Map of the Death Valley Century route — an out and back. I only completed 85 miles, with roughly 3,700 feet of climbing, according to the GPS.
February 26, 2011.
An epic day in Death Valley
“This is just an epic day.”
So says the driver of the sag car, as we pass numerous cyclists struggling in the fierce wind, on the way back to Furnace Creek during AdventureCorp’s Spring Death Valley Century and Double Century. It’s around 4:30 pm on Saturday, after a grueling day in the saddle.
“Look at those guys and gals battling it out,” says the driver. “They are awesome.”
Indeed they were awesome, those hardy cyclists that were managing to finish the ride back to Furnace Creek.
Me? I wasn’t so awesome. I threw in the towel at the Badwater rest stop, only 17 miles from the finish, after a bout of exercise and dust-induced asthma convinced me to call it a day. I only accomplished 85 miles of what was supposed to be a double century.
The reason? The wind. A fierce wind that left me in my triple granny ring for most of the 52 miles on the way to the top of Jubilee Pass, and then hammered me again the last 10 miles on the way back to Badwater, after a sweet 15 miles of tailwind.
I was fortunate, I found out later. Those that came in after me said they had no tailwind at all.
We pass by a cyclist standing by the side of the road, puking his guts out.
“This is just an epic day,” repeats the driver, the enthusiam for this ride evident in his voice.
Later, I would find out my wife Leslie had been enlisted into sag duties, and had stopped to pick up that puking cyclist.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Here’s how the weekend begin:
Friday Afternoon, February 25th
“There is no wind, it’s just your mind moving.”
That’s what I joke to Leslie, paraphrasing a famous Zen koan, as we cruise into Death Valley the day before the ride. Our Jeep is being buffeted by 50 mph winds.
The forecast for the weekend was cold, rain, and snow. Oh, and maybe a little bit of wind. Turns out, the rain and snow weren’t an issue. But that little bit of wind?
The scene outside the window of the Jeep near Amargosa should have been a clue:
Dust kicks up around Eagle Mountain, south of Amargosa, just outside Death Valley in California. This is the first sign on Friday that the weekend might be “interesting.” Photo by Bryan Flamig.
A “mothership” hovers above Zabriskie Point, near Furnace Creek. Actually, it’s the storm front for the weekend, lurking in the Sierras to the west. Apparently, this storm dumped snow on San Francisco, and the L.A. area as well. Photo by Bryan Flamig.
When we drive into Furnace Creek, a massive wall of dust (and salt) blows in from the valley to the southeast.
“I might only make it five miles tomorrow,” I say to Leslie, eyeing that wind and that wall of dust. “But it will be an epic five miles!”
We stop to check in at the hotel, and get to experience that wind directly for ourselves as we step out the Jeep:
Palm trees at Furnace Creek. Are the palm fronds moving, or is it the wind moving? Dajian Huineng, a famous Chinese monk, circa 600 A.D., would say it’s your mind moving. If that’s the case, my/your mind was moving something fierce on Friday afternoon and into Saturday. Ha! Photo by Bryan Flamig.
Later, we visit the Visitor’s Center to get our park permit for the weekend, and see that the forecast calls for these 50 mph winds to die down by “11 pm.”, and for 10-20 mph winds the next day.
Ha!
The wind howls most of the night, till about 4 am. I know this, because I get little sleep.
I always have trouble sleeping before a big ride. I had vowed not to get into a “cycle” (sorry about the pun) of worry and fretting. And I didn’t. At least not on Friday night. But ask my wife about Thursday, as we made our way to Las Vegas, the first part of our journey …
Yes, on Friday I vowed not to stew and fret about the ride, and vowed not to have numerous scenarios run through my mind, about all the things that could go wrong the next day. And I mostly accomplished that. Still, I wasn’t able to sleep. It’s as though all those worries, those chitta vrittis, had gone down under, into my sub-conscious. I guess that’s an improvement of sorts …
The alarm goes off at 4:30 am, and I slowly get up and eat breakfast and prepare for the day. I don’t look outside. I don’t want to know what’s going on out there. I hope for the best, but prepare for the worst, packing all sorts of cold weather paraphernalia, like glove liners, wool skull cap, face protection, ear flaps, toe booties. I’m wearing tights, a wool base layer, (per suggestion from numerous AdventureCorps emails), and a new long sleeve jersey that’s warmer than my only other long sleeve jersey. (We don’t need long sleeve jerseys much in Phoenix.) And earlier in the week, I decided to replace my wimpy wind jacket with something a bit more substantial, settling on a Showers Pass jacket. This combination would prove to keep me warm and cozy all day long. A big thumbs up to the wool base layer and Showers Pass jacket!
I open the door to … clear skies, the moon shining, and, yes, there’s some wind, but it’s not bad. It’s also not that cold out, perhaps 40 degrees. I decide to take off the glove liners, I won’t be needing them, at least not yet. I pack them away in my Camelbak.
Mile 0 — 6:30 am.
I join the crowd at the start line and end up leaving with the 6:30 wave. The first mile out of Furnace Creek (which sits at 179 feet below sea level) is uphill, all the way to sea level, and there’s even a bit of 6% grade along here. I’m not a fast starter, and not that great a climber, (though I love climbing), so I’m left in the dust in rather short order.
Yours truly at the start line. I leave with the 6:30 wave, with aspirations of doing the double century, something that I didn’t quite accomplish the year before, only doing 150 miles. Photo by Leslie.
When we get to the Furnace Creek junction, that’s when the fun begins. There’s wind. Significant wind. And it’s right in our faces. Great. We’ll be going basically the same direction, southeast, for, oh, let’s see, the next 40 miles. That means 40 miles of headwinds and/or crosswinds.
Yesirree, we’re “out there,” just like they say.
I note with consternation that I’m not able to maintain any kind of speed. I latch on to pace line after pace line as they zoom past, hoping to find one I can stay with. I have no problems on the flats or downhill sections, but on every little climb, I’m dumped off the back, and left waiting for the next pace line to come along.
I knew my speed and power weren’t all that great this year, but I figured on a good weather day, I could accomplish this double century. I knew I had the endurance. But power? Not. Soon, I’m riding mostly by myself, and I’m going 6-8 mph way more often than I would like. And what’s this, using a granny gear on the mostly flat ride to Badwater?
Mile 17.2, 8:15 am. Badwater rest stop.
When I ride into the Badwater, after 17 miles, my average speed is 10 mph. Jeebus. In order to make the cutoff for the double century, I’ll have to average around 12 mph, and there’s a lot of climbing ahead. I’ve got some catching up to do. Deep down, I know my double century is probably over. But ya never know, miracles are known to happen.
Either way, I resolve to enjoy the day and to enjoy the scenery. And what scenery it is:
Telescope Peak, in the Panamint Range, at 11,000 ft. Taken from the Badwater rest stop, 282 feet below sea-level. After all the worry about rain and snow, what we get instead is a beautiful, sunny day. Oh, and I almost forgot, a little bit of wind. My average speed to this point? A paltry 10 mph. I knew then my aspirations of a double century were … er … gone with the wind. Photo by Bryan Flamig.
I leave Badwater and round a corner. Wham! That’s when the real wind happens! This is a serious, fierce wind. I’m in my triple granny ring, and even on the flats or with a slight downhill, it’s all I can do to muster 6-8 mph. Every now and then, as the road curves into one cove or another, the wind dies down just that little bit, and I go all the way to 12 mph! Heck, at this point, 12 mph feels like a luxury!
I have never ridden any substantial distance before in such wind. I quickly learn I’d rather be riding straight into a headwind than have a crosswind. A headwind feels like climbing a pass, something I’m familiar with. I’m not familiar with having to struggle to keep the bike upright and on the road, mile after mile.
As the miles tick by, my goals get smaller and smaller. After finally acknowledging that my double century day is over, I first think, “Okay, I’ll at least climb Salsberry Pass and turn around when they ask me to, which I’m sure they will.”
Five miles up the road, I’m thinking, “Okay, I’ll just go to Jubilee Pass. At least that way, I’ll get a century in.”
After a few more miles of battering wind, I say to myself, “Okay, I’ll just ride to Ashford Mills. 90 miles is nothing to sneeze at.”
I get near the 25 mile mark, and say to myself, “Maybe I’ll turn around at the 25 mile mark, and get in 50 miles for the day.”
Whew!
25 miles pass by and somehow, I’m still pedaling. My goals start getting bigger again.
Miles 30-35 – Near Mormon Point
We get a slight reprieve from the wind for a 1/4 mile or so, and then round the corner near Mormon Point. A nasty crosswind blasts my bike once again. It’s hard to keep the bike on the road. My arms are tiring, my hands numb.
I start to think, “Maybe I’ll get to the 31 mile mark and turn around. That’ll mean a metric century for the day. Hey, it’s something.”
I near the 31 mile mark and see that several riders have the same thought as me. I see them turn around and head back. I keep pedaling onward.
I get to the 35 mile mark, and think, “I can turn around here and have a 70 mile day.”
But no, I keep riding, and by now, it makes sense to ride on to Ashford Mills. The road curves more easterly, and we begin a short 6% climb. Last year, that climb kicked my butt, as I wasn’t expecting it. This year, it was nothing. Well, it was certainly easier than battling the wind. By now the wind had diminished a bit, and was more like a “normal” wind.
Mile 45, 11:25 am – Ashford Mills
It only takes a moment at the Ashford Mills rest stop for me to decide to soldier on to Jubilee Pass. After all, it’s only another seven miles, and I knew there would be a tail wind.
Looking back west to the Panamint Range, from the second rest stop of the day at Ashford Mills. Shown here, a century cyclist has either accomplished the turnaround at Jubilee Pass and is on his way back home, (which would make him one of the century leaders), or has given up the ghost after turning around at Ashford Mills, as many were tempted to do. Clouds lurk, but never really amount to much. At this point, the wind is considerably calmer than through the valley along the Panamint Mountains. Although calm is a relative term here. There is still significant wind. It’s just that it is more “normal.” Photo by Bryan Flamig.
Mile 51.2 – Jubilee Pass, 12:37 pm.
Climbing Jubilee Pass, I start to overheat, even though I had taken off my jacket at Ashford Mills. But interestingly, I don’t feel any sweat trickling down my back. It’s that wool base layer, doing it’s job.
Just as I get near the top of the pass, about 100 feet from the check point, my legs cramp up. Talk about timing! And speaking of timing:
The scene at the Jubilee Pass checkpoint, at 12:37 pm. This year, the event was timed via timing chips attached to our number tags. Near the truck to the right are sensors used to pick up info from our timing chips. Photo by Bryan Flamig.
I glance at the time on my GPS. Past 12:30, and I’m only at Jubilee Pass. Last year, I had already reached Shoshone by this time, and was on my way back. So I’m over 22 miles and one significant pass (Salsberry Pass) behind schedule. My average speed to this point? A lowly 9.2 mph.
9.2 mph!
The checkpoint is actually a few hundred feet before the top of Jubilee Pass. I could make the short climb to the real top, but I choose not to. I notice nobody else does either.
I talk to two young guys who, like me, had originally planned on doing the double. This was their first time. I tell them, “Hey, you should climb to the top of the pass over there, and then go down the other side and climb back up. It’s a nice, short, 12% grade.”
They laugh. “Yeah, right!”
Death Valley scenery at its finest
I click into the pedals and head down Jubilee Pass, and realize I’m looking at some mighty fine scenery. I pull over to snap a few photos:
A cyclist heads down Jubilee Pass on a very scenic downhill romp. Photo by Bryan Flamig.
As these gals zoom by, they yell out, “Nice picture!” Photo by Bryan Flamig.
Mile 58, 12:55 pm – Ashford Mills
I roll in to Ashford Mills once more, after a nice downhill. I replenish my water bottles, adding more Perpetuem powder, and plopping an Endurolyte Fizz tablet into each bottle, something I’ve done at every rest stop. This is the first time I’ve used the Fizz tablets, and I give them a thumbs up. They add a bit of kick to the otherwise bland tasting Perpetuem, and seem to counteract its chalkiness.
I depart from the rest stop. The wind is not that strong. If anything, it might be a tailwind. I’m hoping for tailwinds the rest of the way. I expect, though, that this won’t be the case.
And it isn’t, but in the interim, after swinging around to the northeast, I have fifteen miles of sweet tailwind and cruise along at 24-30 mph. I see a group of cyclists up ahead, perhaps a 1/2 mile away. I joke to myself, “I bet I can catch them.” I surprise myself by doing just that, a few miles later. And then I see another group of cyclists. Same joke. Same result. Hey, I’m kinda liking this type of riding!
This repeats itself four or five times, until 12 miles out of Badwater. And then I see a cyclist pass me, wearing a familiar jersey, one I had seen on a blog from last year. Ah! I’ll bet that’s George Vargas, and I’ll bet he’s the leader of this ride. Wow, that’s awesome. He’s already done 50 more miles than me!
Mile 75
I hang near Mr. Vargas for a while, before he slowly pulls away, pedal stroke by pedal stroke. I’m amazed he’s not pulling away faster. I’ve always wondered what it’s like being the top rider. Then, ten miles before the Badwater rest stop, he abruptly zooms ahead, for out of nowhere, and for no apparent reason, our nice tailwind changes to a headwind. Just like that! And this is no baby headwind. No, this is a wind of the same intensity we experienced earlier in the day, maybe even fiercer. My speed sinks instantly. I’m back to six mph pedaling. At this rate, I won’t make Badwater for another hour and a half. Jeebus.
I look around at the geography nearby. I can see no rhyme or reason why the wind would switch directions so suddenly. But then again, I had seen clouds and dust off in the direction of Furnace Creek, as far away and as long ago as the Ashford Mills rest stop, and knew that sooner or later, I’d be encountering some type of “interesting” weather. I guess that’s now.
I struggle along. But I’m not the only one. I see numerous riders alongside the road. Soon, I’m one of them, as I have to stop frequently to catch my breath. All those cyclists I had passed earlier start passing me now, one by one.
Six miles to go, I begin coughing and hacking and wheezing. I’m finding it hard to breath. It’s exercise-induced asthma, something I get from time to time, especially if there’s dust in the air, like now. I’m allergic to dust – it’s from all those summers driving tractor in the wheat fields of western Nebraska back in my youth. And the dust here in Death Valley is no ordinary dust, what with all those salt flats nearby. I pull over and try to regroup. How am I ever going to make it to Badwater, let alone Furnace Creek?
I soldier on. At two miles to go, I encounter a nasty crosswind and get blown off the road, not once, but twice. And then a little later, a car passes me. As I’m trying hard to keep the bike up and steering straight, the momentary lack of crosswind, due to being blocked by the car, causes me to veer towards the car. I have a few “interesting” moments.
Mile 85, roughly 3:15 pm – Badwater
I round a corner. It’s only 1/2 mile to Badwater. But the way this wind is, it might as well be 100 miles. I don’t know if I’ll make it. But a few pedal strokes later, I notice the wind doesn’t seem as strong. I’m able to crawl into the rest stop, still coughing up a storm of my own, though. I tell the volunteers I’m probably done for the day.
There’s no room left on the sag vehicle that’s about to leave. It’s just as well. I don’t mind waiting, and besides, maybe I’ll catch my breath and decide to carry on, later. I settle down into a chair and have a sub-sandwich and a can of V8. I notice the wind here isn’t bad at all.
Though the weather is chilly, I’ve been warm and cozy all day. I give a big thumbs up to the wool base layer. However, sitting here, I get cold within minutes and begin shivering. I have to put my jacket back on. I find it’s warmer to stand up and walk around, so I go take a few pictures:
Tourists out walking along the salt flats of Badwater. Just around the corner lurks a fierce wind, blowing right to left. And I mean fierce. I was blown off the road twice around that corner. Here at Badwater, the wind was relatively calm. Photo by Bryan Flamig.
If you are into photography, this little excursion out on the salt flats is a great place to visit. Heck, it’s a great place to visit regardless. Photo by Bryan Flamig.
For example, here is a picture taken in 2002 from those salt flats, in the early morning. Photo Copyright © 2002, by Bryan Flamig.
Another shot from the past taken at Badwater. Photo Copyright © 2002, by Bryan Flamig. Maybe I should stick to photography instead of bike riding. Hmmm…
Zooming back to the present in 2011, here’s a look northwest towards Furnace Creek from the Badwater rest stop. A storm is brewing that would dump a bit of rain on cyclists later on. Photo by Bryan Flamig.
4:00 pm (or thereabouts)
One of the rest stop volunteers offers to give me a ride back to Furnace Creek. I take up his offer. By now, my legs have cooled off too much to continue. I wonder though, about the wind. It’s not all that strong here. What’s it like on the road? Is it dusty? Could I finish after all? My breath has recovered, mostly. Would the exercise-induced asthma stay at bay if I were to continue?
I choose health and well-being and call it a day for real. Besides, finishing the century ride wasn’t my goal. The double was. So I’m feeling little motivation to continue. If the wind were to be as strong as it had been, it would probably take another three hours to get back. But if the wind were to turn out not to be as strong, will I have missed an opportunity to finish? I don’t worry about it. I’ve had enough adventure for the day.
It’s later I realize maybe I made a mistake. Finishing those last seventeen miles would have been good mental training. If I’m ever to complete a double century here, I’m most likely going to have to conjure up such resolve. Oh well, lesson learned.
On the way back in the sag car, I’m still coughing and hacking up a storm. It was probably best I stopped.
Is that snow on them there mountains? Yep, just north of Furnace Creek. Taken out the windshield of the sag car. It’s at this point I have a twinge of regret for not soldiering on from Badwater, like the cyclist pictured. Ha! Photo by Bryan Flamig.
Awesome storm in progress just north of Furnace Creek. Although it did rain later, I don’t believe it amounted to much. Well, I don’t really know. I was “toughing it out” in the shower back at the hotel by then. Photo by Bryan Flamig.
4:35 pm (I think) – back at Furnace Creek.
At the finish line, I check in, adding my number to the list of DNF’s. It starts to rain, but it’s a light rain. I grab a slice of pizza and down a can of V8. Just then, George Vargas, the leader of the day, comes in. He stocks up on fuel and water and sticks two slices of pizza in his mouth and zooms off, ready to complete the last 50 miles of the double. Awesome, just awesome.
7:00 am, Sunday morning. Is there a do-over?
I peek my head out the door the next morning. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Not a leaf is moving on the nearby trees. It’s as warm out now as it was at 5 pm last night. Of course!
I have a half a notion to go and find the ride organizers, and see if there’s a “do-over” today. Ha ha!
Maybe photography next time?
So, Death Valley has conquered me twice. Will I be back? For photography, absolutely. Both my wife and I love this place. I know the desert is not everyone’s cup of tea, but we find Death Valley to be hauntingly beautiful in it’s own way.
But to come back and do a double century? I don’t know. This ride is right at the limits of my abilities. When I first started riding seriously in 2004, nothing seemed impossible, as I kept improving all the time. Then, a few years later, I reached a plateau, and have been there ever since. I seemed to have found my edge, and it’s here in Death Valley. That’s what makes it attractive from a cycling standpoint, of course.
It’s probably not practical for me to come to this place and expect to finish a double century. Not unless I get a whole lot stronger. In good weather, or even “normal” weather, I’m sure I could finish the 200 miles. But being at my limit, any little thing jeopardizes my chances. If I do this ride again, it’ll have to be on the terms of “enjoy yourself, do the best you can, but don’t expect any particular result.”
Hey, that sounds familiar! Sounds just like one of the tenets of yoga, the “non-attachment to outcome.”
And maybe next time my mind won’t be moving quite so much. Ha!
