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December 11, 2004 - PAGE 3
Stage 3 Details (From the bottom of Irazu to the Atlantic Coast - completing the cross country trek)
I mount my Scott rakes in case I'm in a good position going on to the flats, as this is the only stage that has any flat sections at all. The legs are sore to touch but very loose, a typically stage race feeling. When the gun goes, a group of 20 push a tempo that would have required a 177 bpm effort to stay with initially. So again I go in the second group of 5 at a sub max pace. But this time the asphalt climb doesn't go straight up relentlessly, instead there is some fast descents mixed in. I'm pretty sure I was the first guy over 170 pounds over these hills, and it showed on the descents, as I had no problem leading our group down the hills. We caught another group of 5, and now we were flying. We hit the first gravel rocky section at 50k/hr. Except for the top 7, the locals aren't good descenders and I led the technical sections and didn't see all but 3 other group members any more. We cross a couple of rivers, some though the stream and some over railway tracks (will try to post pictures as these were the obstacles de jour) to come to the first major gravel climb. Much to my delight, the old legs were coming around. I have a strong Austrian clinging to my wheel, and a good climber from Peru standing over everything just ahead. The front select group had shattered in half, and I count 7 coming back on this climb. Unfortunately I don't know the lengths or up coming steepness so I keep the same perceived effort, happy to catch on to the tail end of the top 10! The sweat is pouring off the helmet, we continue, and continue, and continue. This fr***gin thing is never ending. But I'm not cramping and I have the power that I'd been training for. We are at lower elevation, and the scales have tilted back in my favor in terms of temperature, altitude, and except for 3 major climbs, and rolling and flats.
So the climb ends, and I've got 3 in sight. The locals blow the aid station as they are getting fed from support vehicles (and pushed sometimes). I have to stop and re-fuel and grab some watermelon, bananas and some orange mangos. They are now 45 seconds up, with no one behind. It is important today to not ride solo, so I'm definitely shooting at reeling in at least 3 on the downhill. It’s a steep gravel decent with some asphalt mixed in, in places. Going through the switchbacks I see them coming back. There are steep sharp bumpy corners where the dual suspension is paying for itself many times over in terms of seconds gained and energy saved -- Thank you Henry's! I blow by the 3 and one Austrian jumps on my wheel. He looked a bit uncomfortable but not as uncomfortable as he was going to feel in a few minutes.
I
drafted off them for just a bit, when all of a sudden the big Austrian
dude hits his front brake goes 90 degrees to his right, comes unclipped
as is going to hit the gravel at 40 mph. Just as bad, I'm on his
right, right where he is falling. I'm screaming at him (hoping he'd at
least tuck his head or something:) so I could get by. Still no room, I
hit the ditch, with a fence coming at me. I leaned way back on the saddle
in case there are boulders in the grassy ditch, then a huge crevasse is
coming up. I pull up, jump the crevasse and land right back on the road.
3 months of healing and scar tissue avoided, I decided I'd do like Vetorri,
and wipe much later!
Thanking my lucky stars and God too, our group is now down to 3 - me, a
Tiko, and a dude from Peru, neither spoke English. I try telling them,
to send their support guy back for the fallen Austrian, but they no comprendy.
So we carry on, over more rollers. The dude from Peru, sprinting out of
every corner like it was a crit - I'm feeling back to normal now, and am
game. The Tiko was trying to tell me there was a steep Ouch (8) Km climb
ahead, a fast 10 km asphalt decent and 70 km of flats left. I knew that
I was in a high position on the course (12th) and had to stay with these
guys for the flat section, when I was looking forward to hammering it out.
The climb was granny gear again, was very hot, but the power was this time
with me. Tiko struggling to stay on my wheel, and the dude from Peru trying
to keep a 10-second gap on me. There is no aid station, and I'm going through
my Gatorade and camelback very quickly. Being this close to the front of
the race was a much better feeling and the support was better. I got a
hand up from some car, and the water appeared good, unlike some countries
where I've been. When we got to the top, and started the decent I was really
liking my chances for a good placing finally, and I started pushing these
guys down the hill, which they appreciated very much. It earned me another
bottle hand up and some mangos. Got down in the rakes and felt like a roadie
again. 10k of this, and we're all set for the rail way ties, and
river hopping over the rail way tracks spanning wide rivers -- Until disaster
struck.
The front tire was feeling very wishy washy and just before we hit the
tracks my race as I knew it was over. I was mentally prepared though, wipe
out the levers, easily crack the bead off, dump out the Stan's, give the
tube a blow job, stuff it in, crack the co2, and all I get was air going
everywhere but in the tube. Turns out the tube is split!
I wasn't prepared for this. The dude from Peru stopped at the exact same
time, did the same thing, left me his pump, and took off. I'm standing
there, with policemen, local kids on bikes, but no frickin good tube. 20
minutes go by and 7 more riders, and I'm getting pissed. I barter with
the local kids to take the tube out of their wheel. But they don't have
schrader, they don't have presta and they want money, which I didn't have. One
kid relented and his tube is kind of a hybrid and the valve wouldn't go
through the rim hole. Strike 2! Finally this German drives up, after dropping
out yesterday, with his bike in the back, and he's got disc wheels. He
hands me his, and he puts a tube in mine. Now the only problem is stretching
the fork wide enough to get the wheel in, as the airline crushed
my fork on the flight - almost strike 3! But I get the beast on, and get
going solo.
Twenty minutes down, my hopes dashed. I hit the first of many, river crossings, hopping from one tie to the other bike on my back Cross Style, careful not to look at how far down a drop it was (the picture was taken from the bus on the way to stage 1 – don’t worry J).
