SSingle in La Ruta day 2 x-post passion- Mtbr.com
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  1. #1
    Category Winner
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    SSingle in La Ruta day 2 x-post passion

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    At the end of day one I had to load my bike on a truck and lose sight of it until tomorrow’s start. This was my chance to do any work to my bike that it might need. You had the option of paying $50 for a pro mechanic to do your work daily, but since my bike was a single speed a mechanic seemed as necessary as a plumber for an outhouse. I cleaned the chain, pedals, and the fork stanchions with a dirty rag and slathered them in lube. I was going to change my gear from day one’s 34X20 to a 32X20 ratio, but that seemed like too much work at the time. Besides, tomorrow was only a 50 km climb up to 2,900 meters. What was there to worry about? I learned my fourth lesson; you will pay dearly for any bad decisions you make at La Ruta.
    On a side note, I was trying to learn Spanish by watching subtitled HBO and Cinemax at night. Unfortunately, words like “ammunition” and “boner” were not going to help me communicate with the other riders. I also seriously doubt my new vocabulary was going to help me obtain any food at the end of the day, which at times was more difficult than actually riding.
    The race started in downtown San Jose. The leaders would be at the top of the climb faster than I can burn microwave popcorn. It will take me closer to five hours. I lined up next to Marla Streb, and I would get to ride with her for the first eleven seconds. The first few miles were a single speeder’s nightmare, a slight downgrade. Everybody (I mean everybody) was going 20mph+ past me and all I could do was get in a tri-geek aero tuck and go maybe 18mph.
    After a few miles the urban-chaos-coasting-fest was over and we got to the good stuff. The climb, in no uncertain terms, was laughing at my feeble attempts at turning over the cranks. Sparse sections of pavement only meant that the roads were too steep to use gravel. A piece of gravel would have rolled down the steep surface when dislodged by a single drop of rain and gained enough speed on the way down the mountain to kill a wandering cow. Pavement became a hot and steep enemy.
    Every once and awhile something would lift my spirits. Word had gotten out among some of the racers that someone was riding a single speed, so when people realized I was the one with the gear deficiency they would offer words of encouragement. My “amigos” from day one cheered me on as we passed each other all day, and I kind of started to like being called “loco”. They always rode together and I considered them my friends. I saw 30 beanie babies on a clothes line. Chickens, cows, dogs, and enthusiastic locals, all these things would push the suffering to the back of my head for awhile. Otherwise the climbing was like day one. Stand on the pedals until it just seemed silly. Then I would get off and walk until that seemed silly. Things were really bad when both options seemed silly. It was moments like that where I would stop and pee, pop some Endurolytes, and ponder on the fact that I think I would rather being rolling around in my own filth than continue.
    At the top of the volcano climb the Ticos said it was “all downhill from here”. Lesson five; Never believe anything anybody says regarding elevation, distance, or time… AND Lesson six; It is never ALL downhill from any point A to any point B in Costa Rica.
    Ask me what it is like to go 46 km down a mountain in about 1.5 hours. I will tell you that I was flinching and jerking in my sleep while dreaming about that descent my first night back in the states. Down the mountain, baby heads, switchbacks, big alien baby heads, cows, chickens, dogs, Ticos, oncoming traffic, slow riders with eyes the size of saucers. I will never be able to slow down the flashbacks of the descent. It’s like Oliver Stone directed all the scenes in my memory and it is up to me to piece them all together.
    Somewhere near the bottom I had my only mechanical. FFFFHHHWWWPPPPP, my left contact blew right out of my head. Crap. I had my Camelbak loaded with cold weather gear because it can get down to 35 degrees and it can rain on the volcano. It didn’t happen this year so all that unnecessary weight was packed on top of my spare contact. I dug out my contact while I watched people fly by me. I think one rider actually hit 88 mph because he disappeared leaving behind a trail of flames, went back in time, and convinced his past self to take up bowling.
    With my eyesight back to 20/20 I finished the rest of the descent. Everybody at the finish was wide eyed and stoked. We all endured so much forearm pump that it looked like a Popeye impersonator convention. I ended the day with 6:38 for a finishing time and I was pushed back to 104th out of the remaining 237 riders.

    Tomorrow: “Day Three” or “the day that had me more twisted than a Tom Robbins novel”

    Hopefully there is a scanned photo attached showing me on the climb on day two. I was wearing one knee warmer to protect my right knee which was slightly injured in a less than spectacular crash the day before. Oh, as soon as the photographer clicked the shutter I felt riding was getting silly, so I walked. The walking ended with more silliness, so the cycle would repeat itself shortly.
    Attached Images Attached Images

  2. #2
    Wandering not Lost
    Reputation: BThor's Avatar
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    I am inspired by your every word....after leadville I have set my goal on this race....now this is not a short term or long term goal, but a lifetime goal!

    Great post and keep it coming!

  3. #3
    Probably drunk right now
    Reputation: Ken in KC's Avatar
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    We should ride together some time...

    Quote Originally Posted by teamdicky
    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    At the end of day one I had to load my bike on a truck and lose sight of it until tomorrow’s start. This was my chance to do any work to my bike that it might need. You had the option of paying $50 for a pro mechanic to do your work daily, but since my bike was a single speed a mechanic seemed as necessary as a plumber for an outhouse. I cleaned the chain, pedals, and the fork stanchions with a dirty rag and slathered them in lube. I was going to change my gear from day one’s 34X20 to a 32X20 ratio, but that seemed like too much work at the time. Besides, tomorrow was only a 50 km climb up to 2,900 meters. What was there to worry about? I learned my fourth lesson; you will pay dearly for any bad decisions you make at La Ruta.
    On a side note, I was trying to learn Spanish by watching subtitled HBO and Cinemax at night. Unfortunately, words like “ammunition” and “boner” were not going to help me communicate with the other riders. I also seriously doubt my new vocabulary was going to help me obtain any food at the end of the day, which at times was more difficult than actually riding.
    The race started in downtown San Jose. The leaders would be at the top of the climb faster than I can burn microwave popcorn. It will take me closer to five hours. I lined up next to Marla Streb, and I would get to ride with her for the first eleven seconds. The first few miles were a single speeder’s nightmare, a slight downgrade. Everybody (I mean everybody) was going 20mph+ past me and all I could do was get in a tri-geek aero tuck and go maybe 18mph.
    After a few miles the urban-chaos-coasting-fest was over and we got to the good stuff. The climb, in no uncertain terms, was laughing at my feeble attempts at turning over the cranks. Sparse sections of pavement only meant that the roads were too steep to use gravel. A piece of gravel would have rolled down the steep surface when dislodged by a single drop of rain and gained enough speed on the way down the mountain to kill a wandering cow. Pavement became a hot and steep enemy.
    Every once and awhile something would lift my spirits. Word had gotten out among some of the racers that someone was riding a single speed, so when people realized I was the one with the gear deficiency they would offer words of encouragement. My “amigos” from day one cheered me on as we passed each other all day, and I kind of started to like being called “loco”. They always rode together and I considered them my friends. I saw 30 beanie babies on a clothes line. Chickens, cows, dogs, and enthusiastic locals, all these things would push the suffering to the back of my head for awhile. Otherwise the climbing was like day one. Stand on the pedals until it just seemed silly. Then I would get off and walk until that seemed silly. Things were really bad when both options seemed silly. It was moments like that where I would stop and pee, pop some Endurolytes, and ponder on the fact that I think I would rather being rolling around in my own filth than continue.
    At the top of the volcano climb the Ticos said it was “all downhill from here”. Lesson five; Never believe anything anybody says regarding elevation, distance, or time… AND Lesson six; It is never ALL downhill from any point A to any point B in Costa Rica.
    Ask me what it is like to go 46 km down a mountain in about 1.5 hours. I will tell you that I was flinching and jerking in my sleep while dreaming about that descent my first night back in the states. Down the mountain, baby heads, switchbacks, big alien baby heads, cows, chickens, dogs, Ticos, oncoming traffic, slow riders with eyes the size of saucers. I will never be able to slow down the flashbacks of the descent. It’s like Oliver Stone directed all the scenes in my memory and it is up to me to piece them all together.
    Somewhere near the bottom I had my only mechanical. FFFFHHHWWWPPPPP, my left contact blew right out of my head. Crap. I had my Camelbak loaded with cold weather gear because it can get down to 35 degrees and it can rain on the volcano. It didn’t happen this year so all that unnecessary weight was packed on top of my spare contact. I dug out my contact while I watched people fly by me. I think one rider actually hit 88 mph because he disappeared leaving behind a trail of flames, went back in time, and convinced his past self to take up bowling.
    With my eyesight back to 20/20 I finished the rest of the descent. Everybody at the finish was wide eyed and stoked. We all endured so much forearm pump that it looked like a Popeye impersonator convention. I ended the day with 6:38 for a finishing time and I was pushed back to 104th out of the remaining 237 riders.

    Tomorrow: “Day Three” or “the day that had me more twisted than a Tom Robbins novel”

    Hopefully there is a scanned photo attached showing me on the climb on day two. I was wearing one knee warmer to protect my right knee which was slightly injured in a less than spectacular crash the day before. Oh, as soon as the photographer clicked the shutter I felt riding was getting silly, so I walked. The walking ended with more silliness, so the cycle would repeat itself shortly.
    In order for that to happen though, we would have to be bungied together so you could pull me along.

    I don't know how many people are following your posts, but they are fanstastic! Thanks for sharing and inspiring.

    Ken

  4. #4
    mtbr member
    Reputation: 6million$man's Avatar
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    sweet stuff

    funny, too. i'm really enjoying it. thanks for sharing the adventure.

    someday...


    Quote Originally Posted by teamdicky
    -------Day 2...
    eddie would go.

  5. #5
    try driving your car less
    Reputation: jh_on_the_cape's Avatar
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    Quien es mas macho?
    Well done! and well written.
    Only boring people get bored.

  6. #6
    mtbr member
    Reputation: bjsid's Avatar
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    freakin awesome. your stories are making my day. the way you have written these stories makes me want to go do this race....and then i come to my senses.

    keep um' coming

  7. #7
    mtbr member
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    your posts have been the best part of my day. Inspirational because they are honest and you are just doing it, no hype, just one guys experience.

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