Beer and Loafing in La Ruta
After the whole "plane/taxi/hotel/beer/shuttle/hotel/beer/fireworks/start in the dark mayhem" thing was all behind me I found myself pushing the Meatplow up a mountain of mud wondering just what in the hell was I doing back in Costa Rica. When I registered in February I'm not sure if it was the addition of a fourth stage or the fact that I could use my frequent flier miles to get there that swayed my decision, but like it or not I was up to my eyeballs with doubts and regrets. La Ruta is the hardest stage race I know of, and the riding is just a gruelfest that offers very little fun factor. You pay your money, you toe the line, and you get loads of suffering from the never ending pain buffet.
So with my doubt demons whispering in my ear I realized the only thing to gain from pushing my pace was a longer wait for the shuttles back to the hotel. I decided on a game plan. I would ride and push my bike at a pace that was right on the edge of comfort. If I couldn't smile I would just back off and relax until I felt like I could produce a smirk. I looked around at the scenery, and I even stopped to watch a procession of army ants carrying leaves just like I've seen on the Discovery Channel. I remember so little from the first stage other than the army ants and pushing up a mountain of mud. The riding was pretty uneventful except for a nasty climb into a head wind on sticky fresh blacktop. The biggest positive of the whole day was my new found friend, the boiled mini potato rolled in salt. The only thing that could have been better is if they woulda gave us mini steaks to go with them. I had a respectable finish, and better yet I was able to get back to the hotel in time for the free beer at happy hour.
On an interesting note when I turned my bike over for the bike wash I found out they were pressure washing them with a mixture of water and KEROSENE. I told them that wasn't gonna work for me, so they handed me a bucket and a brush soaked in kerosene, and then they pointed me to the nearest manure laden puddle. Nice.
The happy hour was exactly that, an intensely happy period lasting approximately one hour. I discovered thhe most important race of the day was trying to get as many free beers as I could down my throat in 60 minutes to make the pains of the day go away. I was very proficient at this, and smiles were easy to come by when they were lubricated with the Budweiser of Costa Rice (Imperial Cerveza). I had a great time shooting the shit with friends old and new. La Ruta was fun again.
Well it was fun right up to the point when they wanted us to get back on our bikes again for stage two. My slight hangover and lactic acid laden limbs were hardly prepared for the task, but all one has to do is get their droopy ass to the finish so I was in for another day of sloth like movement. Stage two was going to be much steeper than the previous day. This awesome factoid made me realize that I had based my gear choice on my first La Ruta experience which I had done back when I only had one year of SS'ing behind me and only one shorter endurance event in my SS repertoire. Most of the other SS'ers were geared more....unnnhhh... shall we say "intelligently"? My 32X20 was no match for the steep grades and my ability to stay within my smile limits was really put to the test on day two. Most of the climbs were into a head wind and just plain miserable. I did get the chance to ride in a herd of cattle. It was kinda weird being part of a mobile meat peleton, but it's just one of the random crazy things that can happen in Costa Rica.
I kinda rode the whole stage half hearted and apathetic towards forward progress. When I handed my bottles to a volunteer at the fourth checkpoint he pointed out that they were still full. How 'bout that? I had climbed approximately 2,000 feet in 6 miles without drinking anything. Boredom was in such full effect I was forgetting that my body might actually need something to get around and about. At the top of the last hike-a-bike from hell I ran into Manuel (our new journalist friend who had taken some interest in the crazy SS'ers). After he snapped a picture of me wading through a crotch deep puddle he told me the descent to the finish was "very dangerous". I scoffed at his ignorance regarding my mad skillz and told him I was quite alright with danger, but he knew better than I what was coming up. It was steep, exposed, rutted, rocky, wet... and oh yeah... dangerous. Since I was in a bit of a hurry to make it to happy hour I chose to run down the mountain and pass the walking dead whenever I could. Sad to say it, but this was the highlight of the day on the bike even though I wasn't "on the bike". Whatever...I made it to happy hour and that's all that mattered.
I woke up for stage three with a more mild hangover than the day before. That was good as today's challenge was the legendary stage over Volcan Irazu. In the past this stage has been plagued with rapidly dropping temperatures and crazy rain storms. When I did it in 2004 I was let down as we were treated to sunshine and sunburn instead of legendary conditions. Things were looking good for an epic day as they were calling for rain and cold temps. Sweet. Maybe this is the La Ruta I came here for.
The climb was something like 35 km, and for some reason I didn't feel too bad. My happy hour damage from the previous night didn't do much to slow me down, and I found myself climbing with Louise Kobin and Sue Haywood. Maybe it was the higher tire pressures I was running or the beer induced dehydration that had made me lighter which caused my climbing prowess to exceed my expectations. Eventually I could also see Timmy D (my BC Bike Race partner and a helluva n American) rockin' and rollin' up ahead so I backed it off a tad. I figured if I was catching up to him I was going way too hard to be having fun.
I have absolutely no idea how long it took to get to the top, but when I got there it was cold and wet. This is the moment I had so desperately wanted to experience years ago, and now I'm getting to see just how bad 31 km's of descending down a volcano in the cold rain can be. I pulled up my arm warmers, donned my rain coat, and headed down the mountain.
Cheese, beans, and all things that are holy!! The whole "road" was covered in mud, rocks, and wheel sucking ruts that occasionally made themselves evident as my vision went from mud covered to cloud obscured. I would alternate from pounding through the volcanic debris to grasping at any sense of control. It was a Mr Toad's Wild Ride without the safety bar and long lines and a significant chance of compound fractures. In some sick way I was having fun avoiding injury and getting covered in sluicy who-knows-what. Muddy road of death you are my cruel mistress.
Halfway down the mountain the road was less muddy and rocky, and the speed increased substantially. I was amazed at just how fast I was going even when I wanted to go slower in the constant rain. I never gave it much thought as to why I couldn't slow down very effectively as the faster I went the closer I got to getting a beer and a shower. Little did I know that I had burned completely through my front brake pads and I was wearing the metal backing plate too the brink of translucence. Even though I felt like I had a good day I evidently didn't. I dropped further back in the standings, but how could I really care that much. I was one day closer to putting this "thing" behind me.
That night we got our first real good taste of Tico logistics. We were staying over an hour and a half away in some posh resort. We were informed that we would need to eat an early 3:00am breakfast in order to make the start on time for stage four. I'll skip all the weird details of little buses, big buses, and delays and just cut to the chase. We showed up minutes before the scheduled start. When we left our hotel it wasn't raining so we dressed accordingly. When we got the start it was raining pretty steady, so I had to make a quick decision on how warm/cold/wet/dry I wanted to be. I went with knee warmers, arm warmers (yes, with a sleeveless jersey), and a hat. After I lined up the decided to delay the start because folks like Sue Haywood and Tinker Juarez were still on the way from thier hotels ?!?!? Where the hell did they stay? Tuscon???
Anyhoo, standing in the rain I was starting to shiver so I ran into the food tent to see if I could scrounge up a plastic bag I could put over my torso. I found a clear bag filled with nasty garbage and proceeded to dump it out. I was then accosted by a La Ruta volunteer who would not let me take it. I pissed and whined and moaned and grumbled, but she said "No, no, no... uno momento". She left and came back with a new garbage bag, which made me feel happy, warm, and stupid all at once. I cut some limb pokey holes into the bag with my allen wrench and made my way to the start.
Day four is the most boring on paper, but I ended up having multiple close calls with possible race ending (and at one point life ending) consequences. 45 km's of rolling (Costa Rica's idea of rolling) climbs, followed by a paved 10 km descent, ending with 65 flat boring-ass km's to the finish. I pretty much lollygagged my way up the first climb since I was in no hurry. The first shuttle from the finish back to San Jose wasn't leaving till 6:00pm, so I saw no reason to bust my ass so I could sit in the sand and wait. When I got to the top and started the descent I got a quick reminder of the fragility of the human body when I saw the results of a motorcycle VS bicycles accident. People were bloody and rolling around on the ground at the side of the road. On the previous days I had been sorta cautious on the descents because of the errant dog/goat/chicken/cow/bus/motorcycle/child/car/horse/ factor, and I had been feeling like a pansy. Now I feel like I mighta been making a smart move, so I continued to descend with some awareness of life and limb. It wasn't much longer before I came across a guy who took a corner too fast and shot off the road and ended up in a heap of pain. He musta really wanted to get on the first shuttle back to San Jose.
I made it to the paved descent and just sat up and looked around. Plenty of riders passed me pushing the big ring or just coasting in an aero tuck. Whatever. It was too hard to look around at the sites all bent over, so I just made the most of it. When the descending broke off and the flat began we pulled onto a busy highway. I saw a group in a nice paceline up ahead so I decided to pick it up and reap the benefits of riding in a group. When I got on back I noticed that were kinda moving slow so I took to the front to bring it up a notch. When I got them going a few KPH faster I dropped back to enjoy the free ride. As I was riding blind behind all the other riders I entered a huge puddle slightly to the right of the guy in front of me. Little did I know there was a huge portion of uneven pavement below the water, and my front wheel went low while my back wheel stayed high. The excitement of it all was elevated when I realized I was being tailgated by a semi as I skidded down the shoulder outta control. As fast as it all happened it ended. The bike righted itself, and I safely continued on. I decided that riding blind in a pace line in the rain was probably not worth the risk, so I dropped outta the echelon of death to fight the wind on my own.
Apathy was again the theme of my day. I wasn't drinking a whole lot, and if the aid stations didn't have boiled mini potatoes I wasn't interested. My gloves were drenched and I was sick of wearing them, so I put them in my jersey pocket. Even if I had to ride the railroad tracks bare handed I thought it would be better than holding onto the bar with two over sized phalanged raisins. As if I didn't learn anything from my previous near death experience I rode right through another puddle while holding the bar loosely with my recovering raisins. BLAM!! Another flooded over death trap. I hit the submerged pothole so hard my hands went right off the bars, and my crotch fell to the top tube. Miraculously the bike kept going straight, and when I recovered mentally I realized I hadn't wrecked and I was still headed down the road quite nicely. Disaster averted yet again.
When I finally made it to the trestle bridges I got the chance to face my insane but totally illogical fear of heights. Last time I froze up once or twice, but this year I had decided I would just look down at the slimy wooden ties one at a time and pay no attention to the raging water below. While on the widest span I heard some noises over my iPod, but I ignored them as my focus was always three feet in front of me and nowhere else. When I reached the end I looked up and there sat a huge train twenty yards from the end of the bridge and a very excited Manuel greeted me. He told me that the train was informed of the riders ahead and they had been trying to get it to stop for quite awhile. It just so happens that they brought it to a halt short of the bridge right as I was crossing it. Manuel said it could have been very bad, people jumping in the river or people dying. Awesome. I'm pretty glad I didn't die or anything.
Once we hit the tracks I started going faster. I knew that it was a sign that it was almost over so I just gunned it. Most folks would pull over to let me by, but I did catch up to some guy who refused to stop for ONE SECOND to let me continue at my pace. Eventually his buddy in front of him flatted, and he begrudgingly let me by. I ended up flatting shortly thereafter when I mis-timed a huge gap in the ties and pinched my rear tire. I joined the umpteen other people standing in the weeds next to the tracks fixing flats and made pretty quick work of tossing in a tube. Of course I forgot my can of Big Air, so I was forced to use my three inch mini pump. I felt like I was going to pass out from all the effort of a thousand strokes on the pump in the humid air, so I was forced to take occasional breaks from the task at hand. When I got rolling again I decided I would be a little more careful, and not force my way down the remainder of the tracks.
When the tracks ended I pulled up on the semi-submerged road to Limon. With the finish in site across the bay I put the hammer down and slammed through the deep water carelessly. I'd had enough. I just wanted to put my bike in a box and go home. I passed a mess of riders and made my way to the finish as fast as I could. Some of the riders I put behind me caught back up on the final section of pavement and I came in with a big group feeling quite anonymous, until Drew (the announcer) singled me out. I've gotten to know him over the years as he has announced all five stage races I've ever done, and he's shown some interest in my single speed semi-accomplishments. I was glad to be done, but that was all there was to it. No crying, no sense of satisfaction, just a sense of relief to have put it all behind me.
A few beers later I was on a shuttle bus back to San Jose. Everybody was forced to detour around a mud slide, so our journey was going to take over four hours. Our bus broke down on an unlit stretch of road, and it became every man for himself. People were calling taxis and running around in the dark looking for a way out. I hopped on the next loaded shuttle that came along and laid down in the aisle with my head leaning against the bathroom door for three hours. Awesome. Back at the hotel I stayed up till 3:00am waiting for our bikes to show up, but as I realized I had been up for over twenty-four hours I gave in and went to bed. I decided to wake up every hour till it showed up, and at 5:00am I was in business. There was the Meatplow. I could go home.
I can honestly say I regret doing the race somewhat. The reason most folks do La Ruta is to be able to say they did it, and I had already snagged those bragging rights years ago. It is seriously the hardest stage race and going into it with a "meh" attitude just doesn't cut it. I had a great time hanging out with Tim, Doug, Kevin, Sean, and Andy, but that was the extent of most of my pleasure. I like to ride where the riding is hard, but it better be fun too. La Ruta is about pain, risk, mentally taxing logistics, sleep deprivation, and more pain. I was more aware of the risk of injury this time from the random, uncontrolled factors from the surrounding enviroment. I also noticed the rampant cheating that occurs even back in the pack where were fighting over 102nd place (or whatever). I can't understand why someone would want to rob themselves of such an accomplishment by doing the things they do, but whatever their reasons it still picked away at the back of my brain when I saw it happen. It would be impossible to control it, so I can't blame the organizers. Weird stuff happens everywhere and anywhere.
La Ruta is definitely worth doing just so you know you can do it. That said, everybody should do it ONCE and then get some sort of therapy.
Here's Timmy and I starting in the dark on day one ( I could still smile at this point):
"never ending pain buffet" I love it. Enjoy your off season!(or should we call it "overflowing beer season") (Comment this)
"echelon of death"
"free beer"
HAH!
Great write up. Glad you didn't die (I always wondered what would happen if a train came by).
Bittersweet.
Welcome home.
(Comment this)
-sean (Comment this)
Hell, we got beer in the states. (Comment this)
Is that what that shit is? I thought it was donkey piss with a colourful label.
Welcome home Dicko. Let us know if you find more pix of you and Meatplow for prosperity. Very excited to have the first ever Thylacine sighting in Central America.
Keen to consider the Crocodile Trophy sometime in the future? The lads here are (stupidly) keen to give it a crack. (Comment this)
Dicky, great write up! Thanks for making me feel filthy and glad I'm not doin' that gig all at the same time. (Comment this)
Way to keep it real dónde sus cajones pueden ser aplastadas por un asno. . .
You need to come do some LSD in the mountains soon.
Peace (Comment this)
I got the shits for a whole damn week after the race. As soon as I landed, it came upon me. I couldn't get off the shitter for a good week!!!!
Then, yesterday, I ate some really knarly greasy pizza and the whole virus just got so imploded with grease spawns that it must have went away. No more shits! Friggen eh!
(that had to of sucked for Tim. Others had the shits as well during the race)
LR was a shitty situation for some.
till next year, maybe...
jac. (Comment this)
Gracias! (Comment this)