Sierra-Tahoe 100

[Carl Sanders]

One last push. Just past the final hike-a-bike section, one mile from the finish, where I had earlier in the day dodged my way through a mess of downed riders, my rear derailleur suddenly seized up and I abruptly skidded to a stop. Moments before, I had concluded that 4th or 5th place was in the bag, ‘unless something catastrophic happens’.

Consumed by momentary panic, I assessed the damage. My goal of a top five finish seemed at serious risk. Still no riders coming up behind me. Would I have to run/carry the bike across the finish? Pulling the chain free and the cage back in line, I was left with a three speed between the middle and the granny gear up front and with the one small cassette ring in back.

One mile to go.

I had spent the last eight weeks directing all my training effort at this one race. I felt ready and cable of a top five finish. Another race to mix it up with the local pros. This time I had vowed to start with the top riders and stay there throughout the race.

The cold, crack of dawn 6:30 start made for an exhilarating brisk roll-out across the grassy Royal Gorge ski resort and down into the canyon abyss; 93 miles and eight brutal climbs, totally 14,000' of climbing awaited the 250 of us racers now battling for position along the narrow road.

Off the resort, and on to the first of many steep and dusty drops, the top five of us careened our way through a nasty train wreck of riders from the 50 mile group who were sent out a few minutes ahead of the 100 mile racers. Letting go of the brakes and calling out ‘rider coming through’, I barreled my way through the bike mayhem, trying to pick a clean line. Staying upright and in control was key to my plan for the day.

Apparently, following close behind through the tangle of bikes and bodies, I’d picked up a rider who stayed with me most of the race. ‘Nice line’ he yelled out from behind, once we cleared the carnage. Introductions made, Wade let me know that he was new to the sport and that he was going to try to keep my pace and watch my lines. Curious.

Still with the lead group, Wade and I bombed down the first rock-strewn fire road. The SF-100 performed flawlessly; the full suspension absorbing the big hits and allowing the Racing Ralphs to stay connected with the earth across the chatter bumps and loose corners. This was fun.

Just past the rustic cabins in Cedars, I was surprised to see Kevin Smallman falling off the pace so early in the race, until he called out for a pump to fix a slow leak. Toward the bottom of Lyon Ridge, our first climb of the day, Wade generously gave up his hand pump for this cause.

We motored up a steady grade and onto Lyon Ridge, just behind the other lead riders pulling out front. Atop the ridge, then out along a contour logging road, we quickly refueled, before dropping into another loose and steep descent, which lead immediately onto a rippin’ fast gravel road, where those of us on 29ers easily rolled away from 26” bikes. Big Man Wade offered me a draft, as we attempted to stay with the lead riders.

A sharp right turn lead up another head down, keep spinning type of climb toward Red Star Ridge at mile 23. This would be my first stop to refill the Camel Back. On this mellow grade, Wade kept up the pace and list of questions; ‘Where should I keep my heart rate?’ ‘What should I get at the first Aid Station?’ ‘What’s your race strategy?’ I was polite, but only had focus and effort to respond with simple one phrase answers; ‘below LT’, ‘water and fuel’, ‘pace’. Riding incredibly strong, he tried chatting it up with other riders nearby. Who was this guy? Logging helicopters nearby added a strange battle-like atmosphere during the slog up this climb. It seemed some of the lead group was getting out of sight. Not good.

Trying to make up time, while motoring along the Tevis Cup Trail along Red Star Ridge, a branch locked up my rear wheel as we dodged our way through the white thorn and thick dust. Curses! Messing with the stick woven tightly into my chain, spokes and derailluer, Kevin was able to catch us, and then leave us in the dust.

Off Red Star, a short, fast paved decent took us to another rock-strewn brushy fire road with no clean lines. Following quite close, Wade took out a downed tree behind me and nearly goes down from the impact. I stopped at the sound of the tree exploding, expecting the worst. This monster of a guy from New York City, apparently riding in the 200+ lb Clydesdale category rode straight through the broken limbs and yelled out to me at my reaction to ‘Keep going!’

The course turned upward once more and the temperature began to rise on the climb back out of the canyon. Warmed up, we began shedding layers at mile 43, the Mad Cat Aid Station, about 4 hours into the race. It appeared that Wade’s foot was in fact somewhat hurt from crashing through that tree.

Too long messing with drop bags and gear, we pedaled out of the Aid Station and up toward Robinson Flat, still not certain, but guessing we had had at least five riders out in front of us. The Aid Station Volunteers proved amazingly tolerant of us exhausted, short-tempered races and even offered to re-pack our bags when we rolled off. Wade began to complain of a tight hamstring and started to drop off the pace. I advised that he start taking ‘edurolytes’ by the hand- full, and then I spun out of sight, not to see him again until the finish.

Off the ridge, I raced alone across the sweet, flowing single track to Pucker Point, at mile 55, our lowest point on the course. I didn’t stop to inspect the strange clicking sound coming out of my rear wheel. No time to waste. I’m at the bottom of the course, just past the midpoint and it’s nearly all up hill from here.

Then began the longest climb of the day, which goes on for nearly 30 miles, with a number of damned steep sections that might have been more effort to ride than hike. Relentless rollers from Robinson Flat to the “Y” sapped my dwindling energy supplies. My legs were threatening to cramp up. I attempted to stay consistently fueled and hydrated. It almost felt like I was dragging something. Not much I could do. The fatigue is really starting to take hold. Staying focused, I attempt to spin upward.

At mile 85, almost nine hours in the saddle, I start the final climb back to Royal Gorge. Digging deep, totally alone on the course, I guess at my race position, as I call out my race number to the last aid station, asking for the number of riders out in front of me. It seemed only three or four riders still remained out in front. I was on target for a top five finish.

I did what I could to stay focused on the last push up the seven mile climb to the ski resort, my desired top-five position seemingly secure. No other riders in sight.

When it seemed that the rear end of my bike exploded, I figured the game might be over. The bike patched back together, I emptied the tank, giving all that I had left in me.

Grinding across the finish, the chain binding tighter, the race Director Jim called out ‘#249, Carl Sanders, way to turn it on!’ ‘...one more lap to go!‘ Very funny. It appeared that I had achieved my goal, finishing 4th in Pro/Expert group and 5th overall. A rider in the 40 -49 category had somehow slipped in ahead of me.

Afterward, I found that a broken spoke had become wrapped around the rear cassette, the lower derailleur pulley was missing, expect for the bolt and bearing, the upper pulley was cracked in half and the rear shifter cable housing appeared to have shredded somehow along the chain stay. Could all of this mechanical mayhem been the result of that stuck branch at mile 25?

How long had I a rode with a broken spoke bound tightly around my cassette or with my chain grinding through a fractured derailleur pulley, I do not know. I was too focused on the finish. I had put too much effort into this endeavor to let a minor mechanical problem slow me down.

My buddy Mark Williams, riding in his second TS-100, this time in the 50+ Category, also took forth place and bettered his time from last year. Wade rolled in only a few minutes behind me, quite beat up, but thrilled to have done so well on his first endurance mountain bike race. He thanked me profusely for offering advice and helping him to make it to the finish. Talking to him as we ate and re-hydrated while sprawled out on the black top in the sun, it turns out he was on the National Olympic XC ski team, back in his day, and that was trying something new and had in fact also put much effort into this race. Glad to know that he didn’t just jump on a bike and go. That might’ve hurt even more than the race.

On to the next one...

[Jim Hewett]

Way to keep it up, Carl!

[Paul Montgomery]

Waaay to go...nice write up too!