First and foremost I have to thank everyone who donated to LiveSTRONG on my behalf. We raised $625 of the $3.1 Million that was donated to the foundation for the Austin event. I was honored to ride for all those who have been fighting and in memory of those who lost the fight. It was a weekend to remember.
I left Carlsbad at 02:30 Saturday morning. Those riding had a small window of opportunity to pick up their ride pack at the LiveSTRONG village in downtown Austin, so timing was important. This early start really confused my internal clock for the rest of the weekend. After picking up my swag I walked around to the different booths at the village, got a quick glimpse of Lance Armstrong and an even quicker lunch then I headed to the hotel for an early night. Unfortunately it was 11:30 so I thought I would take a nap. Needless to say the day was about timing my bedtime with a decent hour, I wanted to be awake for the ride but by 20:00 I was wiped and needed to hit the sack.I woke every hour until 04:00 when I gave in and got out of bed. The next two hours were spent in contemplative prayer. Early morning TV does nothing for me so I listened to some music and thought about what the day's events were to mean to so many. I left at 06:30 and arrived 2 miles from the start at 07:15. For the next 40 minutes I sat in my truck following a near motionless, endless line of cars trying to park for the day.
I made my way to the back of the mass of cyclists that were to partake in the various rides. I listened to but did not take in much of the pre-start introductory announcements. I don't want to make light of the situation but when you are at the start you just want to ride, especially when you can't see who is talking. There were speeches and thanks all around as well as a lovely rendition of the National Anthem sung by a survivor. Finally at exactly 07:13 the countdown began. 10, 9, 8 everyone started clipping in, 7, 6, 5, computers were reset and fingers were poised to push start, 4, 3, 2, 1...Nothing. I have no clue what held us up but we sat for another minute until we heard another countdown. This time from 5 and this time nobody prepared, and this time the mass ahead moved. People walked and skipped their bike forward to the start line and as soon as I had the room I mounted, clipped in and rolled slowly to the start. 5 minutes after the official “start” I crossed the line.
Rolling with that may people was an odd sensation. Though not packed tightly, there was no break in the long line of cyclists rolling down the road. At mile .72 I heard a loud POP and my front end went wobbly. I was able to control the blow out and stopped at the side of the road to change my tube.
I carry two tubes with me, one in a saddle bag and one in my pocket. Using the saddle bag tube first I did a fast change with a stream of jeers, sympathies, and laughs rolling by. I used a CO2 cartridge to air up my tire and promptly popped the tube. If it was not for the fact that I pulled over near a child and his mother, the obscenities would have flowed freely. Another quick change where I used my last tube and last CO2 cartridge and I was back on the road. I pulled up to a SAG Van a couple hundred yards down the road and filled the tube to 120psi. It held.
To understand the scale of how many people were on this ride, I was one the first 1000 people across the line. Pulling over and changing 1 tube takes me roughly 2 minutes. After the first tube blew out I took another couple minutes to compose myself because I was going to change to my last tube and I still had 64.25 miles to ride. So the second tube change probably took me 5 minutes. In that 7 minutes the stream of riders passing me did not diminish. I had to ease back into the river of bikes. A quick look back and I saw the line was still forming at the start.
It was a packed road. For the first 4 miles I had a hard time passing people. At that point though, there was a split for the 10 mile course and the pack thinned. Near mile 7 it stacked up again as we were forced to dismount to cross a stream. Glad to do it as the algae nearly took me out as I walked across the shallow water. Beyond that was an 8% hill which I danced up pretty well and the pack once again thinned amongst the strong and the stragglers. There was no place on the entire course to form a pace line of more than 2 or 3 riders. It was up hill, down hill, left bend, right bend all the way around.
I am not the fastest rider, but for most of the day I was passing people. My initial mishap had put me behind those I would normally ride with. Groups of certain speeds tend to get together early in rides like these but it took me most of the full 65 miles to get to that group. Passing people gave me a chance to read the backs of a lot of riders. Each person had one, two, three even four white cards on which they had written the names of those people for whom they were riding. The names of those who are fighting or have lost the fight. Every now and then there was a yellow card that said “Survivor” I made it a point to slow and talk to these people. They were fighters, survivors, the reason I was there.
You have probably asked yourself what had happened to my 90 mile ride. To begin with, I thought it was odd that the organizers of the event stated in the literature that those riding 90 who had not hit the 36 mile mark by 11:30 would be routed to the 65 miler. That's a blistering 12mph. Which would make a 90 mile ride take 7.5 hours. That is a long time in the saddle. What I didn't take into account was what would happen at the power stops.
I stood around the first Power Stop for 30 minutes. Everyone chatting about bikes and cancer, and Honey Stinger. Because I was wearing my full Honey Stinger team kit and Honey Stinger donated a lot of nutrition to the event there were a ton of questions directed toward me. I happily answered and made suggestions on flavors. Finally a few of us agreed that it was time to get going. The next rest stop was another 10 miles down the road.
This was the pace for most of the day. Moving from stop to stop, riding and talking. Talking and riding. I kept my pace up riding with three or four people, getting dropped on 10% climbs and dropping some on 10% descents. I moved from one small group to the next making my way to the end. But each Power Stop had more people, more food, more fun.
The stop at the 36 mile mark had a live rock band and though I was within the time to branch for the 90, I had a group I was enjoying so I continued onto the 65. One gentleman summed up the rest of the day when he said, “It's just about finishing”. I peddled on to finish.
With 7 miles to go I rounded a corner to see 7 or 8 guys standing around a truck all sucking on brown water bottles with yellow stripes. I came to a skidding halt as this was my type of rest stop. An unofficial beer stop. I would have made my plea for a beer and graciously declined the offer. However, the proprietor of the stop let me know that she had just given away the last beer (Shiner Bock). Needless to say I gave her a hard time. We all laughed and I moved on as the half dozen chugged their beers so as not to have to offer any to passing riders.
The final rest stop was run by Mellow Johnny's bike shop and Juan Pelota coffee shop both owned by Lance Armstrong. With more Honey Stinger gels, peanut butter sandwiches, oranges and bananas in my body than humanly possible the shot of espresso was a welcome relief. By this time the talk in the stops was about finishing, and the questions I was inundated with early on were now words of praise. People telling me what their favorite flavor of Honey Stinger was, what they liked most and what they planed to try. Calls of “Hey Stinger Man” came from riders as well as from cars lined up on the final road to the finish.
As I came into the finish I zipped up my jersey and rode past the photographers in hopes of getting a good shot of myself. I then rolled through the barriers to hear the shouts of the many supporters lining the finish line. I had a glimpse of chalk written on the ground but not a clue what any of it said. The finish was broken into two lanes. Those who rode in support or in memory of someone and survivors, who were given a yellow rose. I heard my name over the loud speaker and “He's our first from New Mexico” which made me look down at my top tube where my mom's name is written. I said a prayer in thanksgiving and walked my bike around the LiveSTRONG village. I got a wonderful 15 minute massage, stopped by the Honey Stinger Tent, chatted and congratulated other finishers.
I was proud to be part of something this great. It was one of the most beautiful rides I have ever been on and I was amazed at the support for the fight against cancer. There are estimates that between 4,500 and 5,500 people participated with over 800 volunteers bringing this amazing event together. I hung around the village for another couple hours, lending my support at the finish line and realizing there were still people on course. Still riding and still fighting to the end.
My numbers were not that impressive: 65.5 miles, 4:01:01 time, 16.25 mph average, 2919 feet climbing, and average HR of 148 and only 4500 calories burned. I returned to Carlsbad with a vow to do it again next year with more aggressive means of raising donations. I really want that Jersey. $1000 was the goal this year and I missed it. So start saving your pennies and digging into the couch cushions. Those with cancer will fight each day to beat it, everyday. I will do what I can to help those I love continue their fight.
