Breck Epic, Part I

The wheel is turning and you can't slow down
You can't let go and you can't hold on
You can't go back and you can't stand still
If the thunder don't get you then the lightning will

The Wheel
Lyrics: Robert Hunter
Music: Jerry Garcia, Bill Kreutzmann




Friday July 3

Jimmy picked me up at the airport in Denver and we rode home in the convertible, with a stop off at the BMW dealer. More little errands until around 3:00 when I got a little lesson in mountain weather. This is exactly the sort of shit I had been fearing for weeks. Storm blows in around 3:00, temperature drops about 20 degrees and the wind is trying to blow the leaves off of the trees. Now put yourself outside in this same situation on the side of a mountain at 12,000 feet with no gas left in your tank, 15 miles from the nearest aid station, protected by the insulating powers of wet lycra. This is the sort of Fear that had been on my mind as I headed into a backcountry bike race at altitude. Pushing yourself is one thing, but pushing yourself into a dangerous situation is a different thing altogether. While I enjoy the test of self, I really do not have a death wish.

Saturday July 4

Saturday afternoon storm pounds through, right on queue. Given that I am not a pro race rider like a lot of other folks in the Breck Epic, I imagine that they would all be done by this time of the afternoon, while I would still be out there on the mountain…somewhere.

Re-check all the gear, yet again. Do a little running around (yes, on July 4th) looking for a bike store that is open that sells tires. Re-evaluate my tread choice and ultimately decide that the Geax are good. Nice high center for rolling on the fireroads, some knobs on the sides for holding it together in the loose stuff in the corners. Standing pat.

Sunday July 5

Up early, but not too early, heading out to Breckenridge by 8:15. The registration area is a “no-fly” zone until reg opens at 10:00am. We rolled into the Upper Blue Elementary School (UBE) otherwise known as Race HQ around 10:15. There were still some kinks in the whole setup, but everyone was laid back in a classic Western sort of way and extremely friendly. Mike Mac, the organizer, was there himself, registering folks and greeting people. Decked out in shorts, a cowboy hat and wraparound shades he looked like he was right out of central casting. After getting mostly settled in to Tent City, Jimmy and I rode from UBE up to Carter Park which is where Stage 1, the Time Trial Prologue was starting. Just as we got there, another storm blows in, dropping the temperature and soaking the race course. We all sheltered there until it finally blew over, just before the first riders went off.

The time trial course started with a series of switchbacks that climbed right up the hill so all the spectators could see what was happening for the first quarter to half a mile. Mountain biking is not a particularly spectator-friendly sport so this was a good change, unless you happened to be riding. The switchbacks were nicely bermed and in good shape, so I managed to climb the whole thing that was in view.

Sunday was very short day, just 7 miles, with something under 2,000 feet of climbing. It was all rideable, but I did end up doing a little pushing, including one especially nasty steep, loose, rocky uphill that was so steep I had to be up on my toes which subsequently had my calves aching pretty quickly. We finished on a flat section and in typical fashion, I managed to still crank it out for the last 100 yards or so, holding off some other rider that was behind me, probably somebody’s grandmother. After the finish it was a sweet long rocky road back to the hardpack and then a spin through town back to UBE and it’s one day down.

Then yet another storm blew in, collapsing tents and causing some minor havoc.

Monday July 6

It becomes funny when you finally notice that everyone is constantly drinking water and then giving it back. As someone once said of beer, “You don’t buy it, you rent it.” Same thing with water for folks trying to stay hydrated at altitude in July which is a full time job. The odd thing is, even when the weather is nice, it is beating the tar out of you and secretly sapping that special fluid which constitutes up to 70% of our bodies. Meanwhile the sun is baking your skin, trying to find that exposed patch, or the spot that you missed with the SPF 45. Cowboy hat and wraparound shades, indeed. This is not a "look," these are survival tools.

Monday was the CO Trail stage. Lots of winding around through some really beautiful trails, climbing, and then being dumped onto the CO Trail where there were some nice rocks before the trail turned to loamy singletrack winding through the forests. After climbing to about 12,000 feet we came down a very rocky section that dumped us into a long downhill section through the woods that was barely cut into the edge of the hillside. Lots of very tight switchback turns and then finally being dumped out into a field straight out of The Sound of Music. Wild flowers abounding, the goat trail rose and fell, rose and fell until it was time to climb some more. Another, relatively, short climb and we ended up in a pasture. The trail was double wide but couldn’t even be classified as an “abandoned jeep trail.” There were a number of wet spots as the hills and springs drained, seeking lower ground.

I navigated through them with ease, going wide on one exceptionally large one until I came upon one that was full across the trail. Deciding that the tire tracks were probably the deepest, I went down the center of the path and saw my front tire simply disappear up to the axle as it could go no further. The rest of the bike was having none of that and continued forward, pitching me off, before landing on it’s side.

I got up quickly and let the rider behind me know to take a different line around. She asked if I was ok and said “Yea, but I think there is something wrong with my finger.” As soon as I started to pedal there was a rubbing noise from the back. I glanced at my hand, waiting to see if any red was going to be soaking through the glove, but none was showing. The noise continued to get worse until I pedaled the next 200 yards to the second Aid Station. Some guys started working on my bike (it was upside down and they were pulling on the rear derailleur) while I pulled off my glove to show the medic. It looked sort of like a lightning bolt, only more crooked. She thought it was broken and since I didn’t have enough fight left in me (or perhaps it was just good sense taking over) they put my bike on her car and I let her take me to the Breck Medical Center. I’m not sure which hurt more, my finger or watching her drive so slowly.



So it turns out that it was only dislocated and not broken. I spent the entire afternoon in the ER with no recovery food and minimal fluids, more on this in a bit. Finally released, I called Kim, Mike’s right-hand gal and she sent someone to pick me up and bring me back to HQ at UBE.
No catered food under the tent on Monday. Mike lined up the Subaru courtesy cars and shuttled us all into town for dinner. Hanging with the single-speeders, it was a nice meal, but not really a post-race chow-fest. Tomi, one of the single-speeders, is from Carlyle, PA and is a special case. Very laidback with VanBuren sideburns, Tomi rides, not just a one-speed bike, but a “fixie.” If the wheels are turning, so are the pedals. There is no coasting. Needless to say, he is the only one riding such a rig.

Tuesday July 6

The finger hurts and is pretty swollen. But that’s ok because it is also a “pretty” color to match. Fortunately, the pinky isn’t very crucial to mountain biking. So I ditched the metal finger splint, put on my gloves and headed to the start area. The medic just told me to keep an eye on it in case I started to lose sensation as that would be bad. Hmmm… Not really sure what to do with that information. First, if I’m 15 miles out into the back country, what the heck am I gonna do anyway? Second, between pulling myself up the hills and holding the brakes for dear life on the descents, my hands were going numb about every 20 minutes anyway, so who’s gonna notice a little pinky anyway?

I did the initial climb, trying to settle in as we climbed up Boreas Pass Road. But there was a distinct message coming from somewhere between my stomach and my butt that was trying to tell me something. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it wasn’t good. Just as we were about to drop into the woods, I needed to find a bathroom. One marshall offered up some napkins and a spectator who was riding along told me to just hit the woods. I paused at that drop in for probably only about a minute or two but it felt like five. I asked about a Decision Point and the marshall said this trail section was about 15 minutes and then it almost hit the road. So I gave it a shot.

Descending through the trees, over rocks, clearly this was the trail of the local downhill riders, two of whom had been shuttled up in a pickup and dropped in while I was vacillating. They disappeared in about half a second. Riding down it was like watching a movie from the front row. It was all big and real, but it wasn’t me. My head was somewhere else, I was out of body and I knew this was not safe. So after the short run through the Aspen Tunnel, I pulled the plug on the day.

My head wasn't right, my body wasn’t right. It’s been a long way to this point and I am just whooped and defeated. Just don’t understand it. I end up at a Mexican restaurant in downtown Breck at lunchtime looking to chill and pull it back together. I sat at the window and looked out at the river and an old dredging machine. The waitress brought me three glasses; water to rehydrate, a soda to drink, and a glass of ice for my finger which is still purple. “Gnarly,” she says. The tortilla soup is excellent and comes with a little quesadilla. I start in on a massive burrito but can only get about half way through it, drinking the whole time. We made some small talk and she let me sit as long as I wanted, it’s Tuesady afternoon and the place is not crowded.

After about an hour and a half she sends me on my way with a bag of ice for the finger. I stroll the downtown scene, grab a cup of coffee, sit in the shade and try to pull myself together. DNF on Day One (well, Day Two if you count the Prologue) and now this. This just sucks. A very expensive exercise in stupidity.



Finally I remember that I had signed up for a massage, so I head back to UBE. Well that was certainly a more pleasurable out of body experience! Another huge buffet dinner under the tent (they had tons of great food) and I’m starting to feel better.

But tomorrow’s stage is the Circumnavigation of Mt. Guyot, which, although it is one of the rides I was really looking forward to, is now just a little bit scarier. 45 back country miles and two 12,000 ft climbs across the Continental Divide. The weather held out on Monday and Tuesday, but please don’t let me be a sacrifice to the Gods of The Afternoon Storms in the Rockies.



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