140 Miles, 11,000+ ft. of Climbing, 30 Miles of Dirt

by Sage Aronson

 

In February, I get a text from my friend, “Hey do you want to do the Belgian Waffle Ride with me?” I do love waffles and can’t think of anything better than being on the bike. But it was $100… “You get a beer if you finish.” I was sold.

I knew it was a long ride with some dirt sections – but the official course wasn’t posted so I didn’t give it much thought. Prior to the race, Michael Marckx, the President of our generous sponsor, Spy Optics, sent a series of twenty “communiques” outlining and hyping up particular sections of the race in reverse order. Unlike other races where the tendency is to downplay the difficulty of the course to encourage beginners, the purpose of this was exactly the opposite. Here’s a taste:

Communique #9

“Added last year, this deceivingly difficult diversion, The Sandy Bandy, takes riders on a U-turn, eschewing the heavenly smooth and open road they just enjoyed along bandy canyon. Retracing the same route on a devilish dirt trail that is mostly, you guessed it, sand. Some would even say quicksand, and its depths will create more separation than the Bandyweg climb that follows. When you do fall, make sure to wave your hand for one of the marshals to rescue you. Anyone trying to cut the course here will be left to the not so swift suffocation only quicksand can provide. If completed, Sandy Bandy gives way to Bandyweg, but not until a forced dismount signals the next level of help has been reached. This sand is cold and gritty. Yeah, and it’s deep too.”

As the race approached, I was beginning to re-think my decision.

Due to some mechanical issues, I went to bed late and slept in. We got there with 30 minutes before the start and a hurried parking lot change (apologies to the old lady who walked past us!) we were on the line along with 100’s of others. I was 20 or so riders back from Marcel and Niels (my Belgian friend) and the start was the last time I saw them for the rest of the race.

There were 18 “neutral” miles. Perhaps due to the general excitement of the day, or just a general confusion with the word “neutral,” the average pace was just shy of 24 MPH coming into the first dirt section atop the Three Witches climb. We were corralled off the road by a woman in a witch costume and broom. I had a big smile on my face – the section wasn’t much different than the road. Barely a need to touch the brakes. Other than a dude who thought it a good idea to draft on the dirt, I was in high spirits.

Back to the road cruising along – still over 20MPH. My legs felt as good as ever. Passing people up the hills. All the Torreypeats I had done in the months prior seemed to be paying off. The dirt sections weren’t that bad in the first half. I managed to get a flat on the road as our pack drifted over a couple of mondo potholes – but riding back to the start, 66 miles in, I felt spry. Ready to go for the second half.

Around mile 100, my smile vanished. I had lost the pack I road with before lunch and was darting between different groups who were riding chaotically. Aid stations were few and far between and I would’ve run out of water multiple times if it wasn’t for the “unofficial aid station” of this one dude’s wife. Most of the time, I ended up cruising solo. When I came to a section called, “Meer Hodgesgate” my legs still felt good. But that was about to change. This section was steep, downhill, with switchbacks and rocks. I was hanging on to the brakes trying not to eat it on the next right angle turn, but not braking so hard that I would skid and eat it anyway. There were water crossings, dismounts, and hills so steep and sandy that you couldn’t stand to climb them (because your wheels would just skid out, and you would eat it). I don’t know how long this section lasted, but when I finally got back to that sweet, smooth road, I was wasted.

There was still 25 miles left to go.

To be honest, a week out, they exist only as a weird phantasmagoric procession of images: Riding down hills, squinting my eyes to try and find the tiny 8 ½ by 11 course markers. Slogging up hills, passing people who were switchbacking up the road. Coming up a steep dirt section to an area called “The Oasis” where scantily clad models offered me beer. Coming to face to face with double peak and a man in a full lycra devil costume. Summiting and just being ready to be done. Angrily realizing that the descent was all off-road. Joy with finding out the race was only 140 miles and not 143 as I had realized. Anti-climactically crossing the finish line. Picking up my finisher’s shirt and custom BWR Badass Ale.

And now a week later, I can’t wait to do it again.