I bought my USAC license the following year and got through the Cat5s and have raced sporadically since (as evidenced in a half-assed manner in this meager blog). DR was more of an off-road guy and was doing something different every weekend. Things I'd never heard of or even knew existed: The Arrowhead Ultra. Trips to Moab. Climbing frozen waterfalls on the North Shore. He was the first person I've ever seen ride a Pugsley/fat bike and also the first person I've ever known to use said Pugsley as a flotation device while fording a river.
Every time we talked it seemed like he was trying to convince me to buy a new bike or piece of equipment that was absolutely necessary and specific to whichever task he had planned for the next weekend.
But there was one event that he glamorized that stuck in my head. One that was relatively local, very accessible and all-around fun that didn't require a significant up-front investment. He told me that I had a couple days left to register so I sent in my first Almanzo postcard in 2011. I planned on riding my hardtail MTB for the race. Once the snow melted that spring I set out on the roads for a couple longer rides and quickly realized that if I was struggling to keep a pace on pavement with my knobby tires that there was no way that I would be ready in a couple weeks' time to attempt 100 solo miles on gravel. The word "unsupported" may have scared me a bit as well because I never ventured farther than 10 miles from my car or home on the mountain bike. I was listed under "DNS" on race day and hid from Deathrider's judgemental looks for a few weeks when we passed each other in the neighborhood (he was totally cool with it, but was already trying to convince me to make it next year).
I
I postmarked my postcard on the first day possible. Fast forward to May 17 and there I was in the kitchen triple-checking my equipment bag, pinning on my race number and rearranging my snack food in the Camelbak. The thought only crossed my mind once during prep that night: what if I can't finish it? I started to type "Almanzo 100 route" into Google so I could download it to my phone, but before I hit enter I realized that if I gave myself an out while I was on the course it'd be too easy to take it when the going got tough. I told myself that I'm going to do it. I'm going to finish it. I wasn't going to read the cue sheet beforehand; I'm going to do this the proper way: absolutely clueless at the start with a plan to never lose sight of the riders in front of me and with full hope that they know where they're going. I shut the laptop, packed my bag in the trunk of the car and laid out my clothes for the morning next to my pre-measured coffee and travel mug.
I'll skip over the part of the morning where I snoozed through both of my alarms in my sleep, jolted awake with an F-bomb with that terrible feeling that you overslept for something important and left almost an hour later than I planned and get to the part where I showed up to the race only a half hour later than I planned.
I picked up my packet the night before as I was driving home from a work trip in Des Moines, IA, so at least I didn't have to worry about those logistics. As I was finishing getting ready out of the trunk of my wife's VW Beetle (my race wagon) a guy rode by and asked if I had any zip ties. My only casualty of the rushed morning was forgetting my toolbox on the floor of my garage, but his question made me relax by realizing that was truly ready for this adventure: I had zip ties packed in my Camelbak.
The ride from the high school parking lot to the starting area was uneventful but the weather was ridiculously gorgeous. Rain sprinkled on the windshield as I pulled out of my driveway a couple hours earlier but the sun was shining in Spring Valley. I took off my arm warmers after I got into the starting area and packed them away in the Camelbak before we even started.
I lined up in the lead half of the starting area right when Chris announced that there was about 20 minutes until roll out.
Chris got on the PA a few times in those 20 minutes. He choked up when he first got up there after the majority of us were lined up. His dream of this race came true right at the moment he saw almost one thousand people listening intently to his every word as he used a bed of a pick up as a podium. We got his rules of the road which boiled down to: be nice, don't pee in front of others, pick up your trash and enjoy the water crossings. He briefly introduced to us the tradition of singing happy birthday to his son before the race, which we did, then he gave us the 2 minute warning.
Usually, at this point in big races people usually starting shaking out their legs or doing goofy warmup stretches or bouncing their legs or whatever people do to calm their nerves. Often people start to inch forward and crowding into the people in front of them making clipping in one of the most critical and nearly impossible points of a race. But everyone just chilled out. A few people adjusted their shoes or helmets. A couple people shifted around in the crowd to get closer to their friends but otherwise everyone was just smiling and chatting. There was no pressure back here off the starting line. We all just wanted to get out safe and have a great day in the saddle.
Chris cut the ribbon and rather than that moment when the seatbelt light turns off after our plane lands and everyone stands at the same time to get out of the plane, we all just waited for the people in front of us to get their push off and get clipped in. Everyone had room and we were off one on of the coolest rolls out of town I've ever had. Spring Valley closed off the roads leading out of town for us. Locals were out with cowbells cheering on all of these cyclists that took over their town for the weekend. Rather than many races where people get angry at road closures, these people were welcoming us and cheering for us. Well, technically they were cheering for us to get out of town that morning, but I digress.
I had my cue sheet tucked into my Banjo Brothers Top Tube bag (along with a couple GU gels and some homemade puppy chow) and the first cue started at mile 1.2, right when we turn onto the first gravel road. As I turned onto the road that first sight of riders strung out for a half mile ahead of me was pretty surreal. A quick glance over my shoulder held the same view for a half mile behind. Some riders were filtering forward and backward to join up with others or to actually be part of the race that was happening at the front, but for the most part everyone seemed to know their desired pace and just tucked in and held a line. Everyone was careful going through the first turns and I didn't recognize shakiness or nervousness around me. It felt like every rider out there was quite experienced in riding and knew how to handle their bikes. That held true for the whole race as I didn't see one person go tires up all day. Quite an accomplishment for an unsanctioned race with almost 1000 people on the course at once.
Within the first couple miles of gravel things were strung out pretty nicely.
Lots of self pics were happening around me throughout the course. I obliged and even smiled...
There was someone on the right side of the road ahead taking a few pictures of riders racing by. I gave the thumbs up as I got closer and instantly realized it was the guy that got me into this mess the first place, Deathrider (check out his blog to see the cool gift he just crafted for Chris). He was riding his fat bike and told me he was just there to see the start as he had other things going on for the day. The conversation was short but he dropped back and I was solo again.
The pace held in the upper teens and even over 20 mph for the first third of the race. There were groups forming here and there. I latched on to a few but knew that I had to race my own race, especially early. As I promised myself I had no idea where we were going or what the course held for me so I was cautious to burn my matches while the shadows were still long. The roads were all in perfect shape and had at least 3 hard packed lines to follow which essentially made it feel like pavement unless you strayed.
The weather in the picture above held all morning. We were around 80 degrees by noon with a light breeze. The humidity was still relatively low despite our recent rain storms so I never felt uncomfortably warm all day.
The big news leading into the weekend was a bridge closure on the route. Chris communicated like crazy but it never really seemed like he truly considered a re-route. There already was one planned water crossing so what would one more hurt? And after a few social media comments and replies to his concerns it seemed as if everyone was actually excited rather than worried about the new water "feature" on the course.
We passed the road closed signs at about mile 39 and I craned my neck around every curve in the road waiting to see this demolished bridge with my own eyes. I got there soon enough and dismounted casually as I approached the rubble. It was a steady line of dismounted riders and it seemed that the biggest decision was not where to find the best footing but rather whether shoes were necessary.
By the time I got there the racing state of mind seemed to be gone. Most people had their phones out to take pictures. The majority of us opted to remove our shoes and socks and barefooted it over the slippery rocks. The water was just under knee deep in the middle and the ice cold water had my toes tangled up in cramps half way through, but it felt great. I was very tempting to dip my head for a quick rinse but I didn't dare lose my balance with my bike on my shoulder. I hiked over the rocks at the edge of the water and up the slippery, muddy slope on the other side then sat on some of the old bridge beams that were laid in the ditch waiting to be disposed of. I cleaned the mud out from between my toes in the grass under the beams and used my practiced triathlon technique of putting socks on over wet feet. We had pavement again for a bit then it was back to business.
And by business I mean that within a couple turns we hit brand new fresh gravel. It was rim-deep and there weren't any pack lines to follow save for a few inches on the far edges of the shoulder. By this time these lines were well-ridden so the grass on the top edge of the ditch was laid down, but it was literally just inches wide and not consistent so on occasion it was more efficient to just suck it up and dig through the gravel. There was now some swirling crosswinds so the pace dropped severely for everyone involved around me and we all just put our heads down and powered through it. I realized I hadn't eaten yet so I grabbed a GU gel and washed it down with my now-warm ice water bottle that I'd been saving.
By this time I was approaching the longest I'd been in a saddle since last summer. I've only been able to master about 3 hours at a time on a stationary trainer and rollers before going crazy and I haven't gotten more than three outdoor rides in this spring with the late snowstorms we had. My legs were still feeling alright but other parts of my body were starting to yell "uncle," particularly my neck and shoulders. Going through the deep gravel takes concentration and balance so I'm pretty sure I was tensed up through the entire stretch.
We turned a corner and started heading north around mile 50. The tension in my shoulders was starting to run up high in my neck and the cramping starting to set in. I couldn't relax my shoulders and it was becoming painful to simply look over my shoulder. All I wanted to do was stand up and straighten my back out. I started the "just go another mile and maybe it will feel better chant" already and I knew that wasn't good considering I was only halfway done with the day. But, after a small rise in the road I saw a lot of riders pulling off to the left and dismounting. Turns out a farmer opened up his well to everyone on the course to refill their water bottles.
I gladly swung over and dismounted.
Parking...
By this time I'd drained my liter of homemade Gatorade/electrolyte mix and the majority of the 90-degree water in my Camelbak so it was definitely great to top everything off, but I was even more excited to be able to stand up straight and stretch and give my shoulders and neck a break. Someone asked if it was possible to overdose on Ibuprofen and after glancing up at her baggy of about 50 pills and seeing her down a few I realized her question wasn't rhetorical. Me and a few other riders convinced her that she really could shut down her liver and gave her a crude recital of the drug label. I should have taken some of the pills off her hands for my own sake but I think the shock that someone didn't know they could paralyze their liver very easily with those magic orange pills distracted me. After making it to the front of the water line and filling up with water I ate a strawberry granola bar and rearranged the food in my top tube bag while flipping over the cue card. I'd made it to side two of the directions...
The sun had disappeared for a while and it had intermittently sprinkled on us for about 30 minutes but it was definitely welcome at that rate. Dust is rarely a concern in Minnesota this time of year but with all the traffic the roads were seeing today a few rain drops wouldn't hurt the cause.
The next 20 miles were pretty uneventful in my mind. Lots of long stretches of beautiful scenery. I don't think the city founders could have given Spring Valley a more apt name. So many times we'd find ourselves at the top of a small hill overlooking rolling fields and meadows then within minutes we'd be descending curvy gravel at 40 mph into a valley with small streams and lined with small groves of tall hardwood trees. There were "wild" tulips in the ditches in full bloom and the tree buds were finally opening. We'd encounter farmsteads that fell out of cinematographers' playbooks. I imagine Mr. Wilder would have been grinning at us from his wooden porch after completing his morning chores while we enjoyed his valleys of spring.
It seemed as if we'd gotten rid of most of the deep gravel by this point and were back to two or three nice tire lines to follow, but the hills seemed to be more frequent now, or maybe they were just more noticeable after over 4 hours in the saddle. I'm not sure.
Then, suddenly, the clouds parted while we rounded a rare paved turn. We were riding into a small township. There were a few cars parked on the edge of town next to an overgrown softball field with a few people cheering us on from lawnchairs. Then from between the parted clouds a ray of light shone down upon a small tent. There were riders pulling off and parking next to it. I looked down to double check my mileage as I was sure we weren't done yet. We're only at mile 78. Could it be...a support tent?
Wouldn't that go against THREE of the rules of Almanzo: You are responsible for you, You are responsible for you, and You are responsible for you?
Well, after just one glance I was sure that Mr. Wilder wouldn't have had any qualms with keeping his name atop the race banners. Banjo Brothers and Twin Six teamed up to provide free beer, whiskey and Oreos to all riders. There was water available too, but it was more of an afterthought after grabbing a tall Nordeast out of the ice cold water in the down-cycled (or up-cycled, depending on your point of view) wash basin. It was our own responsibility to decide if downing a beer was the best idea at this point in the day. Nobody was forcing us to stop and partake. It was entirely up to us.Technically, this wasn't a support tent at all; it was a tent of temptation and full of vices. Wonderfully delicious vices that may not have helped me at all from a biochemical standpoint.
I walked over to some picnic tables and gingerly laid down alongside a few other riders whom I assumed shared the same neck issues. I iced my neck for a few minutes with the ice cold can then sat up and cracked it open. Sadly, I couldn't finish the whole thing without indigestion but I had stopped for over 20 minutes and decided that the sooner I finished this damn race the sooner I could take care of the saddle sores I was incubating.
As I was getting ready to roll out we all starting calculating how far it was to the next water crossing. This crossing had been part of the original plans and was part of the course for the last few years so a few guys knew where it was and were pretty sure we were just a few miles away. It was supposedly deeper this year so we were all assuming we'd have wet shorts for the last couple hours.
We find out soon enough, by Chris himself, that they decided to reroute the second half of the riders around the water crossing. The first few guys that went through it made it to over waist deep and a few were taken down by the current. The rains had raised it higher than expected and it just wasn't worth the safety anymore. You could tell it killed Chris to disappoint us with a reroute like this but he had a sense of humor as he described the reroute and was there, personally, to stop every rider individually and apologize for the inconvenience.
I'd heard about it, but it was right at this moment that I realized firsthand that this guy is just oozing with passion, and if it weren't for that Red Sox hat I might even call him a hero. I'm pretty sure his pants were still wet from wading through the defunct water crossing to help a few of the last allowed riders and he was now here, standing in the middle of the intersection with a smile on his face. Rumor has it he stood there until the last rider went by later that evening, foregoing his long-standing and trademarked tradition of shaking everyone's hand at the finish line.
"Be the change you wish to see in the world" has now been deemed to essentially be just a bumper sticker made for Prius drivers by Hallmark card writers that butchered a paraphrase from another philosopher rather than an inspirational quote from Ghandi, but I think Chris Skogen is the embodiment of this quote and it should be tagged to him from this point forward. His vision for taking advantage of the hundreds of miles of nearly empty yet highly maintained roads and forming one of, if not the most well-organized-non-organized events in the upper midwest is something that every entrepreneur and budding race director should pin to their mirror and look at every morning.
While all of this was going through my head I'd covered a few more miles and encountered a couple nice long climbs, one of which made me swallow my pride and dismount. The change in motion from climbing a hill on foot rather than mashing the pedals made my hamstrings twinge in confusion for the first few strides but they quickly stretched out and relaxed and to be honest the evolution back to an upright and walking neanderthal felt great on my shoulders which were still as hard as rocks.
I took the time with my free hand to down another granola bar and finish off my Clif ShotBlocks to get the electrolytes back into my bloodstream to hopefully keep the premature cramps from fully setting in over this last hour or so. I also made a note to change up my gearing in the future to get at least one better rear ring for climbing. I was noticeably over-geared when I saw people spinning up the hill next to me. It's not a full excuse for my current state of conditioning but it definitely would have helped.
I remounted at the top alongside of a couple guys on singlespeeds (speaking of bad choice in gearing...) and we paced on through a couple more miles until we came to a quick turn and faced this just after mile 90.
The picture doesn't do it complete justice but after looking at my GPS data after the fact it said that this was about an 11% grade we were facing. Everyone directly ahead of me had thrown in the towel and I took another dose of shame and joined them by foot. About halfway up the hill we heard cheers from behind us and some stragglers were attempting the ride up. They all made it but we could hear every pedal stroke all the way the hill from each of them. One guy behind me, who was also walking, said out loud that this was the perfect place to attack the pack and started walking faster, eventually passing me. The humor was caught by all and we eventually made it past the disappointed photographers at the top who, I assumed, had hoped to catch some great pain faces on the hill but rather got us jokesters that were on a nice hilly stroll through the woods.
I remounted and chugged on.
These last 10 miles were the worst I'd ever had in an endurance event. I wanted to be done. I'd been on the course for over 7 hours. I was hungry for real food. My water was all warm and I had a raging headache from the tension in my neck. I couldn't get comfortable on the handlebars and I was just all around crabby.
I tried to avoid looking at the mileage but every time I looked it felt like I hadn't moved nearly as far as I thought I should have. 94 miles. 94.75.
94.9.
95.2
It was dragging and I just wanted end this death march. The string of riders was well strung out by now but I never lost sight of someone in front of me. My mileage was still matching up with the cue sheet so I at least felt good that I was on track. I swore that we were west of the finish line at one point and I remember that as I was turning east that it was the homestretch and we were on our way back into Spring Valley. I might have scared some cattle when I dropped the F-bomb when we had yet another turn to the west and I thought we were heading away yet again from my car.
I had the number 101.8 etched into my head as my finish line. I had been counting down by the tenth of miles to that number since mile 96. Imagine my surprise when I hit 101.8 and there wasn't a city limits sign to be found. I could still see a couple riders ahead of me so I was sure we were still on track but I was mentally done with this thing. I put my head down, ignored my watch and just spun away. It wasn't long, though, before I spotted the white tape which Chris said would mark the finish area in the distance and the endorphins came back. They didn't rush back to surge home on the final stretch, but I think I managed a smile.
We curved around the water treatment plant and over some of the sketchiest terrain on the entire course in that last half mile and I finally crossed the line to quite a few remaining cheers and cowbells. The race volunteers were there with smiles on their faces and the finish area was nice and open yet filled with a bunch of half naked people stretched out on the grass and enjoying the nice warm afternoon with their butts off of their sweaty saddles.
Either my wife had ESP (I'm pretty sure she does to an extent) or it just marked the first time I had cell reception in a few hours, but I received a text from her just seconds after crossing the line asking how the race went.
I asked for directions back to the high school and rode yet another mile, mostly up hill, through town back to my car and dismounted for the final time of the day.
Now that I was done and sitting upright in the car I realized I didn't feel nearly as bad as I thought I would. Even though I'd drained the last of my water on the home stretch I was definitely still dehydrated and it only took one glance at my knees and upper arms to realize that I'd completely neglected sunscreen after I took off my arm warmers early in the morning.
A few miles into the ride home I had some of the most coincidental hamstring cramps I'd ever had occur just before the exit that led to a McDonalds.
Aside from that I felt fine when I got home. A few days removed from the dehydration and I'm now more than excited to do that course again. I'll say again that this was one of the most well-organized events I've ever done. The many volunteers for this race do so much for we riders and you can feel the Chris' passion run through each of them. Thank you, Chris Skogen, for making this event everything that it has become.
