Before I get into the race, I want to talk about those that finished DK200. I have nothing but admiration for those that not only finished, but just had the courage to line up and start. A special congratulations to my friends, who just left me in awe with their courage and will to finish. So proud of each of you and your level of badassery.
This race, it has so many level, it needs chapters to break it out properly.
First Came The Storm
Up by 4, out by 5. That’s the rule. So we geared up and listened to the wind howl. The plan was to ride to the race and we did, in what felt like something out of The Wizard Of Oz. I was waiting for the tornado, the witch, toto, all of it. We navigated through storm winds, watching the pieces of trees fly by infront of us. At the race start, 30 minute rain delay. Then off went DK200, then DK100 lined up and we were on our way. The first couple of miles of gravel felt like either quick sand or sliding on ice it was so slippery. Rubber side down, that was my focus. We made our way through the massive amount of people, working our way through groups. The first 30 miles just flew by. There were cows, horses, wide open ranges, it was absolutely beautiful. I felt great (altitude doping at its finest). Made sure I was taking in calories every 30 minutes, passing people along the way. Mile 50 approached and as I looked at my time, I thought of the possibility of making under 8 hours. Into the check point, they were quick to give us our bags, clean and lube our chains, and give us ice packed in panty hose (lifesavers). A huge thank you to the support group of 3 Feet Cycling. They went above and beyond to get us out as quickly as possible. My first half high didn’t last much longer.
Lions & Tigers & Bears, Oh My!
Lions, the mud. Tigers, the heat. Bear, the Flint Hills. Oh My! The wind. As I started to settle in after the check point, it felt like the start of the infamous Flint Hills. Each hill taking a little bit out of your legs with each pedal stroke. The mud had done a number on my gearing and getting to my easiest gear was becoming a problem. Just mash it out on whatever gear was working at this point. The rollers came to an abrupt end when we ran into a whole lot of mud. You couldn’t ride through it, so you had to hike with your bike. I wasn’t sure exactly how far we hiked but it was a 45 minutes to an hour. After we cleared the mud, the terrain got seriously rough. It felt more like mountain bike trails than gravel. I was taking descents that I would probably never take on a normal day. Come to think of it now, one wrong twitch of the handle bars and I was face planting into a pile of rocks. Some areas had mud at the base of the hills forcing you to walk through it and up the next hill. The hiking a bike started to take a toll. My legs and mental state took a turn at about 75 miles. From then on it was 20+ mph head wind. On a rare occasion we took a turn and got crosswind but it was short-lived. No matter how hard I pedaled I couldn’t keep anything over 12mph. It didn’t help that the last two hours, taking down anything to eat or drink was becoming a problem, my wrists and shoulders were killing me. With tears of frustration, at mile 90, I stopped and was ready to quit. Trying to work out in my head how to get back to the finish. Yes, with only 8 miles to go, I was ready to quit. Jorge didn’t let me. So, I climbed back on my bike and just made the crank turn, one pedal stroke at a time.
There’s No Place Like Home
Civili-f’ing-zation! With one last uphill on mile 97, we made it into town. Covered in mud, grit, dust I saw the finisher shoot. The energy of the small town cheering you on, crossing the line with Jorge, the stress of the day, it made me all tear up. This was totally out of my element and my first gavel event. In hindsight maybe I should have started with something a little easier (yolo no?). This race took an incredible amount of mental strength but I’m so glad I signed up. Would I do the 200? Probably not. Would I do the 100 again? With a little convincing. Another adventure checked off. Jorge, thank you, thank you, thank you. The Dirty Eight, what’s next on the list? Coach, thank you, so much. This was definitely one for the books. It’s days like this that build strength, resilience and courage for everyday life. ~ Adding Mo Miles.
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