Julian Death March

It didn’t go well, unfortunately. Body took a little longer than normal to warm up this morning, but it felt fine and I was riding in the mix of things. I couldn’t go with the guys who got away at the start but figured if I could find my rhythm I would stand a good chance of catching them on some of the brutal climbs later on in the race.

 

Just as I was finally starting to feel decent, my race came apart… I sliced my rear tire on a rock. No big deal, I have two spare tubes. Tube number one is bad out of the box. Damnit Performance! Tube number two goes in and things are looking as though they’re back on track. How come my rear brake is all jacked up? Why won’t my wheel spin? It takes me a few more minutes  to figure that situation out and I’m once again headed down the trail. I’ve been passed by a handful of riders, but I am thinking positve and hoping I can chase them down.

 

My rear tire blows up again. Calm and positive flies out the window for a moment and I seriously consider throwing my bike into the canyon but think better of it as I’ll just have to go get it anyway. I find myself yelling at my tire, “Really??!!!, How the hell did that happen? There’s no WAY that really just happened!” Strangely, my tire did not reply.

 

I’m now out of spare tubes, standing in the middle of the desert and temps are climbing. I was already frustrated with my legs this morning and the first flats were enough to get me angry and motivated to dominate this race. Now, I feel like I want to cry.

 

I’m stuck in the desert with no phone, a busted ass bike, and a shitty attitude. Close as I can figure it, I’m about an equal distance at this point from the nearest help in either direction. I can either walk foward along the course, or backtrack. My mind doesn’t go backwards. Too bad I’m also terrible at judging distance. I decide to move forward.

 

At first, I walk. Then, I decide to ride my rim on what sections seem safe. An hour later, I am banging off boulders riding my rim down rocky creek beds and sketchy descents with one foot unclipped in case things go squirrely on me. Turns out I was further from help than I thought. I get passed by a butt ton more people while I’m becoming accustomed to riding without a rear tire and I pass most of them back on a god awfully gnarly climb back up to Sunrise Hwy.

 

Someone gives me a tube at some point which is the wrong size(I’m running 700c wheels and ‘cross tires in my 26″ mtn bike), but I try to put it in my mangled rear wheel anyway. It lasts about 500ft before exploding. Rim it is. Some time after my race falls apart and I stop yelling profanities at the desert and all of its’ rocks, I calm down and decide that although my race is quite obviously over, my ride doesn’t have to be.

 

I have a spare set of wheels and tires in my car back in Julian. The way the course is set up, you complete a 65 mile loop from Julian back to Julian and then head out on a 22 mile loop from Julian and back again. I figure if I can just finish this first loop, then there is no reason why I shouldn’t grab my spare wheels and finish the course. Afterall, there are plenty of riders who will likely be on course a lot longer than me, even with all this bad luck. What kind of weenie would i be to give up just because I wasn’t going to win my race?

 

Once I had decided to finish the event, things weren’t so bad. Wait, yeah they were. I felt every single rock, rut and bump for 20 miles and baked in the sun as I crawled up a climb which would have been really tough WITH a rear tire… I was hurting. Bad. To make things worse, I’m looking back at my nutrition during the race and realizing that I pretty well forgot to eat as soon as the shit hit the fan. I was so preoccupied with staying upright that I forgot to feed myself.

 

In any case, I eventually made it back to the aid station at Sunrise Hwy and lucky me, the mechanic there had a tube that was the right size for my rear tire(it was still on the rim)! It was 7 paved miles from there back to my car in Julian and once there, I swapped wheels, realized I hadn’t eaten hardly anything in the last seven hours, slammed a pb&j and headed out to complete the last 22 miles of the race.

 

The winner was finishing as I left… Head down, just go. It doesn’t matter at this point. Just don’t quit. I had some fun on the last loop, but my lack of calorie consumption came back and bit me in the ass something terrible. I was hurtin for certain.

 

Then my fork stopped working. Sweet, thanks for that.

 

Finished it off though. Broken, battered, baked, but not beaten.

 

Things I learned:

 

1. 700c wheels belong on road bikes

2. The term “mountain biking” in Socal-anese translates to: riding your bike in the desert

3. The desert is full of rocks. These rocks make short work of skinny ‘cross tires on 700c wheels(which belong on road bikes)

4. Most importantly: One should not put 700c wheels(they belong on road bikes) and ‘cross tires(they get destroyed by rocks) on one’s mountain bike the day before a “Mountain Bike”(Socal for desert[full of rocks]) race and expect things to go well.

5. One is bound to be dissapointed

 

However, I’ve gotta say that I am fully stoked on finishing the event. Sometimes life gives you lemons… Julian Lemonade, anyone?