Hell of the North - A Lesson in Distraction

I woke bright and early this morning and was pleased to see that the weather didn't look too bad after all. Even though I have been stoked for this race the last few days (and hoping that it would be nasty weather so it would really live up to it's name), this morning I wasn't too sure.

I started driving toward Salt Lake, and by the time I got to American Fork it was snowing. Hard. But I was okay about it. Calm actually. I knew what I had signed up for, and I was going to do it no matter what. I guess I've raced enough now that my days of hyperventilating and freaking out before a race are over. Too bad. I think freaking out actually helps me race better. I've found that it's the races that I'm the most calm about that I do the worst at.

As I pulled into the race parking lot, I found a huge muddy mess. There was a little bit a snow covering everything too.


(A quick course description for those readers who may not know: Hell of the North is a flat 5-mile circuit north of the Salt Lake International Airport with the inclusion of a 1.75 mile stretch of Dirt/Gravel road.)

I hoped I would be able to talk myself into getting out of the car and onto my bike. I got into Slingshot's truck, and he drove me over to the gravel/mud section of the course where I got on my bike to test it out. I rode from one end of the dirt to the other and back. I found only one small section where it was really muddy. The rest was just wet packed dirt. I rode back to the parking area, got registered, and geared up for the race. But after walking around in the muddy parking area my Speedplay cleats were packed with mud. I rode over to the start line and found someone with a pocket knife so I could dig the mud out. But I still couldn't get my left cleat clipped into my pedal.

Lap 1


As we started off, everything was going great and I felt really good. We had ridden half the course and were heading west into the cross/headwind when a girl in a red jacket suddenly moved laterally into me. My bike skipped sideways on the wet concrete, and I braced myself for a wreck. Surprisingly, I didn't go down. Then she did it again. I backed off. What the??? I tried to get up next to her again for wind protection, but couldn't make myself get there because I had figured out what a sketchy rider she was, and I didn't want to be anywhere near her. By the time we got to the gravel, I had lost focus and was dropped from the lead pack. Almost five miles into the race I was finally able to get clipped into my left pedal.



Lap 2
I rode lap two solo, trying to catch the girl just ahead of me. The winds had picked up and it was now raining ice. I wished I had my glasses on, but had left them in the car thinking they would be of little use if they got all muddied. The mud section had been fine with just one 15-or-so foot section where it was a bog. This section felt just like I was riding through peanut butter. By the end of the race much of the dirt course had this sloppy peanut butter from all the rain and so many riders stirring it all together.

Lap 3
I continued to gain on the girl ahead of me. I had almost caught her as we headed back into the mud. Slingshot had been driving the wheel vehicle for our group and as he came around to pass me he decided to try to chat with me. Once again, I let myself lose focus on the race as I tried to understand what he was saying to me and tried to figure out how to answer him.

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

I looked up to see that the girl I had been catching had a good gap on me again. The next thing I knew I was caught by a couple of teammates. I jumped on a wheel and tasted mud for the first time - crunch, crunch. I started crying. Not from the pain and suffering, but from all the mud in my eye.





All three of us stuck together as we came back around past the finish line and turned to head south again. One of my teammates cranked up the pace, and soon we were passing one of the Cat 5 men. My teammate went around him first, and as I went to go around him, he jumped on my teammate's wheel. Fine. I decided to tuck in behind him instead. Shortly after this, I felt my bike jar a bit and then heard a sound. At first I thought I had flatted. Then I heard more noises - like metal grinding on pavement. I glanced back to see my teammate rolling down the road. Crap! What I had felt was her tapping my back wheel. For the last half of the third lap all I could think about was my teammate hitting the ground. Had I caused the accident? I couldn't think of anything I would have done to have caused it. Would she get help? Was she okay? Should I have stopped to help her? It was all I could focus on, and I was dropped again.

Lap 4
By the time I got to lap four I knew I was no longer racing. I decided to just finish the race and went into riding-my-bike-for-enjoyment mode.



As I came around to start the fourth lap I was surprised that the last-lap bell was being rung. Funny, I was sure I had two more laps to go (finishing this lap then the next lap). I was enjoying spending time on my bike and felt like I could ride around several more times after the race was over, so I was going to do two more laps regardless.

Lap 5
As I was crossing the start finish line going into my last lap I was caught by the two lead riders. They came flying past me like I was standing still. I pretty much was. I congratulated them on their wins and continued on my merry way. I noticed the girl in red was standing by the side of the road as I passed, so I knew that she hadn't finished the race. Little did I know at the time that the entire rest of the field had been pulled after lap four. The only ones who did the entire race were the two race leaders and myself. Yea, lap five was just for the pleasure of doing it again. As I turned out of the mud for the last time and tried to shift into a harder gear, I found that my derailleur was so muddied that it would no longer shift.

Post Race
I rode back over to the parking lot and was surprised to find that my teammates had already changed their clothes. Was I really that slow? Probably. I had just done five more miles than they did and I did it at la-la pace.



They had been waiting around for results and were losing patience. After they left, the officials were still trying to figure out what was up with our results. The results were showing me in third place since I came across the finish line with the leaders. But they were confused because we were the only ones who had done all five laps. Once we figured out that the rest of the field had been pulled pre-maturely, they could post results. I came in 6th out of 9. Not too bad for my lollygagging for two and a half laps, I guess.

I also learned that the teammate who went down got help right after the accident, she knew that the accident was caused because she tapped my wheel and I didn't cause it, and she was going to be fine. Just some road rash and a torn jersey.





I couldn't believe how wet and muddy I was after the race! I changed into some clean, dry clothes, grabbed a bite to eat, and headed over the the start/finish line again. My day was not over yet.

Officiating
I spent the rest of the race day scoring the remaining races. As the Cat 1/2 men lined up the sun was shining and the wind had stopped. No fair! But it didn't last long before the clouds moved back in and the winds picked back up. And now that I was just standing around, I got cold! I had on a base layer, my official's shirt, a hoodie, and two jackets, and I was still shivering.



Scoring a race is kinda exciting. It's fun to watch for the racers and try your best to write their race numbers down as fast as you can as they go flying by. I especially liked playing detective a little as we used our notes to figure out which riders had been lapped.

I was super glad to get home. After eight hours in the cold, snow, rain, and mud, a shower has never felt so good.