The End of the Beginning

Me and Steve in the distance. Photo by Gnat from his DK Race post

It's taken me a while to begin to bring together words to describe this year's Dirty Kanza outing. I started with the typical play by play recalling of the action, but quickly lost interest. Although the events took place in order, it's not how it seemed. Through my eyes I saw the beauty and ruggedness in the rolling hills of Kansas. Felt the fun of unknown adventure ahead. Shared several laughs with strangers turned friend along the way. I crossed paths with cows more times that I cared and felt the heart ache of a day of adventure turning into a mode of survival. But mostly I got to witness the extraordinary strengths of my friends first hand.

My day started off great. I was surrounded by friends, the electricity of the event have everyone amped and in a good mood, and a full days adventure awaited. This year the event actually had grown. We had a real start and finish line with actual people around for both. Not the lonely finish in a dark hotel parking lot with 3 people clapping (if you were lucky) as past years. The town had rallied around the event and embraced it in one giant bear of a hug. Much like Leadville without all the star gazers.

We rolled out of town. Steve and I taking the lead of our group of racers with the others not far off of our wheels. I told Steve to just protect his front wheel on the start and to just wait for the gravel. Soon we were at the gravel and the front bunch strung out the group. We fell into line on one of the 2 tire tracks left in the loose gravel and the race was on. I worked us up into a better paced group and Steven and I traded pulls, keeping the pace high but not too high in the early flat gravel. I knew from past experience the yard sales that happen on the first "hill" of the day and wanted to be ahead of that portion of the pack, so we were hauling for a few miles. It was Scotty then me with Steve just back a bit over the first climb. Scotty took off (and won the SS class) and I told him I was waiting for Steve. Steve and I worked well together riding with another SS'er from Emporia named Dustin (whom I'd go on to yo-yo and banter with for the next 50 miles). We started closing in a few of the stragglers dropping off the front of the pack (either from exertion or flat repair) and making good time until we hit the head wind.

I mentioned something to Steve about probably needing to eat something and he replied "yep we're 56 minutes in". My stomach had been giving me pains, but otherwise I was feeling good. Hydration was going well and the legs and lungs felt fantastic. I bit the corner off of a powerbar and it was quickly apparent that something was amiss. My stomach pain grew more intense. I tried to choke down another nip of bar, then returned it to my pocket.

We caught a short break and the wind turned to our backs for a moment and Steven was gone. This is where being on an SS is a disability. I could rev it up, but not as fast as a big ring. I watched as Steven opened a gap and I fell back into my own rhythm which was quickly slowing down. Steven looked strong. He sounded good, and I could still see the excitement in him. I knew without a doubt that he was going to finish, you could see it in the way he was riding. Attacking the ride really. I regretted not being able to keep up as I was hoping to be there in the demon filled night portion with my friend, eating pizza in a parking lot with 30 miles to go. Those type of memories are the best memories of previous DKs I have.

Iron Man's arc reactor helped keep the cows at bay.

My gut was becoming more painful. My day was quickly going from hopes of finishing to hopes of making it to help. The pain was different this time. Right upper quadrant, just underneath my sternum and ribs. At mile 46 I was no longer able to eat or drink. It was hot, I was a long way from help, and I was suffering into the wind alone.

I made it into the first checkpoint, got my map, then headed directly over to the gas n sip I knew all too well. I grabbed a tea, some water, and a Gatorade along with some nibs. Pizza wasn't up yet, it was only 10:30. Not that I would have been able to eat it, though I craved it pretty badly.

Emily, Grant, then Molly all showed up. Emily was in and out like a flash and back on her way. Grant rolled up while I was sitting outside in the shade wishing I could drink the cold tea in my hand and filling up water bottles. Molly rolled in shortly after. The three of us hanging out for a bit before taking off on the second leg together.

The sun had crept higher in the sky and the heat was on the rise. Although not as hot as last year's weather, we were still in the high nineties with a 107 heat index. The lack of humidity and slight breeze were the only saving graces from making the oven not as hot as last time. But the heat was still taking its toll on everybody.

Having two friends to ride with helped keep my mind off the growing pain in my gut. Making the long climb out of town I tried to pull a "the look" move on gRant but the energy quickly faded and we settled back into our own rhythms. As we made our way back off the tarmac and onto gravel I started to go backwards again. Grant rode off holding his pace while Molly hung back with me. I tried to coax her on, but she acted like I was riding a good pace. She's not a good actor, but I appreciated having someone to chat with out in the heat. My goal was to get to the halfway point without assistance, which was proving to be all the more difficult not being able to drink. I was so thirsty, but it wouldn't go down. I took to just filling my mouth with liquid and holding it there to wet my tongue, then spitting it out. I stopped sweating and used my undrinkable water bottles to douse over my head to cool down. The water almost bath water hot as it trickled down my skull onto my neck. My speed crept down to 14 miles per hour. Then 13. When we were 25 miles out I looked down and saw 12 mph. Ok 2 more hours, I can make that. Then 5 miles later I was barely holding 9, ok 2 more hours. Another few miles and 7mph was all I could muster. Nearly an hour into my 2 more hours I still had 2 more hours to go.

I was running out of energy. A last ditch attempt of honey stinger was made to try to get some calories in, but it was for naught. I got about 2 small tastes down before nausea took over. Molly was still there pretending like we were still riding the same pace keeping my mood up by chatting and joking about terrorists and waving to everyone we came across in order to "win that picture."

Around mile 88 on my computer, mile 86 on the map, I got 86'ed with number 86. I stopped 30' shy of collapsing. I bent over my bike and asked Molly one of the hardest things I've had to do in a race: to call H. to see if she was at the halfway point yet and if she could come get me. I slowly pulled out my map to see if I could guide her in. As Molly chatted with H. making it sound like we were both just pulling the plug (she she's not a good actress at all) I started dry heaving all the nothing that was in my gut. 40 miles and roughly 4 hours of heat and wind with not a single sip of liquid and a pain in my stomach.

As Molly was talking to H. a car pulled up and checked on us. The driver was on his way to pick up another rider who had pulled out (Steve Fuller out of Iowa) and he said that if we were still there upon his return, he'd pick me up. Molly found the only square foot of shade for me to sit in the stood over me like a momma bird. I told her she could sit in the shade too, but I think it came out more like "sit, you're just blocking my wind" or something. We sat in the square foot of shade in the gravel and waited.

I told Molly to go on, that I would be fine now and that she shouldn't waste time, but she did what most women do around me, ignored me. Moments later Steve and co pulled up. They had to stuff my bike in the back so the wheels had to come off. As they were pulling them off one of them said "this bike is small, is this her bike?" To which I answered "That's a boy's bike, do you see a basket?" (stemming from a van conversation on the drive out about Molly's recent experience with parents, kids, bikes and baskets). With that, we loaded up and left Molly to finish out her ride.

Next thing I know I'm at the halfway and H. is there taking photos of me crumpling out of the car. The A/C had helped cool me off and although I was miserably nauseous and insanely thirsty, my sense of humor was still intact and we joked with Steve and co a bit before handing him a 10 spot for a sixxer for the lift.

I stuffed my bike into our van, took off my helmet and limped over to the Sinclair station with H. to get an icee and cool off. I was hoping the icee would both sooth my nausea (simple sugars) and cool my overheated core while most importantly, staying down. My race was over.

More stories from Team Church Van:
Grant: Part 1 and Part 2.
The Tale of two Stevens
Emily's Adventure