The 2001 Leadville 100
By Todd "Warrior's Spirit" Brown
Leadville
was great. My best ever, though you'll be surprised why. I had a
hectic summer and had actually not planned on going, but... once the actual week
approached I changed my mind and did a psycho road trip - one day (13 hours,
12:20 behind the wheel.) Fortunately, I had raided my mom's books-on-tape
library.
My training wasn't anywhere near where it had been in the two previous
years and so I really had no expectations other than the hope of sub-9. I
even managed to break my heart rate monitor body surfing 3 days before. So
with no gauge other than experience and no great pressure to make massive
amounts of training pay off I set out for Leadville.
When I pulled into the dimly lit town and drove past 6th street, where
the start/finish is located, I could only laugh at myself for doing it, again!
We had a funky little pink house southwest of the start, about a mile away.
Jeff and Kristen, and Todd and Beth, were up watching Jackie Chan's
"Shanghai Noon". I don't know why we always watch Jackie Chan before
Leadville, but there we were, again. Which added to the mirthfulness I
felt.
Friday morning we went over to the check-in around 8:30. They gave
out some really neat stuff: north face back pack, water bottles, a cool
tote and the usual trident, breathe right, Neosporin, etc.
After
check in we rode we checked out the first few miles of the course. The
water puddle that is right in the middle of the road when you go from pavement
to dirt had grown to reach both sides of the road, leaving only a two-foot wide
path, plus it was deep. I scouted out an alternate trail just in case I
was back a ways in the pack when we hit this point.
The little animal trail went up around a small tree and back to the road,
it proved a prophetic preparation.
After
the ride, we heard Ken's (the promoter) pep rally. He had new material and
it was better than ever. I truly wished Susie had been able to make the
trip with me. By the time he was done whipping everyone into frenzy, we
were hungry. Lunch at the house was awesome, mainly because the women folk
did it right while we putzed around making final bike checks.
I
didn't mess around with sleeping and took two Tylenol p.m.'s... nighty-night.
Usually
I wake up after the "p.m.'s" feeling like I've been hit in the head
by a massive down pillow, then smothered. No chance of that on Leadville
day. We were up by 5, eating as much as we could possible stand.
Between food and debating over how cold the start would be we would just
chuckle. I can't explain the goofy glee that pervaded the weekend.
Being
experienced, we rode over to the mass of humanity in 40 degree weather.
There's no need to warm up for a ride of this magnitude. The 700
or so racers were all stacked up and around the main street. We rode over
to the front and waded in about 3 rows back. Once the other racers came
back to pick up the bikes that they'd laid out hours before, we could put our
bikes down and settle in. Jackets and tights were tossed over to our crew
while Ken continued with his hype and fiddled with the shotgun.
Boom!
700 of us headed down out of town into an ominous looking cloud.
Only in Leadville can you leave Main Street and ride down into a cloud.
The temperature dropped to 38 degrees as our speed reached over 45 m.p.h.
My glasses fogged over due to the density of the cloud. With one frozen
hand on the bars I gently tucked the glasses into my back pocket as a tandem
slid between the dirt shoulder and me.
Predictably,
the bottleneck caused by the massive puddle created all kinds of havoc.
People swearing at each other, people knocking each other over, people falling
in it. What a way to start a 100-mile bike race! My little trail
around the side worked great and soon Jeff and I were bombing along in a fast
moving group.
Jeff
is the one who got me into this crazy event. For one reason or another
we've never ended up riding
it all together. As we hit the first hill I could sense a repeat of years
previous only this time it was Jeff that shot off like a goat up the first
climb. The thick trees and narrow twisting road kept me from seeing very
far ahead so soon he was out of sight.
Lacking
a heart rate monitor and my training buddy Jeff, I had no sense of how my speed
was holding up. I felt like I was riding a reasonable pace, but I didn't
want to take it too easy and miss the 9 hour cut off. Soon I fell in with
a group of riders that seemed fit and aggressive so I banked on them to set a
pace that would get it done.
Up
the second climb there is a long straight section that is very wide. Way
up ahead I could see Jeff, way up there. But there he was, so I knew we
were on a good pace. Several minutes after I saw him clear the top of this
11,900-foot summit I too was ready for the long and treacherous descent called
Power Line.
Because
I'm breathing so hard at this high altitude I can never push my body to it's
max and as a result within a few short minutes of going down hill I'm
recovered and ready to fly. This day would prove no different and I felt
like I was glued to the dirt as I blasted my way past faster climbers. About 2/3's
down I caught and passed Jeff, a favor he returned at the bottom as I was
stopped on a nature call.
For
the next 20 miles Jeff and I rode together, something we had done two years
before. He pulled a little more up the hills; I pulled a little more down.
A few other guys mixed in with us and we rolled on at a good pace.
At
the bottom of the climb up to Columbine Mine we re-loaded our packs.
Somehow Jeff got a way before I did and as I rode and choked down vitamins and
food he just powered away from me. The very first little hill after the
aid station I thought I was going to barf. So I stopped. I'd never
done that before. I took off my tights. I should have done that
before. I stretched, got back on my bike and rode off feeling completely
rejuvenated.
There
are two open areas on this next section and sure enough when I got to the first
one at the base of the hour and forty-minute climb I could see Jeff way off in
the distance, darn. The road gets right into the quakes, or aspens, and
gets right into going vertical. Weaving my way up I could only watch as
others passed me by, the altitude was killing me and I really had no idea of how
fast I was going. After about 45 minutes of losing ground I began to reel
in those same riders.
I
was feeling pretty good about this pace when I approached the second opening.
There, way up ahead, above the tree line was Jeff. He'd already
started the hiking section, double darn. It took me 4 minutes to reach
that point, but still I was feeling strong and continued to gain ground on those
who'd so smugly passed me on the lower slopes of this 12,500-foot mountain we
were climbing.
At
the turn around I figured Jeff had me by about 3 minutes. The funny thing
was that I was well off all my previous attempts, it took me 4:33 to reach
midway, and I was not the slightest bit worried about making the sub-9 hour cut
off. Again, within a few minutes of pointing my bike down hill I was
rested and in a zone of comfort and confidence rarely attained by me. I
felt like an eagle and swooped down on each of the slower riders who had
previously blown by me on the long climb.
At
the transition area Kristen said Jeff was only 30 seconds ahead of me.
Why wouldn't he wait? Probably because I wouldn't wait either and
we'd already decided it was impossible to do this at any other pace but one's
own.
Within
a few minutes I hooked up with a nice guy from Alaska. We worked really
well together and when we reached the bottom of a nasty little hiking section I
could see Jeff at the top re-mounting his bike and pedaling on.
Alaska and I hiked it together and picked up a few more guys at the top.
The 6 of us worked really well and smoothly; soon we were in the final
transition area.
At
this point, 6 hours had passed by and I figured I'd need about 2:40 to make it
to the finish. So I had 20 minutes to spare, not much over such a long
distance where all kinds of mishaps were lying in wait.
Alaska
and I regrouped and pushed to the bottom
of the long and hated climb back up Power Line. Approaching the bottom
slopes I could see Jeff above me.
Again I timed the space between us, nearly 3 minutes. But I felt
good and hiked on. When I got back on my bike my legs felt good and I
pedaled a sensible pace that I knew I could hold for a long time. Alaska
wasn't doing too great and I didn't see him again.
But
along came a guy from Georgia. He knew how pesky this climb was from the
last year. The last year he had been fooled by the false summits and
fallen far short of his goal so this year he had an altimeter mounted to his
bike and he knew exactly how many feet we had left to climb and reach the
summit.
"400 feet" … "250 feet" … "100 feet"
When
we poked past the tree line far in the distance I could see Jeff descending the
mountain. Again the quiet confidence enveloped me and I dropped like lead
to the bottom of the valley, catching and passing riders like Jeff all the way.
"Whoa! That's Jeff, I don't believe it." After all this
time, all these miles we were riding together, again.
He
looked pooped. I cheerfully encouraged him to find his own pace and that
soon we'd be crossing the line together. That advice worked great... for
him. He found his own pace and promptly road off into the distance up
towards the top of the final climb. Triple darn! Now I was tired,
and alone.
In
time I scratched over the top and in no time I was again feeling bullet proof.
If there had been gas fumes I would have blown up the forest, 'cause I was
smokin'. Pouring out into the valley floor like sizzling grease I reached
deep into my reserves to close the 200-yard gap between Jeff and myself.
Finally, it looked like we'd finish this beast off in unison.
The
final miles of Leadville are painful mainly because they seem to elongate in
both time and space. Pedal strokes that once propelled seem only to slug
lamely at the dirt and rock. The mind so strong for hours on end is now
sludge unable to conjure any emotion or feigned energy. Here, so close to
the end, I was breaking down.
Fortunately
Jeff's zone had been on the climbs and he graciously held back so I could
mentally siphon his energy and make it back to where it all began: 6th street,
down town Leadville, CO. Well within the 9 hours we crossed the line,
hands raised together.
Epilogue:
I think we have made some closure here, but I can't promise I won't be back. The house we stayed in (unbeknownst to Jeff when he made the reservation) was the same house Jeff had rented 3 years prior when his dad had come with him and passed away the day before the race while riding his Harley-Davidson around Leadville. Jeff finally had a day when it all went well and he ripped off a personal record. I think his dad was with him. My cousin Todd, doing Leadville for the first time, shoot riding his mountain bike 100 miles for the first time!, cranked off a great time. Nate Whitman, a soccer player/"I've run a few marathons and wanna do something different" zipped in under 11 hours. Kevin Hall managed to whack two and half hours of his time last year. Dana plucked another large belt buckle (the sub-9 hour prize) by pulling in at 9:00:11 -- a vote at the awards ceremony overlooked the 11 seconds. Bryson, heck he won it by over 18 minutes. Me, I was just giggly googly happy about the whole thing, especially after I took in some oxygen at the medical tent. Monday morning Trevor, my son, was silently checking out my sweatshirt with my name and time stenciled on the sleeve then he disappeared into the closet. He returned with my sweatshirt from two years ago where the time was 8:36:59. "Dad, look at this! 8:36:52, you really improved" he said with a big grin.
Club and General News Commentary 12 Hours of Snow Summit 24 Hours of Sweat
The 2001 Leadville 100 Somber Holiday Thoughts
GT - The End Of An Era And The Silverado Mines Hike Closing Thoughts
