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Dirt Rag Articles
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What's the longest ride you've ever done? For most of us, the answer is somewhere this side of one day and one hundred miles; but there are folks among us who strive to go beyond those marks, sometimes well beyond, and who measure their rides in whole days and multiple hundreds of miles. Many times these thresholds are crossed in the pursuit of completing a challenge, in the form of a race or other group event, since our fellow riders can push us to keep going and find out how far we can go.
In the past, Dirt Rag has featured such rides as oddities, distances that a few brave souls showed were possible, but that most of us wouldn't have attempted. But ultra-endurance races (as they have become known) are gaining popularity as regular folks look for new challenges and a deeper sense of fulfillment. Perhaps this is the next stage of evolution of our relatively young sport. Here are some accounts of riders who have tested their limits and have been enriched by the experience.
The Great Divide Race
The Great Divide Race (GDR) is perhaps the granddaddy of ultra-endurance mountain bike races in this country. It follows the Great Divide Route, a mostly off-road route along the Continental Divide from the Port of Roosville, Montana, to Antelope Wells, New Mexico. The Route was created by Adventure Cycling in 1998 as a completely bikeable alternative to the Continental Divide Trail, which has many sections closed to bikes (and more threatened with closure).
The Race is completely self-supported: no support crew allowed, no cell phone use unless it's an emergency (and racers are immediately disqualified if they do need to use one), certainly no feed zones. As the race website says, "The overriding principle is simply to do it all yourself." The only official link of any kind is that racers must check in via payphone from a list of towns along the way (go to greatdividerace/blogspot.com to read transcripts of these phone calls).
We last featured this race in 2005 in issue #117, after its second running, when Kent Peterson wrote about his race experiences on a singlespeed in "The Way of the Mountain Turtle." That year Kent was one of seven riders to line up, and one of four finishers. The fact that this year Jay Petervary set a new GDR record of 15 days, 4 hours, and 18 minutes is perhaps not as significant as the fact that the field of 25 participants was more than three times that of any other year, and more than all four previous years combined. Only one person, Matthew Lee (who finished second place this year), completed the course under the time cutoff in '06; ten people came in before the cutoff this year.
Mike Curiak
Mike Curiak is the founder and co-organizer of the GDR (along with Pete Basinger); he also held the previous record time of 16 days and 57 minutes for its first three years.
What motivated you to organize this event?
Frustration, mostly, is what motivated it. It was such a great thing that Laird [Knight of Granny Gear Productions] and others did in the mid-'90s, but doing 24-hour events solo loses its excitement really fast. 24-hour races opened people's eyes to the fact that it's not a big deal to ride for 24 hours at a stretch, but going around and around on the same track, particularly for solo riders, can get monotonous. I wanted something with more adventure, more self-reliance, without using a support crew.
Why do you think this race has gained popularity?
It has reached a critical mass... There's been an explosion of 150-300 mile events, like the Kokopelli Race or the Grand Loop or the Iditabike, and people who complete these look to the GDR as the next step. Last year's race had more audio and text coverage [available on the GDR website] and so it was on people's radar.
With the races I've organized, the goal has never been to get coverage and promotion, the goal has been to make it fun. It started off strictly selfishly, with what would be fun for me.
What advice would you give to people looking to make the jump from 24-hour racing?
You need commitment. Physical attributes don't matter as much. I sometimes hear people say, "If a pro like so-and-so showed up, they'd school the field." They might on the first day, and maybe the second, but definitely not on day 5, especially when there's 10 days left. It's most important to have determination and drive, and mental flexibility; you need to be able to roll with the punches and let go of any preconceived notions of what might happen. You never know what's going to happen.
There's a big difference between racing and just touring the Great Divide Route. The level of sacrifice and suffering is more than most people realize. A lot of participants say they'll "see how it goes," just go out to survive, and end up doing 70 to 80 miles a day, which is 20 to 30 miles a day off the pace to finish by the cutoff. To do that you need to ride just over 100 miles a day. (My record time averaged out to about 158 miles a day.) One guy this year missed the cutoff by just eight hours, and will not be listed as a finisher.
Were there any factors like weather that contributed to the record being broken this year?
It was a combination of things... In '04 [the first year] there was no concrete goal, but now racers know what they have to do and roughly what it takes to do it competitively. And this year there definitely was good luck with the weather. For instance Jay Petervary was only in one hailstorm, and it lasted only an hour, that was it. Mostly it was high pressure and blue skies.
It seems like in an event such as this, any small injury or illness can get worse until it stops you, since there is so little rest time.
Yes, that's definitely true. Pete Basinger got sick with what we suspect is giardia, fought through it for days, but eventually had to drop out. Rick Hunter had some knee swelling, made it almost to New Mexico and dropped out. Small things build up over so many miles. There are so many critical minutiae involved: things like cleat position, hand position, etc. have to be absolutely perfect.
Is there a typical amount of gear that racers use?
There is a wide range of gear. Jay Petervary's whole setup with his bike is around 35lbs. Pete Basinger and Matt Lee [who finished second this year] probably use a similar amount. There are others who go out with about 60lbs., and they probably won't finish with it all. Sometimes people do get rid of cold weather gear as it gets hotter, but generally you're covering miles so fast, you're only in a snowstorm up on a pass for a short while before you drop down and start sweating. So you just kinda deal with it, knowing it's a temporary inconvenience.
David Nice
You may remember David Nice from a Readings article in Dirt Rag #123, which told his heartbreaking (and maddening) tale of getting his bike stolen after his third day on the Great Divide Race. David is also noteworthy for trying the race on a fixed gear bike, last year and for this year's attempt. This time he was sidelined not by no-good thieves but by a rock, which pinched his ankle between it and a hard place, namely his pedal, and the resulting pain made it impossible for David to continue putting pressure on the pedals. He traveled 837 miles in his attempt.
What's the appeal of an event like this for you?
The difficulty—it's something not a lot of people even think about. There is so much time to meditate on things happening in life, and it's wonderful to get away from the normal routine for an extended period. I'm reduced to simple concerns: riding, eating, and sleeping. It's just me. That fulfillment is hard to find in other aspects of life.
How was it being alone for so long?
The loneliness got to me more than I thought it would...I had no radio or MP3 player, and went for long stretches without seeing another human. Twenty hours was the longest stretch. Next time I'll think about bringing something to listen to music with. I was amazed though, how many people I did see at times, as the course is mostly very remote.
Did you take the time to enjoy the scenery, or were you just pedaling?
I did see a lot of God's wonderful creation. I used a gear low enough to spin, and stopped to take some photos.
How was it doing the race fixed? Would you consider doing it again?
I've been riding fixed off-road pretty much exclusively for the last four years (and singlespeed for a while before that), so I'm used to it, and I wasn't concerned about the attempt. Now, I'm questioning whether I can do it, and considering trying it on a freewheel singlespeed or even a geared bike...but it's still a huge carrot to be able to complete the race fixed.
So do you think you'll try again next year?
I will keep riding and training to prepare, but I haven't decided yet if I will actually do it.
Any advice for someone thinking of doing the GDR?
I would give yourself a year to prepare, and do the route once ahead of time to check it out, make sure you can follow the map, take pictures—know what to expect.
This has been a super cool experience, and I still consider it fun. 24-hour racing is like environmental NASCAR, going around and around on the same trail. The GDR is as grassroots as it gets with no entry fee and no waiver (and no prizes). But it's immensely satisfying to ride all day, and look back and see the distant mountain peak I climbed earlier.
Crush the Commonwealth
Crush the Commonwealth is another new, yet classically grassroots event: a few friends got together last year and decided to see who could ride the 400 miles from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh in the shortest time. Enough fun was had by all to warrant doing it again this year, with the starting city and race direction switched. The route includes most of Pennsylvania's Bicycle Route S, rail-trail connectors to the start and finish cities, and even an abandoned tunnel that was once part of the PA Turnpike. 2007 was the race's second year, and of course, there was no entry fee nor support.
Chris Latterman
Bleary eyed, in the rain, after midnight, I roll into Sheetz looking for sustenance. Max and Eric seem better off than me; mentally, I'm slipping. Sheetz is empty but the guys working there are interested in our story, the others stopping in look at us skeptically. It sounds too damn weird as I'm recounting the day to the third shifters. One talkative employee seems really stoked on the idea. Coffee'd up and with food, we roll on.
Eighteen hours ago I woke up from a decent night of sleep on an abandoned highway, the Pennsylvania Turnpike to be exact. Slept on the eastbound lane where the asphalt held up to the passage of time better, the westbound was potholed and crumbly, more likely to puncture my air mattress. Slept under the stars after riding 180 miles that day, most of it in the rain too. This is what I save my vacation for.
Crushing the Commonwealth. 400 miles across the Keystone State as quick as you can follow PA Bike Route 'S' from the 'Burgh to Philly. No help, no support, just a shit load of pedaling. This was my second year. Last year I learned a lot about touring, packing, eating, navigating, and what my body can handle. Rode my fixed Surly Crosscheck both years. Made the wise decision this year to put the load on the bike rather than on my back in my messenger bag like last year: small front Rivendell rack with a basket and a rear rack with stuff sack. Little stuff went in my frame bag and food in jersey pockets. Still seemed like a lot of stuff, probably about 20lbs. without buying stupid-light equipment. Even had my Esbit stove for a.m. coffee while still in my sleeping bag.
Last year it took three full days to cover the route, this year I was hoping for two long days, i.e. sub-48 hours. Ambitious—yes; doable—maybe; enjoyable—maybe. Wasn't dead set about the sub-48, would see how I felt and adjust as needed. I did a lot more riding leading up to this year's race/ride, even started mountain biking again after a few years of fixed road hiatus. I knew I could handle the distance, it was just a matter of how fast. Not being able to stretch out and relax is the worst thing about riding fixed so long. Rising out of the saddle to stretch out is awkward at best and spinning down the hills smoothly takes its toll as well. Get your RPMs up too high and you bounce around and are more likely to hurt yourself as your smooth form heads south. Basically you never get a break while on the bike. There are no free miles riding fixed.
Time and distance are funny things when your mileage totals can be counted in centuries. You stop worrying about distance a bit since you know your time in the saddle and amount of calories burned will take their toll before you get to your destination. You can set distance goals but it might really hurt to meet them. The first day we rode until 1 a.m. to make the Turnpike. That's where we wanted to camp and we burned the daylight and a good bit of batteries to get there. Up early the next day, still feeling last night's miles, we pressed on. That's what we were here for so we might as well do it.
The next day went fairly well. The hills stung more but as the miles clicked off we knew we were closer to the finish. It's a funny thing to want to hurry along a ride that you've been looking forward to for months. As the day grew long our pace slowed. Once night came we had a few camping options along the route, but the rain sealed the deal that we would push on rather than spend a wet night in the woods. Once at the Sheetz we had 50 miles to go to Philly. As I said my mind was slipping, not sleeping on the bike but not awake either. Pre-dawn roads were a nice quiet way to finish out the ride before taking the bike path into the city. Oncoming cars were confused by what we were with our lights blazing and reflectors sending back their headlights. With the worst of the hills behind us, my body relaxed into easier spinning and keeping myself awake became my biggest struggle. Conversation helped a great deal but even short lulls had my mind slipping off. Long blinks let my muscles relax and let gravity have its way, pulling the bike towards one side before I'd snap back to life and straighten things out.
2:45 a.m. at the trailhead had me wanting to sleep under the picnic table. Determination and encouragement got me back on the bike for the last 25. Max had the home field advantage and Eric and I tried to keep his taillight in sight. Seventeen miles per hour doesn't sound like much, but holding that pace was all we could handle. Hanging on Max's wheel was my goal. He pulled us into Philly but not before meeting up with Nick who was in his own world of hurt too. Now four of us, we pedaled the last miles into the city. Coming up on City Hall, Nick proposed the idea of a sprint to the finish at the Liberty Bell. Sure, why not? With ten blocks to go I made my attack, hoping no one would follow me blindly through the red lights. Max took off with me and we kept close until the last two blocks when I ran out off gas. No more, done. He freewheeled to the finish as I came in spinning down. Damn coasties. Eric and Nick followed soon after surprised we actually made a sprint finish.
Right around 5 a.m. Sunday was our official end. 400 miles in sub-48 hours. That's gonna be hard to top.
Max Steinbrenner
What where your motivations to attempt this ride?
For some reason, even though it was the hardest thing I'd ever done, I liked this ride a lot after doing it last year. Doing it as fast as possible, however, presents some additional challenges to a pretty easy course. If you had four days I think this would be a really nice ride. Doing it in under two days it does get a little hectic...maybe next year I'll bring my girlfriend and try to do it more slowly? In 4-5 days? Could be nice to not have numb hands for weeks afterward or experience mild hallucinations after riding for 20+ hours straight. I dunno, maybe I'll try that next year.
What training did you do for the ride?
This year I trained a little harder than last year but I'd hardly call it "training" in the official sense. Chris (Latterman) and I rode a couple centuries over the winter. I ride or race singlespeed mountain bikes one day of most of my weekends. Finally, I commute 12-15 miles each way to work every day—that is definitely the bulk of my miles and seems to be surprisingly good training.
What was you longest ride before this race?
This same race last year. I've done a few road centuries and a couple MTB rides of 60-70 miles. This summer I hope to complete my first Shenandoah Mountain 100.
Quick rundown of bike and gear set-up:
The bike: Surly Crosscheck singlespeed with a rack, full fenders and V-brakes. It is set up that way because it is also my rainy day commuter bike. The bike is certainly nothing fancy but gets plenty of testing in the nastiest of conditions, so I know the parts are solid.
Gear: this year I put on a rear rack for my clothes, sleeping bag, and sleeping pad. I also used an Ortlieb front bag (my "man basket") for all my other stuff I'd need easier access to; wallet, food, phone, etc.
Did you think about quitting?
Not this year...but definitely last year! After a sleepless night and a hard first day I called my girlfriend to come pick me up in Breezewood the morning of the second day. Luckily she didn't get the message immediately, because by the time I got to Breezewood I felt better and called her back to tell her I was going to finish. This year I was in a little better shape (physically) and did pretty well. I definitely did feel pretty bad for a bit after finishing though (sprinting after riding over a double century is not something I'd recommend if you don't have to do it).
Would you do this or other long rides again? What would you do differently?
Definitely! I really like this stuff. I did a lot of things differently this year than I did last year. This long distance stuff is really a learning experience in how you can effectively ride long miles with minimal effort. You learn how to ride, you learn how to eat, how to pack, how to listen to your body—it is incredible! The craziest thing is everyone finds a different way of doing things. You really have to figure out what works for you by going out there and doing it. Sure, you can read about it all day on the internet, but you'll never know what works for you unless you go out and try it.
Did you just hammer out the miles or take time to enjoy the scenery?
This year definitely more hammering! Lots of riding at night so no real scenery for those parts. Riding at night is nice though! Riding all day you see lots of really nice stuff, especially way out in the country. The dirt path through Ohiopyle [State Park, part of the Bicycle Route S] is really pretty. One of the coolest parts was chasing a turkey for a quarter-mile down the path.
| Exclusive Dirt Rag Web-Only Extras For A Long Way from Home | Here Dirt Rag's own Eric McKeegan gives his account of the Crush the Commonwealth event.
5:00 am is mighty early to start a ride, but when I rolled up a few minutes late there were seven other riders waiting for our group of three to arrive. Ten riders started on Friday morning, up from five the previous (and inaugural) year. I was happy with this turnout, as this race has no prizes, no support and no entry fee.
We were an odd group, with four singlespeeds, one fixed gear, only one proper touring bike, and almost a complete lack of Lycra. Last year's winner, Nick, was mistaken for a homeless guy by one of the first-time riders; only later did he realize this shabbily dressed rider was the guy infamous for his winning ride fueled almost entirely with dumpster-dived food. [Nick Lubecki was featured in issue #127's "Do It Yourself Touring."]
We began our 400-mile route with a 20-mile neutral start to the beginning of the rail trail that would constitute 70 of the first 100 miles. We stopped to readjust our gear, refill water, and get our wet weather gear on as it was starting to rain. I somehow loitered for longer than I would have liked and ended up dead last after my second flat of the day. After pulling the sliver of glass out of my tire I missed the first time, I had no more mechanical issues.
I eventually caught up to two friends riding the event for the first time, and I spent the next 90 or so miles riding with them. They both were on singlespeeds and had never ridden more than 40 miles in a day before lining up for this ride. It was interesting to ride with them as they doubled and then tripled their previous mileage totals. My own training had been lacking this year—I rode my last century the previous July during the Wilderness 101. I was hoping for my base fitness and knowledge of the course to pull me through.
Ninety miles in we finally left the crushed limestone trail, which was wet and soft from the on-and-off rain we saw most of the day. The last few miles were pretty brutal, every foot traveled taking its toll as we fought to keep our bikes moving. I tried to stay motivated, and focused on the gas station at our turn-off point, and the ice cream it would sell me.
Our spirits improved as we hit the pavement again, the sun soon coming back out to dry us and further raise our spirits. We put some miles behind us, now enjoying our day, our tires happily singing along on the fast dry pavement.
Early in the evening our group of three stopped to change another flat and were joined by another group of three riders. As we waited for the repair to be finished, I realized I would need to pick up the pace to catch the three riders in front of me. I bid fond farewell to the group and set out on my own.
The next 20-30 miles contained the some of the steepest climbs of the race, but they were followed by some long sweeping downhills and great tailwinds as I wove along a river valley. I'm not usually one to imagine myself a road racer, but I'll admit picturing myself as a lone rider attempting to bridge from the peloton to a break miles up the road during one of the grand tours.
Soon after passing the Cannondale factory in Bedford, I got a call from Chris, and we figured he and Max were about half an hour in front of me, with Nick somewhere nearby. I stopped for some sit-down dinner, half of which I left uneaten, as my stomach was not able to handle too much at once. I set off in the approaching darkens to meet Max and Chris who were waiting for me in the next town.
Chris flagged me down as I rolled past and we stopped for some coffee and ice cream. We rolled out for Breezewood, which seemed to be the most practical stopping point for the first day. We made a final stop at the Breezewood interchange for more food and a poncho to replace my lost rain jacket, and found our way to the unmarked entrance to the old turnpike. We pushed our bikes up the embankment left from the removal of an overpass and rolled down the broken pavement for a bit. We quickly concluded the pavement itself would make a fine place to bed down. Eighteen hours of riding got us 180 miles for the first day.
Right as we were dropping off to sleep, I was jolted awake by the arrival of Nick, who mumbled something about taking a nap. He seemed to have his bedroll off his bike and on the pavement in about seven seconds. He didn't say another word and I dropped back off to sleep almost immediately. It was a beautiful night to sleep outside, and I slept quite well.
We were up and moving by 7:00 am, with Nick pulling out sometime earlier then that. We rolled through two long abandoned tunnels that were part of the original PA Turnpike, which opened in 1940. All seven original tunnels caused traffic jams as four lanes of traffic tried to fit through two-lane tunnels. During the 1960s new routes were created to alleviate the bottlenecks, and parallel tunnels were excavated in the other locations on this early superhighway, but these two tunnels were bypassed and left to decay over the years. Now they have a post-apocalyptic feel to them, and are worth a trip back to thoroughly explore.
This day had dawned clear and the sunshine revived me, although I did bring up the rear on the multi-mile climb into Cowan's Gap state park. I always struggle with some knee pain and stiffness on long rides and it took a few hours and a dose of ibuprofen to get comfortable again. We stopped in the park for water and a restroom break, where I made the mistake of utilizing the facilities set aside for the ladies. Fortunately I was alone, but a minute after leaving, a large contingent of women and girls entered the rest room I had just vacated.
We covered 40 or so miles before a late breakfast, but had trouble covering 20 miles in the next 3 hours as the three of us all needed to stop for various reasons at different times. We eventually got back into a rhythm, and soon were looking at options for the night. There were areas to camp abut 60 miles outside Philadelphia, but there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that we would push until we dropped.
We entered the outskirts of York just as my body was starting to crave some real food. We had already resigned ourselves to some type of fast food, but a small burrito joint caught my eye. We pulled in and found ourselves in an unexpected oasis of punk rock and good food. Beans and rice, guacamole and cheese, potatoes and salsa—real food was welcomed after consuming thousands of calories worth of gas station feed. We rolled out feeling full and satisfied.
On the other side or York we stopped again for insoles to combat the foot pain we were all dealing with. We soon crossed the Susquehanna River and entered the outskirts of Lancaster just as it started getting dark. For most of this ride we traveled on low traffic roads with wide shoulders; not so in Lancaster, where we dealt with potholes and poor light, not to mention the kids out for a cruise on a Saturday night on the downtown streets. We ended up just blowing through town quickly. We stopped at a convenience store outside town, drank some burnt coffee, and got some idea of the upcoming roads form the friendly clerk who seemed both worried about us and incredulous that we would make it to Philadelphia, at night, on bikes.
It was now dark, probably around 9:30, and starting to drizzle. We had about 75 miles to go, which after the 325 miles already behind us we looked at as "only" 75 more miles, an easy way to end our ride, a nice spin through the night on the rolling terrain between Lancaster and Philadelphia. This was partially true.
The next few hours were quite relaxed and social. The roads were empty at this time of day, and we could see cars' headlights for quite a distance, so we spent long stretches riding three abreast. I can't recall a single topic from our conversations that night, other than the one that was abruptly interrupted. We were on a narrow curvy back road, and I began wondering aloud if we had missed a turn. We rolled past a small farm, sometime after midnight, when our discussion was cut short by a dog barking furiously and quickly gaining on us from behind a line of bushes on the side of the road. I expected him to be stopped by a fence hidden by the foliage, but he kept coming out into the road and quickly was at our side. I remember a lot of yelling as the dog snapped at my bike, then swung around me to go after Max. With adrenaline pumping, we sprinted with new-found energy. The farm dog chased us up a short steep hill then stopped abruptly at the top. We all caught our breath once we realized he was only scaring us off his territory and would not give chase down the road.
We rested a bit longer than usual at our next stop, drank some coffee, which I used to wash down more ice cream and nuts, along with some antacids to fight the heartburn caused by my big ring sprint to get away from the territorial farm dog.
At this point both Chris and I were starting to feel it, my mind starting to wander and Chris feeling the effects of hundreds of miles on a fixed gear. We got moving again and Chris started to slow down a bit, the first time I'd seen him not spinning strong the whole ride. Max, who was hurting during the day, seemed to get stronger the closer we got to Philadelphia. He was soon up the road, while Chris and I hung back a bit and tried to keep it together mentally. I was having a hard time dealing with too much visual stimulation, and Chris seemed to be going to a very tired place, his mind trying to get him to shut down and rest for a while.
In Valley Forge we stopped for a few minutes when we hit the trail that would take us the last 25 miles into downtown Philly and the Liberty Bell. Max was chomping at the bit, wanting to keep moving, tapping into reserves none of us expected. Chris fought his mind's insistence he stop, while I was starting to feel a bit more stable. We headed down the trail after I managed to get Max to turn his super bright taillight to a steady beam (my brain could not cope with the flashing any more).
We had all wondered during the day were Nick was in relation to us. Had we passed him when he stopped to eat or rest? Was he waiting for us at the Liberty Bell? We really had no way of knowing, and now it didn't matter that much, as we were doing all we could to match the 17 mph pace set by Max, who seemed like a man possessed now, the 375 miles already in his legs in the past 48 hours serving only to goad him on.
With about 10 miles to go we noticed a light up head, bobbing erratically in the darkness. As we got closer to it we realized it was Nick, who was looking pretty rough and later admitted to hallucinating and falling asleep on the bike. He stayed with us, and became more animated the closer we got to downtown.
The 48-hour mark was approaching as the sun came up, and Nick, now back from the dead, suggested a sprint to the finish, and we agreed. We turned onto Market, and with six blocks to go, all with traffic lights, Nick started to wind up his sprint and came around Max and Chris to the outside. Chris looked over in disbelief as Nick tried to spin by him, chain squeaking, lock rattling and jacket flapping. I was content to watch as Chris wound up his 42x18t gear for all he was worth and shot ahead, as Max gave chase, both riders blowing reds in the light traffic of the very early morning. Nick was spent and Max and Chris duked it out, until two blocks or so from the Liberty Bell when Chris's legs said no more and he sat down, leaving Max to sprint to victory.
It was Sunday morning, 5:02 am, and taking into account our late start Friday at 5:15am, we finished in just under 48 hours. Nick went to catch the train home, while Max, Chris and I rode 13 slow miles back to his house. We took a shortcut on some uphill singletrack and at the top continued to push our bikes up a small incline on the pavement. Towards the top of the hill we were met with the clapping and cheers of Max's wife. Things are a bit hazy for me after that. I remember eating a sandwich, showering and taking a 3-hour nap that was the best sleep I've gotten in months. We went out for some food, where I got a call from a group of the next four riders to report their finish at 4:00 p.m. This group included the two riders that had never completed more than 40 miles in a day. The last two riders called in at 7:30pm and 11:30pm, all happy to have finished.
Yet another account of the Crush the Commonwealth event, this one from Nick Lubecki who was featured in issue #127's article, "Do It Yourself Touring."
What where your motivations to attempt this ride?
Last year I finished damn close to 2 days and this year I really wanted to knock those hours off and finish in under 48 hours. A subsequent goal then became biking 200 miles in a single day. I'm not totally sure of the motivation for these goals...a desire to see what my body can do and a little bit of insanity.
What training did you do for the ride?
In early April I biked to Philly from Pittsburgh to get myself into touring shape. Two weeks before the race I did a century ride and the following day rode about 60 more miles. Other than that I just rode to work and got groceries on my bike.
What was you longest ride before this race?
My longest ride in a single day was last year's race, I think I did something like 180 miles in 24 hours. Distance-wise, my longest ride was from Pittsburgh to near Tucson, Arizona.
Quick rundown of bike and gear set-up:
'80s Ross, not sure of the model name. Last fall I bought brand new wheels, including a cassette. I had a front and rear rack to support my gear and fenders. I put most of the stuff in a backpack on the rear rack.
Gear:
- alcohol stove, tea pot and coffee grinds
- water in bottle cage and a Nalgene that kept falling off
- ground pad, sleeping bag and a small pillow
- pump, tools and bike lock
- some snacks in plastic bags
- change of clothes, jacket, sweater, woolen hat
Did you think about quitting?
YES. I believe it was near Lancaster. My knee had been hurting (and was making violent threats) because of my bent crank. Before the race, I went through three cranks trying to find one that wasn't bent. But at this particular moment, I got on my bike after taking a break at a gas station and for about ten miles my taint was in extreme pain. Eventually I got a pillow under my ass and that helped. I thought about quitting—I was close enough to Philly that some relative could conceivably pick me up. But I was close enough to almost be finished so I stuck through it.
Would you do this or other long rides again? What would you do differently?
I think I'll do CTC again, but I won't try so hard next time; I pushed myself really hard and ended up hallucinating from lack of sleep. Pushing myself this hard over such a large distance has, generally, made me enjoy riding SLOWLY much, much more. I like to take it easy and enjoy the scenery more than I used to. Once a year at CTC is about all the mental anguish I can handle. As for other long rides, I'm biking to North Carolina right now on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Did you just hammer out the miles or take time to enjoy the scenery?
This year I tried to hammer out the miles. But I'm on a bike, and the fastest I can ride isn't all that fast anyway, so I get to enjoy the scenery whether I like it or not. Besides, this ride is really scenic; it's beautiful. |
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