By nine o’clock Friday evening I had everything in order for Saturday’s Cholla Challenge near Hurricane, Utah. It was going to be a hot day, so I had my water bottles filled and frozen with electrolytes. I took an easy pre-ride of the race course. I had a big dinner. I went to bed early. So much preparation, yet all it took was a slight turn of the handlebar in a patch of sand.
At eleven o’clock Saturday morning the temperature was already in the mid-80s. 15 or 20 of us lined up at the start. There was no parade loop this year to spread out the field before we started onto the singletrack course; instead we all bounded over flour-soft dirt roads to the first wash and the sand and sandstone.
As a recent smoke school graduate, and as a certified Visible Emissions Observer, I can tell you that the opacity of the dust emissions from our group was 65%. That means 35% of the light was getting through, and that we could only see about 35% of the trail.
One thing I did see was Rich A. go down on a loose turn. Someone else went down a few seconds later. Then it was my turn.
I don’t know how it happened. One moment I was racing, the next moment I was lying in the sand. An instant later I was up and running with my bike. My knee was bruised and skinned, but no real damage to body or bike. I rode on.
Two minutes later I was climbing the only real hill of the course when I reached for my water bottle—not there. Normally that’s only a minor inconvenience, but on this day, with this heat, with 10 more miles to go in the lap, I was in trouble. I rode about 6 miles to a water station where I grabbed a cup. Meanwhile, Rich had recovered and was sitting on my wheel.
A few miles later we came to a dirt road. I moved over to let Rich take a pull. My mouth was dry like a cotton ball. As Rich came by he said “this sucks.” I agreed and asked him for a shot of whatever he had in his water bottle. He generously gave me the whole thing. There wasn’t much left but I chugged it all and tried to hang on to his wheel. He and I had a similar conversation mid-race last year in Nevada.
At the start of the second lap Mags was there with another bottle for me, but I shouted to her that I needed a big bottle. All she had was a small one so I muttered a few things that I’m ashamed of, and that I know a few spectators heard. I didn’t think I could finish another lap with so little to drink.
Mags, bless her heart, read my mind (and my lips?) and sprinted across the desert with a big, ice cold bottle and met me at the base of the next climb. That may have been the difference between me finishing the race and dropping out.
I drank so much that I felt sluggish on the climb and watched Rich pull away for me. See, I’m pretty good at coming up with excuses for not being able to keep up with Rich for more than a lap. It took me most of the second lap to feel normal again, but by then Rich was nowhere to be seen.
I started the third lap alone but mid-way through I started catching and passing sport riders. I like passing them at the end of a race because it makes me feel fast again. I like to tell them they’re doing a good job as I go by, and sometimes they reciprocate.
At the finish line I was too tired to check the results. Rich was lying in the back of somebody’s van. Brad was looking pretty waxed too. I didn’t stop to talk with my mother, who had made the long drive down to watch, I didn’t check the results. I went straight for my car and sat down in an exhausted stupor.
Fifteen minutes, one quart of water and one quart of chocolate milk later I felt strong enough to walk. I thought the results were wrong when I saw my name in third place. Rich confirmed them to me. Somehow he had passed Brad for the win, and somehow everybody behind us was suffering as much as we were.
Ahh…the joys of racing in the desert. Here are a few more:
My brother finished 12th in his first sport race. Those guys in sport better watch out.
My new shorts literally rubbed me the wrong way. Note to self: never do a 35 mile race in brand new shorts again.
My prize for third place: A 26 inch tubeless-ready tire. I ride a 29er. That’s two races in a row with irrelevant prizes for me. Anybody want a new tire?
I owe Rich a big thank you for giving me his water bottle. Especially considering that he had to scrounge some off the ground during his third lap.
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