Tour of Gila: The Longest Race Report In The History Of The Team
The following race report was emailed to me by one of my team mates. We have a team tradition that the team member that places the highest in the overall gets the honor of writing the race report. On this occasion I just could not let this one slip by and not share it with the readers of Bicycle.net. The team that I ride for is Kahala La Grange out of Westwood, CA. I have changed the names of the riders but that is about all. As you can tell we are one very expressive group. So far this year we have had some really good results on the CAT4 team I ride on, and this is just one that brings my team to you in living color. Enjoy.
Gila: the longest race report in the history of the team
“Are you guys stoned?” asked the disgruntled Burger King cashier as she shoved two free Hershey’s Sundae Pies and an Ironman action figure pilfered from a kid’s meal into our bag of burgers.
“No, we just did a bike race.”
She didn’t reply and handed over several bags of burgers through the drive-through window. Apparently 4 stages of racing through the thin air of New Mexico’s high country has the same effect as an all-night binger. Adam was still wearing the same anti-embolism thigh-high stockings he had donned all week between stages. (There are many many funny things we could say about these tights and Adam’s other recovery techniques, but words just fall short.)
We were somewhere in Arizona, not far into our 5th stage–our 11-hour drive home. With no shortage of time for reflection, we offer you this race report, by committee.
Most race reports get straight to the racing. But our Tour of the Gila wasn’t just a race. It was a journey. So first we’ve got to tell you about the Mansion. Matt had convinced us to fore go the questionable bed sheets of the local Motel 6 and sign on for Silver City “host housing.” We knew we’d be staying with “Liz and Dave” but didn’t know much else, so as we drove through the post-apocalyptic scene of the New Mexico badlands, with its abandoned gas stations, sprawling mobile home neighborhoods, and half-naked children half-heartedly poking road-kill with sticks, we began to wonder.
Our directions called for a right turn on Sanctuary Rd, which was dirt and gravel. We imagined a toothless rancher and his pregnant wife waiting for us outside their cozy trailer. Alan saw a cow. Nick thought he heard banjo. We turned again and the road became a long stone driveway. And then we saw it. Not only were there rooms in the mansion for all of us, there was plenty of room in the four car garage for our bikes.
Liz and Dave were affluent retirees happy to welcome a few young men into their 6 bedroom home in the mountains. Dave made us coffee, Liz talked about growing up in the Hollywood Hills, and a few of us considered skipping the race altogether and just spending the next four days antiquing.
STAGE ONE: Descend Like a Pro!
Thursday, May 1: 64 miles, 4,595-feet of climbing, 4,394 feet of trying to descend without dying.
Stage One started in an abandoned mining town high in the Gila Wilderness. All the shaved and shiny racers made for a stark juxtaposition to the rugged, wild landscape. We seemed to throw off the balance of the place. But then a 1975 Bianchi rolled up. Its rider looked like Grizzly Adams with old white Umbros and a long braided beard. He seemed to restore the balance. Maybe he’d be something like our spirit guide through this place. We were ready to race.
On a fast descent. one way to know you should brake hard before a blind hairpin is when you see an ambulance waiting for you on the side of the road. This was Lesson One in the opening miles of Tour of the Gila. The first descent, a 3-mile staircase of narrow switchbacks with grades up to -17% threw so many riders off the road it was almost comical. Adam and Neil were forced off by accidents, but managed to untangle themselves from pine branches and catch back on. Mike, who was forced to drop back before the descent when a wobbly rider fell into him (Mike stayed up, but his cadence magnet was knocked off his crank by the falling rider’s head), was already playing catch-up, as was Steve, who had dropped his chain on the initial climb. And that’s about where the interesting stuff ended and the long slog against the brow-beating headwind began.
The remaining 50 miles saw Alan hanging in with a dwindling pack as Neil and Mike, who were drained by their post-shunt chasing, followed in the 2nd group. Unable to cope with the altitude and lack of sleep, Steve cracked hard and rode the remaining several hours swearing it would be his last race ever. Stage One ended with Adam on the same time with the leaders, Mike and Neil down 5 minutes, and Steve down 22. It was a hard New Mexico welcome.
And then we retired to the mansion.
STAGE TWO: The Secrets of Strong Legs and Ripped Abs.
Friday, 16 mile time trial, 1,070 feet of climbing, knock-you-out-of-your-aerobars crosswind.
There are few things that can spark a cyclist to truly geek out like the sight of a slick disc-adorned TT rig. We were warming up and commenting on how aero we were; we looked fast; we felt fast; we felt like champions. And then then a 50-foot RV pulled up next to us in the parking lot and off stepped the two guys from the Bicycling Magazine team. These dudes were the Bruce Waynes of the Cat 4 world. Not only did they roll in a nicer bus than Toyota United, they had multiples of the most expensive equipment money could buy. Lightweight Carbonsports rear disc? Got it. Oh, and they had hot girlfriends catering to their every need and were already in 1st and 2nd place overall. We made ourselves feel better by quoting asinine Bicycle Magazine cover lines when they were around.
Start with 1000+ feet of climbing, throw in a stiff wind and you’re starting to get a sense for the Gila TT. We started in reverse order, so Steve took off first. He looked spectacular with his Zipp disc, aero helmet and ultra-sexy skinsuit and passed 8 guys. But ultimately only rolled in 31st, 5 minutes off the winning time. Mike and Neil took off close together and turned in almost identical times for 26th and 28th respectively. And Adam got top honors with his blazing ride to 10th place 2:12 off the pace. Take that acclimated Colorado guys!
The Bike Mag guys got 1st and 2nd again and retained their lead. We had visions of them pressing a button and watching their two top-secret time trial rigs sinking silently into the floor of their Bat-RV.
And then we retired to the mansion.
STAGE THREE: Ride Like You Own the Bike.
Saturday, Criterium, 1-mile course with 80 feet climbing per lap;
One of the secondary plot lines of Gila was the story of a young man who crashed in Stage One and broke his bike. That young man borrowed a brand new Pinnarello Prince from one of the Bike Mag guys and was proudly showing off his 8K ride to the peloton.
So Stage Three started fast as the fitter riders tried to burn off the fatties on the short, steep climb. All four of us made the the cut and hung in till the pace slowed down. We felt a lot better, but today was about conserving energy. We surrounded Adam as best we could to make sure he got through all the corners and didn’t get gapped. The race was impressively safe, with no crashes despite the blazing downhill with what was essentially a ski jump in the middle. Neil did a bunny-hop at the lip to see how much air he could get and the pack knew we didn’t mean business. In the final, Steve and Neil finished side-by-side toward the front of the pack as Adam was safely shepherded by Mike a little ways back.
Oh, and that kid on the borrowed Prince? He and his bike survived the race. Then crashed on the warm down lap and split that Bat Bike in two. We saw him later in the parking lot asking if anybody had a spare bike he could ride for the last day.
And then we retired to the mansion.
STAGE FOUR: How to Dominate a Stage Race in Only 4 Days!
Sunday, Road Race, 71 miles, 5,500 feet of climbing with one huge monster at the end;
We packed up the van the night before the last stage so we could get plenty of rest, but I don’t think any of us slept that night. Stage Four was essentially the reverse of the first stage, and the thought of climbing back up the monster that we’d precariously descended made a few of us more than a little nervous. But when we pulled up to the staging area Silver City welcomed us with calm, sunny skies and cheerful bunch of cyclists. In fact, the pack was in such a good mood that we actually waited for a rider who’d had a flat in the first few miles. Once we got rolling again, a break of six guys sprinted off. Confident they couldn’t survive for almost 70 miles, we all laughed at their folly and continued at a conversational pace. And then about 20 miles into the race we had a truly magical moment. The pack did something that was so utterly pro we almost shed tears of pride: We all pulled over for a piss, which was great for the break group, and not so great for any riders with a shy bladder.
The pace increased through the 20 miles of rollers before the feed zone and we did a good job staying together and keeping Adam safely in the bosom of the pack. At the feed, we tossed off our spent bottles and slowed down for water. But the water wasn’t there. We soft-pedaled through the whole feed looking for the neutral water while the pack rode away from us, finally we rounded a bend and fond a small group of volunteers handing out bottles. We almost had to come to a stop, and when we’d finally caged our new bottles, the pack was strung out at full-speed 20 seconds ahead. For a few minutes it looked like our race could be over and we turned ourselves inside out to get Adam back into the pack. Thankfully, we mustered the strength we hadn’t been able to access in the previous days and made contact after five minutes at 100% effort. We were hyperventilating when we made it back. Mike almost threw up. But Adam was safe and hadn’t had to dig too deep. We knew whatever happened from here, we’d done the jobs we’d come to do. 10 miles later, at mile 53, the big climb began. The initial grade hit like hammer at 17%. What was left of the pack exploded and Adam rode away with 12 of the highest-ranked riders. Neil, Steve and Mike set into a pace they could maintain and bid their leader farewell with a “Good luck, Adam! Go get ‘em!” And it’s in this last 20 miles of racing our stories diverge.
Adam managed to ride away from his competitors on the steep switchbacks, passing most of the riders who had formed the initial breakaway and gaining so much time he could no longer see the other top 10 riders. He rounded the 7400 foot pass alone and in virtual 3rd place overall on the road. All that stood between Adam and his visions of winning the overall was a 3-mile descent and another harsh 2K slog to the finishing line. But Adam’s lack of knowledge of the course, combined with his notoriously shoddy descending skills, allowed the chasers to catch him at the bottom. He hung on to the group to the line, crossing 14th. The winner of the day was the last remaining breakaway rider, who after 65 miles of time trialing hung on to win by 48 seconds.
In his own race, Steve stayed within sight of the lead group for most of the climb, almost clawing his way back to the leaders. But a long false-flat at the top allowed the small pack to gain ground. Having sprayed half his water over a rider who he thought was going to die, Steve ran out of water with about 15 miles to go and fell apart, losing 8 minutes in the last few miles and crossing the line 34th.
Mike, who had cracked earlier on the climb was struggling to hold the back of a chasing group. And then a minivan full of LaGrange pros pulled up next to him and handed him a bottle. It tasted like ass, and thinking the pros were playing a really cruel trick, Mike spit out the first sip. But his thirst took over and he drank. And whatever kind of pro-juice was in that bottle it must have been the secret go-fast potion, because he got a second wind something fierce. Mike rode away from the chase group and made up a huge chunk of time to finish less than a minute behind Steve.
Just a short way back was Neil, who having partaken of one of the magical LaGrange bottles, was enjoying a nice climb and casual conversation the one and only Grizzly Adams. Perhaps Grizzly had shepherded us through the badlands, as there were virtually no serious accidents during the entire four days. Though perhaps the race rubbed off on him a little, because he’d forsaken his white Umbros for a pair of saggy purple cycling shorts.
At the finish line we watched as riders trickled in. We were all together and the journey was just about over. Having taken 3rd overall in the 35+ competition, Adam stood on the podium as photographers clicked away. He’d also held onto his 10th overall and promised to split the prize money equally between us, which works out to $11.25 each.
In the end, the Bicycle Magazine guys took 1st and 2nd of course. It turned out they’d started racing in January and had been on a two month road trip in the Bat RV doing every stage race in the country. Oh, and it turned out they had yet another spare Pinarello for the kid who had already broken two. After the race they probably climbed aboard the RV, took a couple of cocktails from their girlfriends and hung their Bicycle Magazine Kits safety behind bullet-proof glass in the wall.
The four of us then inhaled some sloppy joes from a vender, made up a few more sarcastic magazine headlines, loaded the van and began our Stage Five.
EPILOGUE:
POST-RACE MIKE ISSUED THE FOLLOWING DECREE:
BASED ON ADAMS’S PERFORMANCE, ALL LAGRANGE RACERS WILL NOW BE REQUIRED TO WEAR GERIATRIC COMPRESSION STOCKINGS (AVAILABLE IN THE ANTI-EMBOLLISM SECTION AT ANY RITE-AID, PREFERRED COLOR: NUDE) AT ALL TIMES WHILE NOT RIDING.
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