2018: Coming Up for Air

There is a gasp for air that occurs when one’s body emerges from underwater.  A grab for life, for sustenance that has been interrupted by a trip to a place for which we were not made.  The currency of life is desperately reached for directly in proportion to the preparedness and duration of the journey into this foreign world.  

2015 seems a distant memory to me now, like a foggy morning thru which you try to see, but its mark on me is constant and forever. It seemed to be a new year in life and on the bike.   A transition to racing the bike completely on gravel and finding new limits as well as continuous, incremental increases in performance. Both on and off the bike, inner fears were distanced or completely abandoned as summer passed and successes in races that autumn were found. 

Exhausted after the Woodchipper 100

Even the blowing autumnal winds signaling the change of seasons could not alert me, however, to the depth or location that I was preparing to dive.  In October that year, a third place finish in the Woodchipper 100 came at a high cost; racing while clearly not recovered from a sickness that earlier in the week had reduced me to 48 hours of continuous, exhausted sleep. After the race, I foolishly chalked up my performance and wretched post-race malaise to poor hydration and nutrition and continued on with my fall racing schedule. 

Weeks later, the Dirt Bag now also past and my health increasingly slipping away, I stopped on a crisp early morning training ride and laid down on the banks of the Pelican River.  As I took a picture of my mud covered bike, I was worried that if I were to close my eyes, I would sleep for days as the fatigue gallivanted so heavily thru my body. Sickness I had never known had come to reside within me. 

Sleep was all I could think of as I took this photo

Seven days later blood tests confirmed what we had all assumed; Epstein Barr/Mononucleosis had found a hospitable home and racing multiple times with it had given the virus diamond legs. They said complete rest and I should be fine in 4-6 weeks. But soon that time frame stretched into two months and then three and then six. Small victories and feelings of good health would be apparitions quickly vanishing with any form of exertion. One year stretched into two and a half until I reached my lowest point on Super Bowl Sunday, 2018.  I found myself relegated to a hospital bed; my body’s weakened immune system unable to fight off e-Coli that had somehow entered my body and my kidneys were now causing a raucous insurgency. That night as Tom Brady fell short of #6, I told my wife that I couldn’t recall what it felt like to be healthy; wondered aloud if I could ever be healthy again. 

They say when you drown, you reach a point of tranquility where you actually become relaxed in the struggle. You have run out of the body’s currency for life and the surface appears out of reach. Supposedly you become euphoric right before you die. Though the memory of good health had exited or receded to the depths of my mind, I never wanted to give up. I never stopped believing there was hope or that I would someday get better.  I arrived at this logic because I kept looking at my kids and thinking that I needed to be healthy so that I could chase them around, to ride bikes with them again. I kept leaning on my faith, and I was reminded that I was created to love others regardless of my health. Loving others wasn’t dependent upon being healthy. 

I can’t pinpoint why I suddenly started to regain my strength soon after that. The health-wealth lies of today would want me to tell you that I learned my lesson so I was healed, but I don’t bow to the ideals of Joel Olsteen. I can’t give you a good explanation to why I’ve been able to start riding and even racing my bike again. There isn’t a great exegesis I can give you as to why I all this happened or why it suddenly stopped. 

But how I interact with my kids has changed.  How I talk to my wife has changed. The day to day in my classroom and how I lead the teams I coach has shifted dramatically. How I race a bike has changed too. 

I have way more sympathy for people suffering long term health issues and ailments. I am reminded daily that regardless of where I am and whatever is going on, I can love people, right where they are. Love breathes life into any relationship, into any situation, just by being there and listening. 

I’m thankful this season for experiences, no matter how hard they may be, that draw us closer to who we are and to those around us. I hope that if you are in the deep, dark waters, if you feel you’ve been holding your breath, that you speak to someone, that you remember you are loved and that love changes everything and every situation. Love is the reason.  It’s why I live. I have surfaced for air after an unfathomable amount of time in the deep and it has reminded me the value of life. Happy Thanksgiving

2015 Dirt Bag: Crosswinds

IGNORE THE WIND! RIDE ON THE WASHBOARD!  Push a bigger gear!  IGNORE THE WIND!  IGNORE THE WIND!  POP!  They’re gone! 

Just the wind howling in my left ear. “It’s just you and me now cowboy!” I said to him.  Him is referring to Ben Doom and we had just blown the remnants of our group apart in what I thought (foreshadowing) were fierce crosswinds.  We were at roughly mile 41, not quite halfway and we had eliminated everyone.  

I was excited and also annoyed with myself.  “Way to go man...You did all that work to shell all your help...I hope you have a plan for what’s next, cause this dude is the REAL DEAL...you must have something brilliant up your sleeve...”  The logical part of my conscious tends to be ripe with sarcasm during races...it can be extremely annoying.   

My last gravel race of the season had started unlike any of the others this year.  I was standing at the back of my Toyota Matrix.  The car having never looked so small.  I had been standing there for twenty minutes and I couldn’t make up my mind.  What the hell am I going to wear??? 

The forecast had called for start-line temps to be in the low 30s and finish-line temps to be above 60, plus wind...a lot of wind.  In the 30s, one wears completely different clothing than you would in the 60s...completely different.  Also for the most part in the first 50 miles we were going to face either a stiff headwind or a strong crosswind. In the back of my car was nearly every piece of race clothing I owned, and I was desperately trying to make the right choice...and the weatherman had been right, my car said it was 31 degrees and the race would start in ten minutes. 

I finally settled on a long sleeve thin base layer, arm and knee warmers and a cap for under my helmet...probably the most bizarre thing I did was shove a Holiday Station plastic bag under my jersey against my chest to protect from the wind.*

Freezing at the Start photo by Dirt Bag

It would be cold, but if we rode hard enough early, we’d be fine.  As I sat on my top tube at the start line and listened to instructions, I questioned if I had enough on.  Every person in the front row was in the same boat.  We were all under-dressed and freezing.  Dave Markman was next to me and Ben Doom on the other side of him.  We were joking at first about how cold it was but about a minute into race director JJ Egbers instructions, we were all staring at the ground shaking uncontrollably and it was now hard to hear Egbers over the chattering of our teeth. 

Thankfully, warmth came quickly.  Typically, a race has a relaxed rollout and then the pace goes up.  Not this time.  No neutral rollout, so Doom blasted to the front like he had been fired from a cannon and within a minute our pace was well over 25 mph.  Cold was no longer a concern and quickly we were a group of about 10.  Early Selection. 

Early Flying photo by Dirt Bag

I felt pretty good but was really unsure of how I was actually going since I hadn’t had a really good day on the bike in almost a month due to illness post Inspiration 100 and then racing with illness (Woodchipper 100) and then recovering from racing with illness.  

Around mile 30 we had been whittled down to a group of about six riders.  Kyia Anderson, a super strong woman in our group, had just done a pull and swung off as we turned into a crosswind.  I went to the front and pushed a steady tempo as we climbed.  A mile later, I still felt really good so I kept grinding away as we turned into the headwind.  When I finally swung off, Jim Bell asked if I was feeling good.  I asked why and he said, “Holy Hannah that was a hard turn.”  I realized I was riding better than I thought and by the looks on their faces, everyone other than Doom was starting to hurt.

The gravel in this part of the state was mostly hard packed, fast, and vastly different from what I’m used to.  Near my house, the only hard-packed gravel you find is right next to someone’s house where the county has decided to oil the road to keep the dust down.  Everywhere else it’s loose and if you are lucky, you might be able to find a single or double tracked path that is hard packed. 

At mile 40 we turned west, now dealing with a crosswind again and entered the first gravel road that resembled familiarity in texture to me.  It was washboarded and there was in the best case, only two lines to take.  It was during that section that we entered this story.  Kyia seemed to be having trouble dealing with the wind and the road conditions as was Jim Bell.  Doom was on the front and riding away and so I swung to opposite side of the road in desperate search of a semi-good stretch of gravel.  Once I found it I didn’t want to let up and soon it was Doom and I alone. 

Ben and I didn’t really work together but we didn’t really oppose one another either.  We just rode side by side for the next 20 miles.  We had the wind at our backs and so we actually had some conversation.  We discussed our families and kids, our work, trying to train and balance everything else in our lives (he is the owner of Revolution Ski and Cycles in St. Cloud) and we talked about events like Trans Iowa and Gravel Worlds.  During that 20 mile stretch, the wind that was at our backs was increasing from 12-15 mph to 23-25 mph.**

The gears in my head were also spinning like crazy trying to think of a scenario in which I would be able to distance myself from Ben later in the race.  He is arguably the best racer I had faced in the past year.  He recently had finished 6th at Gravel Worlds and two weeks ago, he won Heck of the North. 

Ben Doom and me 2 years ago

I also need to stress how different Ben and I are as riders.  He is a powerful and explosive rider built like a gorilla whereas I’m slight, a grind it out rider who if we need to compare me to an animal, I look more like a grasshopper. This picture from two years ago shows how different we are and I am ten pounds thinner now than I was then. 

If this had been a race with a lot of climbing, like the Woodchipper 100, which featured over 7,000 feet of climbing, I wouldn’t have been so worried.  But this was the Dirt Bag and having looked at the profile, I knew we had little climbing from mile 64 onwards and a lot of crosswinds.  Both factors favored Doom.  Any attack I made on the flat, he was going to be able to pull back and so I decided my best move was to just hang with him as long as I could.  Eventually he’d either tire out or would get tired of me and our partnership would end. 

Our answer came quickly.  We took a right hand turn onto Dellwood Rd. at mile 68.  The road was pancake flat but the crosswind was unreal (now 23-25 mph) and I was doing everything I could to take shelter behind Doom’s big frame.  I was riding so close to his left side that I almost forced him to have his arm around me.  It didn’t matter.  I couldn’t find enough shelter and he knew I was in trouble.  He squeezed the trigger and a mile and a half later, I popped.  I tried to manage my losses but he knew I was in trouble.  He took one look back, stomped on the pedals and rode away.  A mile later, he had put a minute into me and in another mile further, and he was out of sight. 

At this point I sat up and decided to get myself back together.  About ten miles left, don’t lose your mind here, make sure you still finish 2nd.  I refueled, took off my arm warmers and Holiday Station wind-vest and got back to work. 

The final 5 miles were pretty uncomfortable.  I was worried about being caught and kept pushing as hard as I could, which was causing problems.  This section was on pavement but super exposed to the crosswinds and I was dying a thousand deaths in cramp city.

Finished with this season

I eventually crossed the finish line in 2nd place, just 3 minutes behind Doom***.

1. Ben Doom 4:13
2. John Peter 4:16
3. Ian Hoogendam 4:25

We had averaged nearly 20 mph for the entire race.  This had been an incredibly satisfying day in the saddle, racing with a guy whom I have respected and never seen as my equal since my first gravel event two years ago.  I enjoyed some really quality post-race food, courtesy of the amazing event staff**** and then headed home where my oldest daughter informed me I needed to find one more race this fall. 

“Why?” I asked her. 

“Well your last three races, you were 4th, then 3rd and now 2nd.  If you race again, you’ll get 1st!” she said. 

“Ha ha!  Thanks honey, I like your logic, but daddy’s all done for this year.” 


*This trick worked like a dream and kept me surprisingly warm.

**This according to National Weather Service data. 

***To only finish 3 minutes down was remarkable to me considering how much he opened things up in his initial attack. 

****Special thanks to race director JJ Egbers for putting on a great event that had a great community feel to it. 

2015 Woodchipper 100: The One with Body Failure

Last Sunday, I got home from church and gleefully turned on the UCI Road World Championships.  This was a riveting race, specifically the last 50 kilometers and Peter Sagan’s win was impressive but one thing stood out to me.  With about 35 km to go, defending champion Michał Kwiatkowski found himself in a breakaway of seven class riders.  This break would stay away until about 15 km to go.  I noticed that each time the road kicked up Kwiatkowski would finish his turn grabbing his oblique abdominal muscles.  “That’s weird,” I thought, “I’ve never had cramps there...”

Michał in white and red...cramping

In the literary world, this is a device known as foreshadowing... (Foreshadowing Part 1)

The Woodchipper 100 was a race I was truly excited about.  I wasn’t excited because of a huge field of riders, or great post-race swag or anything like that.  I was excited because my kids were finally going to get to see me race this year and this was very motivating for me.  The route passes within a few miles of my house and the start/finish line is a mere 15 minute drive away.  

However, as the race approached, I had concerns.  Tuesday and Wednesday found me home from school, sick with a massive cold/chest congestion/cough/etc. I rarely miss school due to illness so two days in a week meant this was a whopper.  I was sick, and breathing was a laborious effort...I know, now let’s do a 105 mile bike race!  If it weren’t the only chance of the year for my kids to see me race, I honestly probably would have stayed home, but they were excited and I decided it was worth giving it a go. 

Painting from kid 2 to my "match" jersey + remind me to try my best

Within the first 6 miles, we hit a double-track MMR that follows the north edge of a prairie containing massive bison herds and dozens of windmills.  I know this road/trail very well as I spent countless hours there this summer working on my MMR skills.  Because I knew the road well and knew it was dodgy, I went to the front and pushed pretty hard, mainly to be safe.  There was a problem though, my body was not in favor of this decision.  I was just doing a what should have been a steady medium hard effort, but I felt like I was maxed out, like I was massively in the red and cooking myself so I switched Garmin screens to check my heart-rate...this was going to be a long day.  My heart rate, which usually simmers around 185 when I’m going maxed-out, was sitting around 160 but my body WAS maxed out.

“Ok, so you’re basically running at 85% right now.” I said to myself, “it’s time to change your game plan. Any grandiose ideas of long attacks or breaking up the race with short stinging attacks are out the window.  I had better be ready to make sure there aren’t too many attacks to chase.” 

About 2 miles later, traveling down another incredibly bumpy MMR, I lost a bottle full of electrolyte drink out of one of my cages.  Now I was down to two bottles plus my camelbak.  

In the literary world, this is a device known as foreshadowing... (Foreshadowing Part 2)

Chad Weisgram photo via Facebook

From this point forward we were a group of five at the front of the race.  Two guys from the Vision Racing p/b Harvest Snaps, Chad Weisgram and Rick Laliberte, Sam Rauchwarter and myself in Paramount Sports colors and then Jamie Perry from Bismarck, ND.

Chad and Rick are Grade-A Bad Asses on the Masters Road scene with Rick having won at places such as the Lacrosse Omnium and the Tour of Galena this past year.  Chad has been a guy I can’t hold a candle to on the road when I’ve ridden with him.  Jamie, I would find out, was coming from a triathlon background and hadn’t raced much.  He was a super nice guy but mimicked a yo-yo for most of the time he remained in our group.  Although Chad and Rick are clearly better on the road, gravel is a different animal and in this group I was mostly concerned with Sam.  I had seen his Strava files for the last few months and despite the fact that he’s only 9 months removed from a full ACL repair, his workouts showed that he was super fit.  My only question with him was, did he have the stamina to go 6+ hours?

I choose to use my "cx" skills in Vergas Trails photo Sam R

So this was the group and at around mile 35, we safely maneuvered through the ATV trails deep within the bowels of the Vergas Trails.  I led most of the navigating and this was a real change from two years ago when I wandered aimlessly lost in these trails for over an hour.  Upon exiting the Vergas Trails, we waited for Chad to change a flat tire and then got back on the road.

Soon after refilling bottles at the Oasis, we pedaled into Maplewood State Park.  Other racers say, and I have come to find this true, that in every race of this length, you typically have one “what the hell am I doing” moment that usually is accompanied by a really bad patch in regards to how you feel.  Maplewood State Park was that time for me.  I felt like I was bonking or having a “hunger knock” but I had really been on top of my nutrition up to this point.  I was feeling shaky and just hoping that no one would attack as I could barely grasp my handle bars.  I took another gel and drank the rest of my Gatorade in hopes that I would quickly come around.  At this point, I could tell Jamie was in real trouble and the thought crossed my mind that if he pops here, I might be done with him.

Still a group of 5 photo by Timothy Bauer

However, another thought was in my head.  I tell my cross country runners that if you really hit a bad patch, try to change the pace and usually you’ll snap out of it.  There is actually science behind why this phenomenon happens but that’s not important.  Regardless, I felt terrible, but when Chad attacked on a descent, I went after him, came around him and yelled, “let’s go Chad.” 

We pressed on full gas for about a minute but Rick decided to bring us back.  Jamie was soon out the back for good and it was down to four of us.  The attack had worked in pulling me out of the shadows for now and I felt pretty good again.

What happened next is utterly confusing to me.  I mean I know what happened but I can’t see why it played out how it did.  Coming out of Maplewood State Park, we spent less than half a mile on County 24.  I was on the front and as we took a left back onto gravel, I took a bad line through the corner.  Like a really bad line.  It was a mistake I would have made 2 years ago having never ridden on a gravel road but not now.  My line was so bad, I ended up in the ditch off my bike. 

Here is what confused me.  By the top of the hill, it seemed like Rick and Chad were attacking, and this was confirmed by the time I crested the hill.  Now, in all honestly I probably would have done the same or maybe they hadn't seen me end up in the ditch, or maybe they just thought I had finally popped, but we had waited for one another all day in various circumstances and now it seemed we weren't.  All things are fair though in love and bike racing.* 

I set off in pursuit and by the time I got to the top of the hill, I could see the race was really on full gas.  Sam was trying to manage attacks from these two without me and I was desperately trying to pull everything back.  Remember though, that I basically had one speed, plus we were into a head wind for at least another 3 miles, so I had my work cut out for me. I rode as hard and as steady as I could and eventually 6.5 miles later, I pulled back Sam and Chad.  Rick was off the front about 30 seconds and I believe Sam was purposely pulling slowly on the front to allow me back on. 

Within about a mile, we caught Rick.  His Garmin had died and he didn’t have cue sheets so he was now constrained to the group.  At this point, I realized I didn't want to chase any more attacks and so I basically had one option, make things too difficult for the others to attack until the final few miles where I knew there were opportunities to attack.  By that time, I hoped everyone would be tired and I wouldn’t.  The easiest way to make sure no one attacked was to go to the front and just ride hard, because even though my high end was missing today, my diesel engine was still running just fine.  I was counting on endless endurance I had built up all summer on the gravel and hoped that the distance would start to eat the other three and from mile 75 onward, I tried to do as much hard pulling on the front as possible.

This strategy was complicated by the fact that at about mile 79, we hit a climb that punches up over 13% and mid-climb, the cramps started.  My quads, adductors and abductors in my legs started to seize up, but I was able to continue on the front; I just slowed the pace.  This was when I recognized everyone was feeling not awesome.  No one was coming around as I slowed the pace on these climbs.
This cycle of pulling hard on the front and cramping on the climbs continued off and on, but I kept driving the front as much as possible.  Rick flatted at mile 91 and we waited for him and I drank my remaining water, but my body accepted it kind of like dry ground receiving a 5 minute rain storm during a drought.

I knew that soon, there was a left turn coming up with a really good climb for attacking and I was just waiting for it, hoping that I could will my body into cooperating.  The problem was that the mile preceding this climb was a gravel road with washboard effect from one ditch to the other.  The four of us swerved from side to side searching for respite only to find more jarring bumps.  Rick went out the back along this stretch of road and Chad opened up a very small gap. 

We took the left hander onto 147th Ave, a very lumpy MMR that I train on weekly.  I attacked through the corner to try and bridge up to Chad and two pedal strokes in, I experienced the same cramping that Michał Kwiatkowski experienced the week before.  My legs were in full blown rebellion, quads, calves, feet, hamstrings, everything cramping.  My stomach muscles felt like they were trying to rip in two and I simultaneous wanted to throw up...My triceps and forearms were cramping in my arms and even the muscles between my shoulder blades seized up.  It felt like my body was trying to bend itself forwards and backwards at the same time.

Sam got up to Chad and away they went.  At two different points in the final miles, I pulled them back close enough to read the writing on their jerseys but each time, we would hit an uphill and the full body spasms would return.  I cheered out-loud as I saw Sam attack and pull away late, as this meant someone in Paramount colors would at least get the win and I limped up the final climb across the finish line, just under two minutes behind Sam. 

Exhausted and Loved photo Anna Peter

My entire family was there and two of my girls tackled me, which took little effort.  Through some emotion, I told them I had done everything I could, but Sam and Chad were just better today.  My second daughter Phoebe assured me 3rd place was ok and that she was just happy to see me...perspective is always a good thing.

The post-race time was great.  I got to have some quality conversations with race director Timothy Bauer and my friend Chris Jones who had come down to watch the finale, as well as Chad, Rick, Sam and Jamie. 

My main thought as I drove home and as I’ve thought about the race the last few days is, “how did I get my body to do that?”  The thing it proved to me is this.

Me and Sam photo Sam R

The mind and maybe more importantly the human spirit is an incredibly powerful thing and it can push you through when everything else, including your body may say it’s time to be done.  There are so many times in life where logic says you shouldn’t be able to do something.  The idea of my kids being at the finish line kept me going when I wanted to quit in Maplewood and when my body was failing in the last 10 miles.  That idea allowed me to fight through getting dropped and through horrendously painful cramps, to get to where I could see my kids again and feel satisfied in a job well done.

In two weeks, I close out this season at the Dirt Bag in Clearwater, MN.  I expect a dog fight with Charlie Schad and others from the St. Cloud area.   



*No hard feelings towards Chad or Rick for how things went down outside of Maplewood.  That’s bike racing and it was fun sharing the road with them all day, and I would gladly do it again.   

2015 Inspiration 100: The Breakthrough

There was a constant argument I was having with myself... "How am I gonna out fox these guys?  What am I doing here?  No! You’re fine!  Think about all your training!  Think about all your preparation!  You trained and mentally prepared all summer to ride in this bunch, specifically with these guys."

That was the argument in my head.  We were 64 miles into the Inspiration 100.  I was in a chase group of four riders containing me and the previous three winners of this race: Charlie Schad (2012), Nick Vetter (2013) and Andrew Thompson (2014).  Up the road on a suicidal, solo breakaway was ex-pro Adam Bergman who was maintaining about a 1 min advantage over our group.  I felt really good, but this was only my 4th gravel race and although I’ve been riding my bike for a long time, believe it or not, this was only my 6th bike race ever.  Have you ever felt like you brought a knife to a gun fight...how the hell did I get here?

Race Scenery photo credit Deek Surly

In 2013, I raced my first gravel race.  The Inspiration 100.  It was 90+ degrees and I literally melted down at mile 56 on Nevada Drive, stricken by horrible cramps and dehydration.  I finished in 12th overall, 54 minutes behind the leading pair: winner Nick Vetter and runner-up Adam Bergman.  A normal person would have walked away from that experience and found something else to do, but I fell in love. I fell in love with an attritional style of bike racing that was made for those who could endure and suffer and I truly believed that I could swing with the big boys if I had enough time to prepare.

4:45 am is a punch in the face!

My grand plan had been to prepare and be ready for the 2014 Inspiration 100, but a hernia last summer derailed those plans.  So last fall, I began to plan for this year’s race. I planned how to train during the school year on very limited riding time, (four little kids and an amazing wife plus teaching and coaching takes up a lot of my day) and starting in February, I woke up at 4:45 am nearly every day to ride the rollers.* 

I planned how I would lose weight for a race that included 5,000+ feet of climbing and then carried out that plan, losing 23 lbs since December of 2014.  I looked for ways to mentally prepare for suffering that would last 5+ hrs and so when things like being under a tattoo gun for hrs at a time happened, I used it as an opportunity to learn how to shut my mind off to steady, continual pain.

I planned to learn about my potential competitors.  So I studied who the main challengers were, how their own racing was going and even how their training was going (you can find out a lot creeping on Facebook and Strava).

Racing won't hurt like this...

I also found ways to practice other things I identified that needed work, like riding hard on Minimum Maintenance Roads, drinking from a Camelbak while breathing heavily, and riding tempo effort for an hr+ when super tired.  

All this resulted in me sitting at the start line confident.  Confident that without having ever done it, I could ride with the big boys.  My training and group rides had proven to me that I was strong.  But nerves are always there and no amount of prep makes them go away, so I purposely placed myself next to Charlie Schad in the staging area.  I did this mainly to calm myself down and because he was a seasoned racer whom I knew would be a good calm wheel to be near.**

The racing got underway and there was a large group of people riding together.  Every so often we would go up a climb and a few more people would go off the back but I always made sure I was always up near the front.  

At mile 14, I was sitting about 4 guys back when I heard Adam Bergman coming from behind on an attack (his wheels were noisy as hell) and so I jumped on.  The pace which he laid down for the next mile was unbelievable and it blew a number of guys out of our group.  Adam finally realized his attack wasn’t going to stick, or rather that I wasn’t prepared to help make it stick and he relaxed a bit and we re-organized. 

My view on race day

About 4 miles later, Bergman lit another fire-cracker and this time he held his foot on the gas.  I again was the initial chaser until I realized I was going to blow if I didn’t let up and I let someone else take over.  This caused a small fracture in our chase and after a mile and a half of chasing basically at max effort, we let Adam go up the road. 

We rode as a group and were down to about 15 guys when I noticed someone coming up behind us, really fast.  I rode to the front of the group and told Nick Vetter and Andrew Thompson that I thought Adam was suddenly behind us and must have taken a wrong turn.  Andrew took one look back, confirming what I said, and attacked like a mad-man.

We chased really hard to pull Andrew back and as we all got back together, Adam caught us...and blew past us.  There was a lot of strong language from other guys in the group, stunned by Bergman's pace, and I can only describe the speed at which he came through our group in one way. 

Adam Bergman re-establishing his breakaway

If you have ever played the game Mario Cart, there is a moment where if you are behind, the game will give you access to a rocket, which then propels you at warp speed past your competitors...Adam was the rocket and immediately regained his minute or so advantage on the rest of us.


That was the status quo for another few miles, Bergman out front and a large group chasing.  We passed through Millerville at a pretty relaxed pace but then the climbing really started and as we climbed past the Lady of the Hills, our group shattered and immediately, we were down to five guys.  The five of us started to work together with about half the guys desiring to chase Adam down sooner rather than later while the rest of us felt it best to let him hang out in front for a while longer.

The Lady of the Hills   photo credit Deek Surly

We passed through Clitheral and no one even pretended to want to stop at the C-Store (the only possible stop on the route).  A short time later, two things happened.  First, another guy popped in our group and we were now four chasing one.  The second thing was that I had one bottle remaining plus whatever was left in my Camelbak to drink for the remainder of the race.  I went to take the first sip from that bottle and it slipped from my hand, slamming to the ground...stopping to get it was not an option.*** 

So...now I had what was left in my Camelbak to drink, and had just under half the race to go.  “Ok, new plan, you may only take five sips of water from your Camelbak every 15 minutes...it has to last until the end...good thing you decided you didn’t need the extra bottle and left it in your car at the start...”  Sometimes my sarcasm even sickens me.

Helping to drive the chase group photo credit Deek Surly

It was around this time that the premonition came that I had brought a knife to a gun fight.  I realized I was the green rookie a midst these hardened veterans.  These guys knew not just how to race, but how to strategically win races.  My bigger concern though lay less than two miles ahead.  Norwegian Road is a 2 mile double-track MMR full of baby-head rocks and ruts.  I had overcome my fear of these roads earlier in the summer but knew this would still be a critical point in the race.  

As we entered, it was agreed in the group that we would ride it smart.  Smart to me was going to the front where I could see where I was going and riding at a hard pace.  This went well for about a half mile, until we all looked up and realized we were closing on Bergman and fast.  This led to the group feeling jumpy and Andrew Thompson attacked.

Norwegian Road...a smooth section...  photo credit Deek Surly

Everyone else didn’t attack per se but rather just really upped their own pace.  The road was like riding a jackhammer and it sounded like our bikes were falling apart.  Vetter’s spare tube and tools came flying off his bike and I narrowly avoided crashing when I ran over them/just missed them.  I was absolutely riding on my limit physically and just trying to get through this section and manage the chaotic pace. 

I knew that Cougar Ranch was more or less the end of the MMR and as I passed it, I finally took a breath and looked up to assess the damage.  What I saw was deflating.  I had been dropped, and not kind of.  The group was being swallowed up by their own cloud of dust 25-30 seconds up the road.  Now what the hell was I gonna do?

I keep my Garmin screen from showing my heart rate (HR) during races because in that setting, most of the time it makes me freak out.  However, I knew that in a time like this, I had to not panic and manage my effort if I wanted to get back on, so I flipped the screen to show me HR data and pushed on the gas.  I rode at threshold and no harder, figuring they weren’t going to attack one another for a bit.

I assumed they were thinking they had gotten rid of the rookie and now could ride steady for a bit.  Bergman wasn't going to help pull because he would be dead from his long solo break so I was actually in a good place.  It took almost 4 miles but I got back on and didn’t overextend myself to do so.  Nick Vetter turned to assess the group at the moment I rejoined and he did a pretty big double take when he realized I was back.  All I could do was smile at him. 

Over the next 10 miles I started to notice a few things.  When I did turns on the front the pace actually went up 2-3 mph.  I couldn’t figure out what was going on.  Maybe I was just trying too hard,  maybe as the rookie, I didn't know how to pull, OR maybe these guys were getting tired.   I also noticed that on climbs we seemed to be grinding to a halt, crawling up the climbs.  When I would finish my turns at the front, I would drift back and stare at everyone trying to assess my competitors fatigue levels.  With the exception of Thompson, who seemed completely un-phased, everyone seemed pretty nailed.  Vetter seemed especially tired and even Bergman looked rough although I couldn’t tell if he was playing poker or not.  At mile 81, we hit a short punchy climb and Thompson, sensing Vetter was about to crack, hit the gas.  Everyone scrambled to get on his wheel but only Bergman made it across.  Charlie Schad seemed like he was about to bridge when he sat up and I decided it was an all or nothing situation to get across to him. 

During this chase, I realized we were at the end of sheet #5 on our cue sheets and went to remove it...only problem was that sheet 6 and 7 were gone, having fallen out of my cue holder somewhere previously on the road.  Now I had to catch Charlie, not only because it was my only shot at the top 3 podium, but also to avoid getting lost.  I caught him about half a mile later and said, “Charlie, my cue sheets are gone! I don’t know where we are!”  I laughed at his response, “we’re behind those two!” he said pointing to Thompson and Bergman about 20 seconds up the road. 

Charlie and I tried to fall into a rhythm and kept those two at around 30 seconds, until we missed an unmarked turn and spent about 3 minutes trying to find where we were.  This happened a second time about 2 miles later and that stop resulted in 2-3 more minutes standing around and me finally consulting Google Maps to figure out where we were. 

Corn Field MMR photo credit C. Tassava

Charlie and I stayed in sync and at around mile 95, we hit the corn field MMR.  This is a nasty tractor thru road known for it’s rough terrain and large holes.  Charlie kept repeating “watch out there are really big holes!”  The third time he said it, he was mid-phrase when a hole nearly as large as my bike swallowed me.  It was a soft landing and I remounted in pursuit of Charlie.  MMRs had been the bane of my existence as a racer previously and I was about to exit the final sectour of MMR in this race relatively unscathed. 

A man’s emotions can be pretty fragile when one is in such a fatigued state and upon exiting the MMR, I totally lost control.  Why?  Because for the first time, I was going to be able to go home and tell my daughters that the reason the guys beat me was because they were just better, not because their dad couldn’t handle a bumpy road in life.  I could show them that all my diligent work to improve in an area where logic said I couldn’t had actually paid off. 

Charlie and I linked back up and started working together again until he got away from me for good with 5-6 miles to go in the race.  I kept him fairly close, at 20-30 seconds, but as I mentally agreed to make one final dig deep into the well and go after him, I physically shifted my chain into my frame and had to spend almost 3 minutes on the side of the road trying to get my bike working again.  Apparently, simultaneously, Charlie was up the road falling apart himself, but in the end I didn’t have enough time to make up the gap. 

I crossed the finish line 4th overall, around 10 minutes behind the winner Andrew Thompson.  I can only think of one race in my entire life (Track Conference 10,000 meters as a freshman in college) where I have ever felt as satisfied as I did post race.  My prep had gone so well and there are few things during the race I feel I could have done better (the bottle situation being the exception). 

Planning and preparation, in all forms, helped me move the needle as a racer from a guy nearly an hour behind the action, to right in the thick of it.  That ideal is something I hope I can instill in my own children as well as the students I work with every day: the ideal or life paradigm that you can improve your situation, (family, work, performance) an unimaginable amount with proper planning and preparation.   

*From June until race date, I had ridden just over 3,000 miles

**One of the highlights of the race was getting to meet Christopher Tassava in person.  Christopher is a Grade A Bad-Ass known for his 7th place finish two years ago at arguably the most difficult Arrowhead 135 ever (and I believe getting his picture on the front page of Twin Cities newspapers in the process).  In one of the classes I teach, my students read about that epic race from his well-written point of view each year.  We have raced together before and we follow one another’s activities via Facebook but we had never met until Saturday. 

***I got the dropped bottle back at about mile 85.  A rider who had been dropped from our group and was now lost crossed our paths and saw I was missing a bottle.  He apologized for drinking about half of it and gave it back. 

Overcoming My Fears: Inspiration 100 Pre-Race Blog

It happened again...

It doesn’t matter which race it was, but it had just happened again. I was in another race feeling good.  My legs were feeling just fine, riding in the lead group, when suddenly the leaders were riding away.  The worst part?  We were on a downhill section and all I could do was watch them go.  I jammed on my brakes repeatedly trying to carefully maneuver the rocky, washed-out terrain, while any hope of a top result rode away.

For the 3rd time in 3 gravel races, I was coming undone on a Minimum Maintenance Road (MMR).  My legs weren’t betraying me but my mind was.  

The road where I came apart

You see, I have this problem, it’s a simple scientific excuse.  I have a fear, it’s maybe not even on the surface but at a subconscious level.  Here is my problem.  I am not and have never been a mountain biker.  So I never learned how to bomb a descent on dicey terrain and therefore I never learned to be reckless on a bike.  I’m not in the mold of Vittorio Brumotti. (seriously this is worth clicking)  I’m 33 years old and according to science, which I happen to believe, my brain is past the point of learning to do this.  Essentially old dogs, or in this case fully formed brains, can’t learn new tricks; too many safeguards have been built.

My problem, my built in fear, is that in every gravel race, there tends to be at least one really dicey MMR double-track section.  Instead of nicely grated gravel, these sections of “road” tend to look more like something featured on the Oregon Trail.  (the real one, not the 1980s computer game)  The good riders roar through these sections and blow the race apart.  Those of us who are less skilled tend to get dropped and have to spend energy chasing back, if we are lucky.

My experience this past May in the Burleigh County Cup frustrated me to the point of deciding I needed to do something.  I was spending a ton of time preparing for these races and making a lot of sacrifices in order to be fit and I kept coming undone on these sections.  Even during a race that I won two years ago, I crashed 5 times during two separate double-track sections...so yeah, it was kind of a BIG problem, a problem that would honestly keep me up at night as races approached.

In late May, as I planned my summer training and build-up to my fall races, I decided to ignore brain science for two reasons: 1) I wasn’t going to stop racing gravel events anytime soon  2)  My kids really like hearing about my races and if I don’t do well or reach my desired goal, it is pretty rough explaining to them that their dad didn’t finish with the leaders because...well...he gets scared when the road gets bumpy. (not a life lesson I want them learning)

2 mile double-track near my house

I talked with a couple friends who I consider my go-to people when it comes to training, racing and all things bike advice.  Their advice was more or less the same: “find MMRs near you and ride them...really hard, really fast, at least once a week...oh and learn to not use the brakes.”

I scoured area maps until I found 3 separate sections of nasty MMRs, 4.5 miles in total that stretched over less than 10 miles of road.  These MMRs were either double-track, sand, baby-head rocks or all of the above with lots of climbing and descending.  The best part was that these roads were within 6 miles of my house, and so on July 6th, I began tackling my fears or sub-conscious fears head-on.

The first ride was embarrassing.  It took me over 13 minutes to get through that first 2 mile stretch of MMR.  I was a wreck, jamming on my brakes at every opportunity and scared of every bump and drop as I rode along.  And the worst part...I crashed, multiple times in the first few weeks. 

Sand MMR

I would come home and my kids would look at my scraped leg or dirty jersey and ask what happened and I would respond with “I crashed...again...”  One of my daughters continued to encourage me with words like “just keep trying dad, you’ll get better.”

I kept coming back to these roads and by the end of the month, I had lowered my time to just under 10 minutes for the same 2 mile section...I know...world beater!  But my confidence was growing and the crashes were no longer happening, and more importantly, I was starting to look forward to these “skills” rides each week.  I was also now searching out double-track MMRs whenever I could find them, changing other rides mid-route when finding an MMR, just to test a new section.   

The Vergas Trails

My true day of growth came on August 4th.  A large gaggle of my family was staying at 5 Lakes resort near Vergas, MN.  Vergas or I should say, the Vergas Trails provide some of the most rough, backwoods, hill-billyesque paradise via ATV trails, double-track MMR roads and as my oldest daughter says, “roads that aren’t roads”.  I took the long way there and by the end of the day I had tackled roughly 16 miles of double track and MMR within a 65 mile ride.  I realized at the end of that day, that I wasn’t scared anymore and wasn’t gripping the brakes but rather letting the bike drive itself over the terrain.

By this past week my fastest time over the 2 mile section near my house was somewhere under 8 minutes and I’ve even grown confident enough to hammer intervals on these sections.  Tomorrow, I will race the Inspiration 100.  It’s a race that is pretty important to me and one that has been circled on my race calendar for some time.

Since May, I have ridden over 3,000 miles and lost a lot of weight in prep for this one and while I don’t believe I will ride away from everyone or anyone on the very selective MMRs in the second half of the course, I am confident that I will be able to manage these sections.

So why am I saying all this?  In regards to the race, sharing this does nothing for me.  If guys like Charlie Schad or Nick Vetter read this, tomorrow they will be gleefully rubbing their hands together as they approach the MMRs if I’m in the group.  I’m sharing this because I think we all have fears that keep us from doing what we are trying to accomplish in life. 

Unlike bike racing, most of the time those fears are keeping us from things that actually matter in life, like career decisions, family choices and financial decisions, from what we were created to be and to do and that is a tragedy. 

You shouldn’t let being scared of the unknowns of a new better job keep you from leaving a crappy job.  You shouldn’t let a fear of not knowing how to be a parent keep you from becoming one. And you shouldn’t let fears about your relationships with people keep you walled in your whole life. 

It’s good to have friends who you can go to and ask important questions and more importantly sometimes tell you to just relax and work at something because with some hard work and a calm hand, you can get through this.  Our life is a total grind but to know that you have a purpose and don’t need to be held back by fear is something worth getting excited for. 

I race tomorrow (Saturday) in Garfield, MN and I know I go to the line as fit as I’ve ever been.  I will sleep easy tonight knowing that now there is one less thing in my life that scares me.

2015 Burleigh County Cup - The One with a Flat Tire

If you have followed my racing at all, you know that there has been a bit of a gap between posts.  All of 2014 can be summed up by two words: 1) hernia  2) rebuild  With having to deal with surgery and subsequent extended recovery, I spent most of 2014 not riding a bike and instead sold my road and cyclocross bikes to build one bike to focus on what I truly love doing: riding gravel. 

With the help of a friend and hours of training-less free time for my OCD to run wild, I built the bike exactly how I wanted it and by December was able to start riding consistently. 

Fast forward to Friday, May 8th.  I drove to Bismarck on Friday afternoon for the Burleigh County Cup with a lot of different thoughts going through my head.  On the one hand, I had finished a 12 week training block without any injury or illness for the first time since my freshman year of college  and I knew I was riding “test” sections/climbs faster than ever.  I have always gone into races thinking I am behind on fitness and that was not at all the case this time around, so, put a check in the confidence category.  On the other hand, I had not ridden bike with a single person aside from my three daughters since April of last year (2014).  My work schedule doesn’t allow time to get out with people on group rides until summer so I was concerned about how I’d hold a wheel, etc, especially on dodgy terrain, so put a check in the doubtful category...so pretty much I was feeling unconvincing confidence going into the race. 

Race morning arrived and it was between 40-45 degrees.  This is not a fun temp range to figure out what to wear.  On a training day at this temp, I’d bundle up but this was a race and I didn’t want to be overheating 10 miles in.  After arguing for a good 40 minutes with myself, I decided on lighter than warmer gear figuring that once the proper racing started I would warm up. 

Final racing instructions...trying not to freeze

We pedaled easy thru the first 4ish miles on the neutral roll, into the wind, and I nearly froze.  However, once we turned swung right onto the first gravel road, the racing began and temperature would not be thought about the rest of the day.

Typically, every neutral roll-out I have ever experienced, people gradually pick up the pace when the “flag” drops or the officials say go, but this was a different animal.  I had marked Aaron Lael before the race as a guy to watch, mainly because he was one of the only guys I knew in these parts.  As the organizers said go, Aaron took the right hand turn like he had been fired from a cannon.  The next 2.5 miles were more or less uphill and John Goeddertz, Jake Aisenbrey, and myself hung on for dear life as Aaron hammered.*  It was around this point that I looked back to see who was with us and only one other guy (from this point forward referred to as “Green Shorts Guy”) was still around making us a group of five...I realize later that Chris Jones had been there also, only to get a flat less than 8 miles into the race.    

Now it’s at this point I pause to explain something.  Some people, including some of my track athletes, have asked me why I always train with a heart rate monitor but I never race with one.  The main reason is because in a race I’m there to race and with few exceptions, I’m going to push all the chips in.  I also didn’t drive 4 hrs to ride a controlled, hard effort for 75 miles, because I can do that at home.  I trained for and came here to race.

I am 100% certain that if I were to have a HR monitor on and look down at my computer, I would scare the hell out of myself at how far into the red I go early in these events.  Early on in races, like the situation I just described above, your heart feels like it is trying to jump out of your chest, you taste pennies in your mouth, and it feels like someone is holding your head under water.  This feeling is incredibly uncomfortable, but familiar in races and I’m usually able to calm things down after the initial storm. 

Lael, Goeddertz lead with me and Aisenbrey chasing

Alright so I was controlling the storm in my body and there were basically five of us in the group, Lael, Goeddertz, Aisenbrey, Green Shorts Guy and myself.  We were working together the best we could given that there was a crosswind and riding in an echelon on gravel is pretty tricky, and/or not possible.  Somewhere around mile 15, I became convinced of one thing.  Aaron Lael was going to win this race and he was currently toying with us like a cat playing with a mouse.  My reasoning was this:  Goeddertz, Green Shorts Guy, Aisenbrey and I would pull through and take 30-60 second pulls and then rotate back, while Lael would pull for 3-4 minutes, and was climbing every climb in the big ring and he wasn’t complaining about the fact that he was doing 80% or more of the work in the group.   

A few miles later, we entered a 3 mile section of double-track.  Lael again led the group thru which was now down to Goedderts, Green Shorts Guy, Lael and me.  And this is where I shake my head at myself.  About 2/3 of the way thru this section, there is a dastardly pair of tricky descents.  It is a rutted, steep pitch, and it is here, on these two downhills, where I lost contact with the group.  You read that correctly, the point where I got dropped by the race leaders was on a steep downhill... 

Another rider heads "up" towards the double track

In the remaining mile of double track, the three guys put about a minute on me.  That gap would grow to about 2 minutes and stay there for quite a while.  The whole time, I had a decision to make.  Aisenbrey was about equidistant behind me as they were ahead at this point.  Should I wait for him and try to work together or should I press on.  I decided to press on and did so for about the next 15 miles. 

Just after the drop-zone (an area where you could have race organizers bring a pre-planned bag of goodies), I decided that it was time to wait for Aisenbrey.  Although the top three were still in my sight, I wasn’t closing the gap on them and Aisenbrey was closing on me, plus I needed to take a “nature break” and this seemed as a good time as any to do it.  Moving me to 5th place, Aisenbrey passed me just before I got back on my bike and I was another mile down the road about to rejoin with him when I felt what no bike rider wants to feel in a race.  I felt my back wheel bouncing hard off the ground...I had a flat tire.

Normally, this is no big deal.  I can typically change a flat in about 3 minutes (with my OCD, I’ve gotten the timer out), but remember how I said earlier that it was 45 degrees out?  Well, when I was riding I was plenty warm and my hands weren’t cold but as soon as I stopped, my hands seemed to lose their dexterity and a tube replacement that should have taken 3 minutes left me on the side of the road like a fumbling idiot for just under 11 minutes.  During that time a number of guys came past me.

Eventually I got going and I responded like someone who was tired and not thinking clearly.  I hammered as hard as I could, straight into the wind for 6 miles, thinking I had to catch everyone who had passed me right now.  What a mistake!  I quickly went way into the red.  I was on my way back thru the double track at this point, about 30 miles remaining, trying to really decide what to do.  I was somewhere between feeling sorry for myself and just wanting to throw my bike down the ravine next to me in frustration.

The two dare-devil descents, the ones where I got dropped going down, I was now about to climb as the course headed the opposite direction. The first of the two really steep sections, I actually got off my bike and walked.  I was a mental mess, but then the words of my 4 year old rang thru my head.  She had told me before the race that “I want you to win dad**, but if you try your very best and you don’t win, I will still love you, so give it all you got dad.”  This had been a key lesson in her Sunday School recently and something I try to teach my kids, that no matter what you are doing, you should try your best.  It’s an ideal I try to live out every day.  I wasn’t defined in her eyes, or anyone in my family by my placing but rather how I went about racing. 

I couldn’t pack it in and just ride steady, I couldn’t be gone for two days from home and look at her Sunday morning and say, “sorry Phoebe, I haven’t seen you in two days, I didn’t win and I didn’t even try my hardest.”  So I swung my leg back over my top tube that has the aptly inscribed “pedal damn it” written on it and attacked the steepest pitch in the entire race with everything I had left in me.

15 miles to go

From that point on I hammered.  I pushed myself harder and harder and felt better and better as things progressed.  All the while the voice of my little girl was saying “give it all you got dad cause i’ll still love you.”  I caught a few of the guys who had passed me along the way and crossed the finish line in what I believe was the top 10. 

While the 11ish minutes lost fumbling with a tube on the side of the road had left a lot of “what if” questions in my head, I also walked away from this race having discovered something: no matter how hard I thought I had gone in previous races, I was able to find a new level this time when I thought I was totally empty both mentally and physically.

Now it’s time for a week off.  Time to eat cookies and other sweet things that were mainly off limits for that past 3 months.  Time to reassess things that could be better in training (ie: work on double track skills) and then time to start training for the all important Inspiration 100, all the while doing my job (teaching/coaching) and parenting/leading my family with everything I’ve got, because that’s how we roll. 

Thanks for Tyler Huber and Ian Easton for putting on an amazing event that I will absolutely be back for again!


* After the race I asked Aaron why he went like such a bat out of hell from the gun and he said it was because last year he got dropped there and didn’t want that to happen again.  Apparently the antithesis of getting dropped was to rip everyone’s legs off...not getting dropped meant not getting dropped...by anyone...mission accomplished Aaron!

**My children have a slightly unrealistic expectation that any race I go to I should win.  This is because the first race they ever saw me do, the Woodchipper 100, I won and subsequently gave the winner’s trophy to them.  Apparently I set the bar high!