Scratched @ mile 865 : TMWR 2021

5 Days, 865 miles: TMWR 2021

34 racers from all over the U.S. rolled out at 7am on Sunday June 20th.  

Today is Sunday the 27th and my Trackleaders blue dot has the label of "scratched" added to it.  Having been home for 2 days now resting, recovering, and reflecting I am happy to have made the decision to call it quits.  Don't get me wrong, I'm bummed to have not finished, and envious of those who have.  Here is the story of my Trans Mni Sota Wheel Race attempt in 2021.  This is just as much for me as it is for anyone else.  Please enjoy.

Day 1: 3 Flats and 6 Soakings

Group photo taken, we slow rolled together, with Keith leading the way and trying to take pictures and video without crashing.  Out of White Bear Lake from the Train Depot, the group bubbled with energy of finally starting.  The rain started immediately.  Gentle, fat summer drops that were barely of consequence grew into a solid pouring #1.  I stopped to put on my rain jacket and dropped to the back of the still tight pack, and began riding alone at mile 8.  Crossing under I-94 and attempting to find my way onto the 52 bridge over the Mississippi, my GPS' resolution was no help and I floundered in the maze of paths and roads until seeing 2 other rider's progress highlighting the correct path.  Making a sharp U turn onto the Hwy 52 bridge sidewalk, I could feel the squishiness of the back tire that could only mean one thing = flat tire #1 at mile 14 of 1200.  Luckily the rain had stopped.  I quickly popped the tire off the rim and identified the hole.  I could see straight through the tire, it was a decent size hole, and the sharp culprit had sporked itself into the tube right where the stem connected to the tube, making it irreparable by patch.  Swapping in one of 2 extra tubes I carried as cars zipped by on the highway and riders passed by with looks of "glad that is not me" I hoped this meant I was done with tire troubles.  Oh how I was wrong...  To be extra safe, given that I could see straight through the tire itself, I installed a tire boot before remounting the tire and inflating it.  I rolled onward, finally leaving the looming skyline of St. Paul for quieter roads.

The rains held off, but the toll was felt immediately by riders.  Around mile 30 I descended a hill with a pair of train tracks at its bottom and a group of riders gathered.  Slowing my roll and asking the polite check-in "You good?", the rider sitting on the ground with a bloodied bandage on their face responded with a thumbs up and a "Yup!", so I kept on rolling.  Not a minute later the race director's van and another flew past.  I would later learn that two separate incidents had occurred at those tracks, resulting in one trip to the ER and a scratch.

Two miles later, flat #2, this time in the front, brought me to a stop.  An easy fix, I was able to patch without removing the tire from the bike.  But, mentally frustrating as the riders from the crash rolled past.

The route followed the Mississippi all the way to Winona, crossing the Wisconsin side at Prescott.  A slight headwind out of the south provided just enough resistance to be noticeable, but the miles flew by as my body finally settled into a rhythm.  I began to pass riders, but tried to check my enthusiasm knowing that energy spent now would be better spent later.  Approaching Alma, the thunder clouds began to gather to the west.  Alma was my goal for rest and food, right around mile 100.  I almost made it, but 10 minutes before rolling in the skies opened up.  As I pulled into the Kwik Trip, the storm truly unleashed and I was grateful for the 4' overhang to hide under.  Kate A. rolled in as the wind whipped and the roads flooded.  We swapped stories and compared radar and weather forecasts while enjoying the glory that is Kwik Trip food.  We debated when to head out, nervous about drivers' poor visibility in the rain and the flooding shoulders that we would have to navigate.  Getting cold and antsy, I decided to take off on my own during a lull in the rain.  Not 2 blocks down the road I was forced to put my rain gear back on as the skies unleashed again.  I was soaked.  Shoes full.  Gloves likes sponges.  Bike short chamois squishing with each pedal stroke.

Around mile 130, having endured a number of soakings, the crossing west over the Mississippi, with the bridge to Winona in sight as the sun setting above the bluffs, my mind was lifted knowing that I would no longer be headed SE into the winds.  And there it was... the unmistakable squishiness that can only mean one thing... flat #3.  Expletives stated, it was easily patched and I rolled into Winona, arriving at Checkpoint #1 at mile 134 at 7:07 pm, approximately 12 hours into the race.  This was a good pace, but not great.

Turning South into the rolling hills of SE Minnesota, the skies cleared and the winds were more chill.  Until another round of storms rolled in and  I was soaked again.  This round was different though, as once it passed the air changed and the winds switched to out of the north, gentle at first.  I rolled into Rushford at 9pm, mile 154, and ate an oddly delicious bowl of Kwik Trip chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy.  It even had bones in it! 

As darkness settled in, I switched on my dynamo powered light and began the march west upriver along the Root River Trail.  Following the river valley through small towns, the trail climbed higher and higher.  Signs of the day's storms littered the trail, forcing a bushwack through a downed trees across the trail.  The trees protected me from the ever increasing winds, until popping out of the valley into the open farmland around Fountain at 11:30 pm.  Riding east for a few miles with the wind pushing me was glorious.  But the turn north brought me to a standstill.  The wind howled out of the north, and my legs, now having pedaled 186 miles over 17 hours were not having it.  I pushed a few miles further to a church and made camp under the single streetlight illuminating a patch of mowed grass, surrounded by fields in all directions, but protected from the wind by the church itself.  Changing out in the open, stripping off the soaking bike shorts and still damp jersey, I let the wind air me out before putting all my warm layers on.  Checking the weather app and examining the sky, I inflated my sleeping pad and wrapped my tent's rainfly around my body to cut the wind that randomly buffeted my location, hoping that no rain would find me.  Setting my alarm for 4 hours, I attempted to sleep, but it did not come easy.  My brain raced with the events of the day.  Restless, I tossed and turned, unable to find sleep.  My mind was troubled by not making my intended goal of 200 miles.

Day 2:  The Wind

Suddenly the alarm was going off.  I don't know how long I'd actually been sleeping- maybe 2 hours?  I dressed, ate, and rolled slowly north into the headwind that still blew strong and cold.  My nether-regions stung from chafing as a result of yesterday's soaked riding.  It was like an alligator clip kept latching onto my most sensitive bits.  Rolling into St. James and the Love's Truck Stop along I-94, I headed straight for the restroom with my bag of band-aids.  Stripping in the stall to nothing, I delicately applied a band-aid to a part of my body that should never have a band-aid on it.  I hoped it would stick. 

Outside, I had the opportunity to check in with race director Keith, which was quite awesome.  He had slept in his car at the gas station that evening.  I gathered that many riders had made it to hotels in St. James, including Kate A.  Eating well (Hardees!) and stocking up on provisions, I continued.  The route headed north and then west forever.  A strong headwind blew out of the northwest all day.  

All expectations of pace were thrown out the door.  But all of us riders were in the same boat.  Grinding to Zumbrota, where I ate Subway and napped an hour, to Faribault and then Mankato.  The Sakatah State Trail from Faribault to Mankato was beautiful and well treed, providing welcome protection from the winds and a good pace to settle in.  Racer Pete caught up to me just as I was leaving Faribault, then again later down the trail.  His goal was to spend the night in Mankato in a hotel.  The Band-aid stayed in place, which was quite the win!  

The descent into Mankato was an absolute blast as the sun was setting.  I relaxed and let my speed gather.  Too much.  Suddenly there was a bridge.  New construction.  I didn't see the 4" fresh concrete vertical lip until it was too late to stop.  I jumped the front tire, but the back tire slammed hard into the sharp edge and I knew right away... snakebite flat #4.  Patched, and onto Checkpoint #2 at mile 333 at 9:06 pm, followed by food and drink at Kwik Trip of course!

I continued on at 9:30 pm, with the intent of making it as far as possible to take advantage of the weakened winds and hopefully make up for some lost time due to the day's earlier headwinds.  I had kept a solid pace relative to the racers around me and made up a good bit of lost ground.  I figured many of the racers behind me would stop for the night in Mankato and hotel it up.  The further west I made it, the more of the southern winds that were projected to come tomorrow that I'd be able to take advantage of when the route turned at northeast Pipestone.  Just as I left town Keith's van intersected my path and we chatted for a bit, sharing our stoke for the beautiful night and clear skies.  I got the sense that he would have kept racing forward if he was in my shoes.  

At 2 am I rolled into Mountain Lake, mile 386, and found a spot to camp in a collection of baseball fields.  Determined to get a better nights sleep I set my tent up and proceeded with the routine of stripping, airing, cleaning, and dressing warm.  Sliding into my tent I devoured an Italian sub sandwich and tucked myself in (to nothing = no sleeping bag!).  Eating that was a bad idea.  My stomach was not happy, and my mind wouldn't rest.  Despite 21 hours and 200 miles of pedaling with strong headwinds, I again struggled to find sleep, tossing and turning in discomfort.

Day 3:  Turn North at Pipestone and all will be well, right?

Again, my alarm was suddenly going off and the sun was shining.  How long had I actually slept?  It felt like not enough, but my watch said it was time to go.  Packing up, dressing, this time with long underwear to stay warm in the cool morning, my stomach still ached from last night's sandwich.  Rolling out at 6:50 am, everything in town was closed so I headed the 15 miles to Windom with hopes of eating copious amounts of nourishing foods.  Unfortunately, the gas station had a pretty weak selection of food that my stomach felt able to handle.  I forced down a slice of breakfast pizza, stocked up on some provisions, and began the march west to Slayton.  My spirits were buoyed when checking the trackleaders map and noticing that everyone else behind me had stayed the night in Mankato, putting many hours between them and I.  

Arriving in Slayton, mile 441 at 11:30 am my stomach still wasn't cooperating.  Finding another racer there, conversation with Fabian was a wonderful mental break.  He'd had a rough night trying to sleep in St. George and ended up in the police station's basement after being kicked out of the post office!  I tried to eat and drink and rest, then headed westwards towards Pipestone.  The day's heat was getting intense, as the north winds brought dry, clear air over us.  

I found myself rolling into Pipestone at 2:16 pm, mile 469.  Heading west had been ok, but the dry heat was baking me.  I found myself unable to drink any of the flavored Gatorade stuff I'd loaded into my water bottles, so I dumped them and filled them with water.  Watching the blue dots approaching my location, I forced myself to eat some sugar food and made the big turn to the northeast after a short rest. 

The winds were NOT as expected, and the march north to Marshall was hot, windy, and draining.  The open prairie hills were long, with the massive windmills dotting the ridges a visual reminder of the winds that dried my lips, swelled my tongue, and burnt my legs.  Climbing to a gas station at mile 486 I was feeling the day hard.  I laid down in the shade cast by a church next to the gas station, took off my shoes, and set my alarm for a 10 minute power nap.  It went by too quickly.  With no appetite, I hopped back on my bike and immediately felt my rear tire go squishy.  Back to the shade.  Flat #5, rear tire.  Tiny hole.  Patched.  Just another tick in the list of struggles.

The descent into Marshall, mile 513 at 6:30 pm, was pleasant, and the town looked pretty cool.  I skipped the gas station I'd earmarked on my laminated notes and continued through town to Jimmy Johns.  While not having much of an appetite, I forced myself to down a sandwich, bag of chips, and drink of iced tea while relaxing in the air conditioning.  For the first time today I felt refreshed and relaxed.  Looking ahead on the map, I identified a camp spot, loaded up water bottles with ice water, and said goodbye to the staff of Jimmy Johns, who I'm not sure believed the story I had told of where I'd come from.

The ride from Marshall to the crossing of the Minnesota River just north of Delhi was beautiful but a struggle.  The shoulder was in bad shape and the traffic unforgiving.  But the evening was clear and the sky rich in colors as the sun set.  For the first time I wished to be simply riding and not racing, wanting to set up camp and watch the stars emerge in the cool breeze.  I was feeling the day hard and made slow progress, fueled by the hope that tomorrow's wind forecast included southern winds.  I dropped into the river valley at mile 553 at 10:25 pm, with a day's ride of only 167 miles.  I was elated at the camping spot I'd selected.  A small county park surrounded by trees, completely empty, with mowed grass and a picnic pavilion to set up in.  Spirits buoyed by the thought of a good nights sleep, I unpacked, changed, cleaned, and ate a single bar while setting my sleep system up.  

Suddenly three cars came ripping through the park along the gravel road, tires spinning up clouds of dust illuminated by their headlights, music blasting over the roar of their engines as they gunned the straightaway past the pavilion.  I froze, standing in my long underwear, and they flew past, seeming to not notice me or my highly reflective bicycle.  I heard them stop a distance away, out of sight, their motors replaced by louder music and the voices of youngsters obviously enjoying the freedom of open space, summer, and a variety of mind altering substances.  Well, at least they didn't stop here...

With the pavilion overhead, I decided to not use the tent.  I laid down on the sleeping pad, bundled in my warm layers and my feet covered by my rain jacket to keep my toes warm.  With music bumping and inebriated yells in the distance, the full moon shining brightly through the clear night sky, I again found it difficult to sleep.  My body was so happy to rest, but my mind busily worked through the day's events, frustrations, and beauties.  Then I heard the first buzz of a mosquito.   These ones were sneaky.  I hadn't noticed them.  Suddenly my bottom lip was on fire.  A lucky winged ninja had successfully bit me on the lip without my ever knowing!  It swelled and pulsed, my mind focusing itself on this intense feeling.  It didn't itch like normal bite.  It just screamed.  I busted out the tiny bottle of bug dope and coated myself up, took a Benadryl, and focused on not thinking about it. I don't know how long it took, but I eventually began to nod off.

Evidently the initial party location wasn't ideal for my fellow park guests.  My attention was brought fully back to this world when suddenly the pavilion was surrounded by 5 or 6 cars and too many teenagers to count.  In their altered state they both did and didn't notice me.  Their headlights blinding me, I listened to their voices to map their movements, numbers, actions, and intentions.  Obviously inebriated and not thinking at a very high level, they favored action over planning as they haphazardly moved picnic tables and fire rings, fully enjoying the follies of their peers.  They seemed jovial, and I didn't sense the presence of any of those people who become "bad drunks".

"Dude... there's a bike over there." was the first recognition of my presence.  Then "I'm gonna go ride that bike!" followed by footsteps my way.  Stopping suddenly with the statement "I think somebodies over there."  And then silence.  Everyone stopped moving and talking.  I figured this was probably an appropriate time to announce myself.  "Yup, just trying to get some sleep."  

"Holy SH*T!" "Dude, you scared the SH*T outta me!" And the crew erupted in exclamation, passing the news like a group of preschoolers playing telephone, but with drunk yelling over the sound of their raging music and roaring engines.  I stayed silent, figuring their imaginations would do more than my words, as they yelled back and forth about how to respond.  Eventually, they all packed up and returned to their original party location, leaving me with the mosquitoes, moonlight, and a very awake mind.  

Cognizant of the wasted hours of potential sleep time, I decided to set up the tent body to free myself from the mosquito buzzes and attempt to get some high quality sleep.  Tucking in, I finally fell asleep in the early morning hours, lulled by the beating music in the distance.

Day 4: Go North, it'll be great!

3:00 am came quick.  Checking on "The" Band-Aid and finding it still nicely intact and the scabs of other chaffings well formed, I dressed, packed, ate a bar, and started rolling at 3:30 am.  North forever, warmed by the large climb out of the Minnesota River Valley, stopping to take layers off.  Then stopping to put layers back on.  I pedaled through the sunrise to my right, riding down the middle of the deserted road to avoid the bumpy shoulder.  Exhaustion set in from the lack of sleep and I stopped to power nap in an overgrown driveway for 10 minutes.  At 6:07 am I pulled into the tiny town of Raymond, lucky to find the lone gas station having just opened at 6.  Despite its remote location, the breakfast selection included egg and ham biscuit sandwiches, of which I happily gobbled down two of along with a Starbucks Doubleshot thingy.  Using their bathroom to the max I happily conducted morning bowel business, reapplied butt-creams, and topped off water bottles before continuing my slow roll straight north through farm country.  

Fairly flat, with a southern tailwind building as the sun rose, I maintained a decent pace.  But, the lack of sleep of the past few days really started to get me, along with the heat of the intense sun.  At 8:40 I pulled into the tiny crossroads town of Sunburg and laid down in some shade for another 10 minute power nap.  An older woman walking past greeted me just as I nodded off, startling me to the point of yelling out loud, which startled her to yell back at me.  We both then laughed like Minnesotans do, apologizing repeatedly.  The power nap was lost.  I slid my shoes back on, much to the anger of my uncomfortable swollen feet, and kept spinning north.  The bike sluggish and it seemed like the rear tire was squishier than it should be, so I quickly pumped some air into it in the shade of a grain silo.

Continuing, with the tailwind growing stronger, I pedaled as the temperatures continued to rise.  Horseflies began to follow.  The terrain became hillier, large rolling climbs and descents.  I started to feel sluggish and kept looking down at my rear tire.  Was it getting flat?  Or was I just imagining it?  At the top of a long climb I stopped and took my rear wheel completely off.  I examined every bit of it, looking for possible thorns or whatever sticking into it that might be causing a slow leak.  Nothing.  I tried to pump more air in, but my pump was dry and dead.  I disassembled the pump, oiled its seals, and rebuilt it.  Topped the tire off and remounted the wheel.  It seemed fine.  

A 6 mile jaunt to the west was a struggle, leaning left into the hot crosswind as my bike was pushed around.  Finally turning north again I enjoyed the fast descent into the town of Glenwood on Lake Minnewaska, my mind excited by the prospect of a Dairy Queen just a few blocks off route.  Pulling into DQ at 11am, I downed a frozen icy neon blue thing and a disappointing collection of "Chicken Bites".  Checking Trackleaders, I noticed an MM blue dot getting closer.  Reapplying sunscreen for the 3rd time today, I topped off my water bottles with ice and kept rolling.

The sun was bright.  I wear polarized sun glasses.  I'm also color blind.  These all make it hard to read the Garmin screen at times, especially if the sun is at just the right angle.  In fact, in this setting the route color perfectly matches the color of certain road classifications on the Garmin Map.  I started following the road that my eyes identified as the route.  Busy, with not much of a shoulder, it began to curve to the west around the shore of the lake.  After a few miles, it just didn't feel right, especially as it curved south into the blasting headwind.  I was supposed to be going north, to Alexandria.  I found some shade, removed my glasses, and sure enough... I was 3 miles off course.  Angry at myself, I did a sharp U-turn and pounded my way back to town.  Pedaling hard and realizing the silliness of this response I tried to calm myself down, knowing that it was just a mistake and using up precious energy would fix nothing.  But, at this point I wasn't in much control of my brain it seemed.  I finally got back on route, and was immediately rewarded with a steep massive climb out of town.  Perfect.

The tailwinds made for easy riding north to Alexandria.  It seemed to take forever though.  Sometimes when you think "next is Alexandria" you forget that its still hours away.  The tailwind pushed me, but allowed the sun's intensity to hit me hard.  I opened my jersey up to try and catch air.  Bad idea.  A bee was swept into my jersey and in its confusion went kamikaze on me, stinging me on the neck before one of my frantic body slaps killed it.  Attempting to not crash in the busy traffic I pinched the bee and most likely injected the rest of the venom into my skin as I tried to get it off me.  That hurt. 

Keeping an eye on my rear tire, it seemed to be holding.  Until it wasn't.  Flat #5.  Lucky to find some shade in a driveway I dropped the bike, removed the rear wheel, and didn't even bother with trying to patch the tube- I couldn't find the leak anywhere.  I googled bike shops nearby and identified Alex Bikes just off the route 1 block, right after the next checkpoint.  Perfect.  My last backup tube went in and I kept rolling on, into the busy metropolis of Alexandria and checkpoint #3 at 1:10 pm.  

Too much sun at the checkpoint.  I immediately went to the bike shop and grabbed three tubes, stoked that they had my weird 700c 38mm size.  Then to the gas station where I was able to eat a sandwich, cold coffee, and sweet tea.  I loaded my water bottles up with diluted drinks of 3 different flavors, and seeing the MM blue dot closing the gap I jumped back on my bike, heading south east into the heading along the Central Lakes Trail at 1:45 pm, with 95 miles down.

That was a bad idea.  I should have rested and stretched.  The exposed trail allowed the hot wind and sun to pound my face and body.  My average moving speed hovered between 10 and 11 mph.  My mind started to lose ground against the quit demons.  To fight them back I finally, for the first time, put in the headphones and blasted the music.  It helped, but the howl of the wind was a constant reminder of the struggle.  I stopped to stretch and drink when shade presented itself.  I turned my phone off of airplane mode and let the text messages ding ding ding in.  Reading them while tucked into the aero bars I found myself laughing one moment at the interactions of my friends and family, and then crying at the thought of letting them down because I couldn't do it, I couldn't finish.  This was a rough spot.  I didn't know if I could keep pushing against this wind.  Everything hurt.  My knees and Achilles hurt.  I stopped often to stretch out in the shade.  I started popping Ibuprofen.

I changed my mental tactic and started focusing on smaller goals.  Just get to the next town.  Focus on that and only that.  This worked, slowly.  A little past 5 pm I rolled into the town of Freeport, 36 miles later, and stopped at a gas station.  I pounded a sweet tea and refilled water bottles with ice and different flavors of drink.  I didn't eat.  I couldn't get myself to eat.  The MM dot was still behind me, but I'd maintained the gap.  

Rolling onward, and finally turning left off the Central Lakes Trail onto the Lake Wobegon Trail, the headwind became a tailwind and suddenly I was flying!  Trees and shade protected me from the sun's heat and the trail mostly descended as it flowed towards the Mississippi River.  My mind exploded with joy and I suddenly found myself filled with energy.  I flew, relatively, maintaining 16+ mph for the next 20 miles until reaching the Great River Road, enjoying the beautiful trail and shade and simple act of riding my bike.  Turning north I continued to fly, enjoying the tailwind all the way to Little Falls, stopping at a gas station on the west side of town at 7:45 pm, with 169 miles down.  I looked forward to a long rest and stretch here.

While waiting for my burrito to cook in the microwave, the MM blue dot walked in.  It was absolutely wonderful to finally see another rider!  It had been over 30 hours since my last crossing.  Matt from Iowa had been chasing my dot all day.  But there was no competitiveness between us, just camaraderie as we lamented the days' struggles and shared in the joy of the tailwinds.  Sitting in the shade resting and eating, my mind relaxed and enjoyed the opportunity to not think about riding.

Clang!  I recognized that sound before I saw what created it.  There is only one janky trailer I know that makes that sound, and it was being towed by a black F150 that could only belong to one person.  Up pulls my buddy Scott, who'd chased my blue dot while driving home from up north.  Big hugs and deep excitement gripped me.  It was incredible to see a familiar face, and someone who "gets it" when it comes to doing silly adventures like this.  We excitedly chatted and I shared my struggles of the day, fighting back tears in doing so.  It was reassuring to have someone acknowledge those struggles and simply nod in agreement.

Matt invited me to ride with him and share his campsite just past Checkpoint 4 at Crow Wing State Park.  The idea of riding with someone was incredibly appealing.  With Scott hanging out and watching, we packed our purchased dinner and breakfast foods, loaded water (I couldn't stomach any more flavored drinks at this point), said goodbye and rolled out north towards Camp Ripley.  Keeping pace with Matt was a challenge, but he graciously backed off to ride with me.  We shared thoughts on riding, and teaching high school, which has great given our shared background of teaching.  But the pace took a toll on me, and not having taken the time to stretch out as hoped for in Little Falls my knees began to scream in pain.  I reluctantly excused myself after a few miles, and Matt rode on, hoping to get camp set up before darkness set upon us.  

After a few minutes of stretching and more Ibuprofen, I continued on.  But the pain quickly returned and it wasn't long before I stopped again.  This time as I squatted down to stretch out my quads my eyes found themselves noticing something on my rear tire.  Looking more closely in the dimming light, I realized that I was looking at a thinning spot of the tire.  The rubber had been completely worn off and the threads of the tire exposed!  It was in the same spot that I had applied the tire boot from the flat at mile 14.  The tiny bulge cause by the boot had caused this spot to wear quickly.  Well,  I guess 715ish miles isn't that quickly.  Evaluating options, I unwound some cloth athletic tape from the handle of my bike pump and put a few strips over the bare spot.  Then, continued rolling onward.

My mind became super focused on this new problem, the weakening tailwinds allowing such freedom.  How would I deal with this?  There were still almost 500 miles left of the race.  I had a good amount of tape on my pump, but would it hold?  Luckily I had ridden this section before and remembered that there was a Walmart that we'd pass by on the south end of Baxter.  Stopping to Google the store hours, it closed at 11 pm.  I jumped back on and pushed it, hoping to make the 20ish miles between my location and Walmart before it closed.  My knees and legs had different opinions on that.  Within a few miles, my knees screaming, I knew I couldn't maintain this pace and backed off. 

I rolled into the rest stop and Checkpoint #4 at 10 pm.  After face palming Paul Bunyan, I rested on the bench and evaluated options.  Walmart didn't open till 6 am, and there was no way I'd get there before it closed tonight.  I didn't see any benefit to getting any closer to Walmart tonight, as I'd just have to wait for it to open. I decided to join Matt at his campsite and made the final few miles to Crow Wing's campground.  At least this would get me a quiet, undisturbed by partying drunks, night of sleep.

Arriving at 10:30 pm, with 194 miles (+6 bonus lost miles) and 19 hours of riding done, Matt welcomed me on his way to the shower, having already set up.  I followed suit, enjoying the thought of a peaceful evening's rest.  And the thought of a shower caught my attention.  My butt was in rough shape.  My body coated in a layer of sweat, sunscreen, dust, and dead bugs.  Even just rinsing off would be glorious.  Once done setting up I showered, using my handkerchief as a towel and just standing there to air dry as best as possible.  I even was able to change "The" band aid.

The mosquitoes were quite numerous, so I quickly I settled into the tent after exchanging small talk with Matt and agreeing to wake at 4:30 am.  We both apologized for the ridiculous sounds our sleeping pads made each time we moved around.  Pockets of thunderstorms moved around us, the air warm and humid from the day's heat.  I stuck to my sleeping pad, eventually stripping down completely, knowing that I shouldn't have to deal with any unknown drunks that might favor me being not naked.  I ate a plastic encased pastry and discovered that my pillow, the one luxury item I had brought, no longer had a functioning air valve and now only served as a flat head sheet.  Boo.

I'm not sure if I slept or not most of the night.  The shower caused all of the awesomeness on my butt and crotch to start healing.  Which means it got super itchy.  This combined with my sunburned, swollen face and tongue and my mind became overwhelmed with all the feels happening as it wrestled with the emotional roller coaster that was the day.  I suddenly became fixated on something being wrong with me, and the idea that I had contracted "Hand, foot, and mouth disease" caught my brain's focus.  I found myself wide awake trying to resist the urge to scratch this or touch that and then freaking out when I did.  I googled symptoms and treatments.  I imagined how embarrassing it would be to have to scratch from the race because I was covered in sores from this virus.  I went through 4 antibacterial wipes cleaning EVERYTHING over and over.  Fixated and no way to escape it, I think I floated between consciousness and not.  

Day 5: Follow the Great River Road

Again.  Suddenly it was 4:30 am.  The sky was brightening.  How could it be time to wake up?  My mind immediately went to Walmart.  I had to get there right at 6 when it opened.  I packed quickly, racing the mosquitoes who were hell bent on sucking my precious blood.  Not wanting to wait for Matt to finish preparing, I said goodbye and started pedaling at 5:15 am the 9 miles along the Crow River to Walmart.  My knees screamed worse than anything yesterday.  I had never stretched before sleeping or this morning.  I pedaled gingerly, focused on Walmart.  I arrived at 6 am.  Weaving between the dozens of workers still stocking shelves, I found Gorilla Tape, a knife, yogurt, and espresso.  Sitting in the parking lot I ate, drank, and fashioned a fish scale-like layered patch over the thin spot of my rear tire.  Evaluating my legs, I was struck with the idea of using my water bottle like a foam roller.  I painfully, slowly rolled back and forth over my quads and calves.  It seemed to help.  

Patch in place, two yogurts and more Ibuprofen in my belly, and time invested in caring for my legs, I began spinning again at 6:40 am, gingerly pushing with my right leg especially.  The Gorilla Tape patch caused my rear to thump with each rotation of the tire.  Annoying.  Hopping onto the Paul Bunyan Trail headed north out of town, I struggled to find a pace that was pain free.  I stopped a few miles later to stretch again, sprawled out in the middle of the trail.  Nothing seemed to work.  I spun easy, hoping that I just needed to warm my legs up for the day and being patient would solve my problem.  The miles droned on northwards, with a slight headwind building as the sun and temps rose again.  

Everything felt sluggish.  I kept staring at my rear tire, thinking it was going flat and thats why I felt so sluggish.  I would stop every so often to poke at it to check the air pressure.  But no, it was fine.  Slowly I wove through the beautiful roads surrounded by forests more often than the fields I'd spent the last few days in.  But my spirits crumbled as my knee and energy refused to "warm up" for the day.  I put one headphone in and tried to lose myself in the music as the miles droned on.  Finally turning east, a break in the headwind gave me a mental and physical boost and I made solid progress, both in distance and attitude.  Passing north of Crosby, struggling with traffic that refused to move over or slow down, a woman stopped on the other side of the road and crossed hurriedly towards me with a bottle of water in hand.  I was confused by her actions, and unable to hear her with the wind and music.  Mentally cloudy, I mumbled something about racing and blue dots as I passed by her.  A few minutes later it struck me that she was a "dot watcher" and had come to cheer on and encourage me.  I was crushed by my response to her... what a jerk I'd been!

Enjoying the roll into Aitkin, my body finally seemed to hit its stride and the pain and exhaustion didn't dominate my brain.  I pulled up to Subway at 10:30 am, having covered 44 miles in just under 4 hours... aka really really slowly.  I soaked up the air conditioning while downing a foot long sub, two cookies, a bag of chips and many cups of drink.  I also found that the Subway sandwich bags make great ice bags and was able to ice my knees while relaxing.  I hope that this would help with the pain, as I massaged and waterbottle-rolled my calves.  Next door at the CVS I bought a bottle of Acetaminophen, lip balm with SPF 15, and a new tube of sunscreen to replace my soon to be empty one.  After lubing up, I rolled out of Aitkin at 11:30 am.

Heading north into a headwind, my knees ignored all the care that had been provided.  Pain accompanied every pedal stroke, more intense in my right leg.  Following the Mississippi River Road onto a gravel section, my pace slowed to a crawl and my energy levels crashed.  The sun blasted me and the wind incessantly whistled in my ears.  I sucked Jolly Ranchers to keep my mouth closed and prevent my tongue from drying out and swelling even more.  Anytime shade presented itself I stopped and rested my head on the aerobars while standing over my bike.  I found a cemetery with mowed grass and shade and laid down for 20 minutes, floating in and out of sleep as the horse flies investigated the stench of my body.  It took me 1.5 hours to go 10 miles to where the gravel ended at Hwy 169.  

This is when the thought first entered my mind... "Something is wrong, and it isn't just my knees."  The bee sting from yesterday flared up, becoming swollen and intensely itchy.

After an exciting/frustrating stretch on 169, the turn onto the Great River Road was quite welcome.  My slow pace continued.  Both headphones in, I turned off my brain and just pedaled.  I focused on drinking and trying to eat.  At a park pavilion in Palisade I decided to change the Gorilla Tape out in the shade.  It had held up well over the 60 miles since Walmart.  Slowly rolling onward, Pete caught up from behind, startling me out of my music and pain haze.  It was a welcome change, and he politely slowed to match my pace.  Staying in hotels, he was able to cover the same distances I was but in less time.  We lamented the heat and headwind and slow speeds.  He noticed my rear tire was low.  I sadly excused myself to address this in some shade and he continued onward to Grand Rapids.

My rear tire did seem low, but I couldn't identify a leak of any sorts.  I pumped it up and continued on.  On and on and on.  Alternating Ibuprofen and Acetaminophen, food, and water while trying to lose myself in the music.  On and on.  Another cemetery nap where I gained a tick friend who luckily struggled to get past my tight bike short elastic.  Past the Line 3 protest site.  So sluggish.  Stopping to stretch and roll out the quads and calf muscles.  My toes were numb on both feet now.  Hot spots wrapped in athletic tape from my bike pump.

Is my back tire going flat again?  I stopped and pumped it again.

A few miles later, repeated it.  Finally convinced I just wasn't able to pump a high enough pressure I busted out my one CO2 cartridge and blew the tire up hard.  Hopping on my bike, I was disappointing to feel no difference in sluggishness.  On and on.  My mind circled around what was happening.  Nothing I did fixed the pain. Nothing I did, ate, or drank got rid of the sluggishness and exhaustion.  The palms of my hands burned from the pressure of the handlebars.

I concluded that I had to change my behavior, as what I was doing wasn't working.  I called Sarah and asked her to help me find a hotel for the night.  I needed to do something different.  I needed to recover from whatever funk I was in.  She arranged a room for me and texted the address.

Crossing Hwy 200, my rear tire turned to complete squish; flat #7?.  Pulling over into the shade, I removed the rear tire and counted the number of patches = 5.  It must have been a slow leak from one of them, as nothing turned up showing an obvious leak.  I cleaned the inside of the tire to make sure there were no sharp remnants and installed a new tube.  A friendly local stopped and checked that I was doing ok.  My jersey was off-white on Sunday.  It was more reminiscent of desert camouflage now.

I continued on and the exhaustion hit me hard.  My front derailleur started shifting down on its own and I noticed that I couldn't use my fingers to shift back up to the big ring.  I couldn't control my fingers that way.  To shift I had to make a fist and push my whole hand against the lever.  I could only make it a mile or two before stopping to lay my head on my aerobars in the shade along the shoulder.  

It took forever to make the last 10 miles into Grand Rapids.  It was torture.  Tedious and never ending.  My knees screamed.  I could only spin, not push. 10 mph was my jam.  My shorts felt like they were lined with 80 grit sand paper that each pedal stroke dragged my butt across.  Time dragged on.  I swear Grand Rapids was actually walking away from me.

I pulled into the hotel's air conditioned lobby at 7:15 pm.  I had covered the 65 miles from Aitkin in just over 7 hours.  I was in a deep hole.  

I struggled to understand the gentlemen checking me in at the front desk, but eventually made my way to my room.  The air conditioning was refreshing.  The cold water delicious.  The lack of blazing sunlight wonderful.  Stumbling around the room, seeming to only have about 53% control of my legs, I stripped naked and just stood there, afraid to sit on anything given the resulting soiling that would occur.  Despite having drank large amounts of water- finishing off all 4 water bottles, I peed something so dark I'm not sure if it was urine.  Squatting between the beds, with my phone charging, I googled and ordered pizza in a haze, not sure if I actually was successful or not until the confirmation email came in.  Into the shower, washing away a layer of grossness that seemed beyond what should accumulate in one day.  Things stung as the water washed over.

The dot watchers would be concerned.  Parents.  Friends.  I texted an honest update to folks while I iced my knees and waited for pizza to arrive.  My phone erupted in messages of support, love, reassurance, and worried suggestions for medical care- all greatly appreciated.  My heart exploded and once again I alternated between laughing deeply and crying uncontrollably.  

Pizza arrived with a knock at the door.  I struggled to put on long underwear, my legs refusing to cooperate, my joints screaming in refusal, my fingers mutinying against holding anything, and my numb toes wholeheartedly trying to make me trip.  I think right there, that 10 feet from the bed to the door to get pizza, was the most dangerous moment of the whole 5 days.  I'm not sure how I made it there without a serious head injury.

Naked, eating pizza and cake in the hotel bed, but on top of a towel so as to not get any weird stains on the white sheets, I mentally began to emerge from the day's haze.  For the first time I seemed to get a sense of how bad of a state I was in.  It wasn't just my knees.  They were just symptoms of a much larger problem.  At that point, I couldn't identify the big picture though, I just knew something was up.

Alternating icing and soaking in the tub, I worked to actively recover.  I also washed my bike shorts and jersey for the first time.  Holy never-ending brown water in the sink!  Even after copious washing, my shorts still turned the towel brown and I stood on them to squeeze all the water out.  My jersey went from soiled desert camouflage to soiled off-white rag.

I wrestled with what the next step would be.  I had spend months training and biked thousands of miles in preparation.  I couldn't just give up without trying something further.  I settled on a plan.  I would pack my bike tonight and be prepared to ride.  At 5:30 tomorrow morning, after a solid nights rest FINALLY, I would load up and do a short ride to evaluate my body's status.  If my knees were not screaming and my exhausting addressed, I would return to the hotel to checkout and maul their breakfast, then continue on with the race.  If things hadn't changed, I would return to the hotel and go back to bed.  Offers of help were plenty, so getting home would be no problem.

At 9:30 pm the front desk called, saying they had a delivery for me.  Repeating the dangerous long underwear dance, I drunkenly stumbled to the front desk and found a fast melting hot fudge brownie sundae waiting for me.  Oh HELL YEAH.  I ate that hard.  All of it, which was quite the challenge given the lack of control of my left hand fingers.  Door County is a long ways away, but that doesn't keep the Snyders from being awesomesauce.

Packed and staged to go tomorrow, I finally turned off the lights and tried to sleep.  It came easier this time.  

Day 6: Nope.

My mind woke itself at 3:30 am.  Maybe operating under the assumption that I'm still racing and "What the hell are you doing sleeping so much?!"  I stumbled to the bathroom, my body still under the influence of all the weirdness from last evening.  My knees and Achilles screamed at me.  My fingers struggled to work the light switch.  My urine was still so incredibly brown.  My head was fuzzy and clouded.  I touched my sit bones and I swear the swollen golf ball that had emerged tried to bite me.  I looked at my bike in revulsion.  Collapsing back into bed, exhausted from the long haul to the bathroom and back, I shot a text to my ride home, Scott, telling him to come get me, I was out.

I woke up 4 hours later.  No doubt in my mind about being done.  Everything I had done to actively recover; the sleep, soaking, icing, eating... it hadn't been enough.  The hole I had dug in the past 5 days was too deep to climb out of easily.  I announced my scratch to race director Keith and published my state of being on the social media world.  I was officially done and it felt right.

Starving.  Working myself back into my long underwear I shuffled down the hall to the breakfast area, with only stained tape wrapping hotspots on my toes to cover my feet.  I mauled a waffle, two yogurts, banana, and a breakfast sandwich.  No one wanted to sit by me.  

Checking the Trackleaders website, I noticed Kate A. was located right next to me.  She must have pedaled through the night!  I shot her a message and discovered she was camped out at the Dairy Queen, all the hotels having been full upon her arrival.  Once she caught wind of my physical state and subsequent scratching from the race, she insisted that I rest and not try to connect with her.  Given the circumstances, I appreciated that immensely.  The thought of somehow getting to the DQ down the road was overwhelming.  I envied her continued push forward, but had no desire to join myself.

I passed out on the bed again until a knock on the door announced Scott's arrival.  We loaded the bike and gear and began the drive home.  It was incredibly helpful to have time to decompress and unpack everything that had unfolded with Scott.  This helped me begin to understand the circumstances had led to my poor physical state.  Dropping me off at home, I showered, gingerly removing the band-aids from my nipples and other places, and immediately went to bed.

Day 8: Rested and well recovered.

Having been home now for 2 nights, I am amazed at how exhausted I still am.  My knees are better, but going up and down stairs is still a challenge.  I can kinda feel my little toes on both feet.  Numbness has settled into the fingers of both hands, although my left hand is notably worse and hard to control.  My handwriting is that much worse now!  The bee sting is slowly fading away.  The golf ball on my sit bone has disappeared and I'm left with itchy, healing sores and scabs in that area.  My urine is back to healthy, which my medically educated friends greatly appreciate hearing.  But still tired, so so tired.

Now the questions begin and answers form.

Am I bummed I didn't finish?  Of course!

Do I regret the decision to quit?  Nope.

Should I have rested for a full day and 2nd night in the hotel and then continued on?  I mean, sure that could have worked.  

But in thinking about this option, it doesn't fit my goal for this race.  I aimed to race this.  Meaning, to dance along that fine line of going as hard as you can without going too hard.  I failed at this.  I went too hard and didn't address the variables that prevented my recovery and continued progress.

I am proud to have done what I did.  I am walking away with a wealth of knowledge and experience that I did not have prior to this.  I know things now that I didn't before.  Not because I read about them or someone told me about them, but because I experienced them.  

It is powerful to meet your limit head on and fight against it.  I am comfortable with the decision to have scratched after 865 miles and 5 days of little sleep, filled with headwinds, heat, soaking thunderstorms and more, knowing that I put up a fight and pushed harder and longer than I ever have before.

Am I going to do it again?  Right now, I have no desire.  With lots of time to think out there I arrived at two meaningful conclusions.  One, road biking isn't that fun.  I much prefer the gravel roads, singletrack, forest service roads, and seldom used 4-wheel trails of the wilds on a slow moving adventure bike.  I missed the meandering path of the Western Wildlands Route, where the natural landscape dictated the direction you traveled.  Two, racing is a fascinating, powerful mindset.  But there were so many times that opportunities were missed along the way because I was in that mindset.  I don't know if racing is for me.  There where times when it just felt right to stop and set up camp or eat at a tiny cafe, but the racing mind wouldn't allow me.  This is fully on me.  I know there are racers out there right now still plugging along and allowing themselves that freedom.  But, is it racing then?  Maybe I just need to find a better balance.

What am I walking away with?  Deep appreciation for all the riders who participated, people who cheered, and dot watchers that followed along.  What an amazing group of people.  People who live and act on strong foundations and value adventure and risk and struggle.  They raise my faith in humanity.  I am honored to be maybe included in this group.

What am I thankful for?  The massive outpouring of support and encouragement from friends, family, race director Keith, and even other racers.  I don't really know how to respond to it all, except to hopefully return the favor some day.  When the quit demons were loud, these people were invaluable in getting my head in the right place.  These people, too, raise my faith in humanity.

What do I look forward to?  Long days in the saddle, exploring new, beautiful places, not worrying about blue dots or mileage or pace, and GOOD nights of sleep. 

Whats next?  With each challenge that passes, new ones rise.  I see many on the horizon, and I look forward to tackling them with a little more knowledge, understanding, and wisdom than I had prior to this adventure.  More than anything, I will be sure to get a solid night's sleep.

The Tour Divide is looking pretty sweet right now.  But, not as a race.