The Race
I did the Tahoe-Sierra 100 in 2010. It was really hard, and although at the time I thought I’d had enough of that, I started thinking about doing it again, and better in 2011. I don’t know why. I’ve thought about it almost every one of the three hundred and sixty five days in between. I guess I obsessed about it. I trained for it, I built a bike for it, I raced other races simply to get ready for it. I probably made too big a deal of it. My wife asked me, “Will you have fun?” I couldn’t answer yes. I said, “I’ll have some fun. But it’s really about challenging myself. How tough am I?" I paid for a coach, and mostly followed his advice. It made me boring. I bored people, talking about it. "Oh right," they'd say, "your big race."
Of course, I also drank beer, bought books about how to eat right to be a light-weight bike racer, then ate like a man-pig, rode the workouts on my calendar, but also sometimes, didn’t. And sometimes I just did the bike rides I wanted to do. So while I wanted to kick ass, I also didn’t want to give up any other of life’s happinesses. Oh yeah, and speaking of happinesses, I also worked and I was Dad.
I don’t sleep well the night before races. As I’ve gotten older, this has gotten worse. I’m 43. I didn’t sleep a wink the Thursday night before the race, and it made me so anxious! I think I dozed from 6AM to 7AM, then got up and went to work. But thanks to the wonders of modern medicine and a good friend, who is a doctor, I did sleep really well the Friday night before the race. I closed my eyes and slept very soundly until the 4:45AM alarm went off. Morning prep went smoothly. I ate some of the food on offer at the Ice Lakes Lodge 5AM continental breakfast. My wife Lauren helped me get ready and kept me company at the racer’s meeting. I saw some friends who were also racing and got to briefly meet their wives and families. At the start, I got a kiss from Lauren and a cheer.
We rolled out at 6AM sharp. Immediately after rolling out, I looked down and saw that the hydraulic lock-out button for my suspension fork had been sheared completely off! I hadn’t noticed it until then. It was there the day before! I guess it got ripped off by a tree branch, as we were leaving our neighborhood. Luckily I’d left the fork in the “open” position. I also had trouble clipping in. Sometimes I am like Inspector Clouseau; I do stupid things, like changing my cleats the day before a race.
The front group was charging, and I was more interested in keeping it steady all day, and then pushing it at the end. I have a very healthy respect for this race. It was originally supposed to be 20,000’ climbing and 24,000’ descending over 100 miles, from Soda Springs, CA to Foresthill, CA, but due to the very heavy winter, the promoter, Jimmy Northey had to take out a mountain early in the race. But I was still looking at a predicted 16,000’ up, 20,000’ down over 92 miles. I am a very average athlete, and climbing isn’t my strength, so I just kept it steady and figured I’d try to keep moving, try to spend less time stopped at aid stations than last year. (about an hour, out of 11:20:00)
Forty five minutes in, I saw racers coming toward me. One was the fast guy from Chico, Aren? The other was the fast guy from Summit Cyclery, Shiloh? This isn’t supposed to happen. Turns out we’d all missed a left-hand arrow and were on a dead-end spur. I turned around, losing maybe five minutes, while they’d lost more. You can see my blue track and race course planner Sean Allan's green track here. Both illustrate the confusion at this turn.
We had a long climb up to Foresthill Divide (I think it’s called?) then we descended to something called French Meadows, before climbing up to Red Star Ridge. I was riding off and on with Nate for this section. Nate is a strong rider, was riding a new Mojo HD. He works at Downieville Outfitters and Jet Lites. I’ve gotta say he proves that downhill prowess makes a big difference in true mountain bike races. It’s not just climbing, training plans and hardtails. I’d go ahead on the climbs and he’d go ahead on the descents.
The stair-step climb up to Red Star Ridge wasn’t fun, but once we were up there, it was ripping. That section was also in last year’s race course, and I think it’s my favorite; high-country singletrack. I could ride that all day. I think this is where I caught up to Richard. Richard is from South Africa. We’d talked before the race via the internet, but met at the pre-race meeting at 5:30AM. Nice guy, his wife and kids were at the start and finish of the race. I was also riding with Nate for a bit too. Nate was really railing this part. I let him get in front of me, then immediately put my wheel into a log and went sideways. It’s not flowy riding. I found someone’s multi-tool and co2 cartridge up there. Was passing people, so probably asked 15 people “Lose a multi-tool and co2?” Finally just gave them to some guy, who responded that he hadn’t lost them, but that he’d like them. I didn’t want to carry them in my handlebar bag, clanking and breaking stuff. And they weighed hundreds of grams! Grams I'd done away with in stupid weight weenie-ness! I could have kept my dropper seatpost on the bike, for the grams I was wasting on these things! Instead I was riding the lightest, rigid seatpost I could find. After Red Star ridge we got on asphalt and descended for a mile or two, before getting back on dirt and descending some more. It was a rocky double track.
We climbed up to something called Little Bald Mtn Lookout and Barney Cavanagh Ridge. I was riding with Nate again. This next downhill section was also in last year’s race, really nice singletrack, almost like China Camp or Tamarancho in Marin. I think the aid station toward the end of this was on the “Last Chance Road”, and we were riding a graded, gravel road I think. I talked briefly with a single speeder who was just getting through it. He’d been up all night with stomach trouble and was in a world of hurt.
Last year, this was about where we turned around and started heading back toward the start, on a forest road. This year’s course continued southeast and then simply dropped off the face of the earth.
Seriously, I have never been on a mountain bike descent this long and this steep. We went from 4413’ elevation at 61.4 miles to 2785’ elevation at 63.0 miles. Google Earth seems a bit confused about my total mileage, but I think it was about 1.5 miles and 1628’ of white-knuckle, brake-burning descent to the bottom of the canyon and “Swinging Bridge” above the North Fork of the Middle Fork of the American River. (Yes, that’s really its name.) John Solomito caught up to me near the top of the descent, and we rode it together. He was hooting and hollering down the crazy-steep descent into the North Middle Fork canyon. He’s skinny like David Bowie, the Thin White Duke on his racy 29er. I let him get in front of me and followed him down this alien descent. I cleaned it, except for two switchbacks too sharp for my bike’s wheelbase and my skill. It was intense! After the bridge we began 1.5 miles of hike-a-bike, mirroring the crazy descent we’d just done. John let me go, and I had a few conversations on the way back up the other side. I talked with Richard, an older racer from Santa Cruz for a little while about cyclocross in the 1990s and prototype 29ers. I was able to walk a little faster and caught up to a woman racer. I proposed an idea to her for a competition; Can a human on a two-wheeled bicycle clean the descent and climb of the North Fork of the Middle Fork of the American River? Any bike, any rider, any gear. Red Bull could sponsor it, put it on tv. We discussed it, but neither thought a human could do it. I think it’d be a fun competition to stage. Cleaning the descent; pretty easy. Cleaning the climb? No way. I want to see someone try it. Maybe put cameras on their feet and just see who can do it with the least dabs. We walked forever. Strava and Garmin disagree about the amount of time I spent not moving. I bet this slow, steep hike-a-bike is the differentiator. I was probably going 2 miles an hour at most up it.
I guess there’s something at the top of the rim on the SE side called Devil’s Thumb, but I never saw it. I don’t remember much about the terrain after that, but it was “Deadwood” according to Google Earth. We were trending down, and then we dropped into another canyon, El Dorado Canyon. Here I was riding with Jon Pritchett. We’d been riding together off and on for the second half of the race. That is pretty much my story with Jon. We started and ended last year’s Tahoe-Sierra race together, and he and I recently finished 1st and 2nd in a little 8hr race. He was hurting, and if I’d known he was cramping, I’d have offered him my last two electrolyte pills. We descended together. It was on this descent that I finally lost my rear brake pads. I should have put fresh ones on before the race, but I looked at them, saw half the ‘meat’ left and thought “They’ll go 100 miles.” Wrong, not these canyons. Metal on metal still stops the bike tho. After the El Dorado descent, we were both pushing, but I think Jon kept walking and I started riding.
I had a weird experience with another racer here. I caught him walking, quietly called “rider” and he let me pass, then got on his bike and “drafted” me all the way up the climb, right on my rear wheel. Whatever. At the top the road went right and left, and there was no sign. I guess this was Michigan Bluff. To the right there was a yellow ribbon, but very few tire tracks. To the left there were some houses, a road, but no ribbons. I went right for a little while, then gave up on that and took the left route. After a few hundred yards on rough pavement I saw a Tahoe-Sierra 100 sign and knew I was back on course. At this point I was in terra incognita. I saw total altitude gain in the 10,000’ region, and about 78 miles ridden. I knew I needed another 5,000’ and 14 miles, so I was still riding really conservatively, taking electrolyte pills, filling my 100oz hydration pack with water and Nuun at each aid station, taking in calories from Perpetuem in my water bottles and food at the aid station.
After Michigan Bluff and a little bit of climbing, I got to the last aid station. I saw Roger Lackey there and said hi. I knew he was in my category, but I wasn’t in a hurry to try to beat him at this point. I asked a lady at the aid station about the remaining trail, and she told me that I had six miles, I think she said three down and three up. I said, “And about 5,000’ of climbing?” and she said “Oh no, some climbing, but not that much.” I thanked her, and all the other volunteers. I tried to show as much gratitude as I could on race day. The volunteers were great. The aid stations really help make this race the good experience it is.
It was the same endgame as last year; late in the race I was still budgeting for much bigger climbing and distance numbers than I was seeing on my Garmin. It turned out that the last descent and climb out were pretty small. I finished the last climb and got onto pavement, and then soon I was in the tiny town of Foresthill. I heard Lauren call my name as I rode towards the finish, and then I was through the arch and it was over.
After all that thinking and planning and training, it was kind of anti-climactic. It was a fun race. I did well, although in hindsight I wished I’d pushed the pace harder. I didn’t really enjoy the last three canyons much, but it was really cool to travel through time as it were, along a historic trail - the Western States Trail - from the Lake Tahoe area to the foothills of the Sierra in the heart of the Gold Country, almost all on dirt, and on mountain bikes. Jim Northey did a great job of putting together a logistically challenging race across very varied terrain, across California.
Days later I’d see I’d gotten 11th out of 27 finishers in my field. There had been 41 registered racers, so 14 either didn’t start or didn’t finish. I think the entire field saw a similar attrition rate; I think about 100 finished out of 145 registered racers. I was close to Roger in 10th, but far from the guy in 9th. I’m fine with 11th. To finish is to win!
Numbers
Men 40-49 11/27 finishers, 10:49:01
Strava 10:49:23 total time, 9:51:22 moving time, 82.7 miles, 12,587’ climbing
Garmin 10:49:15 total time, 9:10:16 moving time, 82.66 miles, 12,638’ climbing, 16,237’ descending, temps ranging from 39.2ºF to 107.6ºF
Gear
Physical
The registered rider list
A thread on MTBR about the race
I did the Tahoe-Sierra 100 in 2010. It was really hard, and although at the time I thought I’d had enough of that, I started thinking about doing it again, and better in 2011. I don’t know why. I’ve thought about it almost every one of the three hundred and sixty five days in between. I guess I obsessed about it. I trained for it, I built a bike for it, I raced other races simply to get ready for it. I probably made too big a deal of it. My wife asked me, “Will you have fun?” I couldn’t answer yes. I said, “I’ll have some fun. But it’s really about challenging myself. How tough am I?" I paid for a coach, and mostly followed his advice. It made me boring. I bored people, talking about it. "Oh right," they'd say, "your big race."
Of course, I also drank beer, bought books about how to eat right to be a light-weight bike racer, then ate like a man-pig, rode the workouts on my calendar, but also sometimes, didn’t. And sometimes I just did the bike rides I wanted to do. So while I wanted to kick ass, I also didn’t want to give up any other of life’s happinesses. Oh yeah, and speaking of happinesses, I also worked and I was Dad.
I don’t sleep well the night before races. As I’ve gotten older, this has gotten worse. I’m 43. I didn’t sleep a wink the Thursday night before the race, and it made me so anxious! I think I dozed from 6AM to 7AM, then got up and went to work. But thanks to the wonders of modern medicine and a good friend, who is a doctor, I did sleep really well the Friday night before the race. I closed my eyes and slept very soundly until the 4:45AM alarm went off. Morning prep went smoothly. I ate some of the food on offer at the Ice Lakes Lodge 5AM continental breakfast. My wife Lauren helped me get ready and kept me company at the racer’s meeting. I saw some friends who were also racing and got to briefly meet their wives and families. At the start, I got a kiss from Lauren and a cheer.
We rolled out at 6AM sharp. Immediately after rolling out, I looked down and saw that the hydraulic lock-out button for my suspension fork had been sheared completely off! I hadn’t noticed it until then. It was there the day before! I guess it got ripped off by a tree branch, as we were leaving our neighborhood. Luckily I’d left the fork in the “open” position. I also had trouble clipping in. Sometimes I am like Inspector Clouseau; I do stupid things, like changing my cleats the day before a race.
The front group was charging, and I was more interested in keeping it steady all day, and then pushing it at the end. I have a very healthy respect for this race. It was originally supposed to be 20,000’ climbing and 24,000’ descending over 100 miles, from Soda Springs, CA to Foresthill, CA, but due to the very heavy winter, the promoter, Jimmy Northey had to take out a mountain early in the race. But I was still looking at a predicted 16,000’ up, 20,000’ down over 92 miles. I am a very average athlete, and climbing isn’t my strength, so I just kept it steady and figured I’d try to keep moving, try to spend less time stopped at aid stations than last year. (about an hour, out of 11:20:00)
Forty five minutes in, I saw racers coming toward me. One was the fast guy from Chico, Aren? The other was the fast guy from Summit Cyclery, Shiloh? This isn’t supposed to happen. Turns out we’d all missed a left-hand arrow and were on a dead-end spur. I turned around, losing maybe five minutes, while they’d lost more. You can see my blue track and race course planner Sean Allan's green track here. Both illustrate the confusion at this turn.
We had a long climb up to Foresthill Divide (I think it’s called?) then we descended to something called French Meadows, before climbing up to Red Star Ridge. I was riding off and on with Nate for this section. Nate is a strong rider, was riding a new Mojo HD. He works at Downieville Outfitters and Jet Lites. I’ve gotta say he proves that downhill prowess makes a big difference in true mountain bike races. It’s not just climbing, training plans and hardtails. I’d go ahead on the climbs and he’d go ahead on the descents.
The stair-step climb up to Red Star Ridge wasn’t fun, but once we were up there, it was ripping. That section was also in last year’s race course, and I think it’s my favorite; high-country singletrack. I could ride that all day. I think this is where I caught up to Richard. Richard is from South Africa. We’d talked before the race via the internet, but met at the pre-race meeting at 5:30AM. Nice guy, his wife and kids were at the start and finish of the race. I was also riding with Nate for a bit too. Nate was really railing this part. I let him get in front of me, then immediately put my wheel into a log and went sideways. It’s not flowy riding. I found someone’s multi-tool and co2 cartridge up there. Was passing people, so probably asked 15 people “Lose a multi-tool and co2?” Finally just gave them to some guy, who responded that he hadn’t lost them, but that he’d like them. I didn’t want to carry them in my handlebar bag, clanking and breaking stuff. And they weighed hundreds of grams! Grams I'd done away with in stupid weight weenie-ness! I could have kept my dropper seatpost on the bike, for the grams I was wasting on these things! Instead I was riding the lightest, rigid seatpost I could find. After Red Star ridge we got on asphalt and descended for a mile or two, before getting back on dirt and descending some more. It was a rocky double track.
We climbed up to something called Little Bald Mtn Lookout and Barney Cavanagh Ridge. I was riding with Nate again. This next downhill section was also in last year’s race, really nice singletrack, almost like China Camp or Tamarancho in Marin. I think the aid station toward the end of this was on the “Last Chance Road”, and we were riding a graded, gravel road I think. I talked briefly with a single speeder who was just getting through it. He’d been up all night with stomach trouble and was in a world of hurt.
Last year, this was about where we turned around and started heading back toward the start, on a forest road. This year’s course continued southeast and then simply dropped off the face of the earth.
Seriously, I have never been on a mountain bike descent this long and this steep. We went from 4413’ elevation at 61.4 miles to 2785’ elevation at 63.0 miles. Google Earth seems a bit confused about my total mileage, but I think it was about 1.5 miles and 1628’ of white-knuckle, brake-burning descent to the bottom of the canyon and “Swinging Bridge” above the North Fork of the Middle Fork of the American River. (Yes, that’s really its name.) John Solomito caught up to me near the top of the descent, and we rode it together. He was hooting and hollering down the crazy-steep descent into the North Middle Fork canyon. He’s skinny like David Bowie, the Thin White Duke on his racy 29er. I let him get in front of me and followed him down this alien descent. I cleaned it, except for two switchbacks too sharp for my bike’s wheelbase and my skill. It was intense! After the bridge we began 1.5 miles of hike-a-bike, mirroring the crazy descent we’d just done. John let me go, and I had a few conversations on the way back up the other side. I talked with Richard, an older racer from Santa Cruz for a little while about cyclocross in the 1990s and prototype 29ers. I was able to walk a little faster and caught up to a woman racer. I proposed an idea to her for a competition; Can a human on a two-wheeled bicycle clean the descent and climb of the North Fork of the Middle Fork of the American River? Any bike, any rider, any gear. Red Bull could sponsor it, put it on tv. We discussed it, but neither thought a human could do it. I think it’d be a fun competition to stage. Cleaning the descent; pretty easy. Cleaning the climb? No way. I want to see someone try it. Maybe put cameras on their feet and just see who can do it with the least dabs. We walked forever. Strava and Garmin disagree about the amount of time I spent not moving. I bet this slow, steep hike-a-bike is the differentiator. I was probably going 2 miles an hour at most up it.
I guess there’s something at the top of the rim on the SE side called Devil’s Thumb, but I never saw it. I don’t remember much about the terrain after that, but it was “Deadwood” according to Google Earth. We were trending down, and then we dropped into another canyon, El Dorado Canyon. Here I was riding with Jon Pritchett. We’d been riding together off and on for the second half of the race. That is pretty much my story with Jon. We started and ended last year’s Tahoe-Sierra race together, and he and I recently finished 1st and 2nd in a little 8hr race. He was hurting, and if I’d known he was cramping, I’d have offered him my last two electrolyte pills. We descended together. It was on this descent that I finally lost my rear brake pads. I should have put fresh ones on before the race, but I looked at them, saw half the ‘meat’ left and thought “They’ll go 100 miles.” Wrong, not these canyons. Metal on metal still stops the bike tho. After the El Dorado descent, we were both pushing, but I think Jon kept walking and I started riding.
I had a weird experience with another racer here. I caught him walking, quietly called “rider” and he let me pass, then got on his bike and “drafted” me all the way up the climb, right on my rear wheel. Whatever. At the top the road went right and left, and there was no sign. I guess this was Michigan Bluff. To the right there was a yellow ribbon, but very few tire tracks. To the left there were some houses, a road, but no ribbons. I went right for a little while, then gave up on that and took the left route. After a few hundred yards on rough pavement I saw a Tahoe-Sierra 100 sign and knew I was back on course. At this point I was in terra incognita. I saw total altitude gain in the 10,000’ region, and about 78 miles ridden. I knew I needed another 5,000’ and 14 miles, so I was still riding really conservatively, taking electrolyte pills, filling my 100oz hydration pack with water and Nuun at each aid station, taking in calories from Perpetuem in my water bottles and food at the aid station.
After Michigan Bluff and a little bit of climbing, I got to the last aid station. I saw Roger Lackey there and said hi. I knew he was in my category, but I wasn’t in a hurry to try to beat him at this point. I asked a lady at the aid station about the remaining trail, and she told me that I had six miles, I think she said three down and three up. I said, “And about 5,000’ of climbing?” and she said “Oh no, some climbing, but not that much.” I thanked her, and all the other volunteers. I tried to show as much gratitude as I could on race day. The volunteers were great. The aid stations really help make this race the good experience it is.
It was the same endgame as last year; late in the race I was still budgeting for much bigger climbing and distance numbers than I was seeing on my Garmin. It turned out that the last descent and climb out were pretty small. I finished the last climb and got onto pavement, and then soon I was in the tiny town of Foresthill. I heard Lauren call my name as I rode towards the finish, and then I was through the arch and it was over.
After all that thinking and planning and training, it was kind of anti-climactic. It was a fun race. I did well, although in hindsight I wished I’d pushed the pace harder. I didn’t really enjoy the last three canyons much, but it was really cool to travel through time as it were, along a historic trail - the Western States Trail - from the Lake Tahoe area to the foothills of the Sierra in the heart of the Gold Country, almost all on dirt, and on mountain bikes. Jim Northey did a great job of putting together a logistically challenging race across very varied terrain, across California.
Days later I’d see I’d gotten 11th out of 27 finishers in my field. There had been 41 registered racers, so 14 either didn’t start or didn’t finish. I think the entire field saw a similar attrition rate; I think about 100 finished out of 145 registered racers. I was close to Roger in 10th, but far from the guy in 9th. I’m fine with 11th. To finish is to win!
Numbers
Men 40-49 11/27 finishers, 10:49:01
Strava 10:49:23 total time, 9:51:22 moving time, 82.7 miles, 12,587’ climbing
Garmin 10:49:15 total time, 9:10:16 moving time, 82.66 miles, 12,638’ climbing, 16,237’ descending, temps ranging from 39.2ºF to 107.6ºF
Gear
- XL Santa Cruz Tallboy, XX Reba 120mm fork, Monarch RT3 shock, XX group, Edge Composites XC rims, set up tubeless, with Schwalbe Racing Ralph Tubeless-Ready Snakeskin 29x2.25 tires at about 29f/30r worked great
- Shock and fork PSI seemed set way too high, bike felt way too firm. Need to tune the suspension and not just follow the printed numbers I think.
- Mountain Feedbag on my handlebars for food, electrolytes, whatever
- Garmin External Power Pack (battery) and Garmin Edge 800 computer/gps
- Changed cleats the day before, bad idea, but using flexy, looser-fitting old SIDI Dominators was the right choice, over snugger, stiffer Shimano shoes.
- Thomson Masterpiece seatpost was light, but creaked the whole time.
- King titanium cages held two full water bottles, one on the top of the down tube, one on the bottom of the down tube, and never let go. This was a rough course, so props to these cages. I also ran an ABS plastic skid plate bought from a guy on mtbr named "cytoe", which mounts under the lower bottle cage. After seeing the rock chips in the carbon from the first few months of riding, I'm glad I added it.
Physical
- Carried a handful of Succeed! S Caps in my handlebar bag, maybe 25, took in all but three.
- Carried two regular Camelbak bottles filled almost to the top with Perpetuem powder, then water added so that they were at pancake-batter consistency worked great, finished with some still left in 2nd bottle, added water at aid stations as the day went by to make it easier to drink
- Held back, kept a steady forward pace but never ‘burnt a match’. Walked when it got too steep. Tried to not dally at aid stations, but ended up spending about the same amount of time stopped at aid stations as last year, about an hour. Lost track, stopped at maybe four or five aid stations, skipped the very first one. Put about 70oz of water + Nuun in my 100oz hydration pack at each aid station, keeping it full. Drank as much as I could. Started feeling the beginning of leg cramps about halfway through the race, so started taking 2-4 S Caps at a time from then on, probably should have started taking them earlier. Started with maybe 20-25 S Caps, gave two away, ended with one in my handlebar bag. They work!
- Ativan (Lorazepam) is amazing. I had insomnia bad Thursday night, didn’t sleep until about an hour at 6AM Friday morning. Nerves. Took two 1mg Ativan pills at 8PM, right before dinner Friday night. Slept so well! Up at 4:45AM for the pre-race breakfast with no troubles. Had never taken Ativan before. Thumbs up.
- I’d learned a hard lesson with hyponatremia and then dehydration on a practice ride in Downieville (click the "Ride Notes" icon to read it.) a few weeks earlier, and so I was way more balanced in my intake during the race, drinking a lot and really keeping on top of electrolytes. I drank some pickle juice and ate pickles at two aid stations.
A thread on MTBR about the race
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