3 Miles Up, 135 Out and 18 Hours on a Bicyle

The short of it is I rode the Whitney Classic, from beginning to end, in one, long, eighteen-hour push.  The long of it is what follows.

Sunrise and ten miles left to the finish line

Friday was a hectic day.  We all know what those days are like with their impossibly long lists of last minute tasks.  A last minute oil change, a last minute grocery run, a last minute self-administered haircut, you know the drill.  I finally hit the road at 2:15pm only to realize I had forgotten my bike.  That gave me a good laugh and I hit the road again with my bike and my two trusty SAG drivers, Blair and Whitney.  We missed a turn east of L.A., got back on track, and rolled into the shadow of Mt. Whitney around 6:30pm to the greetings of many friends from my previous life in the mountains.  I ate the biggest, greasiest burger I could find in the tiny town of Lone Pine, spent some time singing praises to God, then nested a little home into the back of my truck just like I used to.  It’s pretty quiet out there and my brain was still whirring with anticipation, so after my normal bed routine I sat on the tailgate listening to the moonlit pastures swish in the breeze and staring towards Death Valley.  As usual, I couldn't sleep even when I did lie down.  I lay with my eyes closed for some time, eventually drifting into unmemorable dream.

Managing my morale

Say what you will about endurance athletes, they’re fat kids at heart.  A big event like the Whitney Classic is just a great excuse to eat as much as one possibly can.  I had my first breakfast at 7am and my second at 11am and never stopped eating throughout the ride.  Five ham sandwiches, an arsenal of gel packets, another arsenal of Cliff shot blocks, Luna bars, chips and salsa, potato chips, chocolate covered espresso beans, rice-crispy treats, chocolate chip cookies, coffee, pulled pork, bacon, sausage, eggs..I ate them all over the course of 24 hours and was glad of it before the end.

My only hiatus from eating was during the couple hours before the start of the ride.  I didn’t want my body to be generating any extra heat from digestion during the first desert stage.  After a safety talk, some photos, and a prayer, we departed Badwater at 3pm.  Badwater is a pond of naturally poisoned water at the lowest point in North America and record-holder for the world’s hottest temperature.  It’s painful to imagine the first prospectors in 1849 stumbling across the pond in the deadly heat only to find more death in the saline and mineralized water.

Through the heat, which stayed at a cool 110 degrees, my SAG team kept me hydrated with electrolytes and douses of water.  My friend Erica and I decided to stay together as long as we could during the ride which helped the first 50 miles to roll by quickly.  By 9pm we were through the first of three mountain passes.  It was dark when we rolled over the summit and a full moon was peering over the rim of mountains.  I hit 50 miles per hour on the backside of the pass, my jacket flapping like a flag in a hurricane, and coasted into the sand dunes below.  As one might expect, the desert comes alive at night when the temperatures return to a sensible level 

(mid-eighties), and the moonlight helps one to take it in.

The next pass was much steeper than the first but proved less of an obstacle.  At this point, my spirits were high and Erica and I stopped often to take in the night and even play a song on the ukulele.  The wind picked up as we snaked our way up another 5,000 feet. 

As the temperature dropped, so did my frame of mind.  After summiting the second pass, sleep deprived and growing weary, Erica determined that I was weaving too much on the road and needed to do something to wake up.  The best remedy for drowsiness is, of course, caffeine which I took in the form of yet another gel packet, but the second best remedy is silliness, which I took in the form running through the desert, hopping bushes and squawking like a pterodactyl.  This sort of thing and the lights of Lone Pine got us to the foothills of Mt. Whitney at around 5am where we choked down some oatmeal and coffee at the second to last checkpoint. 

At Lone Pine we had already ridden 122 miles and gained over 10,000 ft. of elevation.  We had only 4,600 feet left to climb in the final 13 miles.  We turned north at the stoplight to head out of town, and as we creaked our weary way up the final stretch the early sun’s rays reflected off our backs.  Though my morale rose with the sun, with a mere four miles lying between us and the finish line, I found myself dry-heaving in the bushes along the side of the road at the brink of the steepest miles.  I leaned against my truck and suckled a gel packet.  I knew that suffering awaited me and if I proved unable to ride them, I was prepared to take off my shoes and walk my bike the few final miles.  This, however was unnecessary.  Being most inspired by ideas, I had typed up a few of my favorite quotes and given them to my SAG drivers to read to me if ever I needed it.  As I leaned against the truck and stared down at the pavement I heard Blair’s voice reading from one of my favorite books.  Something, I’m not sure what, changed in me.  At the words “…it is not danger I love. I know what I love. It is life,” I mounted the bike again and began climbing quickly.  I found that my legs had more strength than I realized and a long section of road was soon behind me.  I don’t know how, but the final mile became as easy as the first.  Like the flip of a switch, I suddenly felt utterly assured and completely content.  I was at peace and no longer feared the pain of enduring.  I could laugh and smile and talk while riding.  All doubt had been wiped from my mind.

A group of strangely devoted friends who had stayed up all night at check-points,
decided to run the final miles with us.

Though I awoke early and went to class, by the end of the tedious lecture I was feeling sick enough to excuse myself and go home.  At the beginning of class, my quads and hamstrings were beginning to realize what I’d done to them—by the end of class they were in utter revolt.  So, as it turns out, I’m learning a bit of practical physiology.  Even though they don’t appear active, bodies in recovery continue to require copious water for days after endurance events.  Though I was very hydrated during the ride, I woke the next night with dry lips, a head ache, and urine like lemon Jello mix.  After class, I shirked my duties, left my gear piled on the floor, and spent most of the day in bed.  When Ibuprofen had worked enough magic to get me up and moving, I trudged over to Starbucks to begin typing this account.  But that was a week ago now, and I’ve returned to finish this draft. 

The final mile

“There are certain things which can only be learned at the brink of one’s potential.”  That’s what I wrote in my donation request and it’s proven true.  There are things I learned though 18 hours on a bike that I would not have learned from normal life.  I've relearned how strong friendships are forged in the fire of suffering.  I've learned that just as nutrition is important to manage, morale management is just as important. Low spirits can end an event as quickly as dehydration.  Surely this applies to many aspects of life.  But these things could probably be learned elsewhere than on the brink of one’s potential.  The strongest and truest lesson I've learned, the one that could not have come from elsewhere, is less of a lesson than an alteration.  The slightest transformation.  It’s just this—I am more confident.  I can.  I hit the glass wall, sent shards of glass flying every which way, and persevered.  Of course I relied on the loyal support of a team in order to succeed.  I was not autonomous but interdependent, but no one else could make me keep going, it was my choice.  And that continued choosing, choice after choice, is what I was seeking, what was used as a tool to change me in the subtlest way, and what could only be learned on the brink.
Concerning the fundraising for Summit Adventure, it was very successful. Generous donors gave a staggering $81,000 during the event which will go far in coordinating transformational adventure courses.  Through the support of friends and family I was able to contribute $410 to the ministry, which was not quite my goal of $700.  If you are interested in helping me finish my fundraising, your help would be extremely welcome.  Just donate at http://www.summitadventure.com/store/donation and mention my name in the comments section.  Otherwise, I'll be robbing the local 7 Eleven and making my getaway on a bike (just kidding, I'll probably make the getaway in my truck).  Seriously, thanks for your support during the Whitney.  It was a great experience for me and I appreciate your contributions (and those that are yet to come).  Hopefully I'll see you soon.

b