LOTOJA Part 2 - Into the Pain Cave

For Part One Go Here

"I Will Make Up For It At Lunch"
Finally it is lunch time and it time to eat a banana and a couple of PB&Js to make up for the calories I have been skipping the last couple of hours. The banana goes down okay. But the PB&J sticks in my throat and make me gag. "Come On, You have got to eat!" I yell at myself. I try again and manage to finish half the sandwich. But I can do no more. I try to breath deep to relax my stomach and relax my throat. Joel asks "Is your face always as white as your jersey?". Time passes and I still cannot force myself to eat more PB&J. I am glad I abandoned my original plan to eat a meatball sandwich for lunch. Because then some people might have said "Well of course you couldn't eat you lunch, Why did you even think eating a meatball sandwich would be a good idea?".
It is time to leave, we have sat around too long and there is more than 120 miles to go. I hop on my bike, unsure of what I was going to do about my mounting caloric deficit.

Umm, did we go the right way?
We peddle off into a canyon towards the next big climb, Geneva Summit. As a couple miles roll by we notice that we have not seen any other riders since we left. We see no riders in front off us. We look behind, no riders behind us. "Are we sure this is the right way?" I ask. Everyone else seems sure, so I put confidence is there assurance. A few more minutes pass away with still not sign of any one and again I ask if this is right way. Someone points out the occasional discarded gu packet or banana peel as signs that some littering cyclist has been this way.
Finally as the road gets a little bit steeper we start seeing people up ahead and I gain full confidence that we are going the right way or at least a whole lot of other people are also going the wrong way.

I get dropped like a nuclear bomb
As the road gets steeper, our groups starts to break up. We had always planned to go our own paces on the climbs so this was not a big deal. Matt and Scott start to pull ahead. After a little bit, Joel starts to bridge the gap. So far my stomach cramps have been manageable and my legs feel good so I try to bridge the gap too. A screw tightens in my stomach. Ok, maybe I won't bridge the gap. I decide I'll just hang with Baz. But then the screw tighten even more and soon Baz drops me. Hmmm, ok, this is not good. Well, I think, I will make up for it when we get to the flatter parts. I will survive through the two remaining climbs then hammer it out on the flatter sections to make up time. My beeper to tell me to eat goes off. I have to ignore it. There is no way I can eat anything right now. I slog on.

I wonder if this is what waterboarding feels like
After what is a surprisingly short amount of time, I reach Geneva summit. My stomach pain is strong but not unbearable. As I start the descent down the backside, I don't even try to tuck, knowing that the abdominal pressure will be too much. But soon I find I have a new problem. The rush of air as I descend is making me gag and choke. I try closing my mouth but then I cannot breath at all. I think about slowing down, then decide that will just prolong the suffering. I wonder if I should just let myself throw up, but I have nothing to throw up which means I will just dry heave, which to me is one of the most painful things in the world. So I fight it and just keep descending; down the mountain and deeper into the pain cave.

Where is a mountain lion when you need one?
I reach the bottom of the descent and the road flattens out. Time to start hammering. I ratchet up my speed until I reach ... 10 mph. Then I stop pedaling. $#^@#%^#$ my stomach hurts so bad. I try again. Pedal, coast. Pedal, coast. Pedal, coast. This is torture. I calculate how long it take me to finish. Let's see: I have gone about 100 miles (not totally sure because GPS is being wonky). That means I have 106 left. If I average 8-9 miles an hour it will take me... freaking forever. What is the point of continuing? I need to think about this. I roll to a stop.

As I stand there contemplating what to do, a mountain lion appears from behind a rock. I call to get its attention. It sees me and lunges towards me. With one quick bite it severs my jugular and puts me out my misery. Or at least that was what I was wishing would happen. Instead I decide to try to call Connie to see if she has some words of motivation for me. I dial her number and then wait. Nothing happens. I check my phone. No service. $%@#%#$. Maybe I can find a nice shady place to sit and rest. I look around. I am in the middle of no where. There is no trees for miles. Sitting in hot sun sounds even worse than riding my bike. I get back on start riding again.

God Bless the people of South America
The road starts to roll more upwards. I have started towards the last big climb, Salt Creek Pass. I am passed by riders that frankly, I am embarrassed to be passed by. A man and his wife pass me. They tell me to jump in behind them. I think to myself, drafting doesn't make any difference at 6 mph. Then I think to myself, you big jerk, they are just trying to be nice Mister 5 mph.

There is an SUV parked off the side of the road. There is a couple of kids in the back and a South American lady standing near the side. She yells "My Friend! You are doing so well, good job! Do you need anything?". "An IV" I say, thinking myself hilarious. "My friend, I have Gels and Grapes and Water, do you want them?". "No thanks". "My friend, Do you want to stop and sit in my car for a minute?". Now normally, I am not someone to jump into some strange lady's
car. But dangit, I do want to sit down some place shady. So I do. The lady tells me "My friend, I am waiting for my husband, he is a very strong rider, he has done this 6 times, but this year something is wrong, he is having a hard time". As I sit there, she calls out to other slow riders, "My friend, My friend, do you need anything?". After sitting for a while, I actually feel like eating something and shyly ask if I can try some of those grapes and a gel pack. She has one of her kids hand them to me. Having some real food feels really good. After 10-15 minutes I finally drag myself out of the SUV, thank the lady and her family and continue on my way.

A Glimpse Of What Might Have Been
As I start to peddle again, I found something miraculously has occurred. I can peddle without my stomach hurting too bad. I increase my tempo and still my stomach doesn't rebel. My legs feels good. I pick up the pace. I start passing people. Lots of people. After a short time I hit Feed Zone 4. They have some more of those delicious green bananas. They also have some salty crackers which taste really...tasty. I hit the road again. This is now the last and steepest part of Salt Creek pass, about 2-3 miles at 7%. Still I feel good. About half up this last section I spot way up ahead the couple that had offered to let me draft off them. I slowly reel them in and pass them with a friendly wave just past the summit.

I feel so-so, I can tell my blood sugar is low and my stomach doesn't feel great, but I think maybe just maybe I have a chance of finishing. I do the calculation, I have approximately 100 miles left and it is about 3:15, so if I just average 20 mph the rest of the way I will make the cut off. I think "I have down a five hour century before". Not after having already ridden 106 miles and not with stomach cramps. But still, it might not be probable, but it could be possible.

I begin the eternal descent from Salt Creek Pass. I don't gag on the wind as much as I did off of Geneva Summit. I am not flying but I am not crawling either.

All Good Things Must Come To An End
As the miles pass by I feel a small tickle start to in my throat. It soon develops into a steady cough. Then I stop in front of someones house that is in the middle of no where. I vomit. I take a few steps then vomit again. And again. I think about the race orientation where they warned against peeing in peoples yard. I wonder if vomiting is any better. I think, ok, this is where they come and pull you out the race. Except there is no one around to pull me out. So I must continue. Which is good, I still want to finish. It is still possible even if not probable. I actually feel a little better having vomited. I look at the remains of the salty crackers on the ground that were supposed to help fuel me to the end. Maybe I can eat something when I get to Afton. Maybe if I sit down there and wait until I can eat something the magic will happen again and I will be able to finish the race.

Out, not with a bang but with a wimper
At around 4:30 I roll into Afton. My stomach and throat feel uncomfortable but not unbearable. They race volunteers are taking down the feed zone. I hope there is some food here. I figure my support vehicle is probably long gone. Then I see a young tall brown haired guy walking around. "James! James!" I call out. It is him. He is glad to see me. I am very glad to see me. He tells me I have until 6:00 to reach Alpine, 34 miles away. Okay I think. I am going to try. I will just have to average 21 mph. But first I have to eat something. I need to sit down. Just for a little bit. Until I get some strength back. I sit down and sip on a ginger ale. My body gives a sigh of relief and says thank goodness we are done. It starts to shut down. No, I say, we are not done. I am just taking a little rest. I blink a few times and see stars. "That's weird", I think. Then I start to shake. Oh hmm, that's weird. I remember having this feeling before. Oh yeah, I felt this way once when I crashed on my mountain bike and cut open my shin. Oh that is right, this is the feeling of going into shock. I say that to James. "James, I think I am going into shock". He goes somewhere. A older gentleman comes over. He starts taking my pulse. He starts talking to me in a doctorly way. "You look really bad", he says. "It will have to be your decision, but I would have your friend there take you right over to the hospital and put an IV in you". "No," I think I am just resting for a little bit. But then a calm voice in my head says "It is time to be done". I start to cry. I have waited months for this day. I did not want it to end this way. I have enough strength to refuse to go to the hospital. I don't want my wife and kids to drive to this forsaken place and see me in a hospital bed. I go to James' car and slump into the front seat. I made it 125 miles over 3 mountain passes. It had always been my plan that if I could get this far, I would be done with the part that stressed my weaknesses (climbing) and I could use my strengths (flats and downhills) to carry me to the finish line. But it was not meant to be. The stomach illness (which would last for 4-5 days more) was too much for me and good judgment had to win over my determination to finish.

It can still be a good day
As we drive towards Jackson, my thoughts turn to my teammates who are still out on the road. James has told me they only left 40 minutes before I got to Afton. This means that they are going to have to ride hard to make the 8:15 cut off at the finish line. Will they make it? I would be so happy if they did.

Stay tuned for LOTOJA Part 3 - Go Team Attensity!