Tahoe Sierra 100, 2012 ‘No Fear, No Pain, No Broken Parts’

[Carl Sanders]

Good ‘old timey’  mountain bike racing is what Jim the promoter promised. Still not quite sure what he meant. The course would cover 102 miles, point to point, climb nearly 16,000’ and descend close to 18,000’, following most of the Western States Trail route used during the equestrian Tevis Cup and foot endurance races. Shiloh and I would drive up two vehicles, leaving mine at the finish in Auburn and driving his and our bikes up to the start at Soda Springs, just off Donner Summit.

With the endurance legend Tinker Juarez lined up for the 5:30 pre-race briefing, I knew that I was in for another day serious day of racing.

Unlike last year, I wanted to finish strong this time, not crawl across the finish line, spent and emaciated. Instead of exploding out the gate, I would keep to a sustainable ‘sweet spot’ within my HR Zones that I knew for certain that I could maintain for 10+ hours. If I kept consistently hydrated and fueled, I had confidence in my training endurance and ability to keep a steady and brisk pace.

This strategy meant that I had to let a number of riders go early on, with the hope of catching them later in the game when I expected their pace to falter. 

The first 72 miles were much the same as last year; starting with a 160+ riders mobbing down Soda Springs Road -- the first casualties pilling up along the first of many rocky, dusty descents -- then up Lyon Ridge where the pack spread out even further, then bombing through the flesh-tearing whitethorn before climbing up on to Redstar Ridge. 

The mild winter made for dry and loose conditions. More then a few times, I felt the front wheel drift or bury deep into the notorious Sierra moon dust. I learned very quickly to adjust my riding style. Traction was sketchy even on hard pack that often felt like rolling across marbles on black top. Stay loose. Roll with it. Held the bike upright around skittery corners, not confident in leaning the bike over. 

The rock strewn single track along Redstar took work to get through. Boulders, loose rocks and thick dust confounded clean lines. So glad to have had the full-bouncey effect of the SF 100 to navigate this lunar landscape.

At the junction to Lyon Ridge at mile 44, I learned I was in sixth position. My strategy was working. This would be a race less about hand-to-hand combat and more about the overall war plan. Stay the course. Steady on. 

 

Chased and traded leads with Chico rider Greg Golet down Last Chance Ridge, past Dusty Corners Aid, around Pucker Point and over the steep technical drop to the base of Devils Thumb. His team mate Aren was apparently somewhere just out in front us. We were now starting to overtake other 100 mile riders as well the 59 mile riders who had re-joined our course on a shorter loop.

Holding to my game plan, I marched up Devils thumb, pushing and plodding my way methodically up this incredible steep and loose section of trail. No way possible to even try riding this crap. Here we found ourselves clambering through loose rocks in a deeply rutted trail that seemed to switch-back ever 50 feet in order to ascend the  ridge. Lots of over-heated broken down 59 and 100 mile riders piling up along the trail edge. Easy enough to plod by. Greg, amazingly seem to jog up and away, faster than I was willing to push at mile 60. Never saw him again.

Mind wandering off, tunes flowing into the ears, I contemplated my game plan. At a certain point, usually after a number of hours into these ultra endurance events, the challenge is more of a personal time trail than of a dog-eat-dog battle between individual riders. Drifting further off into my endorphin soaked state of being, I realized that it was just me, the bike and the mountain. Pedal on.

Rolling into each Aid Station was like blasting into a pit at NASCAR. A flurry of activity immediately ensued as people cheered and rushed forward grabbing your bike for service, pulling off the Camel Back and water bottles for re-fills and asking what you needed while you gobbled down food and cold Coke under the tent. At the Forest Hill Aid, atop an exceptionally long and brutal hot climb, ladies were sponging us down with cold water and another spritzing and rubbing sun screen onto our sweaty, muddied faces. Quite nice.

Past Foresthill at mile 72, the single track was epic. Now, the bermed-out trail flowed and I carried amazingly fast speeds down into each Canyon along north Fork of the American River. No more hike-a-bike climbs. Leaving the river climbing up Drivers Flat Rd. at mile 84, my Garmin read 104 degrees. Hot, but not unbearable. I had plenty of water and the end was in sight.

Blasting through the final Aid at Stage Coach along the river at mile 98, I felt fatigued, but plenty strong for the final 2.5 mile climb to the finish. No one in sight. On my own.  

Finished forth overall with a time of 10:34.

 

Tinker, as expected, came in first at 9:42 followed by Aren Timmel with 10:04, then Greg Golet at 10:19.

Only 18 minutes off second and just 6 minutes behind third means a podium finish was only 2.8% or even closer at 0.9% off my finish time of 10:34. Something to aim for next year. Always room for improvement.

Dist.: 102

Ave. HR: ~150

Ave. Spd.: 9.7 mph

What next?

[Jim Hewett]

Awesome work, Carl! All of the preparation was worth it.

[Michael Koppe]

Great effort and ride Carl. Thanks for all your wonderful reports. They have been a source of inspiration while I get better. After 3 months since my injury, I may be able to ride soon! Mike 

[Paul Montgomery]

What a difference a year makes...thanks for the report!