We've enjoyed countless posts from our friend Robb Dorf, CEO of Pure Fit, Inc. But this story may top them all! Read his amazing journey as a participant in the 2011 Herbalife L'Etape du California!
What covered 75.8 miles, climbed over 10,000 vertical feet up Mt. Baldy twice, and pushed, punished, and pummeled 900 amateur cyclists to a level of pain I’m sure we’d all like to forget? L’Étape du California.
The ride promoters said 1500 riders started. Why did only 900 finish? Multiple National Champions were on hand. Tinker Juarez was right in front of me. As we rolled through the streets of Claremont, with the cops blocking traffic, I look over and see multiple National Champion, Dave Zabriskie. Dave “Captain America” Zabriskie! It was a surreal moment. All around me are good cyclists. Not weekend warriors. Guys like me that take their cycling seriously. No granny gears to be found. I could tell most of these guys had no clue what was ahead of them.
To professional cyclists coming to California to compete in our countries premier cycling event, The Amgen Tour of California, (www.amgentourofcalifornia.com) it is stage 7. To 1500 brave souls, it was a chance in a lifetime. Ride the same course the professionals will and finish on a mountaintop. Opportunities like this simply do not come around very often. I’ll be 43 next month. How many more of these do I have in me?
L’Étape du California provides serious recreational cyclists the opportunity to ride a complete stage of the Amgen Tour of California – and the most challenging stage of the 2011 race at that. 75.8 miles from the City of Claremont to the Mt Baldy Ski Area. The route is breathtaking in its beauty and difficulty, covering some of the most famous and iconic sections of road in the San Gabriel Mountains: Glendora Mountain Road, Glendora Ridge Road, and the sharp “beyond category” switchbacks up to the Mt Baldy Ski Area.
This blog entry will highlight, the trials, tribulations, and ultimately the race that broke me. That’s right. I’ve competed in some seriously challenging events. A marathon, a 32:42 minute 10K, 100-mile bike rides, and more than a few training sessions that left me tired for days. It took everything I had to finish this event. Trust me, I wanted to quit many, many times. The mountain beat me 2 weeks ago in a training ride. I’ll explain this in detail later on. She must have been laughing pretty hard as she took me to a place of pain, and perseverance, I have never come close too. Why, because in retrospect, I don’t usually race for over 5 hours. What was supposed to be a social event and unique opportunity for us amateurs to experience a mountain top finish quickly became an opportunity for me to learn something about me. I do not give up. If you are going to beat me I am going to make you earn it. Words cannot describe the pain I was in. Despite being completely dehydrated, having a serious backache, stomach issues, I simply refused to quit. Why, because what you are about to read is a summation of the toughest physical and mental challenge of my life.
The idea to ride this came from my dear friend and training partner Darren Field. That’s him on the left about 30 minutes before we entered the pain cave.
Our training partner, Thom Morrison, coined the term “pain cave.” Thom couldn’t make the event. Thom is an excellent cyclist, friend, training partner, and the best attorney I have ever met. Thom specializes in corporate and business transactions, organizing, structuring and dissolving corporations and limited liability companies, mergers and acquisitions. I’m not plugging him; it’s simply the truth. He is also simply a great person, husband, and father of four. For Darren, words do not express the bond we have. You are both brothers. Thank you for not judging me.
We got the idea around the 1st of the year. Plenty of time to prepare, right? I believe the benefits of training end about 2 weeks before the event. It’s best to taper and get your mind ready. I’m not a big fan of training through races. We decided to do one last long climb 2 weeks before the event, a perfect conclusion to many months of training and preparation. We decided to ride the events second climb, the infamous Glendora Mountain Road. GMR to the locals. We decided to start at the 45-mile marker and ride to the top. How hard can a 5-mile easy warm up and 26 miles straight to the heavens be? Remember, we’d be riding back home, downhill, for 26 miles.
Right off the bat, I start riding like Andy Schlecht. I’m simply having an un-believable day. I was passing other riders like they were standing still. No doubt they were training for L’Étape. I’m not 100% sure, but I was riding 10-11-12 mph. At this pace, I’d be at the top in around 2 ½ hours. It was an epic morning. Skate boarders were riding down the mountain as we ascended. It was foggy. My cadence was simply the best I have ever had. The entire time I’m thinking why am I riding so hard on a training day? I felt like I was on Alpe d’Huez.
Then, out of the blue, this guy pulls up besides me. After 45 minutes of riding alone, he was a welcomed surprised. He said, “man you’re riding great.” I responded, “Really, you rode up on me pretty easily.” His name was Tony DiCiacco, an airplane engineer for Southwest Airlines. It was clear to me that Tony wanted to ride with me as he had dropped his training buddies probably at the car. He navigated me all the way to Mount Baldy village. I was thinking, 4.3 miles to go, that’s all? How difficult could that be? Why stop for water? Come on Tony, lets crush this. He politely said the next 4.3 are pretty tough. Pretty tough? After a quick bathroom stop and refill of our water bottles, we headed back on to Mt. Baldy Road. Holy cow! Now it’s 30 degrees, we are 4000 feet up, and the road was so steep I literally could barely keep the bike going. Before I knew it Tony rode away from me like I was standing still. The next 35 minutes or so was the toughest 35 minutes of my life. Do these switchbacks ever end? I was constantly looking for an easier gear. Not one, but two. Please god, do I have an easier gear? It took everything I had to keep the bike up right. What is going on? Is it the altitude? I’ve never seen a road go uphill like this. I kept clicking my Sram Red shifters. It was like I was in complete denial. This is all you have, a 39-28 combination? There must be an easier gear on this bike. It wasn’t mountain bike gearing, but easier than a traditional road bike set-up. I train on a 39-25. I bought a new cassette just for this section and it’s still not enough? I couldn’t believe it. I could barely keep the bike upright. Kilometer after kilometer I mashed the hardest gear I have ever ridden. Had I let up for one second I would of fallen over…the road is that steep. Somehow the end of the road finally came. The last 35 minutes of my life was the hardest 35 minutes of my life. Tony was waiting for me at the top, smiling. He said, “Nice job.” I was too tired to congratulate him on a personal record of 33 minutes. I was exhausted. One by one, other riders joined us, all with the same look… L’Étape must be some kind of sick joke.
Tony DiCiacco pictured here training for Breathless Agony. Smiling because he knew he was in great shape. Life is good. Tony finished “The toughest 100 miler in Southern California” in 3rd! Congratulations Tony, and thank you for getting me up the mountain.
Here is where the day went from ecstasy to almost tragedy. Now I have to ride straight downhill. Tony waited for me about a mile down. Then, like the wind, he was gone. As I braked hard, harder than I ever had in my life, my front tire blew right off my rim. Rare, but massive heat is created when carbon fiber rims are under constant breaking pressure. The rim expands and eventually the tire will blow off. That’s exactly what happened. Thankfully, I had decelerated enough that I didn’t crash. As I was changing the tube, which was destroyed, the reality was starting to set-in. Is this rim damaged? Where is Darren? How do I ride down a dangerous mountain, full of switchbacks, at speeds over 40 mph? On top of that, I could not stop shaking. The cold weather, on top of the shock of almost crashing, had taken its toll. I was coasting down the mountain, looking for Darren, and shaking uncontrollably. I decided I better hitchhike off the mountain. One local from Mount Baldy gave me a ride, but he was heading down a different road than we rode up. He graciously drove me back to town and wished me good luck. I attempted to get back on my bike and coast down the mountain. There is no way to coast. I was still shaking nonstop. Hypothermia? I don’t know, but my whole body was shaking. I decided to try to hitchhiking again. If I flatted again, I was out of tubes. If I crashed, who would find me on this road if I went over the cliff? To make matters worse, I had lost all faith in my bike. About a mile away I could see this white van slowly navigating its way down GMR. I flagged it down. The couple pulled over and exclaimed “Do you need a ride? We’re Christians, get on in.” They thought I needed a ride for a mile or so. Instead, I said, more like 20. They were so gracious. They said, no problem. His name is Donnie V and his wife is Leonetta.
If you ever want to check out an outstanding Christian Blues musician, go to the Calvary Chapel, any Sunday, in Rancho Cucamonga. His music is also available online atwww.cdbaby.com/cd/donniev2.I’m not a major fan of blues, but we listened to the entire CD Leonetta generously gave me, at the office. It is really good and I’m a hair band addict from the 1980’s! Thank you Donnie and Leonetta!
I’m guessing an average person might of opted out of L’Étape after what I went through. I remind you that the pain was beyond description, and of course, optional. The mountain beat me. I laughed at it for 2 ½ hours and she decided to remind me that she is the boss. The next two weeks I pondered if the risk was worth the reward. The conclusion, not really. Going off a cliff at 40 miles an hour and dying was obviously a risk that was outweighed the rewards. Pass up a once in a lifetime experience, no way. If I could ride the first 40 miles easy, without crashing, I knew I could manage the last 35. Darren and I decided to do it. I even rode the same wheels and gearing I test rode 2 weeks earlier. I wasn’t going to spend $300.00 for more parts just to ride the last 4.3 miles. If I could ride 71 miles, I could find the strength to ride the last 4.3, right? What occurred on the day of the event was really something I didn’t expect. As planned, I rode the first climb, which was about an hour, straight up, relatively easy. It was very difficult to “hold back.” I kept saying to myself, just go easy; the race starts at 50 miles. The problem is, as I started the decent on the backside of the mountain, I hit a ferocious head wind. At 155 pounds, I couldn’t even descend! I was barely moving. I let a few heavier riders go past me, but the wind kept howling. I was loosing time quickly. I kept trying to stick to my plan, ride the first 50 miles easy. Then, out of nowhere, a pack of 20 guys came flying right behind me, quickly sweeping me up. It was easy to enjoy 20 guys breaking the wind, despite the fact that I didn’t know these guys, and we were riding at over 30 miles an hour. Then, I look up, and one of the guys is a training partner, Sol Sim, a neighbor of Thom’s and a very good cyclist, mountain biker, and athlete in general. Sol looks fast sitting down. I knew I was going to pay for this later, but my ego got the best of me. I simply couldn’t let these guys pass me. There we were, 20+ strong, flying down the dangerous back section of Mount Baldy. We were laying our bikes down into the corners like motorcycling champion Ben Bostrom, who was also riding in the event. The motorcycle champion is an outstanding cyclist. Un-official results have him finishing in 5 hours and 4 minutes.
Mile marker 45 came quicker than I expected. I had about 5 miles to eat and fuel up before the second climb, up the infamous GMR. The pack quickly disintegrated and I found myself, once again, all alone. This time, it was much different. I was struggling. I had been riding for 2 hours and 45 minutes and I knew I was in trouble. How was I going to continue? My back had tightened up. My stomach was in knots. My heart was pounding way too fast and hard, and I couldn’t get it to slow down. If I could just back off, would any of this go away? I couldn’t believe how slow I was going. I was in total agony. I really didn’t think I was going to make it. I was spent. My legs were rocks, and I literally had no energy. No matter how much caffeine, water, sports drink and PureFit bars I consumed, I couldn’t get my energy. I wanted to quit. Why not? It wasn’t technically a race. It was supposed to be fun. Somehow the fun of going 40 mph was far different then the death crawl I was experiencing. Just 2 weeks ago I had crushed GMR. Now, I knew I had left my legs back on the course, around 15 miles ago. Somehow, against all odds, I continued on. I thought about Aron Ralston cutting off his arm to escape dying in the Utah desert. Why, because that had to hurt more than this. In other words, at this point I was in agony and was trying to prove to myself I could endure anything. I simply could not comprehend the depth of pain I was in and my own ability to push on. Why? Where were Sol and those other guys? Had the mountain beaten them too? There were very few guys to ride with and I didn’t have the energy to encourage them. We were all in our own pain.
Eventually, I rolled into the village of Mount Baldy; I was too tired to stop at the last rest stop. I knew if I got off the bike, I would not continue. I had water in one bottle and sports drink in the other. Just enough to get me to the top, but no an ounce extra as the weight would have been detrimental. It took everything in my soul to continue. I had gone 70 miles and I really had nothing left. I was spent. I kept telling myself over and over again, “4 miles to victory.” 4 miles. I was talking out loud, “you can do it, you can do it.” My speed was 4.1 mph. Anything slower and the bike would have fallen over. 2 weeks ago I rode the same section at 6-7 mph. How could I continue? If someone offered me a ride I was going to take it. If I got out of the saddle, my legs would cramp. So, of course I pushed on, at 4 mph, wondering if the top would ever come. It was getting so difficult; I thought I was going to pass out. My cranks were creaking so loud I thought they were going to break. I actually hoped they would so I could be done. They had been creaking worse and worse for over 2 hours. When would they explode? I seriously thought I was going to die. My heart had never beaten so hard and my body had never hurt so much. Then, there it was, 1 kilometer (. 6 miles) to the end. With every ounce of energy I could muster, I pushed on. I wanted to stop. I really wanted too, but the road was so steep, I probably would of crashed. And then, with ½ mile to go, my body gave out. I pulled over, too tired to continue. A young girl had a soda stand and I asked her what she had. She said Sprite and Dr. Pepper. I threw my money at her because it was rubber banded around a credit card, and an old drivers license. I asked her, completely out of breath, for a Dr. Pepper. She said it was a $1.00. I told her to take $2.00, but she refused. I poured the Dr. Pepper into my water bottle, and started pushing my bike up the road. One by one, guys were passing me. Every one asked, “did you cramp up?” I was too tired to respond. Walking in cycling shoes, I was dragging my feet. I was simply going to push my bike to the top if it killed me. I didn’t care guys were passing me. My desire to finish had long surpassed my competitive spirit from over 3 hours ago. I was so close, but I could not see the finish.
Finally, I reached the flat section, just ¼ mile from the top, right where Tony and I had shared a laugh and a moment to appreciate life, just 2 weeks earlier. I jumped on my bike. I could now see the finish line. Just one switchback left. Lookout for the potholes. The road was destroyed by the winter rain and snow. Finally, I crossed the line in 5 hours and 34 minutes. I walked over to the food tent. Guys were eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, drinking cokes, and laughing. I thought, wow, there aren’t that many guys up here. I sat there, with a sense of accomplishment I haven’t felt since completing a marathon almost 20 years ago. I had finished. It wasn’t pretty, but it sure was beautiful.
I want to thank first and foremost my best friend Susan Steiner for everything. She puts up with a lot. She sacrifices more for me than I can put into words. She met me at the top and drove me and several other cyclists down the mountain that tested our physical and mental strength beyond the limits of anything we could ever imagine. And for Sol who maybe thinks I beat him. He rocked a 39-26, which is simply unbelievable. Nice job buddy. I don’t know if I’ll get the opportunity to ride baldy again, but if I do, trust me, I’m bringing a mountain bike.
Comments