24...or 17 hours of Great Glen...Yacky and his Brain.

Hi One and All...or one and only. Not sure how many people read this. Maybe I am talking to myself. This brings me to the topic on hand. 24 hours of Great Glen is a Littleton Landshark attack. The Landsharks had 20 teams entered this year and 7 solo riders. Team LBF was part of that group by default. All being former Landsharks we still run with that school of fish...we don't eat our young however. The weekend started wonderful, it was down right hot and sunny. we had a perfect camp set up on course, tons of food, too many support personnel and good rested legs. Jamie and I headed over to the campsite around 2:30 on Friday afternoon with a camper full of gear, food, bikes, Gofast and Jamsie. We pulled into the designated Landshark area and backed her into a prime spot Dave Harkless set aside for us. We popped the Specialized tent and I went to business with gear unloading. A quick trip to North Conway for a last minute anniversary gift for Jamie's understanding and darling wife Carol put me in a friends kitchen making 4 lbs of pasta around 7pm. We were eating at 8 as the suns rays finally sank completely behind the mountain of our founding father himself. We hung out for a few with the gang by the fire and tried not to burn off too much energy laughing. For some, GG is a party with a splash of mountain biking, teams competing for the fun of a balls to the wall lap followed by several hours of relaxing and drinking a few pints with other racers waiting to go on course. For me and the other solo riders a 24 hour race is the most demanding thing you will ever do and requires 100% focus for too many hours of pain and suffering but if you take is too seriously you short circuit in the middle of the night and fall backwards like a potted palm into the depths of a mental and physical breakdown. Its a fine line really and being the 3rd 24 hour race of the season one would think we were getting prety good at it...not yet.

Jamie and I started strong and pushed the pace with some really good lap times (A little over a sustainable speed but fast enough to drop all but one of the solo riders). We rode hard for about 3 hours when I noticed Jamie salting much earlier than usual.

Salting tr.v. When a rider sweats so much that a fine white powder seeps through and collects on the outer of his or her spandex. First appearing on the lower back and armpits then traveling over the entire back and legs. Sometimes seen on the face. Said rider may also be referred to as "snowy", "sweaty", "salty dog", "sodium boy" or "dusty"

I knew something was up when at about 5PM he started walking a hill that on a normal day he would have rode until about midnight. We knew he was losing the battle of Wilson Vs. Electrolytes when his legs started cramping a bit and needed massages to keep him going. Fear not I say...we may be losing the battle but we will fight till the end of the war. We tried everything from electrolyte pills to salt water but nothing could get in what was going out. The final blow was delivered around 8:15PM when Jamie stood up on the pedals, lock up solid, and tipped over like previously mentioned potted palm. Laying there in a ball of twitching muscles riders past with a look of fear cast deep into their faces and uttered the words "are you alright man?" Jamie was responding in winced monosyllables but I came over just in time to send them on their way and start kicking my teammate’s legs trying to loosen the rock hard muscles of legs Magee. What we found out later was the narcotic he was given for pain control (broken wrist) had a little side effect of dehydration. Not knowing this he drank like normal but needed twice as much to keep him going thus needing twice as much electrolytes also. That lap was tough, we stopped a few times and got in some stretching for tender legs and pushed through till the end where Jamie was to take a break, get a massage and ultimately sit out till the final lap. I was listening to my Ipod and Moby's Porcelain was playing as the verses sung "so this is goodbye" with a faint piano in the background I left my partner at the pits and headed out into the dark along and on the hunt. I chased the little puke that was 38 minutes ahead of me for 3 hours without letting up at all. I mashed the pedals over every hill, through every single-track and down every carriage road. At midnight I stopped totally spent, ready to get some good news. Something along the lines of "Dave you made up 30 of those minutes and he's looking tired...go get him" but I got into pit grabbed some food and heard "you lost 3 minutes to him and he's looking really strong"...we have just lost cabin pressure! I looked at Jamsie with a blank stare and promptly curled up in my sleeping bag and went to sleep under the stars with no intentions or desire to get on my bike ever again.

I was awakened at 7 am by Jamie and Joe Homer telling me I had only dropped to 4th and that 3rd place was 5 minute ahead. Totally baffled by the fact that I slept for almost a third of the race and was still in podium contention I donned my shoes and placed an egg sandwich order before jumping on my S-Works and headed out like a new rider in the same clothes. The good thing with being 25 is you recover from thing very quickly and with the exception of my grundle all was well in the Dave factory and biking was fun and fast. I put out three sub 50 minute laps before getting information that I was two laps down on 2nd place and 2 laps up on 4th with 3 hours left in the race. IE mathematically impossible to move up or down without a major issue like dismemberment. So I caught up to Mel who was the first place female and in second place overall solo. She was feeling the pressure of being on the bike for so long and beating so many men (not really but I tell myself that so it don't start crying). We rode a lap together at a nice pace and chatted about bunnies, actin and myosin and what the grundles were feeling like for a bit. As we came into the pit Greg was heading out, Jamie's legs felt better so he jumped in his gear and came out for the last lap with Team LBF. Greg waited for us after the first hill and we all finished the race together as a band of broken bodies that each had put a not so few miles in the saddle over the past 24 hours (17 for me if you count my little nap).

Have you ever looked back upon a decision made in haste and thought "I am such a moron!"

Have you ever been winning a race only to throw it away leaving you sleepless many nights and hungry for the next pain fest (24 hour race) to redeem what little scrap of hope you hold for yourself as a human and an athlete? Huh Huh...Have you?

"There's no such thing as a failure that keeps on trying" My cousin's lead singer John Popper