"People are strange and I'm even stranger;
Man I look Ugly, just got into a fight" METALson
Jim Morrison would turn in his grave but since he's buried in the Pere Lachaise Cemetery outside of Paris which is notable as the final resting place for such luminaries as Proust but more famously for hippies, ubiquitous graffiti and that somebody actually stole the bust of Morrison right off his tomb, his tripping soul must have larger concerns than my painful riff. Our first hour 'off shift' would be a Soft Parade encounter of the eccentric and other worldliness as we shut down racing only to begin our sojourn to light it up again in 15 short hours.
A couple photos moments after riding, deeply grimy but pleased with doing what we set out to do. It took extra time to get organized due to first-day chaos and dealing with my wounds.
In a flash of time the race leaves you. The crushing five-hour burden shifts onto the back's of the next rotation. Our race-long misery legatees, Ryan, Tobias and Dave, would self-ignite and torch themselves off into the inky black desert night while METAL1 would shift into our transfer mode operations. Their departure was marked by flashing follow car lights had we bothered to look, we did not.
We drove a bit up the road and ended up in a strange night scene at TS2 in Brawley.
We pulled METAL1 into the Desert Motel parking lot on the right side of this photo. It was a moonless night, opposite of 2009. A quiet swarm of support vehicles, men and machines levitated in this odd space. It was an ephemeral, wheezing, type of life emanating from the creeping procession, the decidedly oddball parade, which traipsed down the main street of a one-story town on a night in June.
I was the freak of the freak show, filthy as a coal miner, shredded from my crash and not inclined to wear much clothes. Add to this, outdoor public showering, making up some dinner and taking a whiz in a fully lit parking lot while the gentlefolk of Brawley took their evening constitutionals. Since the town has a vibrant baseline freak factor, we seemed to reasonably fit in, if just for the hour or so. We just looked like meth-dealing, vigilante outlaws which drew little objection from actual thing.
The ambiance really was like a Doors song, kinda trippy and gritty but not too creepy, no sense any harm would come to you. The extreme garish incandescent lights in the town repelled the boundless darkness of the desert horizons which pushed in from all sides. In this peculiarly lit set, a population of transitory migrant bikers mingled with migratory laborers, nothing in this moment or place was it meant to last.
Return the next night and you would not know the place. I've been to Brawley, but the one I know was a temporary planet. You can visit, but only in this space. So we set up shop here in this artificially illuminated community, a carnival with no rides and a drive-in with no movie. Just eccentric characters executing random parts for no reason in particular. I should mention, riding for five hours as a flaming comet produces enough dopamine and endorphins to shoot the riders into a nature-drug induced trip beyond explanation. Now, Morrison is pissed. So your writer sees Brawley through a drug induced haze, I suppose you reckoned as much by now.
The little frontage road between the Motel lot and the main road was crammed with giant RV's, puttering mini vans and a pack of cyclists on recumbent bikes or "bents" who essentially clogged up the road. They were meandering, confused, old, bearded, sporting ample mirrors on both bikes and helmets and in no hurry to get anywhere. In other words, bent riders race RAAM the same way they ride every other day.
They were classic oblivious obstructions, made extra delicious for the racing numbers and matching kits which stood, mockingly, as a contrast to their somnambulistic lethargy, languished cadence and a passionate demeanor equal to a hibernating sloth...that died a few years back...and got dipped in some of that Jabbah the Hut Carbonite business...and then read this blog. Just like in the regular world, the bent guys were getting honked and yelled at. Oh, I do love this race and the oblivious.
While we breathe easy knowing we'll not be asked to destroy ourselves for a little while, the clock marches forward from the moment we hand the baton to DH1 (Ryan,Tobias and Dave's vehicle/team name, I'll soon explain). I could negotiate with my broken body but the clock was having none of my overtures.
The list of things to accomplish before racing again is pretty long but we've all done this race before, no surprises. Speed and efficiency in checking off requisites translates into rest, sleep, and time to properly tend to crucial details, like bike maintenance. All of this begets speed on the road. While everybody fancies and blusters they can race with no sleep, no rest and bad food the truth is, they can, just slower. So our lot is the selfish business of eating, resting and making sure the riders and crew are recovered and ready to battle when the bell rings.
Here is a partial list of things to be done between shifts:
- Drive 330 miles up the course and find a hotel close to the anticipated exchange point, this takes five to seven hours. Big chunk
- Fuel up METAL1, perhaps twice, once to get to hotel and once again before racing. Obviously you cannot get gas while racing without risking some inefficient time losses.
- Arrive at hotel and haul bikes and gear into the room
- Eat, a lot.
- Clean bike clothes and pack ride bag for next day to include electronics such as lights, radio and Garmin, charging and maintaining all these devices as well.
- Rest, even when not sleeping.
- Sleep, the more the better. I suppose I averaged 5.5 hours per off period.
- Wake up two hours before riding, find the guys and determine whether its a chase down or a backtrack scenario and how far off are we?
- Take over from Brad and Tynee. Ed nailed this 7/7 times this year which is no improvement on his 7/7 from 2009, pathetic.
Stop riding and start working
Jeremy saw a lady watering roses and ended up with her hose, shower time. It was the first of many chilly showers for Toro and he seemed to take pleasure in freezing. Predictably, he would clean himself and his skinsuit in one motion. I joined him this night in freezing because my crash left me with an extra coating of road grit that had to go. Later in the race, I would opt for baby wipe baths which are not freezing and perfectly adequate for getting to the hotel. Toro always rocked the shower, no matter the temperature. METAL1 traveled with a 5 gallon solar shower to be found on the roof. The idea was to have hot water after each stage but RAAM 2010 was too cold for this to materialize. I used the thing once or twice. Once we were decent, it was time to eat.
The first order of business is to drink Endurox which is a recovery drink. We had a tub labeled "METAL MIX" which was just that, a concoction for the race. Later, Ill show you photos of the "dinner table" and give more detail about METAL1's food capabilities. I give you the short version for now.
Dinner for me was, Whole Grain Baguette with chicken breast, Swiss cheese and roasted red bell peppers, 32oz of cappuccino/chocolate protein powder (110 grams), baby carrots, celery, raisins, nuts (macadamia, almonds, cashews, pistachio) and two extra chicken breasts. I made a peanut butter sandwich for hours later when hunger arrives again. Toro ate much of the same but downed about one pound of a pasta salad too.
Ron had joined us, he came out of the follow vehicle having finished his five hours in the navigation seat. We always get a crew to hang with us, it is their 15 hours off. We fed Ron but he brought his own bread (Lembas, hehe I'm a giant nerd) which has like 50 ingredients and was really tasty. We always feed crew because, truth is, we are not inclined to let them waste time by going to a restaurant. If anything, crew is always welcome to take the truck out once we are in the hotel, proposals for other stops are not even entertained.
So we got clean, made food (much of which is to be consumed after the drive begins), set up the power and electronics to drive the computers and machines for the drive, tripped out on the scene and hit the road to our first hotel in Prescott Arizona. We would drive the actual course (not always the case) so you can see first hand what your mates are in for.
The Drive From Brawley to Prescott
You met Ron earlier when he saved the day fixing my bike near Ranchita. He had also earned his stripes navigating for five hours and we were glad to welcome him aboard. Everybody on the team likes Ron and would defend him as a brother. He is an interesting guy with vast experience, a self-effacing sense of humor and his path has rarely been easy or conventional. He has sought out adventure and has the courage to formulate his own opinions, even when those views carry the high price of a lost career or standing alone among a crowd. These are the things you must know about Ron and my regard for him. It is required to know these things before I try to convey the things should know that happened during RAAM. This, before I begin the difficult and delicate task of recounting the tales of how he ended up becoming a 2010 legend and drove much of the good-natured humor that made our journey so unique and remarkable. OK, so here goes.
Ron jumped into METAL1 and launched an unabated five-hour verbal assault that was remarkable in scope, breadth and utter throat/breathing endurance. Major subjects included: the superiority of Europe (specifically and generally), municipal revenue generation, global cycling, bread making, wound salve manufacture, the mental inferiority of monkeys, mental superiority of macaws, Stanley, pectoral exercises for macaws, taxes, bus fares, progressive lenses, tool usage among birds, power lifting, crew, lacrosse, Ivy League education...yeah...I think that covers the first 30 minutes.
We were shelled and Ron was digging deep to verbal-bury us. Uncle. If the guy was bullshitting or not smart it would have been a bore. Ron kicked our asses for five hours straight, even TT1 can't touch this thug. METAL1 had weathered TT1 and withered before Ron. We got caught out as Ron obliterated the peleton. Ron beat some ass for 3000 miles across four team cars and the follow vehicle, so METAL1 would not hang our heads in shame.
Ron offered to drive, Ed was pretty gassed and gratefully accepted. So we pull off about an hour from the hotel, fueled up (making us race ready for the morning) and put Ron in the driver seat. For the next ten minutes, Ron was introduced to the world of cars manufactured after 1971.
It was like putting Abe Lincoln behind the wheel (more about Abe later), a world of wonder and discovery for Ron and sit-up-straight trepidation for the rest of us. Yep, that's the electronic mirror control (yes Ron, manual ones are way better), OK the display for Drive is right there (like every other car on earth, even in Mongolia, though apparently novel to you), light control...there...seat controls (no hand cranks brother)...there...cabin lights...right there...
So this was totally badass funny EXCEPT we were about to drive up the Yarnell Grade which is a long twisty, unlit, hill. Ron barely figured out how to pilot this beast (even METAL1 got nervous) and launched it down the highway...at EXACTLY the speed limit. "Oy Vey!"
The best part is, Ron starts going on and on about how he would not buy a truck like this. Really? There should be a law against Ron driving this vehicle...and we were breaking it. Also, it was funny at the time. Not just later, then, it was funny. Ron managed to cook the all corners, over-steer and scare the shit out of all three of us. Our eyes were like saucers as we all imagined rolling off a cliff at 13MPH which would be the least METAL way ever to die.
The next best part, while Ron had his hands full driving, this had no impact whatsoever on his ability to dominate us verbally, Ed tried to sleep but Ron sawed his left ear off which can make it a bother to nod off. Freaking awesome.
I'm crying while typing, so this tale has to end for now, I promise to return when my giggling is not causing so many typos. There is more, believe it.
Keeping an eye on the race
You monitor the guys that ride immediately after you. This is because most of their ride time is our drive time. Their struggle which, somewhere, was first-person grunting, digging and burning with chains whizzing, lights flashing, radio chatter, iPods blaring and souls confronting self-truths, was none of this for us, at the moment. No, all the tumults that live racing entails, were now a safe and distant abstraction, to be imagined, if one even bothered. During the drive, Ryan became a tiny little icon on my phone inching across the map.
We used this program called Google Lattitude and the guys with GPS smart phones could be tracked on a map, in real time. Each user picks a photo to represent his position on the map. Brad was a gorilla, I chose a shot of me on a TT bike, Kevin didn't figure out how to give himself a photo was a blank square which I loved way too much. Kevin was like one of those generic beers that are sold under the brand name...Beer. Since everybody else actually had photos, Kevin stood out, in a really special way, that made you want to pat him on the head and make sure his AOL modem was still loading Netscape.
Ryan's photo originally had him facing to the left, meaning he would travel 3000 miles backwards across the country, ass first, if you please. Where I had left Kevin's fail "icon" untrammeled, I totally impeded my own vacuous enjoyment and tipped Ryan before the race, he fixed it. RAAM is a cruel mistress and I count this among my largest regrets. I should have contacted his girlfriend and found a way to give Ryan the icon he deserved (pictured below).
This photo is remarkably important to our present tale. While its horrible on dozens of levels, take special note of the contraption under the seat which could hold a spare tire but more likely is a carbon fiber dildo holster.
Obviously, Ryan gets way too much grief about the Try-Athlete gear but he's always a good sport and he has climbed the long hill to earn our respect as legitimate cyclist. In fact, we ignore all that running and swimming crap, same as I would if you admitted to all that sewing, cat collecting and those commemorative plate parties you throw. I'll just focus on the parts of you that don't make me sad. Everybody wins.
Well, Denner and I exchanged a pretty good number of texts the first night, while he was racing. "great ride out there bro" to which I responded "Dig deep brothers, let's grind this thing out...and thanks. I'm shelled" Later, "METAL1 will keep ripping" and so it went, back and forth. Denner and I are both pretty into getting fired up for competition so the exchange was productive battle speak.
Then a flash of brilliance reached down and illuminated my retarded heart. Our team was METAL1, Brad proposed some 'HeavyMachinery4' idea that never caught on for his truck. Kevin and Larry were store brand plain label and I would not see those guys until Annapolis...what to name Denner's crew? It came to me like a vision of Satan on a Tortilla.
I sent the historic text at 12:35AM Jun 13, 2010: "Great Ride DildoHolster 1"
Yep, that was it. In an instant, DH1 was their handle and part of 2010 RAAM. Needless to say, METAL1 was howling (out loud) that same instant. The most robust laughs and the best times always happen on the drive to the hotel. Full belly, post ride buzz, no pressure, winding down, new crew member dropped into the front passenger seat, its just good times. DH1.
As the race progressed, folks would just drop a DH1 reference into a sentence, like "DH1 is having trouble because Tobias is throwing up." Totally more funny because I had never mentioned the name to these people. I'm not certain they even knew what DH1 stood for.
It had made the rounds, on its own. Ultimately, DH1 referred to THEMSELVES as DH1. Fantastic. Nobody got a short circuit in their sex toys and everybody got a laugh. Obviously, the key is Denner's personality which allows him to enjoy all manner of experience: transcendent, painful or (as here) simply absurd without taking it too seriously. He actually gets fired up from any kind of trash talk.
Abraham Lincoln
I ate, checked e-mails, rested, called my family, listened to Ron, got occasional texts from Ryan, listened to Ron and collected facts...from Ron. The messages from Ryan were like telegrams from the Civil War battlefields. Abe Lincoln, not on our team, used to hang out in the Washington DC telegram office at all hours of the night and was famous for showing up in this comical sleeping dress and sprawling himself all over the tiny office populated by low level clerks. I mention Lincoln because he is famous and shows up again as a giant marble statue, a motel advert and a bazooka wielding bobble head firing wieners to a hungry public, versatility. That's what people say about our 16th president. There is some talk on the internet that Toro looks like a young Abraham Lincoln, I'll let you decide but Cathy from Ozark Lakes, Missouri has already started a fan page on Twitter with 317,000 followers who by and large agree Toro is Lincoln. A few folks are boycotting the site until Toro grows a beard to which he has responded, "what?"
Lincoln "did" RAAM and appeared in various forms. He ran the full spectrum from staid marble monument to pink-flamingo kitsch motel sign and a giant bobble head armed with bazooka firing hot dogs into the upper deck at a ballgame.
Here I am at the Lincoln Memorial, a notable trek as I went 12 hours without eating, walked about 15 miles (even though ample was parking available...its 2AM!!!) and slept about 90 minutes since leaving West Virginia. Yeah, we stopped racing a while ago, pointless suffering.
Lincoln, is a hotelier of some note in Indiana. Guests rest easy with assurances their stay won't be sullied by un-American owners who might disrespect our reverence for sacred institutions such as former American Presidents.
This rare historic photo from the National Archives shows Lincoln getting his ass handed to him by TR and a couple founding fathers. Zack, Izzy and I sat in reverence at National's Park while this patriotic spectacle reminded us why we fight after 9/11.Signing off for now
So, I'll leave you to lick your wounds and recover from the blunt trauma inflicted by my incessant bloviation (Ron inspired me).
We drove to a decent hotel in Prescott, it was freezing which is not cool. We awoke the next morning to learn first place had turned to THIRD. 4Mil had taken over second place and that would not stand. I'll pick it up here next time as we get ready to begin a wonderful day of climbing through Sedona and Flagstaff Arizona. With Ed snoring like a thousand bears, T minus 15 had whittled to T minus 7, time to sleep a little so we could soon ride a lot.
Beleaguered reader, do get a massage, eat some food and get ready for our second day on the road, it was epic and you will need all your powers.
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