Moab’s Red Hot 55K

4:35 AM.

I awoke to the sound of a jetliner flying overhead.

And immediately my mind started racing. Have I trained enough? Will my food plan work? Are my shoes too new? Will the weather hold? Why am I doing this to myself…again?

The roar of another jetliner brought me back to the moment.

“Wait. Another jetliner? No jetliners fly that low over Moab. What the…”

WIND! Incessant. Ever loving WIND.

Not gonna be a fun day. Nope.

The weather wasn’t going to hold. We’d been watching the forecast closely for the previous 10 days, our spirits falling with each passing day as it went from “50s and sun” to “30s and snow”.  But Kevin Freaking Eubank never said ANYTHING about wind!

Dread is a powerful emotion. I began envisioning only worst case scenarios.  We’d spend the day soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, running with 5 extra pounds of mud stuck to each shoe, and ultimately we’d all die from exposure somewhere on the bluffs of Moab.

After cowering under the blankets – suffering through an hour of mental anguish – I willed myself out of bed and into the shower to wash off the bad mojo.

15 minutes later, I summoned the courage to go outside and see what we were in for. I planted my feet firmly as I opened the door expecting the arctic blast to blow me across the room. Then, as I slowly opened the door…not so much. Windy yes, but also baaaaaallllmy. It was like 45 degrees under partly cloudy skies. Now we’re talkin.

Sam, Adam (Sam’s brother) and I grabbed some grub, packed up and headed out for the adventure. 34 miles of running across the Gold Bar Rim, Golden Spike, and Poison Spider trails.

It didn’t take long for the rain to start, but we were on our way and focused on the task at hand.

The First 17 Miles

It was a pretty mucky start as we ran up the Gemini Bridges road and eventually into Little Canyon. The climb was somewhat steep, icy, and wet with some exposure to the left. I started to worry about theWife and Holly trying to climb this in the Soob and Murano as they made their way to the first aid station. Surely, they would see how icy and technical the climb would be for their two less-than-monster-trucks and turn back.

Photo of the lead pack on the first climb thanks to Todd Olsen at ShotU.net

Wouldn’t you know it – about three miles into the canyon, here they came, rolling up the canyon. Holly and Cic climbed the first pitch like it was nothing and were cruising to the first aid station. When I asked Cic if she was nervous on the climb, she responded “not really, it’s just what we do for you guys on race day.” Once again, I was amazed at how much seeing her smiling face can improve any rainy, dreary situation.

But about a mile later, that all changed as I helplessly watched my life flashed before my eyes.

There was another steep climb that included some steps – no problem for a jeep with clearance, but for a Subaru? Whole nother story.

I was running up a pretty technical section on the climb as Holly rolled up and over it with reckless abandon (she was driving a company car so no worries, right?), but when Cic tried it in the Subaru she got stuck halfway up the step. And then started to go BACKWARDS! I felt helpless watching my wife, two kids, and one of Sam’s kids going the WRONG DIRECTION down a sandstone cliff (Cic would later say she was TOTALLY in control of the situation). mmm hmm.

When the car came to a stop all I could see through the windshield was a giant white toothy grin and the emphatic waving of her hand gesturing me to “just keep running, don’t worry about us.” I paused. How would I explain THAT to her parents? That I just sorta left. You know…to finish the race as their daughter and grandchildren careened off a 10,000 foot cliff.

theWife assured me they were good and told me to keep going. Reluctantly, I did so (looking back I clearly see this as a husband fail). The next half mile was agonizing as I kept looking back to see if they were coming around the bend. I caught up with Holly and was about to tell her about me being the worst husband on earth having left his wife and children (and her child as well) to die in a barren wasteland of sand and sage. Then just before I broke the news to her…around the corner came the Soob! They were ALIVE!

Okay then. On with the run.

Diet

In all the races I’ve done, I have yet to figure out the perfect race day diet. At the Park City P2P I fertilized the trail at about the halfway point. I suffered through the rumble down under at the Squaw Peak 50. And during my second attempt of the Wasatch 100, I’d decided at mile 30 that fasting was the best way to settle my stomach – that one definitely didn’t work as I abandoned the race at mile 62, whimpering in the fetal position.

So, for 3 months I’d considered a measured, all-liquid race day diet. I’ve been a fan of the 90 calorie CarboRocket for a little over a year, but had yet to try the new 333 calorie “half evil” version on any run longer than two hours.

I thought I would be running for about 10 hours this day and did some research to learn that the bodies of endurance athletes (I only loosely apply that term to myself) can typically only digest between 250 and 300 calories an hour during a race. Basically, the carnage and destruction that occurs during the event places too much stress on the body to efficiently process many more calories than that. Which explained why my previous races have been fraught with gastro-intestinal malfeasance.

So I measured out my stash and kept an eye out for the DEA.

Long story short. I had just about the best race day stomach ever. I chugged half a bottle of CR333 about every 30 minutes and consumed just over 6 bottles of the stuff.

Bottom line, I am hooked and highly recommend CarboRocket 333.

That said, I have a load of Shot Rock Turds, Gu Chomps, Shot Blocks, and Hammer Gels available if anyone wants them.

The Next 17 Miles

After suffering through dead legs on the long, straight, forever dirt road that drops off the Gold Bar Rim I started again to feel pretty good. I’d seen the crew at the mid-point aid station which sufficiently buoyed my spirits and I was finally running downhill – the presence of “downhills” on the earth truly strengthens my testimony of a divine creator.

About this time, I came into my favorite part of any endurance race. That point where nothing hurts so badly that the pain completely occupies your mind. The noise of life is left on the side of the trail miles ago and everything becomes centered in the quiet serenity of now. For me, these are the “golden windows” of every race. The thump, thump, thump of music from my iPod is replaced with the sounds of a heartbeat in my ears; the rapid, but rhythmic inhale/exhale of air from my lungs; and the labored, but lifting crunch, crunch, crunch made by the soles of my feet as they work their way down the trail.

That mixed with the surroundings is the opium of the endeavor.

Photo from race day thanks to Greg Norrander

Now to be sure, the hangover  is a real doozie. But very much worth it.

The euphoric high soon faded as I came upon this broken down heap at about mile 20 and thought to myself matter-of-factly: “you know something? my left leg kind of feels like that too.”

Photo from the race thanks to Greg Norrander

The Shoes

At the suggestion of my in-laws, I bought me a pair of magic shoes for Christmas. This was the first real distance event I’d worn them in and I am convinced, they ARE magic shoes. Ridiculously light. Ridiculously cushioned. And yes, ridiculously expensive. But worthy of every dollar (all 170 of them even – ouch).

The best part of these shoes? They make you haul ass on the downhills. There is so much padding on the bottom you can’t feel a thing you are stepping on. All rocks, sticks, and Hobbits get absorbed in the squish of each footstep. After 30 miles of suffer, you can just open it up on the descents because your aching feet don’t feel a single poke, prod, or jolt from any terrestrial troublemakers.

Surprisingly stable too.

I made up some good time on the descents in these babies, cause I basically said “whatever” and let er’ rip!

Here’s another shot of the Waffle Stompers in action. Kind of like wearing Donald Duck’s moon boots.

Thanks Holly for the Photo

Not sure exactly what my hands are doing in this shot, at first glance I wondered if I was adjusting my cup, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t worn that thing since high school baseball. At any rate, it is what it is. Whatever it is.

The Body

I didn’t do a whole lot of running in preparation for this event. I know, shocking right? But, I’ve tried to shed the egg nog flab over the last two months with some strength training, yoga, and hamster runs on the treadmill. But still don’t think I put much more than 75 miles on the legs since the half marathon I ran back in September.

I was a little worried about it, but over the years I’ve become pretty adept at my patented “under train, then suffer” race strategy. But today was different. I think it was a combination of the CR333, the shoes, the strength training, and finally being out in the church of the blue dome after a long winter hibernation that pushed me pretty hard throughout the day.

I certainly had some bad moments. Had my first ever bout with race day cramping during the last twelve miles. All of it in my calves. The first twinge I felt while climbing a steep slick rock face – it kind of wigged me out. It felt like someone from behind pinched my left calf. I actually jumped a little, stopped, and turned around to see who was mucking with my leg. Then the cramp set in – whooooooweee, those things hurt. It’s like somebody has locked you into a really long titty twister.

I was attacked again, both calves this time while climbing this hill:

Photo from the race thanks to Greg Norrander

The cramps hit simultaneously and so hard I stopped mid climb, bent over, grabbed both calves and just howled like a coyote.

Despite the cramping, there were many times during the day I marveled at the capacity and stamina of the human body and mind. The longest run I’d completed this year was 13 miles in early February. And yet, I was clicking off miles 25, 26, 27, 30…and didn’t feel that much worse for the wear. Don’t get me wrong, I was hurting, but felt like I could just keep on keepin on.

I thought a lot about a saying J Dub often uses with respect to endurance events: “no matter how good or bad you feel right this moment, don’t worry about it – cause it’s gonna change”.

Kind of a metaphor for life really. But fascinating that our minds and bodies can just keep going, despite the wear and tear of distance and time.

The Finish

The finish came quicker than I had anticipated. Partly because I’d listened to Sam who said the last 12 miles was all downhill and as I had yet to experience much of anything “all downhill” I thought I still had a ways to go.

Cic and Holly told me I was only about 10 minutes behind Sam and Adam at the halfway point so I just kept telling myself “go catch those Crazy Ass Clark Boys” and looked for them around every turn.

the Beer Brothers (get it Samuel Adams) [snicker]

And I did. Catch them that is…7 minutes after they crossed the finish line. Dammit.

34 miles. 6 hours and 51 minutes.

A pretty solid day for me considering the lack of miles I’d put in. An encouraging sign for a long 10 months of racing ahead. Can’t wait for the next one (or maybe I can – looking at the Moab 100 trail run next month – that one is gonna hurt. I’m talking like whimpering in the fetal position kind of hurt).

Here’s the data for the day:

The Crew

Racing wouldn’t be as much fun without the awesome Draper Wives as crew. It was a smaller group of wives this time, but supported by a large group of  Draper Kids. I think it’s safe to say they all had a great race – collectively they likely covered 100 times the miles that Sam, Adam, and I did just scampering around the wild. If I had a tenth of the energy these kids have I’d have won that race in like 2 hours and 6 minutes.

Family Dynamics

On a side note.

As I was going through the pics from the race I couldn’t help but notice a few things in the next photo:

Sam’s kids?

Attentive. Focused. Smiling.

My kids?

Umm…not so much.

Oh and if anyone was ever curious about why my kids are always sporting their galoshes – this picture pretty much solves that mystery. Love you Cic!

Shout Out

Remember earlier how I was talking about how fascinating the human body is? Well sometimes bodies have the odds stacked against them.

I spent a good part of the race last Saturday and much of the past few months thinking about my Aunt Karen – she’s kind of like my Other Mother. She and Uncle Galen introduced Cic and I to some of our very most favorite parts of the world and her zest for life has been intoxicating.

So Karen’s body has been up against it since October – battling cancer in her kidney and now on her brain. This woman has just about hiked across the entire planet, climbing some of the most challenging peaks in the world. Now she’s working to get over probably the most difficult mountain yet. There aren’t many who read this blog, but those who do – maybe send some positive vibes down Tucson way to my Aunt Karen. I know she would appreciate them.

Keep going Aunt Karen. We love you so dang much (you too Galen)!

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12 Hours of Mesa Verde

Headed down to southwest Colorado a couple weekends ago to race the 12 Hours of Mesa Verde with J Dub, Banks, and Tyler. When I say “race” I mean ride somewhat fast. When you are a middle-of-the-pack guy you aren’t really racing. Not really. More like packing the course down for the really fast guys who have lapped you.

The course was a 16.4 mile loop around Phil’s World just outside of Cortez, CO. If you haven’t been to Cortez, you really should go! Once (that should do).

The trail on the other hand was superbly, wonderfully, amazingly fun.

Well, except for the few miles know as Tuffy’s Rim. Tuffy’s was a bitch (to put it politely). Lots of sharp rocks, awkward drops, tough climbs up technical rock sections and just an awful lot of bone rattling horror.  We’ll get back to Tuffy’s Terror in a bit.

So we rolled into town on Friday afternoon, just in time to hit the local leather and lust bar for a late afternoon lunch. The food was fine. But the scenery unfortunately left little to the imagination.  The photos in the place covered every inch of wall space and were mildly distracting, to say the least. There is something about pictures of scantily clad, overweight, middle aged women straddling Harley’s that makes your food taste just a little skanky.

[shutter]

Rainbows. Butterflies. Teddy bears. Warm blankets. Church hymns.

Quickly moving on.

So we finished up dinner and headed out to pre-ride the course. Oh how loverly was the morning! That course was so much damn fun. Except Tuffy’s Tyranny – of course. By the end of the pre-ride lap all of us were giddy.

Who Needs Cash

To celebrate we headed out to the world famous Ute Mountain casino to sit around a felt covered table, in a smoke-filled room and light all of our hard earned money on fire and then sit there helplessly watching it go up in smoke.

Just to be clear – I am a terrible card player and I hate to waste money. Not an ideal mix.

But, what made this casino trip depressing was not my skills (or lack thereof), but rather the clientele and did I mention the smoke? Holy lack of ventilation batman. I snapped some pics for proof:

Did I mention the clientele? Talk about Zombieland – it would seem the entire reservation falls into a trance each night and makes their way to Ute Mountain, then mills lifelessly about pissing away whatever cash they brought into the joint.

They all had dead eyes. No joke.

It was like we were on the Polar Express only no one said a word. And no one was in pajamas. And there wasn’t a train. But you get the idea. Dead eyes I tell you.

Clientele and lung cancer aside, it was great to play with the guys and all came away with life in our eyes and carrying most of the cash we took in.

Race Day

I was pretty mellow during the pre-race prep. With Tyler and I racing in the duo category I was relaxed knowing I would have a 90 minute break between laps. That was until Tyler beat me in Rock-Paper-Scissors to determine who would do the first lap (including the Le Mans start). I’d never done a Le Mans start before, but I had seen plenty of video of idiots in spandex and cycling shoes stampeding wildly across a dirt road to know I might be in for more than I’d bargained for.

Sure enough. We lined up near the front (go figure) and when that whistle blew it was like 500 people had just been shocked with a cattle prod. Seeing Banks jolt and run like ol’ Bess had me laughing right up until the guy two rows up went down in a heap and damn near got trampled to death. Le Mans starts aren’t as fun as they’d seem. It might have been worth it had all 500 of us not piled up anyway at the creek crossing one mile down the road.

I need to figure out how to rig Rock-Paper-Scissors to ensure a win.

Lap One

First lap went just fine. Congested. Bottlenecked. Slow. But fine. So fine in fact that I hardly even noticed Tuffy’s Rim. There was some casual conversation as we all patiently rode through the 90% single track waiting for the race to spread out with time and distance.

I rolled the first 16.4 mile lap in 1:49 and felt no worse for the wear. Pulled into the transition barn and bid Tyler a merry farewell then moseyed over to the trailer for some food and rest.

Relay races are so different. Between laps you can tinker with your bike, clean up the drive train, fuel up without alternating heavy breathing and swallowing, shoot the breeze with your neighbors, and catch up on some reading. Oh, and you can sit down and RELAX.

I could get used to this.

Lap Two

Tyler rolled his single speed rigid across the course in 1:41. Wow that was short. I pulled myself out of the recliner and got back on the bike. Headed out feeling sprite and energetic and then 4 miles in hit a wall. HARD. I felt like I had been riding for 100 miles! My legs had no juice, my back was stiff, and the climbs seemed significantly steeper than the first lap.

By the time I made it through Tuffy’s Testi Tenderizer I was thinking I was done at two laps.

1:36 was my time and I was COOKED.

That recliner never looked so good! Getting the bike into the stand was a chore, eating was exhausting, and those damn chatty kathy neighbors of ours were giving me a headache.

This relay format really sucks!

Lap Three

Tyler rolled the second lap 2 minutes slower than his first and I thanked him profusely for it. Surprisingly, my third lap was much better. I paced a little better and had almost as much fun riding the 16.4 miles as I did on the pre-ride the night before.

I learned a valuable lesson on this lap. While it is always good form to offer help to someone in need, during a race it rarely pays to do so. I came upon a lady whose chain kept dropping and offered to help. When she accepted I pulled off of the trail and watched a train of folks whiz by. Right about then I noticed the lady had hopped back on her bike and was off to the races.

What the crap?

Puzzled I got back on my bike and proceeded to get stuck behind that train of people for about 3 miles. Did I mention the course was 90% single track? Needless to say the next time that lady’s chain dropped I rode by without a word.

Sayonara sister! Good luck with that chain thingy you got going on.

1:42 – slowing down, but felt like I paced it better.

Lap Four

By now we were into the late afternoon and I knew that Tyler would be getting tired, having ridden all day on a single speed rigid setup, and was thinking my next break might be a long one. Tyler pulled a very respectable 1:52 on his third lap and set me up for my fourth lap as clouds rolled in to cool off the day.

I was certainly tired by this lap. Having ridden over 50 miles already I could feel the fatigue in my legs, back and hands. But I was having so much fun on the course that I really didn’t mind the pain. As it turns out maybe a little too much fun. There is a section of the course known as the Ribcage that was made up of steep smooth drops followed by equally steep ups as you rolled through one arroyo after another – a naturally delicious dirt roller coaster. With the speed generated on the drops you could really launch over the top of the ups. Which is great when you have energy and can control your trajectory. When you are exhausted mentally and physically controlling trajectory is decidedly more difficult.

On one of the last really big ups I neglected to pull up sufficiently at launch and suddenly found myself mid-air in this position:

Any number of thoughts could have gone through my head at this point. But this was the one – oh, this is gonna hurt.

I don’t know how I pulled it off. It felt like I rode a front wheelie at 15 mph for a good 50 feet. All the while wondering when it would end and if I would break one or both collarbones.

Wouldn’t you know? I pulled it off! Somehow I got that back wheel down and rode out the rest of the rib cage without incident.

On to Tuffy’s Tallywacker Twister. One. Last. Time.

Tally ho!

By the time I hit round four of Tuffy’s it was no secret I did not like this 3 mile section of trail. During my third time through I was audibly bad mouthing Tuffy as I rode across his spine. Well, apparently Tuffy is a bit sensitive and vengeful to boot. For as I rolled through the rockiest section of the rim Tuffy reached up grabbed my front wheel between two of his sharp, jagged rocks and hucked me over the bars.

Tuffy scornfully left his mark on my right hip, thigh and knee.

Finish

I finished the last lap in 1:43 and if it wasn’t for the time cutoff and the fear and loathing I had for Tuffy I think I could have mustered one more lap, but was certainly satisfied with over 66 miles on the day.

Road tripping with Tyler, J Dub and Banks is always a great time and made this weekend that much better.

Here are some photos of the day starting with Banks in all his evilness:

J Dub rolling through one of the fast sections:

Tyler going purist on his single speed rigid:

Me, better managing the trajectory:

Wish Mesa Verde wasn’t on Mother’s Day next year too. Would like to go back, but I won’t miss Tuffy if I can’t get the hall pass.

rawrod 2009

Last weekend I joined a whole slew of crazy people and subjected myself to a masochistic ritual known as RAWROD (Ride Around White Rim in One Day).  In the simplest terms it is a 100 mile suffer fest across this:

On bikes.  All in one day.

Wouldn’t you know…it was SO much fun.

You might ask “how was it riding 100 miles in the desert through incessant dust storms and occasional downpours?”  I am so glad you asked.

RAWROD takeaways:

1. When Dug gives you directions to the camp site…it’s a good idea to have a backup source.  (Hi Dug!)
2. I didn’t realize how much I was looking forward to Kenny’s and Elden’s world famous brats until our batch (the LAST batch) rolled off the grill and into the fire.  It was like someone had just kicked my favorite poodle.
3. Dug should really invest in a new tent.  Aside from one of his poles snapping in the wind, it was making some very ominous noises throughout the night.  It sounded like a bunch of Orcs were sleeping over there.
4. At mile 40 when someone asks you “what’s the longest you have ridden your mountain bike?” and you answer “35 miles” and then they respond with “just think, you’ve already set your personal best and by the end of the day you will more than double it!” don’t think you’ll be able to take ANY comfort in that.  While I really like J Dub, at that moment all I wanted to do was let the air out of his tires. (Hi J Dub!)
5. If you ever have to ride your mountain bike 5 miles across a wind blown highway look for two guys who are at least 6 foot 2 with broad shoulders to tuck in behind…that will certainly save your bacon (thanks Dug and Mike).  And if you are ever able to return the favor maybe try to do it somewhere other than on the downhill (sorry Dug and Mike).
6. I have never been happier to see someone than when DT climbed out of the SAG wagon at mile 50.  Talk about a joyous reunion.
7. Riding for 75 miles through incessant wind (gusting to 50 mph) will inevitably, at some point in the day, REALLY piss you off.
8. Watch out for the wind gusts around the last switchback on Hardscrabble…sheesh.
9. If you ever come to a climb called Hardscrabble…you should know by the name it’s going to be brutal.
10. If you’ve ever wondered what would hurt worse hitting you at 50 mph:  hail or a wall of sand.  Let me set the record straight…it’s the hail.  For the love of all that’s holy…it’s the hail.
11. I’m certain the taste of sand, sweat and phlegm is 100% better than Cola flavored Shot Bloks.
12. If you ever thought it would be a good idea to climb up 1,000 feet in just under a mile and to do it at mile 99 of a 100 mile ride…think again.

All in all, it was an amazing day with a really great bunch of people and I think we generated about $1,000 for Kenny’s LAF page to be donated to cancer research…that doesn’t suck.

Morning at the RAWROD camp

Shafer Trail (we end up WAY down there…sucks to be the guy  who built this trail on a cliff)

Hey kids, pay attention…this is how NOT to fix a broken chain

This is the face of suffering (thanks for the pic J Dub)

Horsethief – the 1K ft climb at mile 99 (we started in the sunlight by the river below)

Thanks KK for the pic.

Elden also took some great video with his super duper new camera, check it out:  Ride Around White Rim in One Day (RAWROD) 2009.

Thanks Kenny for putting this on…what a great day in the desert.

dog sprints

I spent the last couple of days in Eastern Idaho attending the funeral of a really great lady.

My Aunt Jean.

Sidenote: Please  indulge me for just a second. One of the speakers talked about how it seems that power, prominence, property and prestige are the primary factors that motivate us these days.  He followed that with what motivated Aunt Jean…friends and family (which was obvious by the turnout).  His point was that the 4 Ps above, all eventually fade…but family and the relationships we foster will always burn bright.  Point well taken.  It’s pretty great to have Mel in the family.  He has a quiver full of great lessons like that, including this one 7 years ago that has become my Fatherhood for Dummies guide.  Mel also was instrumental in helping me secure theWife for the long term.  When she had convinced herself to ditch the hippie me and head out on a mission I took her to Mel, who put in his $0.02 and basically told her she’d be CRAZY not to dump her plans IMMEDIATELY and marry ME instead.   That’s pretty much EXACTLY how it happened.

So as I was saying…Eastern Idaho.

Ever since I was a kid, Eastern Idaho (specifically Teton and Ashton) has been one of those places where you feel like you’re home.  Sourdough pancakes (cooked in bacon grease of course), whole milk, fresh fruit w/ REAL cream, the Grand Tetons, endless Idaho skies, and that fresh Eastern Idaho air…what’s not to love?

Okay, I can think of ONE thing.  There is just one thing I HATE about Idaho.

Dogs.

You see Idaho has some of the best road biking routes around.  Rolling hills, great climbs, wheat fields, snow capped mountains in the distance.  It kind of, sort of  is what I imagine its like riding in The Tour.  Well, except for the dogs.  And the lack of world class riders.  And no crazy dude running alongside the road, dressed up like the devil.  And no whiny French people.  Okay, maybe not THAT much like The Tour.  But, I’m just saying.

I also don’t imagine Lance spends the better part of a ride strategizing the best way to get around the canine conundrum that IS road biking in Idaho.

So, here are the three critical success factors for a successful doggie dodge, prioritized in this order:

1. Surprise (how well you sneak up on the dog)
2. Angle (aided by the element of surprise)
3. Speed (how fast you can pedal in the event of a chase)

This past Saturday, over 32 miles of riding I had 7 encounters with 9 different dogs…if you do the math that is one puppy problem  every 4.5 miles.  Or to look at it from the perspective of time…I was dodging at least one dog every 12.5 minutes.  Sheesh.  To make matters worse, the dogs it seemed,  had the upper hand on all but one of the critical doggie dodge success factors.

It felt like the scene from Better Off Dead where the newspaper kid and his buddies gang up on John Cusack in the woods. “I want my two dollars!”  Classic.

ANYhoo, of the  SEVEN encounters on Saturday, there was one I thought surely would end with me being Cujo’s kibble.

So Cujo and his puppy pal (we’ll call him…Frank), caught wind of me early and entered the roadway well ahead of my arrival, thus cutting off my angle.  Blasted!  Two of the three critical success factors GONE!  Speed at this point is worthless.  Why?  Because bunny hopping a moving dog on a road bike isn’t as easy as it sounds.  Imagine what the result of speed and a lunging, gnashing dog looks like?  That’s right, biker road kill.  Cujo would be burying pieces of me all over the back yard.

So what do I do?

Slow down.  Be nice.  Make friends with the cute little guys.  Nice doggy.

At first, it appeared to work.  Frank seemed to really be into slow, casual cyclists in tights.  I think at one point he even winked at me.

Okay, I thought…this is working out just fine.  Until I turned my attention to Cujo, who looked like this:

And I am quite certain I looked something like this:

Thank the maker for adrenaline.  I rode as fast as my little legs would pedal.  Got around the bend and down a hill into the river bottom where I got off my bike and just sat on the side of the road.  I am pretty sure I peed a little in my pants.

In Utah we call them Intervals.  In Idaho…they are called Dog Sprints.