DESIRE
I remember seeing an image in a magazine of a mountain biker. He had suffering in his eyes, was covered in mud and had a bike slung over his shoulder while he walked though chest deep water. For some crazy reason I thought it looked fun and soon it became a desire of my own. Two months before the event date, I found out that I was able to participate in the four-day slugfest as racing media. Before I finished reading the words of the invite my body began to tremble with excitement, but also fear. I enlisted the help of local endurance trainer Val Burke and began preparations for what would become the greatest physical and mental battle I have faced.
The race, or adventure, is called "La Ruta De Los Conquistadores." Translated this means "The Route Of The Conquerors," or more commonly it translates as the toughest mountain bike race in the world. A four-day ride across Costa Rica, it starts on the pacific coast in the bustling little surf town known as Playa Jaco and finishes the final stage on the Caribbean coast in the rural and raw surf side town called Limon. What lies between the start and finish line only the most committed mountain bike racers really know.
THE INGREDIENTS
As the brochure reads, riders will travel through 8 different microclimates, all flaunting their own distinct characteristics both with natural and man made challenges. The course rises 11,259 feet above sea level through and above volcanic mountain passes. Each successful rider will have completed over 40,000 feet of climbing by the time they reach the last stretch of wet sandy beach and cross the final finish line 225 miles later.
Not in the brochure, and only to be experienced on the saddle, are the miles of knee-deep mud often clad to steep and loose rock infested pitches, many knee to chest deep river crossing, temperature variations ranging from 32 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit and a consistent range of weather from sun to all-out hail. It is the tail end of the rainy season in Costa Rica, so the course is prepped for disaster.
Weather aside, riders also experience exhaust fumes from media and support vehicles (which like to double as pace cars for everyone not in their favor). The mental anguish of watching local riders with a home field advantage, misinformation or lost in translation directions and distances can only be taken loosely when received by some locals. Learning halfway through the race that Tico Time is extremely modest compared to the real world. All ingredients add up for the challenge of a lifetime.
When you actually do beat the odds and find that day's finish line, you still have to deal with the other 800 racers, media and staff. A logistical nightmare for organizers and even worse for anyone who just rode 50 miles through the worst conditions they have ever experienced. To ride this complete race it is more than just riding your bike for 5-8 hours a day, it's a 20-hour daily test of mental stability. Battling for breakfast, battling the environment on your bike, battling for a seat on a shuttle bus to do battle with the chaotic streets of San Jose. Only the physically and mentally strong will survive.
PREPARATION
Before I could begin to enjoy that I was about to experience one of the greatest races on 26-inch wheels in beautiful Central America, I started to panic. I quickly realized that I am a small girl with a DH background mixed with just a modest amount of cross-country riding. I have never raced any serious XC before, just our smaller local races and with that realization many questions began to run through my head. Could I even complete an endurance race of this nature? Isn't it only the world's finest athletes who can fight through such an amazing 4-day race? Could I be stronger than all the big muscular guys walking around in their spandex team kits, who tell me they have been training for years to do this race? Is my bike going to survive through the mud, rain, sand and rocks? Finally and most importantly, can my mind hold up to the journey? These and many questions would all be worked out over my 2-week long experience in Costa Rica.
On October 29, 2007 I boarded a plane (3 to be exact) to Costa Rica. With a fresh new Team Element from Rocky Mountain Bicycles and a credit card soiled in debt from last minute race preparation. The plan was to spend 1 week in southern Costa Rica in a small town called Dominical. The idea was to acclimatize to the heat, adjust to the local cuisine, relax in the surf and most of all mentally prepare for the race. After talking to a few locals who seemed to enjoy questioning my abilities with comments like "only big men can do that race," my planned relaxation quickly turned into fighting off negative energy. Many questions were planted in my already exhausted mind.
PLAYA JACO
Once I arrived at the Best Western in Jaco, I quickly realized that this was a bigger deal than I had imagined. The large beachside resort was taken over by riders and event staff. The energy was alive and on the verge of running amuck. I was slightly relieved to discover I was not the only one battling the pre-race jitters. You could sense the nervousness in some and false confidence in others. It seemed everyone, even the top pros, were putting their feelers out, trying gage just where they fit in. I was no different and again found myself struggling to stay focused on the next day.
DAY ONE - Distance: 59 miles; Climate: Tropical Rain Forest, Sub-Tropical Rain Forest and Tropical Dry Forest.
On the first day we had to get up early, about 4am. The race started in front of the hotel in the dark. With all the last minute preparations, double-checking repair supplies, food, drink, and just dealing with the stress of my first big race I arrived at the start line almost last. I was extremely anxious about the first 1 1/2 hours of climbing and after a quick sprint to make up for my bad start position I knew I had to pace myself. I took it easy, I stopped at every checkpoint to relax and load up with a LUNA bar and the provided fresh fruit. While doing so I realized not many people were doing this and all the people I suffered to pass on the uphill, were now passing me while I ate.
Lessons were learned quickly. The others were smarter and likely more experienced than me. Most ate their food while riding and as a result didn't loose much time. Me, a rookie, adjusted though the day and began to eat and ride as the day went on. We went to hell (almost) that day, crossing muddy creeks deep enough to rinse my bike and body. I thought it would be a onetime thing but it became routine to clean out my derailleur and chain every time I crossed a creek. On-course bike maintenance would be a key component in the mud-themed race. I would end up spending close to 2 hours washing in creek crossings on day one. Throw in a few hike-a-bikes and we were off to a great start!
After exiting the forests we were led to the asphalt. Up, up and more up, a steep winding road ride accompanied with the extreme 12am sun pushing in to our eyes. La Ruta is coast to coast and all roads and trails are open to the public during the race; the locals live their lives and vehicle traffic continues as if no race is present. On the big road climb the local municipality decided to add some spice. Towards the top of the climb a road crew was laying fresh, sticky and steamy asphalt for what seemed like miles. We got first tracks through it. It was as if we were riding in molasses. Curses ensued, but nothing could be done except suck it up (literally with the fumes) and keep riding.
"Home field" advantage got a little annoying after a while: The Tico's (and other high profile teams) had support motorcycles and cars ferrying drinks and food to them on any section they could access by vehicle - the other riders got to suck in the fumes of their motorized vehicles while struggle with our own loads of supplies on our backs. Luckily for me, the kind folks at Garmin supplied me with a GPS. Little things like the GPS helped keep my mind off the exhaust fumes and observing some riders flex the rules. I was able to check how much ground I had covered but also just how much I had to go. Most importantly, I knew when I could start dreaming about the finish line.
If only I took the time to covert miles to the locally used kilometers. When I thought we were close to being done we still had a 15miles to go. The rider beside me didn't find it funny when I said, "we're almost done, less than 10km to go!" He gave me an unimpressed look and said, "are you kidding me, we have at least 2 hours"...oops. That was a rough one. I thought it was close to over and I didn't bother getting water at the last checkpoint. I managed to get to the end, exhausted, but so stoked to have finish the first day.
I knew lots of people wouldn't finish that day. I did it and I was the 15th lady to cross the finish line. I knew I could to better because I had taken it relatively easy most of the day. I realized I had paced myself too slowly and took a few too many breaks. It was my first day doing anything like this and I quickly learned my little 5' 5" body was capable of more. Some racers didn't have it as easy and unfortunately made a wrong turn near the end and followed signs from previous races. Instead of doing a section of the steady road climb they had to push a bike for an hour, a tough break for some and conversations of what could have been, ensued by mentally broken down riders.
DAY TWO - Distance: 46 miles; Climate: Sub-Tropical Rain Forest, Template
Another early start, it was starting to feel like the army. My body felt like it had gone to war. Quickly, I prepared all my gear and proceed to join the rest of the soldiers in line for the breakfast buffet. In the end I would settle with just one banana. My stomach had no desire to eat mess hall type foods this early. Instead I jumped in line for the first shuttle to get to the start line. Every day after you finish your bike is taken by a hired hand, a quick conversation ensues about what is wrong and local mechanics repair your bike. I hoped that my Spanish/French/English slang worked the day before and my bike would be in working order. I sorted through hundreds of bikes and found mine as good as new! Although they spoke very little English, the mechanics were great.
This was the 15th anniversary of La Ruta and to celebrate the organizers added an extra day - 'day two' to the original 3-day format. An extra 46 miles of hell! It all started with some beautiful views while ascending and descending valleys. Life was good! I met a few riders from my hometown and finally I could talk to someone. It was our first time doing the race and conversation proved a pleasant time killer.
Cruising through rural countryside towns, people were out on their balconies and in the streets. To my surprise I found myself alone with no other riders around. I have a history of getting lost at our local races in Whistler, so I knew I had to be careful. I had the feeling I missed a turn so I stopped and asked if any bikers had been though. My Spanish and their Spanish didn't quite make a match. In return I received a big smile. I carried on at a slower pace until another rider caught up and confirmed I was going in the right direction.
Aside from feeling lost I was having a really good day. It was fun. A Costa Rican girl started racing against me and she was riding with someone that looked like it could have been her coach. He kept screaming or encouraging her to go faster. So we raced with each other until we came upon a big downhill, in the mud! I knew it was my time. I imagined I was on my downhill bike and just went for it. I started charging the downhill and hoped for the best. I passed few people struggling to stay aboard in the loose and greasy conditions. I also left my Costa Rican counterpart far behind.
I looked at my GPS and I had 5 miles to go! In what would become a daily routine, water started falling from my eyes. The realization that I would soon finish the second day created many emotions. As the tears collected a hard right approached. And then it began, 5 miles of a wild, steep, knee-deep mud ascent. I have never seen anything like it and I couldn't even push up it, nor could my exhausted body lift my mud-cloaked bike over my shoulder. Sliding backwards with my bike and then falling over, it continued for what seemed an eternity. Near the top a nice guy helped a few of us get over that last steep pitch.
It wasn't over though. We now had to negotiate a narrow singletrack alongside steep drop-offs. The trail was muddy, muddy and even muddier. Struggling to hold on like I never have I asked one Costa Rican, "How long till the end?" He said "5 minutes to the finish line!" I asked another and he said "40 minutes." Were they kidding me? It was very difficult, even for me who loves to ride in the mud. I was physically and mentally drained and unable to get a straight answer. I began questioning the sanity of the organizers; did they do this on purpose? Do they even ride bikes? Are they crazy?
I was so tired; I couldn't believe I managed to lift my light 24 pounds bike over my shoulder. Eventually I got to the end. On arrival I remember seeing a cleaned up Andreas Hestler at the finish line. I looked at him with a distraught face and struggled with my words while trying express my displeasure with being misinformed and questioning the last legs sanity. He agreed and it took a little edge off my mental state.
As it would turn out the last 5 miles would be the most talked about highlight (or lowlight - depending on how you looked at it) of the race. A real test for the Conquistadores! I was happy to finish 11th. I was getting better, faster and my previous days lessons in pacing and food consumption were paying off.
DAY THREE - Distance: 41.4 miles; Climate: Cloud Forest and Rain Forest, Wind and Rain, Drastic Climatic Changes
I knew the third would be my glory day. All we had to do is climb 22 miles up and then descend for another 22 miles. I started with a slow pace since we were in the unpredictable streets of San Jose and road riding just isn't my thing. As soon as we got on dirt I proceeded to get on the move. I started passing groups of people and for the first time during the race people started encouraging me with comments like; "go girl" and "go get them, you are strong!" I suddenly felt like a star. With my new fuel I took off and enjoyed every minute of the ride and the fresh scents of the vegetation lining the roads.
I enjoyed the ride until we neared the top. It started raining and most people stopped to put on their rain gear. I knew the climb was soon over and that I would soon be killing it on the downhill. I chose to warm up with a peanut butter sandwich, thinking I could do a 22 mile descent in 30 minutes. I was wrong, so wrong, it was a cold 3 hour downhill.
As we started descending everybody warned me to slow down. We were in the clouds and we could barely see a foot in front of us. It was very slippery and haling. I kept telling them "It is ok, I am a DH girl. I am fine." It was very sketchy to pass people but I was having a great time. The temperature was just above freezing, it was raining and just under 10,000 meters in altitude and I was frozen. I only had my sleeveless jersey on and my fingers were going numb. Out of nowhere I crashed on a slippery rock, which broke my IPod, scared my knee and broke my front brake. Oops!
I knew I was in trouble so I decided to back off on racing down the mountain, favoring making it to the finish line. As I took it easy with only a rear brake, slicing between horses, dogs and cows became a real challenge. One rider was not as lucky when a support vehicle had cut off his line. He ended up hitting the vehicle while his brother was sent directly into a cow. Both were taken away in the back of an ambulance.
I managed to finish 9th at the end of the day. I was a little muddy and I don't think anybody could tell if I was a girl or boy when I crossed the finish line. A local ran over to me and to my surprise proceeded to pour a few liters of water over my head. Rinsing my face clean, I could barely breath but it was welcome and funny.
DAY FOUR - Distance: 77 miles; Climate: Sub-Tropical Rain Forest, Montano Rain Forest and Tropical Forest
The fourth day was highly anticipated. Talks of endless train tracks, riding on beaches, walking through the ocean and a long, flat road ride were on everyone's mind. So was the finish line, the last finish line.
The night before I stayed in a higher than usual level of accommodation. I was setup at a very nice Bed and Breakfast. In the middle of the rolling mountains stood the Swiss style chalet. I was staying with all the media and race leaders. It was a little out of the way but such a great way to spend the night before the race ended. Unfortunately, we still had to get up at 5am so we couldn't take full advantage of the location.
As we waited for the shuttle it poured rain and morale was low. Seasoned pro's struggled with motivation while many of us wondered if the bus would ever show. The driver was running on Tico Time and as a result most of the top group was late for the last stage. Luckily, they delayed the start and everyone set off for the final ride, many with a relieved smile. You could sense many were anticipating the last day of suffering.
I was starting to feel a cold coming on and began drinking straight oregano oil (not the tastiest). With such a rush to make the start I forgot to check if my previous days bike problems were fixed. Thank goodness, I again had a front brake for what would prove to be one of the toughest tests on my will and determination.
The 77 mile day started reasonably well. I was a little under the weather but was still feeling strong. My first test arrived at the 5 mile mark of the stage. My SPD cleat unscrewed itself from my shoe. I thought it was the end and I would have to pull out of the race. I continued to ask myself "How am I going to ride 70 miles with only one cleat? Especially on this long and boring road." As silly as I am I started asking everybody on the way if they had an extra cleat in their bag, as if they would!
I think I wanted the world to know I was going struggle for the next 7 hours and that I wouldn't be at my best. After 2 hours of riding I saw my boyfriend for the first time that day. He, a photojournalist was always following the leaders so when I saw him on course I was so happy! But all I could say (or scream) as he tried to get a picture of me was, "I lost my cleat! Can you get me one?" Of course in the middle of nowhere there wasn't a chance he would find one.
I refused to stop and find an alternate solution, I didn't want to loose anymore time since I already had to stop to fix my lost Camelback nozzle as well as contend with a lost sunglass lens. I looked and felt like a warrior. I kept going and tried to be positive. I'd come too far and suffered too greatly to let any of this spoil my day, or this race.
My sanity was on the verge of entering into unknown waters. As we were going downhill, I saw an option for a possible jump. Having been plagued by a long flat ride I decided to go straight for it and jumped it. Oh god! I think I gave a good show to my fellow rider with an accidental one-footed air (stupid cleat). He even looked at me and said. "You are crazy! I didn't think you were going to land that."
The boredom of the flats would be sidelined and replaced with fear for the next mile. The infamous train tracks approached, which meant 5 miles of bouncing around on a 3-inch travel bike, mixed with frequent trestles (train bridges) to get the heart near failure. I almost quit at that point, truly believing they wanted to kill us. We had to cross many large rivers and after seeing the giant alligators in other rivers in Costa Rica, I could not shake the notion that they were waiting in the brown waters below. The other problem with those bridges is they were not consistent. They are spaced with square planks of wood, some so wide that we had to put our bikes over our shoulder and jump from plank to plank, on the already greasy and rain soaked wood.
Was I worried? Yes! And to make us even more uncomfortable locals watched us like zoo animals as we danced to avoid near death. Maybe they weren't, but at that point, mixed with exhaustion, my mind tended to draw the worst conclusions. Again, I had tears in my eyes but knew I was close to the end with only about ten more bridges to deal with. I fought on and refused to quit. I knew I could get through this.
When I made it back to the road, I was happy to meet up with my friends from home. Having done the Trans Rockies I knew they were experienced with multi-day bike races. If I could stick with them I would be in good shape. They let me in to their pack for the last 40 miles of road. As we passed potato fields the local pickers cheered for us. The extra bit of encouragement was welcomed as we approached more train tracks. I was so close to the end but all I could think about was if I flatted now it would be over. I've never flatted or changed a tubeless tire and if I did there could I have mustered the strength to peel the tire off the rim? With every bump of the track I prayed, "please no flat. Please no flat."
I lost my friends in the last 5 miles. Now on my own, I found myself riding in the sand and flooded in neck-deep water alongside the ocean. The sounds of the Caribbean were in the air and I knew I was close. The sounds of crashing waves and music pleased my ears and heart. Emotions poured through me and I knew I was going to make it to the end. The last left was ahead and I prayed my boyfriend would be waiting with a Pina Colada. I pedaled towards the ocean, down a small ramp over some stairs and I was riding the last 60 feet on the beach, in Limon, to the last finish line. A gallery of locals and supporters lined the sprint. I crossed and it was over.
I was given a medal and found my boyfriend waiting, with no Pina Colada. I'm not even sure if I said hi to him. I just yelled, "I'm finished!" And dumped my bike and ran into the Sea with my spandex, gloves and single cleat shoes on. I could feel the ambiance. People were so proud of their achievements.
PROUD
I am done and I have accomplished the hardest mountain bike race in the world. I am so happy and it has made me a stronger person. With everything else I do, nothing will quiet compare to what I went through. I can't count the amount of times I had to tell myself "keep going it could be worse" or the wonderful memories of school children lining the streets cheering for a complete stranger. I find life so much more satisfying and for every new challenge I face, I remind myself of those 4 days in Costa Rica. Nothing compares when you know that you don't have 225 miles to ride in the next 4 days.
I still have moments, months after the race, when the energy returns and the feelings resurface. My heart begins to beat faster and tears fill my eyes and fall down my cheeks. I am so grateful I was able to participate in and complete La Ruta De Los Conquistadores. It is something I will always reflect on in my life. I am so proud of me.
I finished 9th overall in the female category!
