This is the second in a series about my buddy Jake who fulfilled a dream this year and trained for and rode the Dirty Kanza.
Below is his experience on race day.
To read about his prep to get here, check out this post.
Dirty Kanza Race Day Anticipation (and Set Up)
When I rolled into Emporia, KS on May 31st I was a mix of happy, worried, ready, unprepared and nervous. The car pulled into the parking lot of the ESU dorm where I was to stay and stopped right in front of the CTS support crew on site to help riders. I was met with smiles, excitement and help and a team of people who only wanted me to succeed. I was instantly filled with such gratitude for my family, coach, gear, preparation, planning and support that the nerves and negative emotions were reduced to a manageable size and I got really stoked.
The CTS crew immediately took my bike bag, told me they would take care of setting it up and to go check in and come back for a spin.
The energy in town was building as riders came in and I had to pinch myself to realize I was there, riding and ready for this! The next morning we did some course recon with about ten folks associated with CTS. While riding, we chatted about course conditions, gear choices, aid station tactics, nutrition timing, hydration plans, tire pressures — I was soaking it all in and leaning everything I could from those that had done this before. The advice my CTS coach Reid Beloni had given me was totally on point and while I was leaning a lot, I was very aware that I should “do me” and follow the plan I had in place.
I had been told not to make any major changes to my strategy that would negatively impact my chances of success. If I switched food it might upset my stomach midway through, if I changed my bike set up it would feel different, I should do what I had been doing throughout my training and use the strategies and tactics that made me successful in Croatan and my own 150 mile ride. I have tendency to self doubt and think that somebody else knows better than I do, but my coach drilled into my head – NOTHING NEW ON RACE DAY. My only change was to add six packages of Hostess Orange cupcakes to the bags. I had been treating myself on long ride with these treats for months now and realized that if there was ever a time to have a treat it was going to be during the DK200. I dropped them off with the CTS crew who would have them at aid station 1, 2 and 3.
I was ready and eager.
Dirty Kanza Race Day
Race morning I opened my eyes about three minutes before the alarm went off at 4:00am.I went to get breakfast and the place was filled with riders, some in kits, some in pajamas, some wearing helmets, packing bags of English muffins and peanut butter, ice in camel backs – you name it people were doing it. I was nervous. Should I eat eggs like that guys, should I have brought a thermos for coffee, should I drink a ton of water? I got myself together and just “did me.”
I ate what I always eat- coffee, milk, cereal, yogurt, fruit, granola and water and got out of there. I went back to my room, got dressed, filled my bottles and camel bak and realized that I had put my drink mix in the aid station bags. Now this might not seem like a big deal but it was. As I have said changing things can ruin a day. I knew I needed an electrolyte solution in my water bottles, but if I used an unknown drink mix it might not agree with my stomach, make me cramp or throw up. If I used nothing I would be in a hole with calories and nutrition. The first 50 mile leg is also very important because it sets up the whole day, as I have said I am prone to go out harder than I should because of the adrenaline and excitement and therefore use more energy that is very important to replace. I got worried, scared, fearful . . . am I ruining everything? I thought back to my 150 in Harriman, I had my drink mix with me but the water fountains were not on yet in the park. I had gotten through the day buying Poweraid at machines and mixing it with water, also bought from machines. I went to the dorm lobby and bought some from a machine and prepped my bottles, hopefully this would work. As I stepped outside to ride to the start line the air was charged with electricity, lightning was flashing and the clouds and wind were ominous. It started to rain and I heard that the start had been delayed 30 mins for the storm to pass. Uh oh. I retreated to my room and waited. Texted friends at the start, looked at the weather radar, worried about the mud on the course, felt like this could all be going wrong. I made a plan to head to the line at 6:15 and hope for the best.
Dirty Kanza Start Line
When I arrived at the start line the crowd was huge, Jim Cummings the Race Director, was standing on top of the Grenada Theatre marquis and I lined up with my buddy Mike. The energy was electric and the crowd was a mix of nerves and excitement. When the gun went off I rolled out of town with Mike waving, smiling and thanking every person cheering on the side of the road. I was struck by his positivity, enthusiasm and joy at just getting to the start. The start was lined four deep for the whole length of main street with people, taking pictures, cheering, holding signs, happy. I realized I had made it, I was here about to embark on the thing that scared me. Mike’s mood lifted me and I choose to be happy and excited, I started ringing my bell and waving and we were off!
The first 50 mile leg started with an almost immediate route change. We were following the route on the GPS, that we rode the day prior until everybody around us all looked up the same time and said “we’re off course”. We were still in a huge line from the start and couldn’t have missed turn, the whole field seemed to be going the wrong way. We continued on and I later learned that the earlier storm had so muddied a nearby road that the race bypassed it.
After finding the course a few miles down the road it was time to begin this work and pedal and have fun. The clouds were low and grey and the day seemed cool and dank. I wondered how this was going to go and just started doing what I had practiced. Pedal, eat drink, repeat. The clouds burned away and the sun came out and the hope that is the DK200 started building . . . until I saw the carnage.
Dirty Kanza Carnage
Flat tires, crashes, broken bikes, broken bodies. The terrain is demanding, the roads are unmaintained gravel country roads. There are low water crossings everywhere, streams, rocks, branches, dead animals. The descents hold huge boulders that rattle riders as they gain speed going downhill. I have never seen so many people changing flats in my life. Every time the road dipped downhill and there was a wash or rut to go over inevitably someone was changing a flat on the other side. The cattle guards broke spokes, derailleurs and rims, it was unreal. We entered a magical landscape of flowing green grass that goes on forever with a tan brown ribbon cutting through it, over hills and off into the distance.
These cattle pens are some of the most lush and perfect cattle grazing grounds on earth. The green is the color a picture cannot capture and words cannot describe. I was becoming mesmerized and complacent until I saw the bright red of some poor riders blood against it. The clash jarred me as I came over a rise and saw a rider sitting on the side of the road bleeding from the face. He had gone down on a small but very technical and rough rock outcropping descent that rattled everyones bottles off their bikes and glasses down their noses. Another rider was holding what looked like a white sock to his face that was soaked in blood that dripped down his face. I only saw the scene for about a half second as I rode by, but remember every detail. This was serious and although we were only about 20 miles from town it felt very remote and help seemed a long ways away.
As I rode on, I saw the trail of dust ahead racing towards me from a jeep trying to reach the injured rider. 15 minutes later an ambulance raced by and I burst out into tears. Rolling along in that majestic landscape realizing what I had gotten myself into, that I was there in the midst of my dream, the mix of elation, fear, love, loss and everything in between flooded out of me. As I sit here now writing this, the tears still come. It is a mix of happiness, fear, fatigue, sacrifice, the support others gave me, the gift of it all, gratitude. It overwhelms my ability to accept it all. Feeling that on course felt absolutely right. It exemplified the magnitude of the task. The before, during and after. I got my head back in the race, I pressed on with a resolve to give everything I had been given in this process back to this course and into my bike and body.
Dirty Kanza Check Point One
Check point one came quite swiftly after all that and I rolled in feeling great. I knew I had the right drink mix waiting for me, my gear, food and support. My bike was whisked away to have the mud a grime cleaned off the drivetrain, my CamelBak was filled with ice and water, new bottles and food were put in my pack and I was on the road again in minutes. I had a new resolve and joy as we went out on roads that still seemed unreal. Grassy paths through fields that flowed like garlands through the landscape. Riders greeting one another, taking pictures and having fun. I pulled out my GoPro every 15 or so miles to photograph the landscape and surroundings. It was like being on a different planet that was lush, rich, fertile and alien. The remoteness of the area coupled with the wind which was blowing at our backs at 30 miles per hour made it feel like I was floating over the roads among the clouds. I tried to photograph it and wish I could capture what I felt like to flow along, looking up at clouds with the green fields passing underneath like a huge treadmill. It was pure magic, but I knew we had to turn around ride back eventually — and the doubt and fear started building.
Dirty Kanza Check Point Two
Check point two came very fast due to the tailwind and I rolled in feeling very good. My bike was holding up well and as the mechanic took it, I noticed he was putting air in the back tire. I repeated the steps from Check Point one and filled my bottles with Secret Training, CamelBak with water, pack with ProBars, Gu Stroup Wafels, Trail Nuggets, Clif shot blocks, SIS and Secret Training gels and opened up two packages of Hostess Orange Cupcakes. My stomach was feeling a bit empty and the sugar and cake with a bottle of ice cold water and some ice socks in my jersey refreshed me in a way that felt like heaven. I was halfway through this grueling, fun, long crazy ride and had had a tailwind for the last few hours. I was buzzing with adrenaline, little did I know then the third leg would be the worst five hours on a bike I have ever had.
Dirty Kanza Leg Three – The Head Wind
Mile 104 to mile 161, about 57 miles took me over five hours. My average speed was only 11 MPH. That 30 mph tailwind that I relished coming south was now pushing against me, pounding me on the nose. The wind was absolutely soul sucking. The worst heat of the day was upon us and the sweat was drying as fast as it was coming out. The salt from my sweat built up to the point I could taste it on my lips. I tried holding onto the wheels of other riders and just didn’t have the ability to do it. I rode solo the whole time and it felt like a death march.
The incomprehensible beauty of the landscape, fields, ribbons of hero dirt, cows and farms went on forever and it felt like it would never end. I was still passing people fixing flats the entire way but now there was the added carnage the wind was doing. People were stopped under trees and bushes, sitting in grass so tall you could only see their hunched shoulders with their heads in their hands staring at the ground. Riders were lying down flat on their backs, wrecked from battling the wind and being assaulted the whole time by it. Water resupply became so scarce that I saw one rider stop a farmer passing by to ask for water. The farmer handed him the last third of a gallon he had in his truck. The rider tipped it back and drank the whole thing in one shot.
Zombie Death March
People were passing me and I would then see them 20 minutes later down the road laying on the ground totally gassed from the effort. I kept my tempo steady and rode on, resting my forearms on the handle bars to relieve the swelling in my hands. I did this for hours and entered a total zombie death march. It felt like at each hill on the horizon and check point got further and further away. I had it in my head that the third check was in another 50 miles but when I saw 150 miles tick by on my Garmin I was completely alone and had another 11 miles to go.
It felt like a hundred.
I thought with every pedal stroke that I could never finish. The pain of the slow speed, the wind in my face, dehydration, monotony . . . it all just blew me away and I really thought if I could just make it to CP3 I could throw in the towel and walk away with my head held high. Finishing seemed impossible and since the mileage of my longest ride to date had already come and gone I didn’t think I had any more left. I passed up a farmer with a hose out at about mile 152 because I was sure I was almost there, only to spend another hour suffering, sipping on a half a bottle of 90º Secret Training dregs. I really wanted to quit when and if I got the CP3. Then I climbed the hill to see a mini van in the middle of nowhere with two coolers on the side of the road. Riders were huddled around it like an oasis in a desert, each rider in front of me was stopping and I wondered why. When I got there all the doors were open and in every seat was a rider, helmets on, glasses on, bikes thrown on the ground, with their heads either back or bowed in exhaustion drinking the sweet, sweet life blood that is ice cold Coca-Cola and water.
Kindness of Strangers
The folks driving the minivan had been out there in the heat for hours with a cold cooler of Coke and another with water. They had their kids with them and not one of them was in the shade or seated. They allowed riders all the comfort that existed in that moment and were just there to help us. It was such a selfless, humble, kind, generous and remarkable gesture, that I approached speechless. I opened my mouth to ask for a Coke and my lips stuck together that only a croak come out of my throat.
My mouth was so dry I had to ask twice and the cold sweet nectar that I was handed felt like the greatest gift I had ever been given. I stood there knowing I shouldn’t drink the whole thing but unable to stop myself. It was SO good I felt saved. I filled my water bottle and remarked that it was such a generous and kind thing they were doing. They shrugged and just said to have fun and keep going. This was a huge theme of the weekend, the community that surrounds this race was so kind and generous, they welcomed us individually in Madison, KS with a man on the side of the road yelling to every rider “Welcome to Madison!” and if that wasn’t enough, he continued with “Thank you for visiting!” They love that riders come there, they support the race, they give of themselves and their lands. It was so amazing to see how they embraced us and relished the chance to cheer everyone on. It was part of what made it so memorable and special, I felt like the cheering was for me, and it genuinely was! And with the newfound hydration and sugar I made it finally to Check Point 3.
Rolling into the check point I, ate two packages of cupcakes while chugging down pickle juice. The salt tasted so good and the sweet nourishing cake filled me up and absorbed some of the coke. My stomach was feeling a bit rotten, but I realized that I was only a little more than 40 miles from the finish!!! All thoughts of quitting were gone and I readied myself to get there! I strapped lights to my bike with the help of the CTS crew, loaded bottles, put ice down the back of my jersey and ate everything I could find. I climbed on the bike and started peddling.
Dirty Kanza Leg Four – The Darkness
I started the fourth leg with hope and optimism and anticipation that this crazy dream I had might be possible. Riding in the dark was almost a relief. The sun went down and I turned on my lights and could see on the horizon the faint red blinking of a rider in front of me. It was sort of soothing to know someone was ahead and someone behind. The undulations that had dogged me all day were reduced in the lack of visibility and I just pedaled into the small cone of light my bike was putting down. The night riding was magical, the blanket of stars that cover the sky was incredible and the temperature finally cooled down. I knew that the finish line couldn’t be more than 20 miles away and then I saw the chaise! Salsa Cycles has a Victorian Chaise Lounge that they drag out to a remote spot on the course of five different races. They encourage every rider to stop and have their portrait taken, the promoter said at the rider briefing “if you can make it to the chaise you can make it to the finish” and I believed him! I stopped and yelled into the camera in excitement and pain and continued on.
About ten or so miles from town I could see searchlights on the horizon and knew I was close. The course weaved back and forth for a while until we were in the last miles and the elation and suffering that I was experiencing were completely equal. I kept thinking “can I please be done now?” and “I can’t believe I did it!”
On the way to the finish line I cycled right past where I was sleeping that night and wanted to just stop and go to bed, but knew the finish was only 1,000 yards away. As I rolled into town in the pitch black at 11 o’clock, I could hear the party going on at the finish line. Cruising down main street with people still lining the barriers two and three deep the noise was deafening and the hands outstretched for a high five were everywhere.
Dirty Kanza – The Finish
I heard the announcer call my name as I came down the chute. It was finally over. I hugged the volunteer who put a wet cloth on my neck and saw the CTS crew cheering for me. The joy, pain, relief, thirst and exhaustion all hit me at the same time and I was really in shock. A VeloNews reporter grabbed me and asked if I would do an interview. The question he asked me that I remember most was “what is the most memorable thing about this event?” Honestly it is the people of the community that support DK200. The welcome we got, the support we had on course, the openness of their excitement for every athlete was contagious and unique. The cities of Emporia, Madison, Eureka and the surrounding areas made the day what it was, magical. I can’t thank them enough and will use their enthusiasm as a model to follow in my own life.
Finally finished I really needed to sit down. Chairs were scarce, the food trucks were all closing, but people were everywhere and I just decided to sit down right in the middle of main street on the yellow line. My body was mashed, my mind numb, my goal met and heart full; I called my wife back home. When she answered I could only say thank you. Thank you for the hours of sacrifice, time with the kids while I was training, traveling and preparing. I thanked her for supporting me throughout this whole crazy dream. I sat there in the middle of the street, spent, tired, elated and cried. I was thrilled that my CTS coach Reid Beloni was there and the hug and conversation afterwards brought the whole experience into perspective.
Riding back to my dorm room and leaving it all behind I realized that I was changed, a different person, my perspective on this event and its significance in my life swelled and I knew it had all been worth it. I would carry the experience, stories and people connected to it all my life and I was grateful to be able to add all of them to my life’s experience. But most of all I was just tired.
So . . how do you sum up something in words when the emotions associated are so much bigger? I’m not sure, but I tried my best.
Now it’s your turn, go challenge yourself, scare yourself and see if you can get through it.
I bet, if you put your mind to it, you can do anything . . . even something scary.
