Back to Home Pagecycling utah August 2000
By David R. Ward
Publisher
Unusual experiences are the source of
great stories and vivid memories.
For
me, cycling has led to many such unusual experiences which will furnish me with
fodder for story-telling for years to come. The LOTOJA Classic (for the
uninitiated, a one-day, 203 mile race from Logan, Utah to Jackson Hole,
Wyoming) annually provides just such an experience. Contrary to some recent
rumors the race will again be held this year,
Indeed, let me share my own experience from the 1986 edition of
the LOTOJA. I was new to racing, having started toward the end of the racing
season the year before. My longest race to that point had been about 50 miles,
but I was intrigued by the challenge of riding 200 miles in one day. About in
June, I started asking around and soon I was excited about participating.
I trained. I sought advice on eating and
equipment. I even invested in rain gear based on the advice of employees at a
bike shop. I should have been smart enough to realize they just wanted to sell
me a bunch of stuff.
Race day
arrived and I showed up at the start line in my goretex jacket and rainpants.
Back in those days, we all started together, and at 7 a.m. nearly a hundred of
us headed off on our grand expedition.
The
jacket and pants actually turned out to be a good idea, as it soon began to
rain as we made our way north. Aside from that, things went quite well till
Preston where we had our first feed zone. That was a mess as nearly a hundred
riders, still riding in one pack, attempted to find their support person and
grab their feed bag on the fly. Carnage ensued. I was fortunate in that I
avoided all of the crashes, but unfortunate in that the crashed had separated
me from the leaders who had planned well their feed exchange, and were using
the confusion to leave the less fortunate behind.
As I chased, I came upon a friend and teammate who had also
been dropped. Being newly-indoctrinated with the team psyche, I decided it was my
duty to slow and help him along. So I was dumb. But I learned my first lesson:
If the guy you are with cannot keep up with you, you have no duty to wait. I
waited too long before realizing he was never going to match my pace, even
while sitting in my draft. I finally left him behind, but by then it was too
late. I chased for many miles, only to see that gap between me and a fairly
large group up the road continue to grow.
Meanwhile,
it continued to rain. I rode by myself up and down the rolling hills between
Preston and Soda Springs, and after awhile a group of three riders caught up to
me. Together, we rode for about a half hour. As we rolled into Soda Springs,
one of the riders pointed over to McDonald's and suggested we make a bathroom
stop. Now, I had wondered about that particular aspect of this event, but had
not made appropriate inquiries. So, when he made his suggestion, I just assumed
that was what everyone did: Stop at a convenience store or other easily
accessible bathroom.
Okay, so
I was really dumb. I should have figured something was not right when one of
the riders failed to slow and stop with us. Dutifully following our
self-appointed leader, we trooped into the McDonald's and I availed myself of
the bathroom facilities. You can imagine my consternation, however, when I
exited the bathroom only to discover my partners ordering Big Macs. I may have
been stupid, but at that point I made my exit, mounted my bike and once again
headed north.
Shortly after
leaving Soda Springs, I had my first stroke of good fortune. I was certain by
then that I was not only the most foolish person in the race, but most likely
the last one in the race. Gratefully, I was wrong. Another rider caught up with
me, and we actually began riding well together. We took turns leading the way,
each able to relax somewhat when in the other's slipstream.
Then, just as I was thinking I could ride
with this guy all the way to Jackson Hole, he dropped alongside me and said,
"Well, this is the hundred mile mark, and that was my goal." He stopped, and I was once again on my own.
I cursed my fate, and him, but stubbornly continued to push the pedals
northward, certain once again that I was dead last in this race.
From there on, things are a bit of a blur.
I rode all alone for quite some time, including over Tin Cup Pass and through
Freedom, Wyoming. I was delighted when, on the road to Alpine, a group of
several riders caught up to me, and I was able to join in.
As we cycled up the Snake River Canyon,
three of us pulled away from the remaining riders in our group of about eight.
As the other two picked up the pace and my legs began to hurt, I began to
question whether I should be with them. Still, I hung on, doing my share of the
work, even though it was hurting me. Next lesson: Don't be afraid to just suck
wheel. If someone else has it and you don't, but you can stay in their
slipstream, do it. Pride is a terrible thing, especially when you are just
trying to hang on.
As luck
would have, the rear derailleur on one guy's bike suddenly blew apart. His race
was over. I then tried to work with the other fellow, but this time I was the
one who could not hang on. Off he motored, and once again I was alone.
This time, I knew I was not dead last, but
sure enough, the others we had dropped soon caught up to me. By this time, I
was really starting to hurt. I did not want to eat or drink, I just wanted to
get to the finish line. Another lesson: Never stop eating and drinking, no
matter how bad it feels. The last fifty miles is when you need it the
most.
It was on the last climb
before reaching the town of Jackson that I was dropped, alone once again, and
for sure this time dead last. Nor did I care. My stomach was in knots, the
bottoms of my feet burned, and my butt hurt. Still, I doggedly continued to
turn the pedals as I focused on one thing only: Reaching the finish line.
It was no longer a race for me, but a
battle between my body and my will. With ten miles to go, I realized I was
going to make it. I then promised myself I would never do it again. I had done
it once, had proven to myself I could, and that was enough. As these thoughts
slogged around in my head, I would alternately stand up and sit down. I stood
to relieve the pain in my rear, but then the pain in my feet became unbearable.
When I sat to relieve the pain in my feet, my butt became the focus of
unbearable pain. During all of this, my stomach continued to knot up.
You can imagine my joy when the ski towers
at Teton Village came into sight, and they did not look to be too far. This is
when I learned my next lesson: Your destination is always twice as far as it
looks. And fate still had a trick in store for me. With about a half mile to
go, it began to rain again. I finished the last quarter mile in a driving rain
storm.
Soaked to the skin, and
with the rain still pouring, my wife, Karma, helped me off my bike and loaded
it and me into the car. It felt good to stop pedaling and sit in a soft seat.
The pain was over, or so I thought. When we reached the hotel, I moved to get out
of the car. CRAMP ATTACK. My whole body tightened into one huge knot.
Well, Karma and I managed to lift, drag
and carry my body to our room, and dump it into a hot bathtub. That felt great
. . . till the nausea hit. Then, being the wonderful caretaker and nurse Karma
is, I was treated to Coke till my stomach finally settled down.
By this time, I had related my resolution
to Karma to never do this race again, sharing with her all the good reasons why
I would not. So, you can imagine her surprise when, while eating dinner that
night with the other participants and their support crews, I started talking
about what I would do different the next year. Karma thought I was crazy, but
it's funny what a little rest and some good food can do to your reasoning processes.
Well, that was fourteen years ago. Since
then, I have started twelve more LOTOJAs, and finished ten of them, each
providing its share of tales to tell. Karma still thinks I am crazy, but then
she seems to love me in spite of that, or maybe in part because of that.
To
be honest, I am not certain I can really explain what drives me. But I am glad
the LOTOJA is still happening. Riding the LOTOJA is an experience, one that
cannot be found elsewhere. One that every cyclist should try. At least
once.
By the way, I did learn
from my experience of that first year. The next year I took sixth overall,
first in the Masters 35+ division, and improved my time by two hours. Marty
Jemison was in that race as well. He beat me, but only by seven minutes.
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