R2 and Endo were waiting for Sherri and I at the San Jose Airport. We load up his truck and head to R2's casa where we will stay for the first few days and a couple of nights during the race. R2 lives in Santa Ana which is located in the Central Valley of Costa Rica. We were surrounded by the mountain ridges that we would be riding up and over. R2 points out a bare spot on one of the mountains. "See that brown spot, way up there. That's where we will be riding on one of the stages." I try to comprehend what he is telling me but I just sit, staring out the window, slack jawed.
Costa Ricans are very nice people, at least on the Pacific side and in the Central Valley areas. So nice, in fact, that I often wondered if they were screwing with me. The other thing I noted was that Costa Ricans or "Ticos"(thats what the locals are referred to) are very active. You will find Ticos running, biking, swimming, hiking all of the time, all over the place. One theory I have as to why they are so active is based on the fact that sunrise is at 4:30AM. That means that by 5AM the sun is completely up and so are you. What else are you going to do that early in the morning besides lay in bed wishing your were asleep.
The Mayflower Research & Consulting LLC Team
That's right, we were sponsored. R2 knows the owner of Mayflower Research and somehow convinced him to cough up some dough to pay for our mechanic during the race with a little leftover for jerseys.
The riders:
Eddie (Yours truly.)
R2 (What? You don't know R2? Impossible, he knows everybody. Oh yeah, hard as nails too.)
Endo (One stoic kat. Whether he's "laughing" his ass off or planning to kill you, you'll never know.)
Juanca (Tico friend of R2. Again, so nice I thought for sure he was screwing with me.)
Jake (Friend of Juanca's who quickly became a friend of us all.)
La Kelly (The only chic in our group and probably the biggest stud of the bunch. I called her a chic just to piss her off, BTW.)
Our support crew consisted of our spouses, mechanic and someone else's spouse:
Sherri (My cheerleader and anger management coach.)
Cindi (R2's wife. She should have been racing with us. She would kick La Ruta right in the ding-ding.)
Laura (Juanca's wife and team director. She is a master at herding kittens. Former La Ruta racer.)
Becca (When Sherri wasn't at a check point Becca was there pointing me in the right direction.)
Sara (Someone else's spouse. I am sure she was wishing her man was with us. I am also sure her man was glad he wasn't. )
Emilio (Our mechanic and all around great guy.)
Race Strategy
Having never done a mountain bike race or event of any kind I decided I should play it cautious. Which, when you think about it, is moronic. If I really wanted to be "cautious" I wouldn't be riding a mountain bike, in the "toughest race on the planet". Slow and steady would be my mantra for the race. As long as I kept moving, forward, I could make the finish line by the cut-off time each day. The heat and I don't get along so well so it was imperative that I drink water and replenish my electrolytes. A solid nutrition plan would be essential too. 10-12 hours is what I estimated my finish time to be for day 1. So I planned to stop every hour and eat and drink no matter what. Once you go into a deep caloric deficit it is really hard to come back. I read a quote from a pro racer last year, "the race is so long that it ends up being an eating contest." To be honest when I would get apprehensive about the race I would just tell myself that it is just an "eating contest". And boy would I get fired up again. 'Cause Eddie likes to eat!
A Matter of Efficiency
300+ cyclists started day 1. It is hard not to get fired up when the flag drops. You feel good and everyone is hauling ass. But then you make that first left hand turn out of Jaco and staring you in face is the first mountain of the day. Your no longer feeling so good and the reality of what your about to do sinks in. Makes ya almost want to vomit. Oh how the world turns. I look down at my watch, its been 3 whole minutes since I left the starting line. I shake my head and wonder,"what was the point of that?" There is a guy riding beside me with one arm. I do a double take and no shit, that guy only has one arm and he's passing me. The cajones on that guy.
We cross a bridge, well actually its just a pile of rocks in the stream, and so begins the first climb of the day. The hill kicks up pretty steep but I am riding it. Cool. After a couple minutes the pitch kicks up again and my cadence drops, 40rpm, 20rpm, 5rpm, track stand, and I am off. I look back down the hill and I can still see the bridge/pile of rocks where the climb started. Oh boy. "Well I'll just push the bike for a bit until the hill levels off a bit", I think to myself. So I push, and push and push and the hill just gets steeper. But I notice that even though I am pushing my bike I am passing folks who are killing themselves to keep riding up the hill. I am sure in the mountain biking world its considered faux pas to push your bike. Being an outsider though I could give a shit. If I can move faster pushing than riding AND use less energy doing so. Well I can tell you what Eddie boy is going to do. That first climb established a trend that I would follow for the rest of the race. I would ride until I ran out of gear but before I ran out of legs. Then I would continue by either carrying or pushing the bike. This technique worked out pretty well for me throughout the rest of the event. In my defense I was running 39t-26t chain rings up front and a 12-36 cassette. The smart people were running granny gears down to 22t up front. Another shining example of my lack of experience in mountain biking.
Broken Spider Sense
On the descent from the first climb I managed to be all by myself. So I am bombing down this mountain when the road splits. I don't know what I was thinking, more than likely I wasn't, but I just take the path of least resistance. Which, go figure, was the wrong answer. So there I am flying down this road when my "spider sense" starts tingling. I notice that on this muddy, dusty road I am on there are no other bike tracks. Immediately I about face and retrace my route until I see a course marker. Sure enough there it was plain as day pointing out the correct way to go. Why didn't my "spider sense" start tingling before I made the wrong turn? Stupid "spider sense".
Go Where? Over There!
Between the two big climbs of the day is a park. The only way to describe this park is two words, Land of the Lost. Not exactly 2 words but only 2 of 'em count. For about 3 hours I carried my bike through rivers and up erosion ditches. The trail would tease you by making you think it was rideable. You would no sooner start pedaling then splash! Your in another river. Finally make it out of the park to start the second big climb of the day. Up to this point I have been on the trail over 5 hours. I have just run out of water. But our first supported check point of the day is coming up. The girls and the mechanic will be there waiting for us. As I near the checkpoint you can hear folks cheering and shouting. There are people running around helping their riders. But I don't see Sherri or the other girls. I am searching furiously for Sherri. Finally there she is, wearing her camo hat with the Ranger Scroll on it! That's my little Ranger-ette! She sees me and, in Sherri style, starts smiling and clapping furiously. I stop and give her a big sweaty smooch. She tells me that the actual refit site is a little further down the road, "go over there". So I hop on the bike and roll on down the road, "go where?" "OVER THERE!" "Where?" Over there!!" "Go where?!" I end up rolling past our mechanics station but Laura intercepts me and points me in the right direction. Sherri, bless her gigantic heart, was just so excited and me so oxygen deprived that we had a little commo problem. But it all worked out just fine.
My Biggest Fan
The run in to the finish line in Santa Ana was a little precarious. The route took us right through the middle of town during rush hour. Weaving through traffic after nearly 10 hours on the trail was interesting to say the least. After squeezing between a bus and the wall of a tunnel I could see the race officials directing bike traffic to the actual finish line. As I approached the finish line I could see Sherri. When she realized it was me coming across she came running. She had the biggest most genuine smile on her face that I had ever seen. She didn't even wait for me to stop before she started hugging me and giving me smooches all over. I kind of felt sorry for her because I was wearing 10 hours and 70-something miles worth of funk. She kept telling me how proud she was and how much she loved me. That moment was exactly what I had envisioned the day I decided to take on this endeavor, La Ruta De Los Conquistadores.
Smooch attack at the finish of Stage one.
Sherri and I just prior to the flag drop.
