So when when good intentions and circumstances and stuff landed me in the 24 hour race at Starvation Ridge, I didn't know what to expect from myself. I'd finally gained some traction with getting faster on a dirt bike; rather than taking 4 times as long as Nathan for everything, I'd done a poker run in only double his time. I'd gotten a little experience on a Motorcross track under my belt. And when I volunteered, I made sure to offer the info that I'm a dependable rider, I love to ride, but I'm slow.
Come race time... I wasn't nervous, per se, until Nathan came back injured on his first lap. First there was getting him off to the hospital, then there was waiting for the next rider to get back... Our second rider came back with a broken bike.
Nerves were on the ride at this point. Nathan had been sabotaged and advised me to let people pass... Our next rider had the most bent handlebars I'd ever seen and lost his shifter. Still waiting for number three to come back, I wondered what I'd gotten myself into.
It's time. I get onto the track, and it's ok. Not easy, not hard, just manageable. For about 20 feet. After a couple turns on dryish ground, there's deep rutted mud next to a pond... The middle was a mess.. My brain screamed right or left, slowing me down, and I went right... Slower and slower and stopped. My bike, even with me off of it, is standing upright in the mud. Hm. I try to bulldog it forward. Nothing. I try sitting all the way back. Nothing. All the way forward? Nothing. It came down to lifting one tire at a time out of the sticky mud, while I
sunk and slid. No one said this would be easy.
I'm less than a half a mile in, and I'm wiped. Onward I press to a side hill by yet another pond. Brain overload... What are the rules for side hills? Don't stop? Too late... Time for another energy drainer as my back tire tries to pull me into the pond, and I lean off the trail to let other riders pass. Kicking the bike precariously perched on a hill, lifting, pulling, and after much time, finally getting it over the next mound used beyond my energy reserves.
Thoroughly exhausted at this point, I ride forward, to see the one mile marker. I think I've been on this course an hour and gone a mile. What should I do? What is there to do except keep going?
So I did. After a few more miles of just poking along my energy came back. I was stopping to let other riders pass me, not wanting to spoil their fun (remember the not competitive part?) and especially not wanting the same fate that befell Nathan to come upon me. My fear radar is what gets me into trouble. Eventually, I picked up speed. It was a good thing too; the obstacles needed speed. And eventually I got tired of just letting riders around me. I'm a racer, I have as much right to be on this course as anyone; I'll leave space, but j don't have to stop and make space for every other racer.
I got to the old farm house; score! I've got a mini bike and my handle bars fit through the doors! A hill, a crest, and a downhill with rocks at the bottom... I've been warned of this hill... I gulp, and go for it... A little target fixation and a tap on the front brakes, and wham! A face plant into the rocks is my first fall. Pull the bike up and go. So many hills, so much mud... I hit the mud a little too slow... And my bike fishtails me into my second fall. Ok. Faster! I go faster and my bike tosses me over the handlebars. Ok. Got it. Medium speed.
I remember the first check point, but I don't know where it goes in this story. It was about 9 miles in... Almost half way... I think I can do this. There's eventually a second check point...
There's a stretch of flat gravel... Flicking up gears... 3rd, 4th, 5th... What's that structure over the path... Oh, it's a turn! Slam on the brakes, downshift a couple gears, pitch the bike into a lean, roll on the gas... It worked! See, I have been listening when Nathan is talking... I just lack the balls to do these crazy moves on purpose!
The miles are growing... 18... The course is only 20 miles... I'm going to actually finish! Before the race, we were told that the easier (though longer) paths, were to the right of any intersection. I see Nathan on a bank, waving me right, so I don't miss the turn and have to go through the flooded underwater mud whoops! I'm almost there! Woo hoo!
Back at the pit, the next rider takes off. I'm so relieved; I'm not hurt, my bikes in one piece. I say apologetically that I don't think I could do this ride at night; I feel a bit like I'm letting the team down. I get my time; three hours and twenty minutes. Well, that's almost triple Nathan's time with an injured shoulder, but that's ok.
I wanted to go back out in the morning, but the storm the night before had drowned the course; one of our night riders bikes broke down, and the other was stuck for hours. I didn't wake camp at sunrise to see if someone else wanted to ride or to give it a go myself, and our team did not finish.
I think this is where I'm learning what racing means to me. It goes beyond the fun of challenging yourself on a trail. It goes beyond only pushing yourself to do better than your last ride. It means pushing yourself to do things you don't think you can because you are on a team. It means learning to care about the numbers; not just your time or number of laps, but how you compare to others. Are you contributing or holding the team back? And if it's not a team event, how do your skills measure up to others? It also means reexamanimg decisions; I won't do the race again without a little more structure and a plan of what to do; a planned team meeting to decide how to end the race with enough time to execute that plan. Because I learned something about myself. I'll forever wonder if I could have done one more lap, helped our team finish. This wonder will be assuaged by someday finishing the 24 hour on a team, but it will never go away.
I was not ready to race in the 24 hour, but the only way to find that out was racing in the 24 hour. If I do it again, I go in eyes wide open, knowing it will test me, and preparing myself to meet that challenge.
