Sandia Peak Challenge

As I write this only a few hours after leaving the race, I am already sore and just re-hydrated enough to enjoy a Milk Stout by Left Hand Brewery in Colorado. This means that today was a doozy—just as predicted. I decided to do this race on a fully rigid single speed. Last night was spent prepping the bike for its inaugural cross country race. I decided to run a 34x16. The course consisted of an 8.3 mile climb with an average grade of 6%. This was closely followed by a 7.2 mile descent. There were about 150 yards of flat at the top and bottom (combined) with about 160 switchbacks per lap. I thought “6% that’s not too steep; I can run 34x16.” Race day would show me I was wrong.

Having already picked up my race packet, I arrived at the race about 50 minutes before the 10:30 start. I quickly got my bike together and changed. Already, guys were riding all over the place. I rode the first around a bit and then rode the first few switchbacks of the climb to warm-up. I coasted into the start-finish just as the racers’ meeting was starting. The field size was solid. There were even about 5 pros. The meeting concluded and the race started—experts and pros first.

The start was unlike any other XC start I have ever done. By that I mean, it was mellow. No one was in a hurry to blow themselves (or others) up. Despite the mellow-ness of the start, I still was one of the last guys into the singletrack. The person in front of me thought it would be a good idea to drift back and forth and fumble with his pedal while the person next me felt there was no need to get a good start. It did not take me long to run into my first singlespeed-related problem. As soon as everyone in front of me saw the hill get steeper, they shifted to about 3 gears easier and spun. This meant I would be standing and pedaling really slow. I started working my way up the field, passing 1 to 3 guys here and there. I was finally setting my own tempo and in hot pursuit of the racer right up the trail when I ran into more issues. The switchbacks went from steep or technical to steep and technical. Being on a singlespeed that was intentionally geared a little tall, this was exactly what my legs and lungs wanted—more pain. To make matters worse, I was running 45 psi in my rear, non-tubeless tire to prevent pinch flats. I went from riding a steady tempo that was a little faster in steep sections to having to dismount on some of the steep sections.

The gap to the racer in front of me opened up faster than the gap between a tweaked meth head and a doughnut loving cop. Bummer. I was passed by 3-5 few more guys. Bummer. I chased onto the wheel of one of those guys. I stuck on his wheel. With a few miles to the top, the switchbacks once again became manageable. I opened up the throttle and dropped my company. I was cruising. My heart rate went back up; things were good. I cleared the last, steep, loose section, bringing me to 10,350 feet above the ocean. I took on some hammer gel and perpetuem and started going down. The top of the descent was more or less smooth and fast. I spun my legs as fast as they would allow. About half way down, I was caught and passed by my previous company. I tried to keep his wheel but fully-rigid single speeds do not go downhill so fast. I am not used to long descents; it was getting difficult to focus. I hit the rocky sections 2/3 of the way down. Ouch. My arms hurt. I was having trouble opening up my hands to reach the brake and slow down before the next steep, rocky switchback. My lines grew sloppier. Fortunately, the trail opened up to a gravel road and I saw the start-finish. Just one more 1 hour 40 minute lap. No biggie, right?

Reaching down to grab my perpetuem, I realized that my bottle rattled free on the descent. I started the final lap all the same. I quickly caught and passed one rider. I convinced myself to push it to open up a solid gap. I got to the steep and technical section again and experienced cramping on almost every switchback. I was not discouraged; short-lived cramps are nothing after racing a 12 hour race solo. I caught sight of a Sports Systems racer (I think half the racers out here are sponsored by these guys). I slowly worked my way up to him. With less than one mile left in the climb, I passed him. Riding the last steep pitch, I was determined not to slow down, lest I be caught on the descent. Everything cramped. Legs, arms, hands, etc. Forcing my hand open, I grabbed my flask and took on my last bit of hammer gel.

I descended as fast as I could. My second descent was much cleaner, more consistent, and faster. Still, I looked back up the hill and thought I would be caught by the Sports System guy on his geared dually for sure. I told myself to keep up the effort and not look back. I did just that. I made it down that mountain and was completely thrashed. I crossed the line in 3:20 surprised that I had not been passed and had not pinch flatted over the entire 33.2 mile race. It turns out that I actually grew the gap to the racer behind me. Whoa!

After finishing, I talked to several people who were shocked that I raced a fully-rigid singlespeed in the expert class. I gloated for lots of folks in the Midwest and explained that singlespeeds in the expert class in MO are not so uncommon. I changed and headed back to the start finish to watch the kids’ race. Someone walked up to me and said, “Hey Missouri, how’d it go?” It was the person I had talked to on the start line. “Okay, those switchbacks were brutal. I haven’t seen the results. How’d you do?” It turns out I got 4th in my age group and somewhere just better than the middle overall. This basically means that about half the experts got a dose of Midwest-inflicted pain (or maybe it was Sandia-Peak-inflicted pain—probably the latter).