Who Am I?
I would call myself a passionate-but-not-crazy cyclist. At the time of the Silver Rush, I probably had 600-700 miles in on the year, plus a lot of trainer time I didn't record, usually between 1-2 hours. I also tried to make sure to do some high-intensity interval training once a week. I started really training for this race late May (I was training for my first half-marathon before that, so I wasn't starting from scratch). Only about 100 of those miles was actually on dirt, mostly Marshall Mesa and one nice 30+ mile day on Heil to Picture Rock to Hall and back. That ride made me question what I was possibly thinking signing up for the hardest 50 I could find so close to starting legitimately training.
I think it's worth saying, I got good genes (thanks, Dad!), and I seem to train up quick. I'm not particularly fast, but endurance is more natural to me than some . I also have never lived below 5000 feet, and I've always felt good at elevation (that said, the 4th and last time hitting 12000' on the day, I could not control my heartrate, and was a little concerned I HAPEd myself or something). I only mention this because if you're reading this to look at my approach to the race, it's good to know I'm cheating a little.
The Race Overview
The most important thing to know is this: The race designers are sadists. They hate you and your legs. They're also not particularly fond of your ass or your hands. Which isn't to say I didn't enjoy it, but I was there to suffer. There were several occasions I thought about yelling "FLUGELHORN", that of course being my safe word (mutually agreed upon with the spirit of the Silver Rush). But I took the beating, and crossed the finish line with flair and a smile. More on this in the details...
This race is basically 4 climbs. There is nothing flat, anywhere. You will hike. There might be some people that don't hike, but I have no evidence of that. The website says "Take the Leadville 100, remove all the easy parts, throw in technical descents", which is pretty fair. Technically, there's not a lot of slickrock, root jumps, or sand. The most difficult parts are steep fields of loose, fist-sized rocks.
The race has a cutoff of 8 hours. "Wait," says the logical part of you, "That's only averaging..."
*whips out calculator*
*realizes calculators don't exist anymore*
*realizes what was actually whipped out*
*feels shame*
*feels pride*
*opens app*
"...6.25 miles per hour! I ride that fast!". Turns out, it's a pretty calculated cutoff. With the 8000 feet of climbing (and hiking), you gotta work to make 6mph. Ok, enough of that, let's get to this.
Play-by-Play
The Start
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| Oof |
Ok, you've all probably heard about the start. Cue the first sign that the course is here to abuse you. You start at the bottom of a 45 degree sledding hill, covered with grass and large loose rocks, standing beside your ride, awaiting the start gun. It goes, and it's chaos to the top of hill. Luckily in my wave, people were all pretty chill, but fast-hiking to the top of this hill with a mountain bike gets you anaerobic immediately. The first wave was crazy to watch, because of course they offer a special prize to the first person to the top of the hill. I can't imagine sprinting up that with a bike, and still getting on your bike and riding. From here, on to dusty double-track (/wide single track). It took a minute to get really moving, and then I was inhaling dirt and trying to keep from hitting those around me. But this was short lived, a quick drop to the road, and begin the first climb.
The First Summit
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| Smooth enough to take out my phone and take a picture while riding |
No breaks the first 10 miles. It's mostly not steep (averages 5%, but the last 2 miles are over 8%), and part of me thinks if I didn't have the crowd around me I would have stood a chance at riding the whole thing. But, it was hike-a-palooza for the last quarter mile at least. The first part winds through forested road, a few technical spots but mostly hard-packed and smooth. Once you bust out in to the open, the grade picks up, and I encountered a couple water crossings and a couple short sections that caused me to jump off and hike to the next "flat". I have to say, the 2nd half of this climb was probably the most beautiful part of the ride. It's about 10 miles of wide trail/jeep trail until you take the sharp left on to the full on dirt road that is Route 2.
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| Courtesy of the official photographers. They actually got some good ones |
You will cruise down Route 2, but do be cautious of potential rutted out sections. I am *not* a great descender, and people were flying by me down here, and I actually used my breaks a couple times. It's about the nicest road you'll find on the ride, but I still don't want to lose my tire in some loose crap and endo myself out of the ride this early. Hit the pavement (woooo) and enjoy the smooth ride to aid station #1, Printer Boy. My Dad met me just before the actual aid station, swapped my bottle and gave me a clif bar. I pocketed it, and pressed on, skipping the actual aid station. I was 1:43 to Printer Boy, but felt good so I continued on.
After the aid, you drop onto a short descent through the trees, with some huge ruts (like, my pedals would've been hitting the wall if I dropped in) and probably the loosest dirt on the course. Also, the first place I saw (well, heard) someone crash. The shout of "GOD DAMN IT" from around the corner encouraged me to slow it down a little bit. By the time I got there he was back up and just starting to go, so no harm.
The Second Summit and the Turnaround
On to the 2nd time hitting 12000 feet! Altogether it's about 5 miles until you hit the top, but this one isn't quite as insistent as the first. There are a couple short descents mixed in, including one of the most technical, though quite short. After you get through a majority of the climb (pretty standard), you hit a turn where the people on the return trip split off. This is actually the first place I encountered someone coming back. I'm pretty sure I yelled some words of encouragement, and thought to myself holy sh*t that's a long way away. The quick descent here actually has some drops and roots to deal with, and then... duathlon time! I don't actually know how long the final climb to the top is, but it's mostly a hike. And you can see the summit up there the whole time... come to me, summit!
Once the summit actually DOES come to you... prepare for the hardest section of downhill on the course. I heard they used to have 2-way traffic on it, but luckily the re-designed and the people coming back to this summit do so from a different path. Which is great, because this was sketchy enough having it all to myself. By this point, traffic had mostly thinned enough that I could navigate it myself. Right at the start though, the guy ahead of me was trying to cowboy his way down with a foot off, and ended up flipping over his bars. This was the one place I actually stopped myself on a downhill. I let him sort himself out, walked my bike over a drop, said a little prayer, and let it fly. The first couple hundred feet are very steep, and (as I said) have a couple little drops. After that, it's in to the rocks. Fields of rocks, with no real good line. My only approach was let go of the brakes and let the bike do the work (which apparently worked!)
Finally, desperate for a break from this descent, I hit Stump Town at about 3:19 in to my day. Oh wait, no, they can't let you do that. Right when you think you're there, here's a tiny but very steep section I was wholly unprepared for, and another f*king hike opportunity to get off my bike and walk for a minute.
Side note time: The volunteers at the aid station were amazing!! Thank you! A kid came up and grabbed my bike, held it while I got food (pointed out the good stuff, of course) and hit the restroom, joked with me while I complained about having to ride it all over again...
Third Summit and Back to Printer Boy
I was surprised how good I felt getting back on and beginning the climb back to the pass. The short break at the turnaround really helped. I found myself passing people up the wide road out of Stump Town. Of course, after a couple miles of that pleasant road, it was back on the rutty Jeep road, and back on my feet. After a short hike, we hit the one singletrack section on the whole race. And boy, was it sketchy. (Note: this is largely because I'm a singletrack wuss). It went around the peak, across a sharp slope. I couldn't help but notice how far I'd tumble if I went off the thin trail. Short enough though, I survived. After coming around, you hit the same summit and meet the people coming up. There were still a few trudging along as I started down the slope, but it was pretty thin by that time. Then - guess what?? - MOAR HIKING. This little hike led to the one place I actually let myself stop and enjoy the surroundings long enough to take a picture. You could see forever!
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| From the top of somewhere |
From here, a quick descent, navigating some more giant ruts. And then a grind back to Printer Boy. By this point in the day, it had become all mind over matter. I was able to keep the legs going around, knowing I was on the final stretch. This was all navigable, and there was no hiking! I made it back to the aid station at 5:03, and was finally feeling optimistic about my finish. I met my Dad again here (and skipped the station again). He told me my time, and I thought to myself maybe I can make it under 6:20 (this being the arbitrary time he predicted)!
Final Climb, Final Descent
However, I did not give proper credit to how much going back up Route 2 was going to suck. I forgot how fast I came down it. And those 3 miles felt like they were never going to end. Also at this time, the clouds were starting to roll in, and I REALLY wanted to get down off the max elevation of the day before that happened. Focusing on keeping the legs turning over, and ticking off every tenth of mile, I made my way through it without stopping. Shout out time again: The volunteer at this summit was amazing, shouting words of encouragement to everyone. He made my day.
I recommend a brief stop here to gather yourself. I took one, because I needed to gather myself before tackling the first mile of the descent. If there was any time I thought I was lucky for staying rubber-side down, it was here. Steep grade, water covering smooth rock, and drops! But I rode it all, and felt like a boss.
After getting though that first section, it was loopy and fun (and more fields of loose rocks, but those had become old hat... or my entire body was numb, I'm not sure which). I got covered in mud going back through the water crossings, and it was absolutely a blast. The worst part was actually the end, where it flattens out. I really just wanted to coast to the finish line, but pedaling the last mile or 2 wasn't so bad. I came back out on the pavement, cyclometer hit 49 miles, and I could HEAR the announcer at the finish line. VICTORY IS MINE
JKLOL FU
Seriously the worst part of the race was being able to hear that finish line, and then coming across the volunteer pointing me back up the hill. I am quite sure I said something to her to the affect of "you've got to be kidding me". She was not. You have to climb some single track before you finish! FLUGELHORN, FLUGELHORN! The climb wasn't really bad, and it was under a mile, but mentally it was a destroyer. I was there! Anyways, up some track, through some trees, sarcasm for another nice volunteer. And then I biked across the top of the hill that I had hiked up to with a couple hundred people 6 and half hours earlier, and I could SEE the finish line. Around the hill, down the slope, and VICTORY!
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| Tongue out, for the people. I got a little air off the timing strip too |
Conclusion
6:37:34 chip time, in to the Orange corral for the 100, and I actually felt pretty good the next day. As much as the Silver Rush dominated me for most of July 7th, I came through none the worse for wear, and couldn't be happier with my performance. Oh, and about 15 minutes after I finished, the sky freaking opened up, and hailed for a solid 20+ minutes. Booyah. All in all,
