a bike race before. The few cramps I have had in athletic events were during running/hiking affairs in the Grand Canyon. When the spasms started then I simply slowed down and walked for awhile. In a bike race, the pace is being dictated by others at times and I was suddenly feeling very vulnerable. As if they were reading my mind, the attacks started 10 km outside of the feed zone in Afton. With the tailwind, the accelerations were violent and the counters came easily. Just as I feared I would not be able to answer another, they relented and we cruised to the feed zone without further incident.
I took a pint of chocolate milk and guzzled it as I rolled out onto the highway. The 360 calories sat heavy in my stomach for awhile but I hoped the carbs and minerals would somehow save my quads. Our pace was civil for the next 35 miles, only broken by the mind-crushing rumble strips that constantly destroyed our pace line rhythm out of Etna. Once again, there were some that sought the refuge of the back of our little pack and others who felt obligated to make pace. With my legs feeling normal again, I stayed near the front and participated in the race. My previous longest ride was 220 km and it was novel watching my odometer tick over beyond that bench mark.
I rolled into Alpine on the front feeling good. I took my last feed and prepared for the final 80 km. We did not have the usual tail wind for the first part of the canyon. The group was relaxed and we chatted away without any organization to the pace making. Again, some were content to sit back and let others drive it along. At one point we received word that a chasing group of 5 was a few minutes back and suddenly we jumped to the task and started rotating through. The terrain in the Canyon is not benign and we kept the pressure on during some of the bigger rollers. No one seemed to be fading and I felt like I was going to go to the line with these 7 guys.
Just outside of Hoback, the cramps returned and I started to panic a bit. As if on cue, the attacks started with a big tail wind keeping the pace high. I was able to follow, sometimes pedaling at half pressure with my right leg. I was just trying to survive. It's funny. My energy level was high and my acceleration strong but I could not trust what was trying to happen in my quads. It was so frustrating. I wanted to counter these attacks so bad but felt that doing so would be the end of me. I literally felt that at any moment, I would have to sit up and watch them ride away. How sad an ending that would have been.
The attacks finally stopped for a bit with about 25 km to go. As we approached the bike path intersection and the tunnel to Highway 22, some friends saw me coming and cheered wildly. They were expecting greatness and I feared I would disappoint them when my cramps finally ended my day. Sure, I would limp in but I would not be contesting the finish as expected. Or would I? After a couple more attacks, the pace settled and one guy pulled most of the final 15 km to the finish. I was pumped! I knew I would get there with the group and could throw one more bomb for the win. The tail wind made the anticipation grueling. It would be so easy to go too early but, then again, sometimes that is the better tact when fellow riders have heavy legs.
I was sitting in 4th or 5th when the inevitable slow-down before the sprint took place. I squirted forward just itching to go but holding back for a few more meters. As I drew even with the front at just under 300 meters, I jumped. I quickly dropped into my 50/11 and gave all I had. My quads protested briefly but were then pummeled into cooperation by the demand of the sprint. With 50 meters to go I heard the sound of accelerating carbon fiber rims behind me and soon one rider sprinted by. I caught his slip stream but I did not have enough to match him. He won easily. I glanced behind me as the line approached and was relieved to see several bike lengths between me and third place. The muscle cramps won the final battle after crossing the line and seized magnificently when I stopped pedaling.
As I rode away from the line, I felt satisfied overall but, perhaps, a little disappointed with the cramping issue. It changed the way I raced the final 20 km but ultimately did not impact the outcome. I was not hungry nor particularly sore afterward. I did not feel thrashed or even that tired. I even considered riding my bike home but realized that would be silly. My final feed consisted of 3 gel flasks containing 3 diluted Mocha Cliff Shots in each. That accounted for 900 calories and 450 mg of caffeine. No doubt some of my finish line perkiness was pharmaceutically mediated.
So, that's it, Logan to Jackson, been there, done that! I don't feel compelled to come back and try and win it just yet. There are other races to do. The one idea that would have me return to the event, however, would be an assault on the record for the fastest time. I could see a small group of equally-motivated, similarly-talented riders, perhaps five or six guys, who would simply ride steadily but relentlessly toward that goal. There would be no attacks and the winner would be irrelevant. This could happen but for now, I will look toward other events and other challenges. - Brian
Reader Comments (3)
+.530 sec. Very well done. You should be MORE than ready for the Ski season! I need a road bike, that shit looks fun!
Hey, you mention all the food you picked up, but not the lovely lobster hat that led you to the hand holding all the calories out to you.
well done sir, a sterling effort and a great article