Kevin's Thoughts on Life

Leadviile 100 Part II: The Quest for the Buckle & Cheesey Sweatshirt

2008-08-10T12:31:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in the vast world on August 9, 2008, at 6:20 p.m., a baby was being born to gleeful parents, a bride was saying, "I do!" while gazing lovingly into her new husband's eyes, and in Leadville, Colorado, I was riding up the red carpet, finishing the Leadville Trail 100 in under 12 hours. With all apologies to the new mother and bride, at that moment, I was THE happiest person on the planet. Bar none. The monkey was off my back, the buckle was earned, and the cheesy sweatshirt with my name and time imprinted on the sleeve was now mine. It took 364 days of preparation, but the ghost of Leadville 2007 past was officially banished.

Now, for those of you who read last year's entry about my experience in the 2007 Leadville Trail 100 Mountain Bike Race, you know how devastated I was to miss the 12 hour cut-off and lose a finisher's silver buckle and sweatshirt with your name and time imprinted on it. For the 364 days leading up to the 2008 race, I had Leadville on the brain, scheming, strategizing, and planning how to avoid last year's fiasco and cross the finish line in time.

The first step towards this year's Leadville 100 preparations was getting out of bed last year on August 12, 2007, the day after the race. Sore, both mentally and physically, and disappointed with my result, I yearned for redemption. My 2007 teammates, Brent Goldstein (11:15 last year, 10:35 this year with about :35 minutes of flat tire issues) and Gary Morris (10:56 last year and 9:45 this year - Get up, G-MO!) graciously feigned apathy towards last year's awards ceremony so as not to rub my disappointing finish in my face. I will not soon forget that selfless act. Beginning in September 2007, Brent, our fearless leader, First Descents champion, and organizing guru, engaged Carmichael Training Systems (CTS) to coach us towards better fitness and results in the 2008 race. My coach, Adam Pulford, was a very knowledgeable and energetic ally in my quest for the buckle. Adam set out a training regimen that would make me a 10:30 finisher...if only I had adhered to the plan. But that's another story.

Skip ahead to February 2008 and the release of the Preliminary Entrant's List for the 2008 Leadville Trail 100 Mountain Bike Race. Brent noted an unknown Bethesda, Maryland resident who had made the cut. With little to go on besides the "Bethesda, Maryland" clue from the entrant's list, I cold called a couple of men named "Dave Gonzales," sheepishly asking if they were the same person that had the brain fart in January that caused them to sign-up for the 2008 Leadville 100. That's how we came to meet Dave "Gonzo" Gonzales, our new brother in the craziness that is the Leadville Experience.

Dave was an executive at EMC in Rockville. He is a very strong rider on both the road and mountain trails. He was also the most senior member of our crew, tipping the age scale at 47. I should ask to see his driver's license because he climbs and looks like he's thirty-something. Dave's wife Robin probably deserves credit for both. Dave seamlessly adapted to our strange training practice of riding nights in Frederick, Maryland. We were very fortunate to have met Dave and we were all very psyched to have new blood in the group.

Also new to this year's race were fellow Luxmoron, Dave Flyer, and his business partner at BOWA Builders, Larry Weinberg. Both Dave and Larry are veterans of Ironman Triathlons and other ultra-endurance events. They were VERY strong additions to the group and great training partners. As an added bonus, their families were all known to us and they would make for a bigger, better party once we arrived in Colorado.

Finally, also new to the team was Neil (Nile, Schnizzle, Gazoo) Markus. Neil is a veteran of several marathons, the Escape from Alcatraz Triathlon, and other triathlons. Unlike me, he actually likes to train. Neil and his wife, Jolie, ("LRPH" to those who know her well, a topic which we'll talk about later in private) are a blast to hang with. They too were great assets to the revised Maryland Leadville Crew.

Having recruited several great additions to team First Descents 2008, all that was left to do was train and raise money for our worthy cause. On the training side, our CTS coaches set out a menu of punishing intervals, sustained high tempo efforts, and climbing drills to prepare our legs and lungs for the race. Our training schedule required us to ride five days a week, starting in November 2007. Now "required" is a very relative word. Brent reads "required" and follows the regiment to the letter. Kevin reads "required" and thinks of the meaning behind it, discounts it appropriately, and trains when the feelings of guilt and fear creep into his head. Therein lies the difference between a 10:35 finish and an 11:50 finish, but I digress...

Training was routine through the Winter - i.e. I didn't do much - but came into focus starting in March. I starting shedding my Winter paunch by jumping on my trainer in the basement and riding for around an hour a day, pushing through the sequence of drills set out by my CTS coach. It is amazing how quickly your body responds to training. After two weeks of intervals, you notice the difference in energy and endurance. Just get on the damn bike and ride! Easier said than done for me.

Through the Spring, we did several Frederick night missions, long weekend rides, and the occasional weekday trip to Adamstown or the Shennandoah for long, punishing hill rides. The group was focused and had geled very well. Suffering with friends makes for better suffering. In June, however, I felt a sharp pain in my right knee at the end of an epic 75 mile hillfest in northern Maryland. The pain was very intense and specific to one area in my knee. It was something that I had never felt before. I struggled to get back to my car, pedaling with one leg while keeping the painful knee unbent, dangling to the side. Uh oh.

When I arrived back home, I hobbled inside and was greeted by Jill who instantly diagnosed the problem: IT Band Syndrome. Jill, unfortunately, was an expert on this topic. ITBS scuttled her efforts at competing in the Marine Corp Marathon in 2007. I witnessed her frustration trying to cope with and remedy this ailment. Her efforts were for naught last year. I couldn't believe that I was about to meet the same fate. I read all that I could find on the Net about ITBS. Two central themes emerged from the literature on the subject: in order to heal, you need to stretch and you need to rest. I was an expert on the latter and would work on the former. ITBS was about to become my bitch!

For the next three and a half weeks, I battled ITBS with all my might, meaning I rested like no one had ever rested. I put myself through intense sofa therapy, plopping down on the cushions and not getting up for hours. It was exhausting but I pushed through it. I battled Woody for space on the sofa, explaining to him (as best as an owner can explain to a dog) that I needed the space on the sofa to rest. In typical fashion, Woody would look at me, lick his pecker and put his head down. Apathy at its best. Man's best friend. That's my boy! I did not so much as look at my bike for most of June.

At the end of June, my therapy mostly complete, I ventured out on my bike one day for a short ride - 45 minutes - to test my knee. No pain. I rode a little farther. No pain. I rode even farther. Again no pain. I pushed it up some hills. No pain. I did a set of power intervals - 1 min max effort followed by 1 min of rest, repeated 10 times - again, no pain. I was back.

For the next three weeks, I rode as often as possible, trying desperately to make up for a month of lost training. My CTS coach revised my training regimen to restore my fitness in short order. That meant a ton of power intervals and long steady state efforts to get my legs back. I had to get ready for the Silver Rush 50 mile mountain bike race in Leadville on July 19, 2008. The Silver Rush would be my bell weather on many fronts: it would gauge my fitness and be a very hard, final test to determine if my knee would hold up to the rigors of Leadville.

The Silver Rush begins on the outskirts of the town of Leadville. The race starts with a 100 yard sprint up what is probably the favorite sledding hill in Leadville. It's an instant affront to all riders. At the top, everyone bottlenecks into the woods and makes their way over level terrain for about a mile and a half. The trail then turns left and the first 10 mile ascent begins. The first eight miles of the ascent are relatively mellow. You trudge over rocks and ruts in what is left of a jeep trail. At mile eight, the spot where I decided to release some Kane water into a bush, it gets steep and significantly more rocky. This was the spot that I first walked my bike and began silently singing my new favorite song, "Me -no - like-ey - hike- ey bike-ey." It was like an old railroad workers song, allowing me to step to the beat of the chant and think about something other than the slog up a steep rocky hill. Oy vay, what did I get myself into...again.

At the top of the ten mile climb, you make a sharp left hand turn and shoot 3.5 miles down a fire road to the first aid station at mile 13.5. The descent was blissful and very fast. I entered the first aid station and a gracious and very helpful volunteer filled my Camelback and off I went. The rest of the race is a blur with the exception of the final ten miles. That descent will go down in history as one of my favorite bombing missions ever. It was incredibly fast, bouncy, rutted and a blast. The other part that I will never forget is crossing the finish line in under 8 hours - the Silver Rush cut-off time - and being awarded a silver bracelet and a medal. I had finished a Leadville race on time. I felt great. More importantly, my knee never bothered me. Next stop, 6th and Harrision for the start of the Leadville 100.

Riding the Silver Rush was either dumbest thing to do or the smartest. I got lucky and it ended up being the latter. The mental boost that I received from finishing Silver Rush on time and without pain was immeasurable. I knew at the starting line of the Leadville 100 that I was underprepared physically, but my mental game was strong. If my legs and lungs would follow my brain and heart, it would be a great day.

On the day before The Race, we headed to Leadville for the obligatory pre-race meeting and medical check-up. The check-up was routine and we found good seats towards the front of the old gymnasium so that we could get a good look at the stars of the show, Dave Wiens and Lance Armstrong. Chants of, "Go Dave!" and "Go Lance!" echoed through the building as Ken Chlouber took the microphone and began his instructional speech which alternates between scaring the hell out of you and making you feel invincible. One part of Ken's speech that resonated with me was his statement that, "within each and everyone of us is a inexhaustible well of strength, grit, courage and determination." He warned, however, that, "you must have the courage to DIG DEEP to find it within you." I was never one for inspirational speeches, except for those given by Coach Jim Hanker when I was at Landon ("OVER THE WALL, LANDON! OVER THE WALL!), but, much to my surprise, I would hear Ken's words during the race and they would serve me well.

For this year's race, I lined up at the start in the 10-11 hours finisher's area. My goal heading into 2008 was a 10:30 finish, but I knew this goal was virtually unattainable due to my training issues. The reasons for plopping down where I did was to try and avoid the huge log jam that inevitably develops on the day's first climb at St. Kevin's. With Fly by my side, we mounted up and listened to the count down to the start. The shotgun fired and we were off.

If you have ever been to a professional sporting event where the house was packed and the fans were boisterous, you can appreciate what it is like to ride out of Leadville down 6th Street. The difference, of course, is that you are the target of the applause, cheers, and cow bells. It is a feeling like none other. It is an instant boost to your confidence and gives you a warm fuzzy for the cool, downhill 3.5 mile ride out of town. Flyer and I rode the first 3.5 miles side-by-side until we crossed the train tracks, left the pavement behind, and began the assault on the real course heading towards the bottom of St. Kevins. We rode the next three or so miles over the relatively flat, sandy trail to St. Kevins. The trail had several large puddles from rains the day before. This meant that the horde was weaving back and forth on the trail, making for a precarious ride with several hundred of your closest friends.

While weaving in and around puddles, strange, random thoughts entered my brain. I was thinking, in no particular order, "Cycles cycle," Ovie, and "flat leaver": my 2008 Leadville mantra, my daughter, and a ridiculous race day non-sequitor, respectively. If you have read this far, you deserve an explanation.

First, "cycles cycle" refers to the phenomenon that good follows bad and vice versa. In other words, when riding Leadville, count on the fact that when you feel invincible, you will soon be humbled by feelings of fatigue, despair, and even boredom. The converse, of course, is that when you feel your worst, you can bank on the fact that a spurt of energy, a happy thought or even a ray of Colorado sunshine will grace your body in due time, making the hike up Columbine, St. Kevin's or Sugarloaf, etc., a palatable, rather than repugnant, experience. Thank you, Dave Flyer, for imparting these words of wisdom upon me the day before this year's race.

Olivia ("Ovie"), my eldest daughter, was an incredible crew member during last year's trying race. She and Jill were a great inspiration to me, knowing that as poorly as I felt during last year's race, I had two loving faces to greet me at Twin Lakes. Ovie could not attend this year's race because she was away at camp. Olivia possesses incredible fortitude but even she could not avoid the homesickness that inevitably torments first time campers. At visiting day three weeks before the race, I promised Ovie that if she finished camp, I would finish Leadville...on time. I was not about to disappoint my kid. Leadville is difficult but what she was doing - staying away from her family for 7 1/2 weeks for the first time - was most likely terrifying. Burning lungs and legs paled in comparison to the potential pain of disappointing my daughter. Besides, cycles cycle and I wanted that buckle and sweatshirt!

Finally, "flat leaver." I honestly had no clue, none, what that term meant or how it crept into my head on August 9, 2008. I do know, however, that I was silently repeating it over and over in my head as I churned up St. Kevin's, Sugarloaf, and Columbine. I checked out the definition in "Urban Dictionary" Sunday morning - August 10, 2008 - and learned that it means to leave one set of friends - upgrading - for another. Hmmm, perhaps I was being a flat leaver, upgrading from a 12-13 hour finisher into the elite fraternity of men and women who earn the silver buckle by finishing sub-12. I'll take the moniker but I sill cannot explain how on Earth that phrase popped into my head. Must have been hypoxia. Back to the race...

At the bottom of St. Kevins, you take a sharp left turn off the flat path and head up a skinny, double track trail, no more than eight feet wide. Two people can ride side-by-side but that's it. Last year, I was able to ride through this part of St. Kevins without delay. This year, the traffic jam began the instant I turned off of the flats. Churning along in granny gear - the upshot of the traffic, not the grade of the trail or fatigue - I made my way to the start of the steep part of St. Kevins and the ruts and rocks that you must navigate at this point. The traffic was a mess and the pace was really slow. So slow, in fact, that not only was I not tired, I was annoyed that so many slower people had started up front in projected finishing times well beyond their capabilities. I made the slow climb up St. Kevins fueled by my nervous energy and the aforementioned ill humor that, ala Brent, I turned into a positive by using it as a means of motivation to pass people. I got off my bike once when someone stepped off their bike immediately in front of me but, other than that episode, I pedaled steadily up St. Kevins until the sharp left turn at the top, signaling the end of the first very difficult climb. My legs felt great, the temperature was rising, and my butt didn't hurt: all positive harbingers.

As I climbed St. Kevins, I reviewed my primary, yet very simple, race strategy: keep moving forward. No matter what, keep moving! So even when my legs were burning during a climb, I kept churning. Every pedal stroke counted and every turn of the cranks was getting me closer to the finish line. The climb of St. Kevins went smoothly. The training ride I had taken a few days earlier made the trail familiar once again and I was making good time. I cruised through Carter Aid Station and out on the asphalt headed down to the bottom of Sugarloaf. The speed you carry down the back side of St. Kevins is a just reward for the hike up the dirt on the other side. You get a 3.3 mile blast of speed, cool mountain air, and an awesome view of the lake if you are cavalier enough to take your eyes off the road. I tried to carry as much speed as possible through the flat bottom of St. Kevins as it transitions to Sugarloaf and the 1.1 mile asphalt climb. My legs felt very good and I got into a good rhythm for the climb up the asphalt. Outta my way you flat lever, I'm riding for Ovie because cycles cyle, damnit!

Once I completed the short climb up the asphalt, I turned 180 degrees onto the lower, flat portion of Sugarloaf known as Haggerman Pass. The surface is loamy and covered with small pebbles. Although you are ascending, the grade seems so insignificant that you hardly notice it. This is a great place to hammer the pedals and make-up time, especially time lost at the bottom of St. Kevins. Fearful of my fitness, I plodded along conservatively, trying to stay in 2-4 or higher to keep good speed. Plus, I knew that the relatively flat portion of Haggerman Pass would soon end at the left hand turn onto the upper portion of Sugarloaf, a rocky, rutted, and steep ascent for about 3 miles. While climbing the upper section of Sugarloaf, I noticed my elapsed time and determined that I was somewhat behind my target. I wanted to cross the Pipeline checkpoint at no later than 2:20 in, but I was still about 6 miles away and my Garmin showed my riding time as 1:55. I needed to move it! I made my way up Sugarloaf and traversed the ridge over to the top of Powerline, ready for the first real fun of the day. Fortunately, Powerline did not disappoint.

Although traffic on Powerline was heavier than what I had experienced last year, the riders were mostly very responsible and pulled to the side to allow idiots like me to scream past. The best part were the REAL idiots that then screamed past me. I aspire for that level of stupidity! Powerline was its typical gnarly self, replete with big rocks, dips, ruts, roots, and several other plagues. Nonetheless, it was a blast to descend and put your handling skills and gumption to the test. Once again, I passed and cruised down the final lower section to the creek crossing. There, Darwin appeared and smote the foolish rider in front of me who dared to ride across the thin wooden plank to the left of the creek bed. The rider in the matching green and white kit went down with a thud and a splash. I thought for a second about helping but then thought again about the 12 hour cut-off and kept riding. His stupidity should not equal another fail for me. So, off went this cutthroat rider from Bethesda, Maryland in search of Leadvile glory.

Having successfully crossed the creek at the bottom of Powerline, I ascended the short hill to the paved road that takes you past the Fish Hatchery and towards Pipeline. Unlike last year, I was not near other riders so I could not get into a paceline to help minimize the impact of the wind. I made my way along the road and onto the dirt and gravel that precedes the Pipeline check point. I was still feeling well but my time at Pipeline - 2:41 elapsed - was a cause for concern. You see, I made it to Pipeline in 2:30 the year before, the year that I missed the 12 hour cut-off by 20 minutes. The first set of doubts entered my mind as I sped through Pipeline. Fortunately, the doubts quickly gave way to thoughts of "not again" and "keep moving forward." The mental game was there!

Besides my mental fitness, I had a very good nutritional plan for this year's race. Following Brent's suggestion, I started using Powerbar Endurance powder as my liquid fuel, supplemented by banana Hammer Gel. At the start of the race, I set my Garmin to buzz every 20 minutes to remind me to sip the Powerbar liquid out of my Camelback and take a shot of Hammer Gel from one of the two gel flasks that I had with me. Far from the horrific experience that I had with Sustained Energy the year before, I loved the Powerbar Endurance mix and enjoyed both its taste and hydrating powers. In addition, the Hammer Gel acted as a "turbo boost" a few minutes after I ingested it. Based upon my training experience with these two products, I was certain that nutrition would not fail me this year like it did last year. As I cruised through Pipeline, I felt great, had no cramping issues, and was ready to move on. I sped through the checkpoint without stopping, mashing the pedals to get me to Twin Lakes and Jill as fast as possible. The spectators and crew members lining the course after the Pipeline checkpoint had words of encouragement for every rider. You have to love the spirit of Leadville!

The relatively flat Pipeline section went by without incident. The only hairy portion was the Cobra (AT&T Hill, OMG Hill etc...) which had been tilled, leaving a very soft top layer of dirt that made for some precarious handling. In addition, they put what acted like speed bumps in two or three places on the steep portion of the hill, causing me to pucker up a few times when an endo seemed inevitable. After crossing the last of the speed bumps, I took a sharp left at the bottom of the off camber hill and went off into a ditch. I was psyched to have made it down with minimal problems and the fact that no one was at the bottom with a broken femur (unlike last year) was also a positive sign. I hit the dirt road and started the relatively short ascent to the neighborhood leading down to the Twin Lakes dam and Jill.

Riding down into the Twin Lakes dam was a thrill last year and felt even better this year. Once again, a police officer stopped traffic for us riders, signaling the importance of the Leadville 100 participants, or so it seemed. I crossed the road and dipped down the tiny embankment and into the Team First Descents aid station, enthusiastically manned by Jill Kane, Lisa Goldstein, Jolie Markus, Robin Gonzales, Laurel McHargue, Sharone Morris, Laurie Flyer, Kim Weinberg, Rikki Postal and assorted offspring. We had marked this spot the day before and had a tent and a car parked there to reserve our place. It turned out to be a great choice. Jill had my second Camelback bladder with its mix of Powerbar Endurance liquid and Enduralyte powder ready to go. I quickly switched out the bladders, filled my water bottle with plain water (f-u water bottle demon of 2007!), took a shot of Hammer Gel, smootched the Runt and took off for the summit of Columbine. I left our well (wo)manned aid station and headed down the 1/2 mile flat road towards the actual Twin Lakes Dam, passing the checkpoint at 3:34. Like last year, the cheers and support from other crews and random onlookers was quite simply awesome. It's a feeling everyone should experience. I powered through the dam, passed the checkpoint and started the ascent up the hill towards the ranch that we cross before heading up Columbine.

I remembered the small hill after Twin Lakes quite vividly from last year. When I hit this hill in 2007, I was fatigued, hot, and realized that I had no plain water. The feeling of dismay at that time was a crushing blow to my ascent of Columbine. But not this year. This year I felt great and knew what to expect. I knew that the hill was short and I was stocked with water, PowerBar liquid and Hammer Gels. I was ready for the assault on Columbine. I made my way up the small hill and crossed the ranch at a good clip. Pretty soon, I was turning off of the ranch and onto the second crew area for Twin Lakes at the bottom of Columbine. Once again, the support crews were enthusiastic in their support of every rider that passed. "Looking good 613!" someone shouted. Thanks. Keep it coming. I loved it.

Past the second crew area, I made the left hand turn onto the very bottom of the road up Columbine. The first 1/2 mile is flat and quick, a deceptive start to an otherwise brutal climb. Soon enough, the pitch grew steeper and the grind began. I dropped into 1-3 and tried to maintain a constant pace up this first steep section. I was surprised at how long this initial steep section was. I had not ridden Columbine since the race last year and forgot that this section was the first good test of legs on Columbine. Fortunately, the road was in great shape with little to no ruts or rocks to deal with. It was simply a matter of churning and churning, watching the ground pass as you grind to the top. I recalled how poorly I felt at this same juncture last year and took great pride in knowing that I was properly hydrated, fueled, and mentally ready for Columbine this year. My legs burned but I never once thought of letting up or stopping. "Keep moving forward" I muttered to myself. Every second counts. After this initial steep segment, I hit a few switchbacks, two to be exact, when all of a sudden I heard warnings ahead of, "Riders up!!" You've got to be shitting me? And then a few seconds later, Lance Armstrong and Dave Weins flew past me, racing down Columbine inches apart. I was at once awed by their presence and totally bummed that they were down so quickly. The previous year, I made it through six switchbacks before Dave and Floyd Landis screamed passed me. Good for them I thought. Back to climbing.

In 2007, I stopped several times on the lower portion of Columbine, collecting my wits, whining about how poorly I felt, and generally screwing my chances of finishing on time. This year, I did not stop once. The summit was my target and I wasn't stopping until I reached it. I finally reached the last two miles of the Columbine ascent where the trail turns into a rocky, rutted jeep trail. I jumped off my bike and speed walked up the first part of this upper section of Columbine, whispering a fast version of "Me-No-Li-Key, Hik-Ey Bi-Key." Once past this section, I was able to ride the next 300 yards or so until I arrived at the split in the trail where the riders go to the right and the trial to the left goes to the mine entrance. I looked in disdain at the patch of rocks to my right where I had thrown down my bike the year before and had all but given up. I walked right past the brush and rocks and continued moving forward. I was getting closer. I even dared to look up at the trail much higher up to see the lucky riders who had already climbed this portion and were moments from the turn around. When I saw them the year before, I was utterly floored by the task in front of me and could not believe that I still had that far to go to the top. When I looked up this year, I did so as a test. I looked at the riders up ahead and thought, "I'll be there soon. Just keep moving forward." Far from distraught, I was empowered. I felt great physically and had passed a pop mental quiz. The next twenty to thirty minutes on the way to the top passed without much fanfare. I kept a watchful eye on my Garmin and noted that I was still behind my targeted pace. When I rolled into the Columbine summit checkpoint, I was right at 6:10 hrs elapsed. Time to move it. One of the excellent volunteers grabbed my water bottle and filled it for the descent. I was in the aid station for all of thirty (30) seconds, imploring Flyer to get the lead out and join me for the best descent he would ever enjoy. I rode out of the aid station and climbed the annoying road up to the top of the beginning of the descent of Columbine. I gave all the encouragement that I could to the riders still climbing. They needed it and I had been there last year. Time to give back a little. I flew down the upper portion of Columbine and hit the road for the final 6 mile descent. I crushed the pedals on the straightaways and jammed on the brakes in the corners. I tried to pass as many people as possible, knowing that they had tooled me on the climb and it was only fair that I reciprocate on the descent. Yes, I know, their job was tougher but I didn't allow that reality to cloud my hero-descent. Plus, I was having fun and making up time.

At the bottom of Columbine, I looked at my Garmin and determined that a 11 hr finish was fantasy and that I had better maintain a good pace lest I suffer another failure like 2007. I hit the bottom with 6:52 elapsed, meaning I had 5:08 to ride the final 40 miles. Coming through Twin Lakes Dam was rejuvenating once again. All of you volunteers are incredible. Thank you so so much! I crossed the dam and eventually made it to the First Descents' aid station, apprised Jill of my status (good!), did another Camelback bladder exchange, got a smootch, and off I went.

As I pulled out of Twin Lakes inbound, I started what would be an exhausting exercise in mental gymnastics for the next five hours. I was continually checking my elapsed time, the mileage left to the red carpet, and then calculating the speed that I had to maintain over those miles in order to buckle. I knew that Pipeline inbound would take me no less than 1:20; that Powerline could eat up another 1:30; that the backside of St. Kevin's would take :30, and the sprint back from Carter Aid Station to 6th & Harrison would probably take me 1:00. These figures, of course, did not include the time it takes to get from Pipeline to the bottom of Powerline or to descend Sugarloaf or to cross Haggerman Pass. I'm not a worrier by nature, but I was beginning to worry. Adding to my tulmult was my erroneous belief that the course was actually 104+ miles, not "just" 102.7. Believe it or not, that extra mile and a half would make a difference.

I climbed the pavement hill out of Twin Lakes feeling well physically but my gut was churning thinking about time/speed/distance. I pushed hard when and where I could while plodding through Pipeline Inbound but was still pretty slow (though faster than 2007). The Cobra and it's smaller twin - let's call it the Lil Kick-In-The-Balls - sapped more energy from my legs on Pipeline but I was able to recover and continue forward. This was a good cycle. I was still on a high from making it to the top of Columbine without any drama. Before I knew it, I was passing through Pipeline Aid Station and the horde of crew and volunteers there. I did not stop as I was still okay with Hammer gel and fluids. In fact, I was planning to drain at least half of my Camelback before I hit Powerline to feel less weight on my back during that ascent. The road from Pipeline to Powerline was windy and not of the tailwind variety. Also, since I was a slower rider, there were no others around me to latch onto and paceline. So I put my head down and churned the pedals. The sky started to grow grey and gloomy on this 2.5 mile trek. Just past the Fish Hatchery, the rain started in large, Leadville drops. I scurried over to the tree line and grabbed my trusty blue Gore riding jacket from my Camelback and slipped it on. The rain was cool (temperature, not hip) but a welcome change at the time. After I slipped into my jacket, I hopped back on my bike and made a charge for Powerline and the crackling high tension wires overhead.

The bottom part of Powerline in-bound is a nice little climb that gets the legs ready for the all out assault that is to come. You can see the first long steep section while riding the bottom which has the affect of making you ride slower both to conserve energy and to avoid arriving at the steep section with any haste. I powered up and around the half circle climb to the first steep where I was met by two guys offering Coke, Sprite or beer. Against my better judgment, I eschewed the beer for a Coke, thinking that, for this climb, a jolt of sugar and caffeine would serve me better than a little buzz. Damn logic! I really wanted a beer! I slammed the Coke and began the trudge up the first steep. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward. Then some old French dude in a track suit started running up the hill behind me, barking orders at me and other riders, imploring us to keep going, to push ourselves, never surrender! From a French dude? Really? I finally made it up the first of the three evil false peaks, descended down to the bottom of the next dastardly section of Powerline and began a climb anew. I was shocked that I had residual power in my legs to power over rocks and through ruts that I was certain were going to cause me to hop off the bike and hike. Not this year. I eventually made it up and over Powerline. The weather had broken and the sun was out once again. I was still VERY nervous about my chances of breaking 12 hours. I had calculated that I must maintain a 10.5 mph average over the final 20 miles to finish on time. I had the backside of St. Kevin's to climb and the Boulevard to navigate, neither of which I could do at anything approaching 10.5 mph.

I cruised down the backside of Sugarloaf without incident and made the turn onto Haggerman. Inbound, you truly appreciate the slight decline on Haggerman. I flew through this protion of the course, took the hard left onto the pavement and shot down the 1.1 mile road to the bottom of the St. Kevin's pavement climb. Once there, I settled into 2-2 and just tried to turn the pedals as quickly and efficiently as possible. The climb seems like it takes forever but it "only" took about 30 minutes. Once I saw the Carter Aid Station and noted that I had 1:07 to get to the red carpet, I felt a surge of energy. This is MY year! I grabbed a Coke or two at Carter and sped off down the trail. I was anticipating the two short, steep climbs on St. Kevins inbound and so I was prepared for them unlike last year. Once past the green gate and that last stinker of a climb, I knew I was home free, ready to bomb the rest of St. Kevins, hit the road at the bottom and trudge up the Boulevard.

When I hit the bottom of St. Kevins, I saw the familiar image of a First Descents rider's kit. I was immediately psyched, thinking it was Flyer. As I drew closer, the long blonde hair and hips made me question my initial guess. I caught up to the rider and realized it was Anna Hansen, a First Descents counselor/organizer/enthusiast extraordinaire. I tapped Anna on the Camelback and told her to get on my wheel and take it home. We reached the bottom of the Boulevard and made the left turn up to the short rocky section. There was a clearly defined path and it was very rideable. Once I crested that section, it was simply a matter of putting my head down and stamping out a cadence to get through the Boulevard to the pavement at 6th Street. The Boulevard ride lasted too long and I kept looking for the end that never seemed to appear. But fueled by doubts about my time, I just kept hammering, kept moving.

As I crested the final portion of the Boulevard, I noted the time on my Garmin: 11:44. I had 16 minutes to ride the final .6 miles. I'm home. Just then, I passed a volunteer who cemented it for me when he said, "Congratulations on buckling. Enjoy the ride to the finish." At that instant, butterflies swarmed throughout my stomach. I cracked a smile and prepared for the turn onto 6th street. Gone was the gloom and ill thoughts from last year, replaced by incredible feelings of accomplishment and pride. The first .2 miles of 6th street is on pavement but the grade is steep. No matter. I was riding on clouds. I knew that once I pushed through that .2 mile climb, I would be riding downhill into a sea of spectators. I crested the hill and began the descent into town towards the finish. I kept my eyes peeled for Jill, Meredith, and Dani. The first familiar face I saw was that of Mike Postal. I gave Mike a very enthusiastic thumbs-up and pedaled onward. Little did I know, Mike was on his cell phone, acting as the early warning system for Jill and the girls, and my dear friends Brent and Lisa who were worried that I would miss my buckle. I continued to scan the crowd for my girls all the while hearing whistles, clapping, cow bells, and shouts of congratulations. What a change from the dejected, hollow man that rode this same portion of the race last year. I didn't have goosebumps. I had moosebumps! Finally, about 75 yards from the finish, I spotted my family. I'm not sure who was more excited and relieved, me or Jill. I couldn't look her in the eye for fear of losing it. They ran next to me towards the finish. As I hit the red carpet, all I could think about was Al Michaels and his famous call of the final seconds of the 1980 Olympic hockey game between USA and Russia. "Five seconds to the [belt buckle]. Do you believe in miracles...YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" And with that, I crossed the finish line at 11:50, hoisted my bike above my head nearly decapitating poor Anna who finished two seconds behind me, and started the countdown to the start of next year's race.

Dooper

2008-06-27T13:47:00.000-07:00

The third kid often gets the shaft...unless you have a personality the size of Danielle Constance Kane a/k/a Dani a/k/a Dani Dooper a/k/a Dooper a/k/a Doops. Doops has been conspicuously absent from this Blog, due solely to her dad's laziness, not her lack of qualifying shenanigans.

Dani is a dancer, a fashionista, and an over all riot. And, as of yesterday, she is a two wheel bike rider! Dooper showed the Barbie bike who was boss yesterday, handling her pink and flowered "hog" like a seasoned veteran cyclist. Way to go, Doops!!!

Allan Goldberg

2008-06-22T10:22:00.000-07:00

As I texted Brent Goldstein this morning, "There aren't words." Brent's dear, childhood friend, and a man that I met and was privileged to call a friend, Allan Goldberg, lost his third and final battle with cancer. Allan was the executive director of First Descents, a very unique charitable organization which specializes in providing adventurous, soul healing excursions for young adults with cancer. The name "First Descent" derives from a kayaking term for the first trip (ever) down a rapid. Since most of the First Descent's camp patrons are first time kayakers, the name is very appropriate. The mission of First Descents is to take young adults with cancer on a week long excursion, away from it all - the cancer, the treatments, family, etc - and surround them in a cocoon of like-minded individuals to show them what they CAN accomplish. That cancer is not the end of the world. The programs run by First Descents are incredible and are very worthy of your investigation and donation.

As Brent's blog evinces, Allan was the reason - some would say "at fault" - for last year's team assault on the 2007 Leadville 100. Allan threw a challenge at Brent (never one to allow his foolish pride to dissuade him from doing something completely insane like Leadville) and Brent roped in me, Gary, Dean and Wobber for the race. It was an epic journey that I will never forget. Thank you Allan, at the very least, for being the impetus for the greatest challenge that I have ever faced.

I will remember Allan for his tireless efforts to help people and families affected by cancer to renew their sense of self, thereby affording them additional courage and purpose in their fights against cancer. I will remember the delight in Allan's face in Vail last year upon seeing the faces of Daryn, Arlyn and Bailey Goldstein and treating Brent's daughters as his own. Allan treated strangers as friends and friends like family. I am chagrined that I only met Allan last year but know that I am the better person for having Allan in my life for even such a short period of time. Rest peacefully, Allan.

Ovie Comes Up McHuge

2008-06-21T15:09:00.000-07:00

Olivia, my oldest daughter, has played competitive soccer since the age of 6 when she played "up" on a Bethesda U-8 team. Soccer is her passion and she knows her passion well.

Today was the day for McSoccerfest and, as the title of the tournament suggests, it is sponsored by McDonalds. The format is 4 vs. 4, on a 50 yd x 35 yd field, no goalies, and two 10 minutes halves. It was like playing outdoor futsal. Joining Olivia on her team for McSoccerfest were Julia ("Whoolia") Dowling, Emily Tompkins, Hazel Horvath, and Brittney Burwell. It was a strong team and we were all excited for the opportunity to take on some great competition.

Olivia's Bethesda Academy Green u-9 team was placed in a division with the Loudon White Tigers, DSC98s (Damascus), and SAC Premier Team A. Both Loudon and SAC (Soccer Club of Columbia, Maryland) were teams well known to us from various tournaments over the past two years. Both soccer clubs field very impressive players and are very well coached. SAC, in particular, has four different level teams at the U-9 level, ranked A-D in terms of soccer prowess. The four different teams are taken from the literally hundreds of girls that try-out for a spot on a SAC team. The "Premier" team in Olivia's division represented SAC's cream of the crop.

Olivia's first game was against DSC. They quickly dismantled an over matched opponent, beating them 7-0. All this was witnessed by the SAC players and parents sitting field side. Not to be outdone, SAC played the next game against Loudon and thoroughly thumped a very good team, 8-0. The gauntlet had been thrown.

After a snow cone and some time in the shade, Olivia's next game was against Loudon. As fierce as Team Green came out in the first game, they were a little sleepy against Loudon. The final score was 5-2. Again, SAC players watched and grinned as Team Green "struggled" to a win over a team easily defeated by the mighty SAC.

As expected, SAC next played DSC and mercifully kept the score under double digits. 9-0. The mighty SAC had once again spoken; however, Team Green was no where to be seen, choosing to hang out in a common area pavilion rather than watch SAC eviscerate DSC. Gotta love mind games with 9 year olds!

And so the stage was set for the marquee match-up: Team Green vs. SAC. I'll spare you the build-up WE WON 3-2. It was an awesome game. Two very well matched teams. Bethesda wanted it more and it showed. Onto the championship game against, who else, the mighty SAC. A team now hell bent on avenging their only loss.

The tone of the championship game was very different than the prior game. SAC was angry. They clearly felt that they had been beaten by an inferior opponent. Time to prove them wrong...again. The girls on both teams played their hearts out. Bethesda captured an early lead on a great goal in the first half. Then, towards the end of the half, SAC committed a foul that gave Bethesda a penalty kick. The PK's in this tournament were taken as follows: the ball was placed at the center field line, 25 yards from the goal. The goal, all 4' x 3' of it, stood wide-open, undefended. All players lined up on the center field line, waiting to chase the ball after it was kicked. For a 9 year old, it had to seem like those NHL contests where you shoot the puck from center ice at the goal with an opening only wide enough for a puck to fit into. Ovie was selected to take the kick and, much to every one's dismay, sent it wide of the goal. 1-0 Bethesda at half.

SAC came out on fire in the second half, quickly evening the score. Then they went ahead. Our girls were fighting hard but SAC took advantage of a few opportunities and converted. With three minutes to go, Coach Chris called for a substitution and removed Olivia from the game. To say I was mystified would be understatement. Why remove your best offensive weapon when you are behind with limited time left on the clock? Play went on for two more minutes until Bethesda was awarded a corner kick in the SAC zone. Again, substitution, and back comes Ovie. The ref turns to Chris and yells, "Only 1 minute left, coach." Olivia heard that too. I saw her expression change from a tired 9 year old to a kid on a mission. Something clicked in Olivia's brain. Not today. Not on my watch. Olivia took possession of the ball off of the corner kick, darted towards the middle of the filed, and slanted hard back to the goal line, shaking the first defender. She was now about 10 feet from the goal ahead on her right. Two SAC defenders raced towards Olivia, one directly in front of her, and one to her left. About 10 yards away was Emily Tompkins now wide open. I thought for sure Ovie would deal the ball to Emily for a wide open, albeit 15 yard shot at the goal. Instead, Ovie used the outside of her left foot to push the ball towards the middle of the field, shaking the defender immediately in front of her. Just as the defender from her left came within a foot of Olivia, she struck the ball with the outside of her right foot, sailing it into the open net. I was awe struck. It was amazing. The kids and parents were going crazy. We went from defeat to a tie in the blink of an eye on a highlight reel goal. Bethesda held off SAC for the final thirty seconds and we went to the tiebreaker. Ugg. Penalty kicks.

Each team was given 5 penalty kicks. Best of five wins the medal. Bethesda went first. Wide right. SAC went next, wide right. And so it went on until Bethesda's last shooter, Julia "Tooth Picks" Dowling stepped up and deftly sent her ball rolling, rolling, rolling deep into the back of the net!!! 1-0 Bethesda. SAC had the last shot. The SAC girl's toe-punt fell short and wide and the celebration was on. Bethesda Academy Green are the McSoccerfest U-9 Girls Champions!

L - R: Brittney Burwell, Hazel Horvath, Emily Tompkins, Ovie, and Julia "Toothpicks" Dowling

Short Memories Suck.

2008-02-14T13:29:00.000-08:00

When it started, I was excited. A quarter of the way through it, I was exhilerated. Halfway through it, and I was puking my guts out. Three fourths done and I was promising my body (mostly my taint and legs) that I would never allow the brain and its asshat wingman, the Ego, to talk any of us into the present madness again. 50 yards from being done, the brain - that wiley mass of grey noodles - moved in for checkmate, providing thrills and emotions that sealed the fate for this year. That's right. I got my Yippee! Card from Ken and Merilee, signaling my acceptance into the 2008 Leadville Trail MTB 100.

Also accepted (for torture) were last year's Team First Descent members Brent Goldstein, Gary Morris, Dean Gregory, and John "Wobber" Wontrobski. Joining us for the madness this year for their first Leadville 100 are DC locals Dave Flyer, Neil Markus, and Larry Weinberg.

If the definition of insanity is performing the same task over and over again expecting a different result, get some pajamas and a straightjacket warmed up for me. In the interim, you'll find me in Frederick, climbing Coxey Brown and company in preparation for The Race.

Let the madness continue...

I'm Hungry

2007-09-22T13:20:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year, once again. Yom Kipur, the day of atonement. In other words, a day to be hungry. One of the ideas behind fasting is that it allows you to concentrate on all of the less admirable things that you have done during the past year. I think about when I'm going to eat next and, I'm CERTAIN, I'm not the only one with this thought.

It should be disclosed (passive tense is so lame) that I am a progressive agnostic. I have grown progressively less interested in religon and faith as I have lived my life. Religon is all too often used for a crutch, excuse, justification, or other nefarious purpose. Terrorists kill in the name of religon. "Rehabilitated" substance abusers often turn to religon as part of their healing. It's crap. All of it. Besides, the rules of religon (Ten Commandments, Bible, for example) set forth basic pillars of human descency, healthly practices, and common sense. I do not need the threat of being smited hanging over me to do what's right (most of the time).

But back to Yom Kippur. I attend temple for the sake of my children. I was a Bar Mitvah and was confirmed. Both experiences were very positive and important for me and my family. I want my children to have exposure to these same experiences and then, when they are of a certain age, they can decide that it's all crap as their father has. Which leads me to today's amusing musing involving religon. We were attending the "community service" at KI, Jill's temple in Allentown, PA. After a quick game of Simon Says in Hebrew (I kid you not), the rabbi offered all families to come up to the podium for an individual blessing. Hey, the service is about an hour, Simon Says only took about 15 minutes and the rabbi needed some filler. Brilliant move!! So we all went up to the bimah, stood in front of the rabbi, and received a blessing. As we were walking off the bimah, Dooper turns to me and says in a tone laden with contempt that no 4 year old should know, "What was THAT all about?" She nailed the inflection. It was a perfectly uttered rhetorical question. And while I stood amazed at my daughter's remarkable grasp of timing, tonality, and wit, I started to fear what the future may hold. That's the sassy stuff that I will be hearing for many years to come. I'm in trouble. Then again, with three daughters, I knew that.

I hope everyone has an easy fast. Happy New Year. Let's eat!

Not Your Average Back To School Night

2007-09-06T12:33:00.000-07:00

Last night was back to school night (BTSN) for Luxmanor Elementary. Jill and I went because we are oh so interested in the curriculum for our 1st and 3rd grade girls. (Perform "bullshit" sneeze here). In truth, Jill is a highly coveted parent since she volunteers in all of our daughters' classes every week. Teachers love her. They tolerate me because of her. Such is my life.

As I sat in the auditorium last night, pretending to take interest in the 3rd grade teachers' PowerPoint presentation, I noted the conspicuous absence of most of Jill's girlfriends' husbands - i.e. my neighborhood crew of boys. Had I missed the memo? Was there an unofficial boycott (no pun intended) of BTSN? Did everyone but me get a hall pass out of BTSN? I felt hoodwinked. Lead astray. I didn't land on Plymouth Rock....(name the movie and win a prize).

And then there was Beth O. Bobb a.k.a Betty. Side Bar: Betty is a term of endearment given to Beth by Daryle for any number of reasons. Here are mine: Betty is slang for an attractive woman. She fits the bill there. Betty Rubble was a great neighbor and quintessential mother and housewife. Check and check. And because Justin is like Bam Bam since he punches me in the nuts whenever he sees me, the Betty Rubble motif sticks.

Beth is/was 9 months pregers, set to be induced tomorrow, Friday, September 7th. Yesterday, Betty went to the OB and was 3 cm dilated. She was told not to worry. Skip ahead to last night's BTSN. Betty sat confidently in the auditorium, dutifully taking notes on the PowerPoint presentation while simultaneously noting the start of some contractions. 1998 Betty would have been off to Sibley at the first contraction. 2007 Betty, a veteran of three prior births, was far more cavalier. How cavalier? At 8:30 her water broke while listening to a presentation from the 4th grade teachers. At 8:34 she left Luxmanor and was driven to her house to pick up Daryle for the trip to Sibley. At 8:36, after Daryle realized that my call to him that Betty was in labor and on her way home was not a practical joke, they began the ride to Sibley. 8:45, Daryle speeds down MacArthur, praying that a cop stops him so that he could yell that his wife is in labor, hear an apology from a cop, and get a police escort to the hospital. We all have fantasies, DB. Nice try. 8:48, DB blows through red light #1 and trips the red light camera. $100 to Mayor Fenty, thank you. 8:50, DB runs red light #2 and trips the red light camera. Mac Gary refers the matter to Roger Goddell for breach of the new Personal Conduct Policy. 8:51, DB runs red light #3 which triggers an Amber Alert and sends the National Security Warning Level to Orange. 8:56, the Betty Mobile screeches to a halt in the Fire Lane at Sibley (fine TBD). Betty and DB race to the elevators to get to the 3rd floor birthing center. 9:00, Betty and DB arrive at third floor birthing center and demand Room #3, the site of the three prior Bobb births. 9:00:15, Betty told Room #3 occupied. 9:00:20, Betty begins hunger strike to get Room #3. 9:00:25, famished, Betty calls off hunger strike. 9:00:30, Betty places fingers in both ears, closes her eyes and, while shaking her head back and forth, yells, "La la la la. I'm not listening! I'm not listening!" Justin, awake and at home, feels a sudden, inexplicable bond with mommy. 9:00:35, Betty reluctantly agrees to go into Room #9 only because it's three times better than Room #3. 9:00:45, Betty demands epidural. 9:00:50, Betty's demand for drugs denied. 9:00:55, Betty throws the red instant replay review flag. 9:00:59, the play stands as called. There will be natural childbirth. 9:01, nurses and doctors swarm. 9:02, Daryle makes a tee time for tomorrow. 9:03, Betty pushes. 9:03:30, DB starts a new company. 9:04, Betty pushes again. 9:04:30, DB determines that the trash bags in the birthing room will fit his kitchen trash can and he "secrets" away a roll or two. 9:05, baby Bobb the Fourth (a beautiful little girl) is thrust into the world. 9:05:05, Betty and Jill become the two toughest chicks in Luxmanor for surviving natural childbirth.

And so it was that the yet unnamed Bobb baby #4 came to be. Naming rights are still available. Congrats to the entire Bobb family. Welcome back to the wonderful world of diapers.

UPDATE: Say, "hello" to Lucy Madison Bobb.

Boo Boo the Bike Rider!!!

2007-09-04T12:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a milestone in the Kane family. After months of senseless procrastination, I finally got over myself and took Meredith a.k.a. "Boo-Boo" (again, no one in the Kane family can have just one name; see Woody) to the track at Tilden Middle School and taught her how to ride a bike.

Mere is a true cross-section of her parents: she has her father's looks, her mother's kind personality, and a quiet intensity that very few recognize. Her sweetness is an excellent mask for the burning internal desire to perfect all that she attempts. That became abundantly clear yesterday as she did lap after lap on her lavender two wheeler, replete with streamers on the handlebar ends, trying desperately to master her new biking skills.

As I tucked Boo in last night, I told her how proud I was of her accomplishment and it then dawned on me that yesterday was a BIG day. My kid learned how to ride a bike. That's a skill that she will use for the rest of her life. It's not as important as becoming potty trained but it is of that ilk.

So it has been said, let it be written: September 3, 2007: the day that Boo Boo Bear, became Boo Boo the Bike Rider!

Positively Floyd

2007-08-25T05:46:00.000-07:00

I completed Floyd Landis' book, "Positively False" this week. Let me first make some disclosures: 1) I firmly believe that the French hate the fact that Americans have dominated the TDF for the past 8 years and are hell bent on discrediting us; 2) I am unsure of whether Floyd Landis cheated, but my impression of him from reading his book and from chatting with him for a few minutes atop of Columbine Mine a week before the Leadville 100 (if you're reading this, Floyd, I was one of the two guys that stopped to chat while your training partner changed a flat tire on the Columbine descent on Sunday, August 5th. I told you how great it was that you were riding the LT 100 and sincerely meant that) , is that he is a good dude, someone with whom I would enjoy sitting with, drinking a beer or three, and discussing cycling; 3) I remember a scene from the film "NFL Crunch Course" where an old offensive lineman freely admits (brags), "Hey, we all hold." Like some form of "cheating" is endemic in NFL linemen, I believe the same to be true among professional cyclists. My biases, revealed, read on.

A couple of things surprised me about the book. First, not that I ever doubted the single mindedness of Lance Armstrong, but the anecdotes detailing his intensity and, sometimes, childish irrationality, were eye opening. When you're the best at what you do, there is no need to feel threatened. Enjoy your supremacy, do not use it to demean and/or retard the progress of others. That's called poor sportsmanship. Lance, go soak up some sun, put a 45 on, and chill out. Second, as a practicing attorney (litigator), I find the hearing process used by WADA and USADA very arcane. They are responsible for doling out punishments that adversely affect the livelihoods of cyclists and other athletes, all of whom have a very short professional shelf life. While I find cheating reprehensible, my impression of the "legal process" available to athletes charged with using illicit performance enhancing drugs is that it is lacking in competence, structure, and fairness.

Floyd aptly describes a legal process that is inexorably slanted in favor of the governing body, an agency that he claims (perhaps rightfully) pursues victory at all costs. With limited to no pre-hearing discovery, arbitrators that are pre-selected by the governing body (read conflict of interest), and a dubious set of procedural rules, it is no wonder that athletes are 0'fer against the Man. Floyd laments the fact that unless you have tons of money to afford a top-notch attorney, you are doomed against the USADA. This is where Floyd misses the fact that his microcosmic world of cycling closely mirrors the larger US legal system as a whole. The quality of "justice", unfortunately, is often a factor of ones available resources. That is not to say that our system is rife with corruption. I do not believe that it is. My meaning is that money can buy great lawyers, the best experts, and, as a result, the ability to present a very strong case. I strongly agree with Floyd that the system he describes is broken and in need of a fix.

The book reads as if you were having a casual conversation with Floyd. It is by no means a scholarly work. I believe that was done on purpose to further convey the "folksy" side of Floyd. It makes for an enjoyable, low carb read.

As far as Floyd's defenses, they range in credibility from strong to grasping at straws. The strongest defense appears to be the sloppiness of the work done at the initial French lab. Mis-labeled samples, changed labels etc. begs the question as to whether there was some monkey business in Frogland. (See disclosure #1 above). Variances in T/E ratios are also suspect. It seems very odd that a machine analyzing the same sample would come up with several different ratios. If you shoot a radar gun at the same car traveling the same speed on three separate occasions, the results should be fairly consistent. Anecdotes about the skill level of the lab technicians and magnets attached to the lab's machines were unimpressive to me. Stick with the good stuff, Floyd. The meringue theory of law (throw everything on the wall and at least some of it will stick) dilutes your strong points.

As for my one conspiracy theory, I wonder why Floyd drank/used so many bottles of water (82 by his count) on his historic comeback ride. I know it was hot and that he was riding his legs off. Those are obvious and convenient explanations. I'm wondering if there was some hidden purpose. Was he trying to flush his system of something? Is that even possible? Otherwise, based upon all cyclists knowledge of the testing procedures, you know you will get caught so it is a no win proposition. Is it worth it to win the TDF and all of the benefits that comes with that if it means suffering through the slings and arrows of a positive test? Who knows. I doubt it, but you never know.

My final analysis is that I believe that Floyd Landis trained like a mad man. I believe that he worked his ass off to achieve a level of fitness to win the TDF. I believe that he had the appropriate experience to know how to win the TDF. I believe that his upbringing emphasized hard work, discipline, and the value of simple things like truth and honesty. It is for these reasons, and my bias against the puling French press and cycling authorities, that I want nothing more than to have Floyd vindicated.

I'm Back! Back in the Saddle Again!

2007-08-18T08:17:00.000-07:00

One week to the day since The Event, I finally got back on a bike and rode. And, oh, did I ride. I did a simple 28 mile road loop from my house out to the end of River Road and back. I had, in the past, avoided the trek in from River Road due to the hills on the in-bound leg. I thought that they were too tiring. HA! Now, not so much.

I felt great today. I hammered up every hill as hard as I could. The hills on River that I once thought were too tiring were mole hills, compared to last week's mountains. But the highlight of the ride was a call that I received from Restoration Hardware while I was at the furthest point from my house. The new bed that was supposed to be delivered between 11-2 (aren't they so kind for giving us such a condensed window of time??) was now arriving at 10:30. I received the call at 9:55. It had taken me 1:05 to get to the end of River. I now had 35 minutes to get back. I made it back in :45, shaving :20 off my out-bound time. What was the motivation? The new bed? Hardly. Two things: 20 minutes and 358 days, the time over 12 hours last week and the days until next year's Leadville 100, respectively. Let the obsession continue....

Woody: The Other Guy

2007-08-17T13:58:00.001-07:00

Having attended an all male school from grades 6-12 and been raised by my father from the age of 13-18, some see extreme irony in the fact that I have three daughters. Yet they forget that I have a son, albeit a furry guy, named Woody.

Woody was our first kid. A practice run, if you will. We bought Woody from a breeder in 1997. Woody is a purebred Cockapoo. When I went to pick him up to put him in the car for his first ride home with us, he was sporting lipstick, and not the kind that women apply to their lips. At that point, at least for me, his name was made. When Jill raised the question about a name for him on the ride home, I relayed the anecdote about Woody's wood when I went to put him in the car. Jill blushed. She hemmed and hawed. How could that form the basis of his name? How would (no pun intended) we explain that to our friends? Family? Who cares. It was too funny. And so it was that Woody's wood would stick with him forever.

Not that a simple name is good enough in this family. Oh no, there must be nicknames. Some of Woody's call signs: Wood, Woodman, Woodster, Lissle Zozzie (Poppy's name for him), Mr. Butt (long story), Mister, Woodmont, Woodrow (when he is in trouble), Woodrow Wilson Dog (when he is real big trouble!), Eku (the kids came up with this one. I have no clue why), Woody Otter (after the playful otter we saw in Allentown, PA), and, recently, Old Man.

Jill a/k/a The Runt

2007-08-17T13:13:00.000-07:00

Jill is The Runt. It is my main term of endearment for my wife/best friend/love of my life. It is also her comic book, superhero alter-ego that specializes in mischief, malapropisms, and general silliness. It's a part of her that warms my heart everyday. Need an example?

March. NCAA Tournament time.

Jill (innocently): What does NIT stand for?

Kevin (feeling knowledgeable): The National Invitation Tournament. It's for college teams that don't make the NCAA Tournament.

Jill (being serious): Oh, I though it meant the Not Invited Tournament?

Kevin (balancing snot rocket on chin from sudden laughter): Can you get me a tissue, please?

Falling Asleep One Night.

Kevin (sitting silently watching TV while Jill dozes off).

Jill (out of no where): You little bowler!

And the list goes on. Laughter is great medicine and Jill is my favorite pharmacy.

Life After Leadville

2007-08-16T14:26:00.001-07:00

Back to reality. I've been in court every day since returning from Leadville on the 13th. Tomorrow, mercifully, is Friday and the end of the short week following The Event. I'm looking forward to a long road or mountain bike ride on Saturday morning to stretch my recovering legs.

I've got Leadville on the brain. I'm constantly searching for blogs about the race, peoples' experiences, and pictures. Is there a support group besides my fellow Leadvilleheads in the Yahoo Leadville 100 group?

Leadville Trail 100 2007, My First Race

2007-08-15T14:05:00.000-07:00

(L-R) Jill and Me Tangled Up In Blue!; Brent and Lisa are certainly Two for the Showing! ; Sharone and Gary always wearing The Cutest Things!

Distances, elevations, and gradients, oh my!

I’m done. It’s over. 104 taint killing miles are under my belt. The good news is that I MADE IT! The somewhat bad news is that I did not complete the course in the required 12 hours, so my efforts did not get me a Leadville 100 silver belt buckle and the sweatshirt with my name and time on it. My time: 12:20.37. This was, by far, the single hardest thing that I have EVER attempted. And with the exception of convincing Jill to marry me and fathering three incredible kids, it is, by far, my greatest accomplishment.

A little about the race: it is an “out and back” course. 50 miles out and 50 miles back. My fancy GPS tells me that I climbed 12,700 feet of mountains over the 104 mile course (clearly the Leadville 104 does not sound nearly as sexy as the Leadville 100). The race starts in downtown Leadville, literally a one stop light town. 900 riders lined the start yesterday morning broken down by intended (hoped for) finishing time. I placed myself in the 11-12 hours finishers area. Floyd Landis and Dave Weins, the four time Leadville 100 champion, were probably at the front. The atmosphere at the start was an incredible mix of nerves, testosterone, and anticipation. I expected my stomach to be riddled with butterflies (huge ones) but I was eerily calm and excited. The starting area is lined with hundreds of families, support personnel, and Leadville residents, all cheering on loved ones and all wondering what in the hell would prompt someone to do this to their bodies. The race organizers count down the start, giving warnings at 30 minutes, 20 minutes, 15 minutes, 10 minutes, 5 minutes and 1 minute. They must have taken classes in Chinese water torture. Finally, when the clock struck 6:30, the race director aimed a shotgun in the air and fired. Race on! What followed was a symphony of cheers, best wishes, and the whirr of knobby tires cascading over the pavement.

We rode out of town in a huge peleton. The first three and a half miles are on pavement and are all downhill. That is great for the start but, if you dare to think ahead, it means an uphill finish. The course then shifts to a 3 mile gravel/sandy trail leading to the base of the day’s first climb: Mount St. Kevin’s (pronounced Keevins). St Kevin’s is a very steep, 2+ mile dirt/gravel/sand road complimented by fist size rocks just for good measure. As if that is not enough, the trail was scarred with ruts from last weeks rains. The peleton crawled up the first climb in some semblance of order. We had all been warned from veteran riders not to “get caught up in the adrenaline rush” of riders flying up the first climb. Going out too hard, too fast is a recipe for disaster we were told. So I was very excited to see the large pack moving at a very comfortable pace up St. Kevin’s. Before I knew it, we were close to the top (10,800 ft) and I was “on time” according to my pre-race time splits. After St. Kevin’s, you descend down some rocky dirt trails and come out onto a paved road. For the next 3.5 miles, there is a blissful descent on this sinewy mountain road at very fun speeds. According to my GPS, I hit 45 mph on this descent. But going down means having to go up the other side. Enter the next climb: Sugarloaf.

The Sugarloaf climb starts at the bottom of the aforementioned 3.5 paved road descent. The first 1.1 miles are also paved road, a surface condition that I would grow to crave during this race. On this climb, I wanted to get into a comfortable (relative term) rhythm, keeping a pace of about 7-8mph. Once up this paved section, you turn 180 degrees onto a dirt/sand/gravel road and climb some more, a lot more, up to 11,200 ft. But before you get to 11,200 feet, you make another 180 degree turn off of the relatively smooth dirt/sand/gravel road onto what has to be Leadville’s signature surface condition: sand/dirt/gravel/fist and larger sized rocks that toss you around and make for a VERY bumpy, difficult ride. The bumpy and difficult part was, unfortunately, the longest part of this climb. The reward for summiting Sugarloaf is a descent down the Powerline, so named because of the electrical powerlines that are immediately overhead (Picture on right of Powerline courtesy of http://www.ultrarob.com/) . Powerline is a rutted, steep, rocky mess that dares you to go fast at the risk of crashing into the trees lining the sides and/or breaking a collarbone from an endo when your wheel gets caught in a rut or stopped by a large rock. My strategy going into Leadville was to scream down all descents and push as hard as I could on the flats since climbing is/was my weakness. I held to strategy on Powerline and, as I passed rider after cautious rider, thought to myself that no one should be allowed to have this much fun during such a hard race. I flew down Powerline and made my way back to flat pavement on my way to the first aid station and check point at mile 26: Pipeline. My goal was to reach Pipeline in 2:30 minutes. I was delighted to look down at my GPS and see that I was on-time. (close-up photo of Powerline courtesy of www.ultrarob.com)

The next 14 miles are as flat as Leadville gets, meaning there was only about 900 feet of elevation gain over this portion of the course. This section is a mixture of some paved road and a lot of the now very familiar dirt/sand/gravel mix, but at least there were no fist sized rocks!! My goal was to ride this section in about 1:15. I teamed up with other riders to form a paceline to allow aerodynamics to help us. At about the 12 mile mark on Pipeline, we were descending a very steep dirt hill known as the North Face. Race volunteers were telling us to slow down because there was a rider at the bottom with a broken femur. That was sobering. Before I knew it, I was looking down on Twin Lakes, two huge, beautiful mountain lakes which serves as the next checkpoint/aid station and eagerly anticipating seeing Jill and Olivia (my wife and eldest daughter) who were waiting for me there. I flew down a paved hill, crossed a highway (they stopped traffic for us Leadville riders) and started riding through a ¼ mile of supporters who, regardless of who you were, cheered for you as if you had just saved their drowning baby. I was literally moved to tears. I felt invincible. About a half mile away, in the official “crew” area of the Twin Lakes aid station were Jill and Olivia. Again, tears but also a HUGE smile. I was so happy to see them. Jill had taken a Camelback bladder and filled it with my energy drink for the ride up Columbine. In my excitement and haste, I forgot to fill my water bottle with straight water, a mistake for which I would soon pay dearly. I gave Jill and Olivia a lot of very smelly hugs and kisses and hopped back on my bike and rode out of Twin Lakes to the cheers and well wishes of the hundreds of people there. What a great feeling!! After I turned the corner out of Twin Lakes, I started the 10 mile climb up Columbine and immediately started feeling a bit queasy.

(Olivia "Ovie" Kane, 8, and her very proud (of her) pop at the Twin Lakes aid station out-bound)>>>>>

Sidebar: In order to ride for a 100 miles, you have to maintain your energy. I had trained with a product called Sustained Energy which contains just about everything I would need to fuel my body for the entire 12 hours. Based upon the recommendation of a veteran rider, I mixed the Sustained Energy into my main water supply in my Camelback and set the timer on my GPS to take sips every five minutes. Your body can only process about 250-350 calories per hour. Moreover, your stomach can only process about 24-30 ounces of water an hour, depending upon heat, weight, etc. I thought that my nutrition program was right on. Enter the Columbine climb.

So here I am at the start of the longest climb of the day, having just kissed Jill and Olivia goodbye for what I had hoped would only be 3 hours and 15 minutes. I figured the climb to Columbine would take me 2:30 and the descent would add 45 minutes to that. After the first half mile, I decided to stop and try and pee. I had consumed over 100 oz of liquid and had not peed at this point. I pee and then go to my water bottle to clear my mouth of the film left by my Sustained Energy, and realize that I had little to no plain water. I was instantly dismayed. Rather than turning around and going back to the aid station, I decided to push forward. The first 8 miles of Columbine are the dirt/sand/gravel mix with your fist sized rocks thrown in very sporadically for good measure. Most riders can push a good pace through this section. I was hurting. Badly. I was in granny gear (the lowest gear on my bike) barely riding 2.5 mph. I felt hot, queasy, and very fatigued. I was drinking regularly from my Camelback but I was hating the taste of the Sustained Energy. Unfortunately, I had no choice. I stopped several times on this “easy” portion of Columbine to catch my breath and gather my wits. I eventually made it up to the final two miles of Columbine. At this point, the trail to the summit turns nasty. The pitch becomes twice as steep and the surface becomes a lot worse. Fist sized rocks? Sure. Try head sized. When you look up, all you see is a two mile stretch of riders walking their bikes. It’s not a pretty sight and is certainly not great for motivation. I started walking my bike up the steep section, stopping every 10-15 steps to catch my breath. At this point, I was having VERY bleak thoughts. I was, as a prior Leadville rider wrote in his post-race blog, wallowing. I was feeling sorry for myself. For the first time, I was very seriously considering turning around and riding back to Twin Lakes, my race over. I was an instant from acting on this thought when the angel appeared on the shoulder opposite the devil screaming, "quit, quit, quit!", albeit an angel who could be mistaken for Vince Lombardi. I thought of the fact that my parents did not raise a quitter. I thought of the example it would set for my children. I thought of the training that we had done to get to Leadville. I looked down on my handlebars and saw the quote that I had written on my handlebars from Herb Brooks when he was the coach of the 1980 USA Olympic Hockey team. After beating the Russians, they were losing the gold medal match. Brooks walked into the locker room at the end of the first period, starred down his players and said the following, “If you lose this game, you’ll take it to your fucking grave.” He started walking out of the locker room and turned around, “Your fucking grave!” They ended up winning. If I quit Leadville, I’ll take it to my fucking grave I thought. Finally, there was the thought of Daryle (my dearest friend, business partner and fiercest competitor in all things in life) riding Leadville next year on a unicycle and telling me it was no big deal. I had to finish!! I also knew that there was plain water at the top, something I desperately wanted.

I’m not quite sure where I found the energy but I made it to the summit of Columbine at 12,600 ft. in slightly over three hours, well off my budgeted time. A volunteer took my bike and asked me what I needed. Besides new legs, I told him, I wanted a banana and some PLAIN WATER. I drank three cups of plain water and chomped down on the banana. I stood for a second enjoying my feast when I felt the sudden rumblings of an angry interior. Look out folks, he’s going to blow! And blow I did. I painted the top of Columbine with a torrent of Sustained Energy, water, and banana. Five full heaves later, my stomach was empty and I was a new man. I actually felt good again. Plus I knew that the next eight miles was all down hill. I texted Jill that I had summited Columbine. I believe that my exact words were, “HOLY F&*K THAT WAS HARD!” I mounted my mechanical steed and pointed it down. I was passing the cautious with reckless abandon. My bike was bouncing all over the place, thrown left, right and up from the huge rocks and ruts, and I was loving it!!! I was having fun again. I eventually made it to the bottom in my budgeted time of just over 45 minutes. I again rode through the Twin Lakes aid station and, this time, felt almost embarrassed by the cheers and encouragement. Didn’t these people know that I almost quit? I took close to four hours to go up and back. Why are you cheering me? Because that’s the spirit of Leadville, and I was ready to start drinking the Kool-Aid.

There, at Twin Lakes stood two of the most beautiful images a guy could see: Jill and Olivia. I told Jill to empty my Camelback of the Sustained Energy and fill it with just plain water. As between drinking more of that stuff or risking a bonk later in the race, I chose the bonk. I told of my permanent mark at the top of Columbine. I was also encouraged to know that one of my teammates, Dean Gregory, also had “prayed” on Columbine. I came through Twin Lakes in-bound with about 7 hours of the race complete. I beat the 8 hour cut-off at Twin Lakes in-bound. That meant I had the honor of proceeding onto the Pipeline aid station 14 miles away and beating the 9 hour cut-off there. It also meant that I had 5 hours to tackle the remaining 40 miles, including the dreaded Powerline ascent.

I rode out of Twin Lakes on auto-pilot. I was fueled by the incredible encouragement of my wife and daughter, Lisa Golstein, Allan Goldberg and a slew of Brent’s Colgate fraternity brothers who came to the race. Then I started doing some math. I had five hours to finish to get the buckle. It was going to take me at least 1:20-1:30 to do the Pipeline section on my weary legs and then I had to climb Powerline. Oh boy. I budgeted an hour for Powerline. I figured once I finished Powerline, “all” I had to do was enjoy the fast descent down the other side of Sugarloaf, hammer up the 3.5 mile paved portion of St. Kevin’s, descend the far side of St. Kevin’s and race into town for the final 6.5 miles, the first half of which is flat, the second half of which rises 500 feet over 3.5 miles. Harder things have been done.

The ride through the Pipeline section was harder than I had anticipated. I had conveniently forgotten about the incredibly steep pitch of the North Face, a two tiered climb that no one rides. That hurt. After the first 5 miles of Pipeline in-bound, things got better and I hit some flat sections that I worked to speed through, trying desperately to make up time. I began to see the familiar sight of cars and people, signifying my arrival into Pipeline aid station. Again, more cheers and praise from complete strangers. Just amazing. I arrived at the Pipeline aid station with 3:20 minutes left in the race. I quickly ate two bananas and had some water. Thankfully, I was able to keep both where they belonged, in my stomach. I got back on my bike and headed to Powerline.

You can see Powerline from the road after the Pipeline aid station. It has been described as, “a scar that runs straight up the mountain.” Making matters worse, there are three “false summits” to Powerline, meaning that after you climb these incredibly steep, rocky, rutted sections and think you’re done, you’re not. The first third of Powerline was too steep to ride. I walked the bike up taking baby stpes and stopping to catch my breath and relieve cramping every 20 steps or so. It was on this climb that I met a guy from Wyoming. He is in the Air Force and is responsible for an ICBM silo. I started calling him, “Rocket,” because I didn’t know his real name and, quite frankly, was too tired to ask. So Rocket and D.C., his name for me, trudged up Powerline, baby step by baby step, cursing the sadistic race organizers that placed this, the hardest ascent, at the 80 mile mark. As I walked my bike up Powerline, I kept an eye on my timer. I was deflated to see the one hour mark pass with at least one third more of Powerline to climb. I made it to the top of Powerline in 1:30, did some quick math and realized that I now had only 1:50 to finish. The good news was that I was on another descent. I flew down the other side of Sugarloaf, again bouncing over rocks and ruts at speeds that only my teammates Brent, Gary, Dean, Wobber, and Allan could appreciate. I hit pavement and made the 1.1 miles pavement descent to the bottom of Sugarloaf and started the 3.5 pavement climb up St. Kevin’s. I would have ordinarily done this climb in granny gear, taking my time at 3 mph. I knew that I did not have this luxury. I shifted into my middle ring and started hammering the pedals. I was very encouraged that I could keep a pace of 7-8 mph going uphill. Moreover, I was astonished at how good I felt doing it. I had ingested a banana and two Hammer gels since leaving Twin Lakes. I had no clue about the source of my energy but I was not about to question it. I fought my way up the 3.5 miles and arrived at the final aid station, the Carter Summit. I had been told to drink a Coke here for fuel for the final 11 miles in-bound. Again, one of the incredible race volunteers took my bike and asked me what I wanted. “A Coke” I said. “We have Sprite,” was the answer. No, no, you see, I’m supposed to have a Coke here. That’s what everyone said you were supposed to do!! I drank the Sprite, ate two more bananas and was told I had 50 minutes to finish. As I left the aid station, the volunteer who helped me said, “Enjoy the downhill.” So, belly full of Sprite and banana (I kept it all down again, yeah me!) I rolled out having wonderful thoughts of bombing another down hill section, only all I could see were people walking their bikes ahead of me. No, you see, this is supposed to be a down hill. The aid station guy told me so!! Curses on him!! I was deflated and hiking my bike up a series of short, steep climbs once again. I then made it to the top of St. Kevin’s and the beautiful down hill. I was angry. I was tired. My ass was filing divorce papers. I had 8 miles and less than 30 minutes to finish in under 12. Not even Daryle, the man born with a lucky horseshoe up his arse could pull this one off. Nonetheless, if you don’t try, you’ll never know. I bombed the descent and made my way to the flat dirt road at the bottom of St. Kevin’s. I pushed as hard as I could over the next three miles until I came to the railroad tracks that separate Leadville from the mountains. I’m not sure which side is the wrong side of the tracks. I didn’t care. I was just happy to be crossing. I was on a paved road for about a mile which directed me to “the Boulevard” the final climb of the day. The Boulevard started with a steep rocky section like I had ridden on the out-bound sections of St. Kevin’s and the upper section of Sugarloaf. This section is relatively short and then gives way to a false flat, sand/gravel/dirt road that leads you up towards Leadville.

When training, we contemplated the doomsday scenario of what would happen if you were at the bottom of the Boulevard with 15 minutes to finish. There I was, at the bottom of the Boulevard, though I only had 8 minutes to finish. The belt buckle and the sweatshirt were gone. I was crushed.

I labored up the Boulevard with thoughts of all of the training I had done, the time lost on Columbine, and what I could have done better/differently to meet my 12 hour goal. Dark clouds filled the sky, mirroring my mood at the moment. And then, it began to drizzle. Great. As if I needed another reason to feel poorly. Then, “screw you!,” I thought. I’m finishing! So I completed the Boulevard and hit pavement once again, took a quick right onto E 6th Street and the .6 mile climb up the street to the finish line. I heard more cheers and encouragement as I made my way up 6th Street. I thanked everyone who cheered for me but hung my head, knowing I hadn’t made it in time. As I approached the finish line, there stood Jill, Olivia, Meredith and Danielle (Meredith and Dani are my middle and youngest daughters, respectively), adorned in all of the party gear sent to us by the Bobb family. They were cheering wildly. They were jumping up and down.

They ran the last 50 yards along side of me to the finish line. Any dark thoughts that I had, any feelings of despair or failure, instantly vanished. I rode 104 miles in 12:20. I beat the demons. I had pushed myself harder and father than I ever had. I jumped off the bike with a yard to the finish, raised my bike over my head and let out a primal scream. “YES!!!!!” I did it and, more importantly, it’s over!

THANK YOU’S:

My wife and kids for putting up with all of the time out of the house training. Jill and Olivia for being the best crew a guy could ask for. To Meredith and Danielle for your unbridled exuberance at the finish. I love you guys!!!

To Brent for being the unofficial/official team captain and coach. Brent, as is his nature, took the lead and organized training sessions, found us a coach, and otherwise gave great order to this entire experience. Thank you for pushing me and for setting a great example.

To Mike and Rikki Postal for their incredible generosity in allowing us to use their home in Vail for the time that we were here for the race. BTW, we changed the sheets.

To all of the donors that supported our team. Your generosity is greatly appreciated and will benefit the First Descents attendees more than you will ever know.

THE FIRST DESCENTS (http://www.firstdescents.org/) TEAM:

Brent Goldstein (second from right), he whom I anointed team captain, finished in 11:11. Brent fought through severe leg cramps the entire final 40 miles of the race. His courage and grit, both during the race and prior to that with training, are incredible. Moreover, he is responsible for raising over $78,000 for First Descents, an amount of money that will send countless kids to a First Descent camp, helping their mental and physical recovery from cancer. That alone deserves a buckle.

Gary Morris (far left) was the stud of the group, finishing in 10:56. Gary had a great race. He trained very hard and reaped the rewards of those efforts yesterday. Oh, and Gary did the race on a hard tail – i.e. no rear suspension. If my ass is filing for divorce, his is calling the police for assault and battery. Congrats, G-Mo.

Dean Gregory (third from left) finished in 12:07. Dean, like me, was hurting on Columbine and that made the difference in the race. Dean is very strong and will buckle. We may even get him to wear a heart rate monitor next year.

John “Wobber” Wontrobski (cool dude with glasses in middle) finished in 12:50. Wobber “held my hair” and gave me water at the top of Columbine when I was donating my stomach contents. That’s Wobber. He is as genuine and kind and selfless a guy as you will ever meet. He lost time helping me and probably others along the course. He is a true champion.

Allan Goldberg (second from left) busted his ass to get to the Twin Lakes aid station within the four hour cut-off. Allan is an accomplished tri-athlete and will ride your legs off on a road bike and can run forever. A mountain bike, perhaps not so much. Nonetheless, Allan, as is his nature, gave it his all and fought hard to complete the race. When he missed the cut-off at Twin Lakes, he hung around with the crew and helped everyone of us as we came through. Did I mention that Allan beat cancer for a second time in his life this year, ending his chemo treatments just this past April? Allan, you are an incredible friend and competitor. See you at the starting line next year.

More on the history of the First Descents Team and our leaders, Brent and Allan.

FINAL THOUGHTS”

Which answers the question, “Will I do this again?” You bet. And I will buckle, come hell or high water.

Ken Clouber, co-race director, gave the field a “rah-rah” speech on Friday, punctuating the lecture with the mantra that, “You’re better than you think you are. You can do more than you think you can.” You bet your ass . See you all next year at the starting line.