Furnace Creek 508 2001
Doug (Dog) Sloan
The FC 508 is a 508 mile bike race through the Southern California deserts, no drafting, (nearly) continuous riding. (Read about the 2002 Team Poodles 508 relay here .)
Most importantly, I'd like to give my overwhelming thanks to my crew, who unselfishly gave me a chunk of their lives to help me do this: my brother, Matt Sloan, Kevin Webb, Tim Coleman, and Russ Freeman. They were amazing, constantly looking out for whatever I needed, going without sleep, and tolerating all sorts of nastiness along the way (which I'll not get into here). They managed to all pull this off well, despite not having done the race or crewed before. I'd also like to thank a sponsor, Rich Holdsworth and Cyclopath Fine Bicycles in Fresno, California. Thank you.
It's difficult to know if you are prepared for a first time race like this. While I followed Eddy Merckx' advice of "ride lots", that doesn't even come close to being adequate. The logistics of full support from crew members and vehicles, food, drinks, spares, night riding, etc., itself is consuming. Plus, as I found out, this race is ridden on your stomach. Even if your legs, heart, and lungs are up to the task, nothing works without adequate supplies of carbohydrates and water. It seems that to get plenty of the energy and water, you have to be so full that you constantly feel like you want to vomit the entire race. Not a good feeling.
Chris Kostman, the race director, puts on a good show. He has done this so many times that he has it down to a science. There are many rules, which I assume are there to keep it fair, safe, and ensure the locals along the way don't "uninvite" the race in the future, but he still tries to keep if fun. Many thanks to him, too.
It was hard to sleep the night before. There are so many things to think about, not only logistics, but the nagging question of "can I do this?" Despite the worries, I got around 6 hours sleep, not too far off my normal sleep.
Lined up at the start line Saturday morning around 6:30, you could tell most of the riders are a little bit apprehensive, yet still looking forward to the challenge. This is not the sort of race you can go into with the confidence of a 50 mile road race, as most well know that even the best, most fit, riders can still be knocked out of the race with various ailments or problems. The attrition rate is fairly high (a full third in the men under 50 category), especially considering that no one enters this on a whim. I'd imagine that everyone there believes they are adequately prepared before making this sort of commitment, yet still wondering what will go wrong, as something surely will. I decided at the start line to treat this as "only" 10, 50 mile rides. Anyone can ride 50 miles, right? I'd just do 10 rides of 50 miles, not worrying about the next until I get there. That seemed much more doable that thinking about the entire 508 miles all at once.
Start Photos (all photos courtesy Chris Kostman/FC508)
Lined up with Perry "Swan"
Smith
(click on photos for enlargements)
At exactly 7 a.m., we start, riding as a controlled group for the first 5 miles. I went to the front to talk to another rider, Peter Pop, a veteran of RAAM and this race, a friend I made last spring at the 508 spring camp. Little did I know, later on he'd make the difference whether I'd finish this race.
After the controlled distance was over and the real race started, I actually led for about a quarter mile - something that scared me so much that I hit the brakes and fell back twenty places (actually, I had just coasted down a hill a little faster than everyone). So, I can say I led the race.
Not me, but this shows the support cars about 10 miles into the race
The first 40 miles are actually very hilly, and people were riding the hills fast. I had set my heart rate alarm to beep if it want over 155 (my max is 187), and it was sounding almost continuously on the climbs. The alarm was annoying me, and likely anyone around me, so I shut it off. I stayed on the Colnago carbon bike with the aerobars, instead of switching to the 14 pound Bianchi "climbing bike" for the early climbs. At this point, I didn't need the lower gearing and lighter weight enough to justify the time spent switching.
The plan was to consume most of my caloric needs by drinking Ensure Plus, which is very calorie dense, with about 360 calories in 8 ounces; plus, it has protein, fat, and some vitamins and minerals, too. I was bloated and full of the stuff by 50 miles, so much so that I felt like vomiting already. Not good.
I swapped places with some other riders the first 40 miles or so, particularly Deerhound (Lisa Dougherty), Sparrow Hawk (Paul Biron) and Hoopoe (Seana Hogan). It was entertaining to see the circus of the support vehicles doing leap frog support with their riders, each rider having one or two vehicles. Everything was going pretty smoothly for us, but I felt I was riding a little harder than I had planned. The average riding speed for this race is very deceiving, for most of the way we are riding extremely hard, not anywhere near as slowly as you might think from the average speeds. It's the long climbs (35,000 feet total), very bad road sections, and stopping for essentials that bring down the average. While the averages are around 13-15 mph, usually we were riding over 20 mph on the flats and climbing hard enough to be out of the saddle and breathing hard.
I made it to the first time station in California City at 82 miles at 11:44, averaging about 17 mph (in 15th place of 29 men under 50), and that's with lots of hills and some headwinds. This was about right. Felt pretty good, except for a too full stomach. I remembered the days, I thought to myself, when an 82 mile ride alone would have wiped me out - now this was just the first time check point, and I had lots of mountains, hot deserts, and 426 miles to go.
I switched to the climbing bike for the fairly long Randsburg climb after the century mark. It never gets very steep, but goes on for a while. It felt good to get on the extremely light bike with the lower gearing and spin happily away up the hill. I set this one up with a 12-34 cassette, figuring with that I could climb any hill on the course even completely bonked or fatigued. I'm glad I did.
It was fairly uneventful to the second time station in Trona at 152 miles (now in 11th place), except for a 5 mile section of road at the beginning of Trona Road recently shredded to prepare for repaving (Caltrans giveth and Caltrans taketh away), which was so bad that I had to switch to my 1980 steel Bianchi set up for comfort, with its suspension seatpost, stem, thick gel pad, and 35mm tires. This section was brutal, so bumpy that it was nearly impossible to control the bike, and it knocked my front brake completely off, somehow loosening the nut on the main bolt. I rode on while grabbing the dangling brake and wrapping it around the aerobars to keep it from getting caught in the spokes. Just another one of those unforeseeable problems a race like this presents.
After Trona there was another good climb before a thrilling descent into Panamint Valley. All went ok there, but I was feeling very bloated and a bit dehydrated. The Ensure Plus was not working. It seemed like it would not empty from my stomach. When we got down in the valley along the brand new repaved area, one crew vehicle passes and asks how I am. I say, "Ok, but I've felt like I could throw up for the last 100 miles." No more than two minutes passed, and guess what? Yes, I christened that brand new asphalt in Panamint Valley with about a gallon of pink liquid, seemingly every ounce of that strawberry Ensure I'd consumed that day. My crew did not see the first series of upchucks, only the second wave about 100 yards later. But, as I told them, after that it was the best I'd felt all day long! This was really true. I could again breathe, could get down on the aerobars comfortably, and felt 5 pounds lighter. Now I could work on that hydration and get some gel in me before the Townes Pass climb coming up at 200 miles.
At 200 miles (made the double century mark in about 11 1/2 hours) the "big" climb of the event starts. It was getting dark, and the crew shifted to the night mode, following with flashers on and music blaring right behind me. Made it up the 4,000 foot Townes Pass climb without anyone passing me, although Peter Pop does catch up at the top right before I leave to make the descent into Death Valley.
This descent is hard to describe. It drops 5,000 feet in 17 miles, but it's steepest and curviest near the top. Last spring, I hit 64 mph down the hill, so I was prepared for a real thrill doing it again at night (and no moon). I had 32 watts of lighting on the bike, a follow vehicle right behind, and the other car driving about 1/4 mile ahead so I could see the tail lights marking the road. Even riding a little conservatively, the pace car behind said they saw a peak of 63 mph where they were going more slowly than I was. My bike computer sensor had broken, so I had no way of knowing myself. In any event, we made fantastic time down the hill and to the next time station in Furnace Creek, passing several riders and putting time on those behind. I came to discover that I recovered very nicely on the long descents, greatly enhancing my speed on the following rollers and flat areas. Made it to the Furnace Creek time station, approximately the half way point (253.76 miles) at 10:16 p.m., in 10th place.
The ride through Death Valley in the dark was totally uneventful. You could see nothing except what was immediately around you. It was still 77 degrees at night, which was comfortable. After Death Valley, there are two significant climbs, Jubilee and Salsberry passes - back to the light bike. At this point, some of the relay teams were catching up, and it was entertaining especially seeing the 8 man tandem teams coordinate the switches up the long hills. I passed a number of riders on these hills (and some passed me back), some apparently starting to bonk. I was feeling ok, but not extraordinarily good.
About 3 a.m., around 300 miles into the race, while on the climb up Salsberry, looking well up the hill, I could have sworn there were vans lined up on the side of the road with bikes on top. I felt great, thinking I was passing all these riders who had stopped to sleep or recover on the hill. It really did motivate me. However, as I went on, I realized that the car lights behind me were reflecting off the little 4 foot high poles with reflectors on them on the side of the road, which in my mind looked like vans with bikes on top. It's amazing how many I had to pass before I figured this out. Lesson: The mind often sees what it wants to.
Made it to the top of Salsberry Pass, after a 4,000 foot climb, in decent shape, and then switched back to the Colnago for another long descent to Shoshone in the dark.
The descent was long and steep enough that pedaling wasn't needed for a very long time. You just sit there and steer. While doing so, I got very sleepy, so sleepy that I could hardly keep the bike between the lines. At the Shoshone time station, at 325 miles at 4:20 a.m., I wanted to sleep very badly. At Shoshone, I discovered I was then in 6th place, having passed a few up the hills. I was practically begging to get in the car and sleep just a little. But, the crew gently persuaded me to at least try riding, and see how it goes. Sure enough, simply peddling hard for a while got the blood moving again and woke me up. Just after that the race director, Chris Kostman, drove up and checked me out. I did my best to act fully awake and aware (sober up), so he'd not tell me to pull over and rest. He told me that 12 riders had already dropped out. This is one tough race.
After leaving Shoshone, I recovered nicely and hammered away for about 40 miles, feeling very good. The blood sugar came up, the brain switched back on, and all was well. Made some excellent time until day break.
Photos just after Shoshone, about 4:30 a.m.
It seemed like it took forever to get to Baker, even though I was riding fairly quickly. The sun was coming up, and that helped again to keep the spirits up and the brain turned on.
Caught a few people in Baker, including riding buddy from last spring, Paul (Sparrow Hawk) Biron. He had stopped to refuel the body, but I went on. Still in 6th place.
I had heard several people say that the race starts in Baker, or that Baker is the "half way" point, even though it's 380 miles into the race. Correct on both points. While I felt decent leaving Baker, there is a 20 mile continuous climb that begins just after Baker. About 5-10 miles up the climb, I hit the proverbial wall. Flat out ran out of gas. We were out of Hammergel, as I had only planned to supplement with it, relying upon Ensure for most of my calories. But, at the rate of 400-500 calories per hour needed, that would take a lot of Hammergel. I was reduced to about 5 mph on a climb that should have been around 12 mph. Extreme bonk. One of the crew vehicles went back to Baker to buy up anything with carbs in it, hoping that something would work and stay down. Meanwhile, Peter Penguin passed me, and asked how I was doing. I said, "I'm bonking bad, and ran out of Hammergel." Peter then offered up a bottle of it from his crew, for which I'll be forever grateful. Without it, I'd have never finished. I found that mixing about 3 servings of the Hammergel in a bottle of water worked wonderfully, reviving me from the deep bonk, and enabling an eventual cresting of the 20 mile climb (with a pitiful 8 mph average in this section). However, on the following descent, now having "spent" all the energy I was able to consume up the hill, I was again bonking, but this time so badly that I could not steer the bike on the following descent. I could barely see the road. I could not think, for if you'd have asked me my name at that point, I'd have not been able to answer. So, fearing a crash, I summoned the van and said that I need 30 minutes sleep, crawled in the front seat, reclined, and was out like a light. Thirty minutes later, they woke me, and I felt refreshed. It did not feel like normal sleep, but more like general anesthetic - lights out, lights on. No brain function in between. Got back on the bike, and sped off.
After sleeping, the vision in my right eye started to return. I forgot to mention that after dehydrating around Townes Pass, my right eye clouded over, as if someone smeared Vaseline all over it. I could see nothing but mere light. I had this happen once before in a double century in the desert, and remembered that after rehydrating, the vision returned to normal. When it started this time, I was fearful that if it hit both eyes, I'd be done. Can't ride blind.
It was a real struggle all the way to the last time station at Sheephole Summit at 29 miles to go, then in 10th place. The last 130 miles of the race from Baker took me almost 12 hours. That's horrible. But, I found out the hard way that this sort of event is all about energy management. You absolutely must find out what food works for you, as there is no possible way to do well without continuous energy replacement. It must be palatable and stay down. You have to force yourself to eat and drink more even when you feel like you want to vomit. That, to me, was the hardest part of the race. My legs never really got tired. Every time I got some carbs back in my system, my legs were as good as new - it was amazing. Fill the tank, the motor runs. Out of gas, it stops. Very simple.
I hit rock bottom several times through here. I learned something very valuable, though. You can be totally wiped out, feeling dead, unable to move a muscle, confused, and more than willing to quit, but still come back. It was amazing. Just be patient, ride slowly for a while, and everything comes back to normal. I wonder if some of those who have quit this race know that? Just hang in there, be determined to finish, and you'll feel better. (I had decided before hand that the only thing that would prevent me from finishing would be a trip to the hospital.) There was simply no choice about it. My theory was, if you can move, keep riding. Period.
Before Sheephole, we passed through Amboy on old Route 66. What a pit. The old road is horrible, shaking the daylights out of the riders. It was over 100 degrees in mid afternoon (my car said 102, one rider reported 108). Yup, this is the desert. Then, for 20 miles after Amboy on a long climb up to Sheephole, we continuously rode over some of the worst roads on the planet. You had to pick your way around the deep tire-eating crevices and potholes every inch of the way. This alone must have reduced the average speed by around 2 mph on this section. It was horrible, especially so late in the ride when you are so beat up and tired.
Crested Sheephole after the last time station with 29 miles to go and then knew I'd finish. Still in 10th place. There is a long descent, which I always look forward to, then a flat to rolling stretch to Twentynine Palms. I (defectively) remembered from my driving the course there was about a 2 to 3 mile stretch between the descent and the turn to Twentynine Palms. Wrong. While hammering again at 22 mph on the aerobars in full out time trial mode, I came upon an intersection that I thought was the turn. My crew yelled up, no, you still have 16 miles to the turn! No way. I had been riding so hard based upon a 2 to 3 mile run before town, not that far. It was still 6 miles to the finish even after the turn to Twentynine Palms. Oops. So, backed off and drank as much Hammergel/water as I could, again just hoping to finish. Passed one rider in this stretch, and moved permanently into 9th place.
Well, made the last 2 turns to finally get onto Twentynine Palms highway. Five miles to go. I was riding like a brainless animal at this point. I don't think I could have gone faster if I had just started there. I was doing up to 25 miles per hour through town, breathing like a 10 mile time trial. I felt good, and decided I wasn't going to leave anything on the course. I wanted to at least come in under 37 hours at this point, even though my initial goal was 36 hours.
Got to the finish line at 36 hours, 47 minutes, totally exhausted. I was happy to be done. Ordinarily, I get somewhat emotional near the finish of epic rides, all happy and such, but this time I was not. I was just going so hard the last 20 miles that I had no energy for emotion left, no brain power at all except to mash those pedals as hard as I could. Ended up in 9th place of 29 starters, 19 finishers in the men under 50 category. I was pleased.
Finish Photos
Not looking quite so fresh as the start
Turns out that the winner was also as rookie, with an excellent time of 31 hours, 10 minutes. That reduced the RAAM qualifying window to 15% of that time, or about 35 hours 51 minutes (roughly). Nonetheless, I felt good just finishing, finishing even after being so very close to dropping out, and with a decent placing over all.
The
first thoughts are, of course, "I'll never do that again." Then, on
the way home, you start thinking things like "if I'd only have used the
right supplements, I'd have finished in 34 hours..." Lots of time to think
about it. I think I'll take a week off the bike now.
Time Splits
The table below shows just how badly I bonked after Baker. Until then, I was averaging 15.2 mph, which would have put me at 33.4 hours at the finish at the same pace. I lost 3 1/2 hours in the last 130 miles (8.2 mph average Baker to "Nowhere" and 12.5 mph from Nowhere to Sheephole)! It would be interesting to compare the averages for a segment with the amount of climbing in that segment, but that would be time consuming.
