I found myself standing in front of the Granada in not yet sunny
downtown Emporia, KS, with a thousand other cyclists. After a brief pit stop, I
saw Dan Hughes. He looked like it was any other day; he was ready for a normal
ride in the countryside. We wished each other luck; as he wandered off to find
a spot to start. I walked past the front of the pack, the leaders and those who
could not stand to see saddles before them, these men and women looked hard.
The atmosphere around them did not seem to sink in, the rest of us mortals were
enjoying the pre-adventure buzz. The lead pack was ready to push as hard as
they could, as long as they could, until there was nothing left. This might be
a good point to note my friend Roger, in the front of the pack; First wheel
dead center. My good morning fist bump wasn’t really noticed, he had apparently
set his mind to the task at hand. A quick picture and I shuffled off so he
could concentrate on his fight. The beautiful L and I began to look around for
Lawrence Mountain Bike Club members. I hoped they were under the time I hoped to
come across the finish line many hours from now. Chuck, Craig, and Rod
appeared, and we all relaxed under the veil of a 16-hour finish. Chuck fired
off mass start advice; perhaps fueled by the nutrient Goo. He advised me to
watch for pile-ups, it wouldn’t take much to cause a heap of cyclists early on.
Either way, I figured I had fat tires and would just ride over any heaps of
cycle and lycra, should they crash in front of me. It’s not nice, but I had no
intent of falling down in Emporia. One
last check of everything and the spectators began to shuffle out of the way. It
was time to take that first pedal stroke.
At the stroke of six, nearly 1,000 cyclists rolled forward
en mass, dutifully following their police escort down Commercial Street to the
edge of town. I wouldn’t say we were going fast, but it was definitely the
leader’s pace, something I didn’t expect to hold for long. I did notice a few
confused faces as the pack rolled through stoplights. When we turned onto gravel, the group bunched
up again. I had to track stand to keep from mowing over a few smaller rigs. On
the gravel the pace lines extended for what seemed like two miles. It was early
and the riders consumed the gravel. We were now moving fast, much faster than
the pace I had mentally set, but it was calm, the road felt like it was going
downhill, and 500 bikes were sucking me along. Eh, roll with it I thought. I
figured everyone would calm down. I figured the club would drop off the speed
and go back to conserving energy looking for the long finish. I was using the wrong
math. After ten fast miles, I decided I would not be able to hold this pace
forever and I dropped off to race against myself. Now this isn't to say that I
dropped all the way to the back, pulling the rear. I was still passing people
without much effort and I still rolled fast and comfortably. My big tires, wide
range of gears, and comfort atop my bike allowed me to take crappier lines, out
climb, and out descend a lot of lightly laden bikes. I owe someone at Salsa a Christmas card for
the el Mariachi. I was drafting people when I could, trying to make friends,
and trying to pick out a group that could run to the end. Strangely most people
seemed really irritated that a dude in a mountain bike jersey had ran them down
carrying at least twice as much crap as they seemed to be. Eh, probably all in
my head.
The miles were turning over quickly, and with the ticker the
landscape thinned of the marks of civilization. One climb would be followed by
a descent, one turn followed by a climb. How dry the gravel looked surprised
me; most of Kansas had received five inches of rain over the last four days,
and I was expected flooded roads. No time like the present to eat my words, so
imagine my surprise when right about mile 17, a nice climb and a left hand turn
revealed a ¼ mile mud bog. Guess it had rained here after all. The cross guys
were dismounting and tiptoeing around the edges of the pits, I thought, I could
just skirt across a ridge and roll the bike over the crust. Yeah, not so much.
I quickly accumulated enough mud in the fork that I couldn’t roll the bike. A
drag or two later and I was back on solid(ish) ground, quickly pulling wads of
mud off my frame to free the wheels and shifters. Mental note, just follow the
little bikes. I rode a few hundred yards, and had to dismount again to skirt an
equally deep bog. Another muck clean and off we went, throwing flint and mud
everywhere. I’m sorry if you were behind me.
I would have chance to clear more of my tires after a brief climb, and
the first of many big downhill sections. We had reached Teapot Mound Road, the
first of the stunning valley views we would have over the next 200 miles. Climbing
turns and sweeping downhills defined the roads now. Cows were now freely
roaming, and more than once I would rocket down a hill, just to see a small
water crossing at the foot of the hill. If I was lucky I got to see someone
ride through; If not, I pulled back on the bars and hoped for the best. I
started to feel the remote feeling of the open range. I was losing my self in
my thoughts when I woke up suddenly. A woman in a cut off t-shirt standing by
the one of the rescue Jeeps told me I had to dismount. I asked why, slowing to
hear her answer, the next water crossing was under water. Actually, a river had
sprung up in the middle of the course, fueled by a week of rain. As I heaved my
bike onto my shoulder, I briefly regretted carrying all of my gear on a steel
bike. 200 feet later, with extra wet feet, I was done with the race’s big water
crossing. Climbing the mud soaked hill, I passed several riders who had stopped
to mend a tube or dry their feet. I didn’t want to stop, so I elected to push
on until I could make the first stop in Madison. I hoped my shoes would drain
enough to put dry socks in them. The riding was fast and the weather was
perfect. I didn’t realize that the wind had picked up, but I knew I as moving
faster than anticipated. Maybe I just felt really good? Suddenly, almost too
soon, pavement appeared and I raced into Madison hot behind a pack of riders. I
cruised into the heart of town to check in.
I had my second map! It was time to find L and reload fuel and water. L
looked startled when I had appeared in just three hours thirty minutes. I
didn’t believe it myself. While she set to drying my shoes and reloading my
gear I enjoyed an egg sandwich and some chocolate milk. I didn’t realize it
until too late, that I had been sitting for 45 minutes.
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