Living Well With Diabetes

Nearly a week has passed since I finished the 2007 edition of the Logan to Jackson (LOTOJA) bicycle race. It’s been a slow recovery. The day after the race, I had to cautiously negotiate stairs due to the soreness in my legs and my body was telling me how drained it was because as mealtimes would approach, I would start feeling ill. As soon as I got some food in me, I would feel better.

Even four days after the race (last Wednesday), I was not quite fully recovered. That day I rode my mountain bike to work and the legs complained more than usual on the uphill stretches.

It is time though to capture in writing some of the race highlights while they’re still fresh in my mind.

Compared to LOTOJAs I’ve done in the past, the race started in very warm conditions – the temperature at my starting time (7:34 AM) was about 52 degrees instead of the 39 degrees that had been predicted by the National Weather Service. So, I could easily avoid an entire layer of clothing. No booties. No hat. No base layer underneath the jersey. No full-fingered gloves. I left all of these behind with no regrets.

There were thirty-eight starters in my group (Citizen’s 45+). During the first leg of the race to Preston, I enjoyed watching other riders and getting to know who the steady riders are and who can’t seem to hold a steady line while riding in a group.

Preston, Idaho was the location of the first feed zone. It was at mile marker 34 and despite a headwind, our group stayed together all the way to Preston. I stayed near the front of the pack and managed to only have to take one pull at the front of the pack.

In Preston, the first feed zone was chaotic, as usual. I rolled through, grabbing the mussette bag that Pat held out for me. Even though grabbing the bag diverted my attention for only a few seconds, it was long enough that I lost track of my group. I couldn’t tell if there were others in my group (race bibs numbered in the 1400s) that had not stopped or if I was the only one who didn’t. I soft-pedaled through Preston, wondering if the group I saw about a quarter mile ahead was my group or not. I pushed hard to close the gap and it turned out to be a group of citizen riders, but not in my group. I decided to stay with the group. In the middle of a short climb just north of Preston, some other riders in my group caught up and passed me. The climb made it clear that they were stronger riders than I could stay with so I held my pace, thinking I could rejoin them on an upcoming long descent just before the beginning of the 22-mile climb up Strawberry Canyon. I did rejoin them finally and rode with them until the first of several steep rolling hills at the beginning of Strawberry Canyon. There, I lost touch with them again. A mile or so later, I rejoined two of them who had stopped for the call of nature. I decided it was a good time to do the same and also remove the knee warmers I had on. Clearly, they didn’t consider me part of their “group” because they didn’t wait for me and that, I’m afraid, was the last I saw of them all day.

But, there were plenty of other riders to join up with and form a paceline. There’s a strict rule in LOTOJA (and all USCF-sanctioned bicycle races) that you shouldn’t mix in with the riders of others groups. In my experience, and especially this year where my primary goal is simply to finish the event, everybody ignores this rule.

So, I joined in a group of three or four young women riders and a couple of men from the Citizen 45+ category. The two men riders were interesting. One, a very chatty fellow who I learned was a retired Air Force pilot, was riding a bike that was probably older than some of the women we were now riding with. The other guy, wearing a hydration pack on his back, spent a good portion of the climb hugging and crossing the centerline (another strict rule in LOTOJA is to never cross the centerline). I stayed with this group for the entire climb of Strawberry Canyon during which Mr. Retired Pilot would greet other riders that we passed; share friendly instructions to get a rotation going, stay hydrated, or close a gap; or simply yell Yee-Hah! or Wheeee! at random times. At least he was having a good time!

On the descent from the Strawberry Canyon summit, I left this group of riders behind me. All the way to the Montpelier feed zone, I rode with other riders as much as I could, but some of it was solo too.

The Montpelier feed zone was much more organized. I stopped, but quickly grabbed two new bottles and was immediately on my way. East of Montpelier, the road was closed to all car traffic so I felt comfortable pulling my glucose test meter from my rear pocket and doing a blood glocose test: 103 mg/dl. Perfect! I ate an energy bar and followed it with a gulp of energy drink and then focused on finding a group to ride with.

I quickly discovered there weren’t many groups forming. Most people were content to make the ascent towards Geneva Summit (6923 feet) at their own pace. After the summit, there was a fast descent towards the Wyoming border. By the time I reached the border, I was in a group of five riders, including one tandem. This group grew, dissolved, and then reformed a couple of times on the way to feed zone 4 at the base of Salt River Pass, the third major climb of the day.

It was about a four mile climb up to Salt River Pass at 7630 feet including about two miles at about seven percent grade. I didn’t want to overdo it so far from the finish, so I kept my pace very moderate.

At the summit of Salt River Pass, there are parking areas on both sides of the road for people to pull over and admire the scenery. The parking areas were full on this day too, but the people weren’t admiring the scenery — everybody was watching me and about 1400 other cyclists slog their way up to the top of this hot, steep climb.

At the top, I had a nice feeling sweep over me. I had just finished the last of the big climbs of the day. Maybe I could actually finish this thing! That feeling was brief though because about midway down the descent to the floor of the Star Valley, I realized the wind was now from a different direction. Instead of being from the south and west and helping me along, it was now from the north and west and hindering me. The 50 mile ride up to the north end of the Star Valley would be a difficult one even if I did manage to find a group to ride in. After a couple miles on the rolling hills of the Star Valley, I joined a small group of six or so and I rode with them all the way to the next feed zone in Afton.

Just like all previous feed zones, I lost track of my group while I was in the Afton feed zone. While Pat switched my bottles, I helped myself to an ibuprofen and an acetaminophen tablet. As I left the feed zone, chomping on an energy bar, I was once again alone, searching for a group to ride with.

As I approached the small town of Grover, I finally found two other cyclists to ride with. By the time we were within ten miles of the next feed zone in Alpine, Wyoming, our group had grown to about six riders. About five miles from Alpine, I saw an opportunity to join a faster group passing by. I caught up to the faster group and rode with them to the Alpine feed zone.

The Alpine feed zone (mile marker 159) was so narrow! It was a roped off area the width of the shoulder (about 6 feet). The roadway was to the left and support team members with mussette bags were to the right. With all the riders in the feed zone area, it was impossible to ride through. I briefly contemplated grabbing the mussette from Pat and just riding through, but when I saw the ropes and the width and the congestion, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. Then I made the mistake of trying to ride up to Pat by going to the left of the feed zone on the main roadway. I ended up having to lift my bike over the ropes and then sidestepping over to get to Pat and the mussette. I dropped my empty bottles on the road, grabbed the two new bottles that Pat gave me, searched through the mussette for a bag of Clif Bloks and a banana, and then I was on my way again.

When I turned the corner to head into the Snake River Canyon, I felt a wind at my back. This being immediately after a feed zone, I was riding solo once again. That and the nice tailwind made me think it was an opportunity to test my blood sugar again. It was 161 mg/dl. Given that I was tiring a bit and probably not working as hard as earlier in the day, I was concerned that it might be on its way up. By the time I was approaching the next (and last) feed zone at mile marker 181, I was feeling the symptoms of a low. I took a couple big swallows of energy drink. At the feed zone, I took a banana and filled up on water. I still had two other energy bars in my jersey pockets and plenty of energy drink left. I knew I had sufficient food to make it to the finish.

The last 25 miles of the race took us north to Jackson and then beyond it to Teton Village. There seemed to be a headwind although it couldn’t have been much because I was still maintaining around 20 miles an hour on the flats. I continued on and eventually, a group caught up with me. I tried staying with them, but lost touch on the next climb. It took me the remainder of the road to Jackson to catch up again with the group which had now swelled to 15 or so riders.

It was a dicey move getting through left turn at the stop light in Jackson. We waited and waited and waited for an opening but it never came. Our only opportunity to make the left was after the light had turned yellow and the oncoming traffic was stopping. Then, all the waiting cyclists (20+ now) and a pickup truck decided it was the time to go. And, of course, this was the one time when I had difficulty getting clipped in, so I was one of the last riders to get clear of the intersection.

Of the 20+ riders in this group, there was only one other rider with a race number in the 1400s (my Citizen 45+ group). It was the guy with the hydration pack on his back that I rode with on the ascent of Strawberry Canyon. I remembered his flagrant violations of the centerline rule so I decided I had to kick his a** in a final sprint for the finish. So, I found a place in the paceline right behind him. There, I could keep an eye on him.

Within a couple miles, I had devised a finish line plan. I didn’t feel strong enough for a sustained sprint, but I thought I could probably push real hard for a few hundred meters. I would follow him in the paceline to about 500 meters from the finish and then start a sprint. If he responded, I might still have enough distance to catch on to his rear wheel and make another effort to pass him.

We must have picked up the pace by the time we crossed the Snake River and made the last right-hand turn onto Moose-Wilson Road because the group of 20+ cyclists that I was in was now just four. No problem though — it made keeping an eye on Mr. Hydration Pack that much easier.

With about eight kilometers to go, I felt the muscles on the inside of my left leg suddenly tighten up. I stood up out of the saddle to try to get them to loosen up. They did loosen up, but I could tell another cramp was just waiting for a crucial moment (like a finish line sprint) to tighten up.

With about five kilometers to go, the rechargeable batteries in my cyclometer finally gave up and shut down. If ever there was a sign that it’s time to be done, it’s when your Energizer batteries have run down!

My plan still probably would have gone as I wanted it to except for the one thing that happened next. The finish is about 1 kilometer past the left turn to Teton Village. One of the four riders I was with had some confusion about the finish. He thought we were supposed to turn left into Teton Village. I yelled to him to stay right. Suddenly, I found myself about 10 meters out in front of everybody. I kept my pace for a few more seconds and then turned around to see if anybody reacted to me being ahead. No reaction. Either they didn’t notice, didn’t care, or were not able to respond. In any case, this was my opportunity to open up a big gap. I stomped on the pedals as much as I could without inducing another cramp. I looked around again to see two of the riders an almost safe distance behind. But, where was the third rider? I continued my “sprint”. About the time I could read the 200 meters to go sign, I was totally spent and the third rider blew past me. There was no way I was catching that wheel! Fortunately, he wasn’t wearing a hydration pack, so I knew I didn’t have to catch him. At just under 100 meters, I knew my position was safe so I coasted in.

I felt a wave of emotions upon crossing the line: relief (at having finished), relief (that the suffering was over), and relief (that the cyclist I had marked didn’t pass me). Oh yes, there was a bit of satisfaction that I had just finished the LOTOJA for a seventh time.