[ORRando] Columbia River Run 400K ride report

Wed Oct 27 11:00:34 PDT 2010

Columbia River Run 400K ride report 
________________________________

The wind and rain thrashed at the silver mylar space blanket,
threatening to tear it off of me and into the night. I was wrapped up
like a big silver burrito, huddled partway down an embankment at the
side of the road, a mere 8km (5 miles) from the finish line of the
Columbia River Run 400K (249 miles). 8 impossibly long, utterly
insurmountable kilometers. It might as well have been 800k, because I
simply could not move another inch. I was about to DNF my very first
400K, and I couldn't give a damn.

The day began 21 hours and 45 minutes earlier, at the Inn at the River
in East Wenatchee. Despite an awful looking forecast, the pavement was
dry at 6am when a hardy group of 9 men and 2 women, myself included,
departed for the start of this new 400K, designed by Jeff Swarts. I'd
chosen to ride this 400K for 2 reasons. 1) It seemed like a great way to
spend my 41st birthday. And 2) Although I've ridden two 600s, I'd not
yet ridden a 400K. More than 1 person has told me 400s are harder than
600s, because a 400 is ridden straight through, while a 600 is broken up
by a sleep break. So, at the start of the ride, I knew I was in for a
big double challenge: weather and distance.

But, it all started far better than expected. The sky cleared, and 50
miles in the sun was shining and I was riding in a vest, wishing for
sunglasses. The route went North along the Columbia River, took a detour
to Lake Chelan, then returned to the river. Apples, pears, cherries,
apricots: the orchards stretched for miles. Some trees already picked
bare, others still heavily laden with ripe fruit. I speculated that a
traveler in an emergency would never go hungry, at least not this time
of year.

At Brewster, the route left the Columbia, and followed the Okanogan. It
was at Brewster (80 miles) that Vincent Muoneke passed me, waving, while
I finished up a snack break. I decided to get back on my bike and chase
him down. The winds had picked up, out of the North; with 55 northbound
miles until Tonasket, I knew some company would be nice. As Vincent had
just finished a 400K a mere 9 hours before the start of this one, *and*
was suffering from some Achilles tendonitis, I figured he might be
fatigued enough that my "fresh" legs could keep up with his tired ones.
Maybe.

For 30 miles, Vincent and I took turns pullling into the wind. At Omak,
we took a break, where Vincent bought me a fabulous birthday meal at
Burger King. (Don't ever let anyone tell you Vincent doesn't know how to
treat a lady.) While we ate, the winds shifted and were at our back for
the remaining 25 northbound miles. We barely pedaled that stretch. At
Tonasket, 135 miles into the ride, we were still on track for a 20 hour
finish. Then we turned south, into a quickening wind, and realized we
were looking at 115 southbound miles of wind. Mostly in the dark. And
with the sky starting to look threatening, we suspected our dry pavement
karma might not hold out.

The 20 miles back to Omak felt harder than they should have. The *very*
soft rear tire I discovered upon arriving explained why. Half an hour
ticked away while we refueled, changed my tube *and* tire, futzed around
with cold-weather wear, etc. 

Somewhere south of Brewster, with less than 100km to go, the rain
finally started. Sprinkles soon turned to showers. Although there wasn't
much traffic, the cars that passed threw up rooster tails. North of
Chelan, we came upon flashing lights and a detour. Cars were being
directed up up up a side road, off of Hwy 97. An inquiry to the officer
at the detour revealed that there'd been a traffic fatality up ahead.
The police investigation had closed the road. But the officer, allowing
as how the hilly narrow road detour was "not the kind of roads cyclists
should be on", permitted us to continue on the closed road, advising us
to dismount and walk our bikes past the accident. We rode for many miles
before we saw the flashing lights, and several more before finally
reaching the scene of the destruction. The road was strewn with debris,
while the car being loaded onto a flatbed was barely half the length it
should have been, it's entire front half accordioned in on itself. A
head-on collision on a dark rainiy night? We walked past silently.

I was making a concerted effort to continue to east and drink as much as
I could. But around Orondo, with 17 miles to go, things started to get
surreal. The winds were whipping down the hillsides from the east,
blowing us across the road. I couldn't read my odometer, but we were
surely in the mid-single digits. I was afraid to take my hands off my
handlebar for fear a sudden gust would send me flying into the ditch.
Despite my best effort, Vincent began pulling away from me on each small
climb. He was doing his best to keep me motivated and moving, but I
wasn't a very good companion, with my head down, just wanting to get it
over with. He offered me KitKats. I declined. He offered to have Trudy
come with the car, to get me inside for a bit and warm me up, but even
though I wanted nothing more than to be out of the weather, I declined. 

Twice, we crested small rises and could see the lights of Wenatchee in
the distance. But it wasn't enough. Without being consciously aware of
it, I simply stopped. I felt like a wind-up clock that had finally,
inevitably, wound down. As soon as I lifted my leg over my bike, a
massive wave of nausea and dizziness hit me. I told Vincent I was about
to fall over, to be sick. He got me to lay my bike down and called Jeff.
I hazily remembered that I carry an emergency mylar space blanket. I dug
it out of my bag and clumsily wrapped it around myself as best I could,
halfway down the ditch. I could hear Vincent telling Jeff to come
quickly, and the word "hypothermia". I pulled the blanket up over my
head and closed my eyes, shivering. A few moments later, semi-conscious,
I started to tip over, and jerked back upright. 

Suddenly Jeff was there, freeing Vincent to continue on, helping me into
the warm car, passing me a mug of steaming hot cocoa. The dashclock
flashed 4:06am. Hot oatmeal appeared, and sweet sugary thin mints. He
handed me a bag with my warm clothing from the hotel. I stripped naked
from the waist up and pulled on a dry wool long sleeved shirt, and my
puffy warm Patagonia jacket. The warmth from the heated seats started to
penetrate through my knickers. I pulled off my shoes, gaiters and wool
socks, and sat with my ice cold feet under the blasting heat. I told
Jeff that this was it, I didn't think I could go on, I was completely
spent. He reminded me that I had 5 hours in the bank, and encouraged me
to just rest for awhile. I tilted the seat back, pulled the space
blanket over me and closed my eyes. I laid there for at least 45
minutes, fighting the nausea, until the heat re-warmed me. Jeff made
more oatmeal and forced me to eat it fully. Still, my stomach protested,
and I couldn't imagine how I would cover 5 more miles, especially with a
hill looming directly in front of me. Nonethless, I slowly gathered
together my stuff. Put on dry socks. Pulled on my Sidi boots. Zipped up
my jacket. Retrieved some dry gloves from my bike bag. 

Suddenly, Bill Alsup appeared in the rearview mirror. Jeff got out of
the car to greet him. It was just the motivation I needed to finally
start moving. I asked Bill if he would like some company. (Translation:
Can I tag along with you because *I* need some company??) A minute or
two later, we were back on the road. The rain had stopped and the winds
had lightened up considerably. We crested the hill, which turned out to
have been the VERY LAST hill. We coasted down the other side, and
covered the last few miles quickly. Jeff followed along in the car,
keeping us within sight to make sure I was doing OK. The hotel came into
view. We pulled to a stop. "5:59am", Bill said, and I chuckled at the
"sub-24 hour finish" we had managed to squeak in.

======

Two days later, I'm reflecting back on the experience, trying, as
always, to learn something that I can put to use next time. Here's what
I'm thinking:

1) It's easy for someone else (or even me) to think "gosh, really? 5
miles? You stopped with only 5 miles to go? You couldn't find just
enough strength to go 5 miles??" And my answer to that is, yes, I could
find enough to go 5 more miles. But I found that 5 miles worth of energy
5 miles before I stopped. Until you've been in the situation where you
simply can not turn the pedal (or take a step) just one more time, you
really can't understand what that feeling is. You can only dig a hole so
deep before you fall in.

2) That space blanket may well have been the best piece of equipment on
my bike that night. I doubt I'll do another ride over 200K without it. 

3) Riding with other people on a really long ride is a really good idea.
I don't know what I'd have done without Vincent. In all likelihood, I
would have stopped earlier. Maybe knocked on someone's door, or flagged
down a passing motorist? Would I have had the wherewithal to do that? Or
would I have fallen over in a ditch somewhere? This is the first time
I've ever ridden at night WITH someone. My other long rides have all
found me alone in the middle of the night. I've never been frightened
before, but I've also never had such challenging conditions at that time
of night. It's a dilemma. I certainly don't want to be afraid to ride
alone. How can I better prepare myself to be independent in such an
emergency. Is that even possible?

4) It's hard to judge what role nutrition played in my collapse. I'd
been eating and drinking quite well up until the last hour or so, when I
was afraid to take my hands off the handlebars. I went downhill fast.
Was it just fatigue? The incessant wind? Or did I have so little in
reserve that just a short time without nutrition left me worthless? For
certain, the idea of eating whatever I had left, even once I was in the
car, was completely unappetizing. I had the same experince on the 24
hour Ring of Fire; losing my appetite for the (primarily sweeter) foods
I had available to me, and quickly going downhill once food became hard
to eat. I think I need to try to find a "savory" that will appeal.
Something like chicken noodle soup, or turkey deli meat. But, how would
I carry something like that? I certainly couldn't pre-pack a turkey
sandwich and expect it to last for 22 hours. And, there's no certainty
of what one will find at a gas station mini-mart. Maybe something like
salmon jerky would be a good, packable, nutrition-dense, salty food that
I could keep in reserve for when all else fails. I suppose packets of
instant soup, in conjunction with gas station hot water would serve in a
pinch as well. This deserves some more thought...

5) Time in the bank is a wonderful thing. Jeff was right: resting for
awhile and getting in some food gave me enough strength to finally
finish the last 5 miles. I'm SOOOO glad that he convinced me to not make
a rash decision to abandon. I would really be kicking myself today if
I'd expended all that effort, just to abandon 5 miles from the end. I'm
so fortunate that he is so level headed!

Special thanks to Vincent, Bill and Jeff. Without the three of them, the
ride would have turned out very differently. 

***********************************************
Susan Otcenas
Team Estrogen, Inc.
www.TeamEstrogen.com <http://www.teamestrogen.com/> 
877-310-4592
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