24 Hours in the Sage 2013 Recap, Part 3: Blue on Black

 

By Scotty Mac

Night falls and things slow down.

There’s still a group of wild folks at the start/finish, screaming “FIRE BOOTER!!” at everyone who rides past, and there’s still music bumping on the sound system, but for the most part, the denizens of the campground take no notice.  The racer’s loved ones bid their heroes au revoir-but-not-goodbye and duck into tents and campers, escaping the cooling temperatures.  It’s not cold once you’re moving, but standing and waiting certainly isn’t the hot ticket.  It’s no different in my group, as my wife heads to bed after I kit up for my second lap, our daughter and son long since in the land of Dream.
Justine Gehrett comes in from yet another lap.  Her race partner/fiancé Lane Sherman greets her at their camper with a hug.  “I felt that one,” she says, smiling ruefully.  “You did awesome, honey.  I’m gonna go get one more lap, and we’ll take a rest,” he replies.  Their sense of urgency at the start of the race has checked up some, but not because they’re out of the running for a podium slot.  Quite the opposite, actually.  “Ascent Cycling” is holding a solid second place in the coed duo category, with no immediate worry of being caught by third.

“Sofa King Townies” is still having a blast.  Justin Holmes-Winters is out on his second lap, somewhere between the start and Brian Conley, who got a quick handoff from Mike Hartman.  Mikey went negative on his second lap, pulling a buck-sixteen.  He’s a machine today, cutting two sub-one-twenty’s on a fully rigid single speed.
Mandi Conley had a great first lap, coming back with a time just north of one-thirty, and she’s not just a little pumped.  I’m happy for her even as I fear my second lap will be well outside that mark.  Despite stretching, massaging, and Vitamin I’ing, my back is still unbelievably sore.  I am incredibly frustrated, but try not to let it show.  We’re in third place in class, the only team racing the men’s division as a coed group.  ‘I will get through this lap,’ I say to myself, ‘I will get through this lap, eat some good food, and grab some shuteye.  Pain is only temporary, after all.’
The food keeps me going.  KOA Dave and his volunteer staff cook throughout the race, changing the menu as the day progresses: burgers, chicken ole, quesadillas, hot turkey on bread, and much more.  Theirs is a rare quality; they genuinely care about their racers.  No agenda, no entitlement, KOA Dave and crew are there to ensure we have the best race experience imaginable.  It sounds simple, it sounds normal, but take a look around at other races like this and you’ll see the folly of that rationale.  KOA Dave is a righteous, righteous dude.
I’m walking to the transition area, my bike’s rear hub click-click-clicking in time to my slow gait.  Arriving at the timekeeper’s tent, I check my lights once more to make sure they’re fully charged.  I have the first full night lap for my team, and it wouldn’t do to run out of candle power on the trails.
Brian bounces back from his unlucky first lap with a second circuit in the one-twenty range.  It’s on me now and I set off, determined to pull my weight.
The lap is atrocious.  I spend what seems like hours walking, standing, and inching along the trail.  At the top of Hell Mile I take a breather and discover I can barely stand up straight.  I laugh in frustration and say something not fit for print.  My mood is not much lighter than the cloudy night.
I grit out a lap in the high one-thirties.  Brian picks me up as I come in, taking my bike as I try to walk without resembling Quasimodo.  My team is knocking out quality laps and I’m letting the side down.  Nevertheless, I’m stoked for Mike, Brian, and Mandi; they’re riding like champs and setting down times faster than their initial expectations.  It’s a beautiful thing.
David Krycho finishes his fifth lap as I get back from the showers and dinner line.  He’s got half the race to ride one more lap and meet his goal.  Something tells me he’ll do it.  We both head to our respective trailers to rest.  
Two hours feels like an eye-blink.  My alarm goes off and I groggily roll out of bed, stumbling around the trailer as I throw on my kit for Lap Three.  It’s 1:10 a.m., and I hear Mike just returning from his lap.  It means I have the whole of Brian’s lap to get ready and I need nearly every minute; I have to rehydrate, eat, use the facilities, and psyche myself up.  My fevered imagination fears I’m risking permanent damage to my back, but the rational, tough-love side of my mind admonishes me for being a sissy.  I must answer the bell.

David emerges from his trailer just as Patrick Cross steps down from his, and the three of us talk quietly for a moment or two.  We head to the transition together, and Dave slips onto the course as Patrick and I wait for our teammates.  Pat does his best to bring up my spirits and he partially succeeds as I crack a couple frail jokes and laugh at his.  While he waits, Pat jumps the fire booter on his townie bike and the crowd, predictably, goes bananas.

There’s Brian.  He’s done another good lap.  I plop down on the saddle, flick on my helmet light, and hope for a miracle.
I know one thing; it’s time to leave the blue thoughts behind in the black night.
Mac out.