Cutting right to the chase, let’s get down to why it has taken so long for me to post a recap of RAAM. It’s all about the psycho of RAAM: psycho-logical, psycho-nonlogical, psycho-tropical, and of course, just plain psycho.
The decision to stand on that start line was not an easy one. Of course I had completed some tough rides, and some tough races. I had a few records and respectable finishes, but the thought of RAAM took a few years to work around. Once I had decided to race, the actual entry into the race was made easy with the very generous support of sister and brother-in-law, Larina and Bob Davis who covered my entry fee. Yet it was still not an “easy” thing to believe in.
Once I was committed to the race I began the training process. This entailed ramping up my weekly mileage in huge increments. I was woefully under-trained, in my opinion, due entirely to time constraints. I was still a husband, father and employee – I wasn’t getting paid to ride, so time was at a premium. But I did need to train and find a way to believe that 300 miles a day was not a problem.
Enter the beginnings of the psychology of long distance cycling. See, the thing is, as you start to enjoy the riding more, there are paradoxically more situations that you enjoy less: your ass hurts more, your stomach fights back more often, the EXPENSE of your equipment wearing out more often bothers you, the boredom of the scenery grinds at you, the hours you spend away from your family nag at you. Well, I was entered into RAAM, so the solution was to sublimate these things and put on my happy race face. I got really adept at this in about Feb., when the alarm would go off at 3:00 am and I was looking forward to another two hour pre-work workout in the sub-zero darkness of the Tri-Cities winter. I got so good at putting anything but RAAM out of my mind while I was riding that I was able to learn a new trick: enjoy life to the fullest while riding. Which is of course the whole point of RAAM: what good are you on the face of the planet, breathing everyone else’s air if you aren’t trying your hardest to succeed at your calling?
Hmmm, what does this have to do with not posting a post-RAAM wrap-up? Well, it’s like this: As the training load increased, and the mileages increased, it took more and more effort to create that point in my day where I was “happy”. Probably a result of living under the influence of adrenaline and endorphins – daily life was still there, but only running in the background. I derived my pleasure and purpose only from getting stronger and faster on the bike. Not that nothing else was worth any effort, just that when I had given 100% to the day’s riding, I had taken a closer step to success. So, now that I am home and working and fathering and husbanding again it has been tough to re-enter real life. Without the huge bursts of adrenalin and excitment that cycling brings, working a whole 8 hours in one day is hard! I have been unable to get up and ride in the mornings – just too damn sleepy. I had thought of racing in Oregon this weekend, but every time I think of how hard it has been to relearn how to enjoy normal life I lose interest. So it has been tough to re-live RAAM without getting sucked into things that will make life hard to bear.
So, anyways, here’s how I remember RAAM:
Day One.
After the long drive down from WA , Oceanside was an interesting resting point. Crew Chief Alison took over my life and got me and my crew organized and checked in, through inspections and meetings in fine form. The myriad details of getting seven crew and one racer across a continent all fell in place fairly well. Alison’s people skills proved invaluable throughout the entire race, and her ability to get everyone focused and working on their jobs was a welcome relief for me. I was able to start the mental process of realization: I really was going to RACE across a continent, and felt I would do well.
I took a few rides in the days before the race, loosened up the legs, and made sure to try and eat well. Remember this.
The morning of the race start found me pretty well rested, and actually, sort of non-excited. I remember standing on the start line, totally happy – but sort of non-plussed. I suppose this was my brain’s way of sublimating the enormity of what we were about to attempt. And it didn’t take long at all for this to become reality. After we cleared the fogbank of Oceanside and it started to heat up I became aware that my GI tract was going to be an issue. Seems like that attention to healthy eating had led to one too many salads for dinner. Probably Mexican lettuces. It was many long miles later that the last of the lettuce left my system.
But anyways the first afternoon went by just fine. I remembered some of the route from the time I had spent crewing Ronin Keene (probably not his real name) two years earlier on Race Across the West. I was really looking forward to the descent down the glass elevator: 8 miles of better than 12%, and it didn’t disappoint as I passed two other racers, one crew vehicle,one officials’ vehicle, and finally my own support vehicle. Thank you Bianchi for building an amazing bike!
Once out on the desert floor I settled down and found my happy spot – about 85% effort in 53×19 -and just sort of waited for the race to take over my life. I remember darkness falling as we slid around the south end of the Salton Sea – and that is the last point in the race that I can honestly say I can put time and place into proper order.

Did I cross that river before or after I climbed that mountain? How many days out was I when I was climbing the divide? Was that before or after I saw my sister Larina and Mom? When did I start wearing that UW Huskies jersey when the back part of my brain knew my crew chief was a Cougar?
So, anyways, anyone who was there will have to excuse any discrepancies in my timeline. The rest of the first night went by pretty well, though we missed the turn to Arizona and had to backtrack a few miles. It’s interesting to note everyone’s reaction to these little mistakes. For the rider there is no point in getting upset – I mean these folks have all given a huge amount of their time to help you out, so no point in telling them anything obvious. Especially when the odometer in the Primary vehicle is off by so many miles. And you can’t get upset at someone who has willingly said they will stare at this for 10 days!
And, speaking of mistakes, here’s a couple good ones I made:
While pondering everything that could go wrong during RAAM, I decided that having a break every 6 hours would help me with the possible tedium of riding non-stop for 10 days. The plan was to have a break, eat something other than PBJ’s and recollect my courage. Turns out it was a great way for me to waste time every 6 hours.
Another big one: should have done a motorhome and two more crew members. We spent a fair amount of time searching for or driving to and from hotels, and having a motor home trailing along would have worked out a lot better.
Not training for sleep deprivation was probably my biggest error. I had assumed it would just be a matter of muscling through the drowsy spells. But until you have actually experienced the joys of sleep deprivation, you really don’t have a clue what you are up against.
So, anyways, I’m sure there are some things my crew feels they made mistakes on, yet in the end it is the rider who makes the REAL errors!
Speaking of sleeping – the first night I decided to lay down for a quick catnap. This proved to be a huge error – when I woke up I suddenly couldn’t remember why RAAM was a good idea. And I had to re-live the entire three year decision process in about three minutes in order to get back on the bike. I decided that sleeping really wasn’t that good of an idea after all, and decided not to do it anymore. Brilliant.
Day two: more coming soon. or later.
From a purely physical point of view, day two was exactly what I thought it would be – a geometric progression of misery. I picked up a ripping headache, could no longer stomach any food, and was starting to feel fatigued. Little twinges of pain in the knees and ankles kept me wondering if I was going to destroy some critical rotational joint, but thankfully I was avoiding any saddle sores.
I was really looking forward to Congress, AZ – mostly because it was the jumping off point for the first real climbing that we would be doing. The Yarnell Grade takes you up off the desert floor fairly sternly, and I remember hoping I would make Congress before it got too hot. Not to be, though, and I availed myself of the swimming pool they had set up at the time station.
After what was probably far too long a break we headed out into the heat
Well, we began our climb and settled down to enjoy the next few hours that would take us up to the high desert. After climbing for a while I was joined by Terry Lansdell who was out riding the Race Across the West course on a fixed gear bike. He asked if I wanted a little company or not, and mentioned that he had hung around Congress a little longer than he wanted in order to give me time to get up the hill. I quickly realized he was doing me a bunch of favors – on multiple levels: didn’t want to pass a guy on the climb, didn’t want to outclimb a guy with his fixie, and was probably climbing slower than what was comfortable for him. On a fixie you need to keep the cadence in a comfortable range – and I’m sure we were slower than what he was capable of.
We climbed for a while and I mentioned I thought it was awesome that he was doing all this on a fixed gear bike. Well, he proceeded to share a wealth on information with me. This was the fourth or fifith time he had been out on RAAM, though RAW and a fixie were both firsts for him. He assured me that once my stomach settled down I would have no more problems with it (and mentioned that any sugar at all is probably what had shut it down out in the heat), gave me a couple pointers on climbing in general, and also assured me that RAAM was no problem and that I would finish easily. We parted company after a while, with Terry dropping back – again, I’m sure he was just being polite. My crew pulled up and asked what we had talked about, and I told them a bit about it. Well, it really stuck with me, all that had gone on in those few minutes – got a little choked up to be honest.
After Yarnell is a much sterner climb up to Prescott. I was pretty well amped up after the Yarnell climb, and it went pretty well. I think it was somewhere on this climb that I began to realize something fairly awesome: I didn’t feel as bad as I had feared. I was NOT slowly but surely getting more fatigued, instead I was starting to feel …. OK. The headache was gone with no aspirin, my legs weren’t tight and sore, and there was a fairly deep store of energy available overall. So, while the climb was slow, I was feeling pretty good about it. I remember commenting to my crew how tough a climb like this could be – the landscape was following the grade of the climb – so every time you looked up you were still only a few hundred feet above the surrounding countryside. The reality was that if you had been able to see the base of the climb, thousands of feet had rolled under the tires. So, under some circumstances, it would have been discouraging to climb for so long and not get any spectacular views. But, I was starting to feel better, maybe I was even starting to feel good.
Prescott had a little challenge as you initially descend long enough to get comfy going downhill, then have a few brisk rollers to conquer. Then it’s out into the floor of the high desert with Mingus Mtn. in the backdrop.
We changed crews here in Prescott, and I headed up the slope of the Mtn. I was now settled pretty well into what power level I could maintain, so it was only a matter of feeding and watering to keep me moving. I was looking forward to the next couple days, there were a lot of great sights to see. I was especially looking forward to the descent off Mingus – and it wasn’t long before we were rolling downhill. I guess Sedona is the name of the town that’s perched on the side of the mountain, and it was a neat little town in the darkness. It was still early enough in the evening that people were out and about, walking to restaraunts, or sitting on patios.
Well, anyways we’re well into day three – and things start getting interesting: a forced sleep break that I belligerently ignored by staring at a hotel ceiling, a ride into a lightning show, and my blue-haired crew member non-challantly reminding me one of the most important parts of my plan. But I should go ride for a while. Maybe Pullman to find a jersey that I can wear out in the open over here in eastern WA.
Probably will make new posts next time so you don’t have to scroll so far for every update.










