There were so many reasons why a guy like me not only shouldn’t have entered that race but also should never have finished.

But I did.

How?

• I made the decision to do something incredible. The simple act of making and committing to a decision may be the most important step in greatness.
• I researched and asked questions on how to prepare for such an event
• I worked very hard to train, no matter what. There is no substitute for hard work. There are no shortcuts to real success in this life. Nothing worth doing is easy. Get it? Great accomplishments take great effort.
• I did my best to believe in myself, stay positive, not listen to the naysayers and I asked for much divine help and guidance.
• When the going got tough and then painful on race day, I kept pedaling. One pedal stroke at a time finally led to 205 miles.

 As I finished that race, I left the negative reasons why I can’t do something in the dust of the Flint Hills. There’s no reason why I can’t accomplish great things anymore. If a short, goofy, not very athletic guy like me can do it, there’s hope for you. Just get off the couch and do something!

With the DK200 behind me, I figured I should also complete the Flint Hills Death Ride, mainly to say that I did it. I entered well before things got crazy at home.

Packing my belongings in many boxes, trying to help Jen make decisions about all kinds of things and just the stress of moving all took their toll on any training I may have done for the Death Ride. I got in about one ride a week for quite a few weeks before the Death Ride. It should be OK, right?

I have found that lack of sleep, stress and bad diet make for a terrible combination on the bike. That about sets the stage for my Death Ride experience.

Robert and Kevin crashed at my house the night before the ride. We all looked south that evening towards Madison, Kansas, the location of the Death Ride. The dark clouds looked very ominous. Madison was getting pounded with rain. I don’t have very good luck riding in the mud, and we were thinking they would cancel the ride. We decided to show up and see what happens. Maybe we would just pick up our t-shirt and go home. I read on their website that they ride rain or shine, but I didn’t want to pay for a new derailleur again, so I was skeptical about completing this one. I gotta say, I hate riding in mud unless I have a gasoline powered motor to get through it.

Here we are before leaving to tackle the Flint Hills Death Ride. Not sure about the placement of that spout in front of me there. And yes, Kevin is oddly tall and hairless.

Madison, Kansas It was pretty dark and the sensor on my point and shoot didn’t like it (noisey!)

At the starting line. I was thinking I would be able to get this 80 mile ride done pretty quick. I had some packing to do.

Kevin was trying to psyche himself up. I think I had him pretty nervous. The guy only rides like 800 miles a week or something.

Robert, bringing some culture and straight up coolness to the small town of Madison, Kansas

No, I’m not sure what Kevin is doing behind me there. I am ready to roll out into the steamy Flint Hills. The air was so thick I could chew it.

Kevin and I rode together for a short while and soon made it up to the front of the pack. I was feeling good and decided to ride hard. That lasted for a while.

Dirty Kanza riders may recall this tower now poking into the low clouds and mist. It didn’t take long for my glasses to become unusable. I had to slide them down my nose to see, a nice look I’m sure. At this point, I was still treating this ride as a race and I was doing quite well. I wasn’t feeling that great, but not bad overall. The roads were sticky, but not unbearable. Kevin is no longer in my sights. I think he was going for the gold medal. Oh wait, everyone gets one on this ride.

I felt strong. Then I hit this hill after a long stretch of muddy, sticky roads. They weren’t unridable, but it took a lot more effort. I had only stopped at one SAG stop for a water refill and was doing quite well on time. My attitude was, “let’s get this thing over with.” Not the best attitude to have. It’s called the Flint HIlls Death Ride, not Race after all. Things have been a bit stressful and what I really needed was a nice leisure ride with my Fargo to help me relax.

Pedaling hard to make it up this hill, I cramped up and had to get off the bike and push. I didn’t feel too bad because others were doing the same. I was a little worried about another day full of cramping though.

I had no excuse this time. I was good on electrolytes and water and food, but after that hill, I pedaled hard again and a cramp started in my thigh. Ouch. I tried to stretch quick and start pedaling again, but every time I relaxed my leg on the up stroke, my thigh cramped up to a painful ball of thick muscle.

Then I finally looked around me. I mean really looked around me. That’s when I was reminded of the gift of seeing that I have. I was ignoring this gift trying to be like Matt Gersib or something. Jeez, I don’t know if I could even keep up with Jason Mahokey let alone Gersib or even Wintle for that matter. I don’t think racing and competition are bad, it’s quite fun actualy, and I do hope I get over these cramps and become a decent cyclist, but even in my description of myself (thanks Gnat), I am a photographer that fell in love with cycling. I want to inspire people to get outside and experience the grandeur of God’s creation – the earth and our amazing bodies. I took out the camera and shot a few pictures. “This is what I should be doing,” I thought. “Don’t forget that.”

At this point I decided to ride up to the point before I would cramp. That meant just a little slower on the climbs. I did notice something on this ride even at this point of my day. I was crushing people up the hills. That’s good. Not that I could crush a seasoned racer, but among us normal people, I was doing pretty good. I am getting better. 

After the cramps, I noticed something else. I was tired. No, I was exhausted. A lot has been going on these past few weeks and it all caught up to me at around 40 miles into this ride. Then I hit this downhill full of big chunky rocks, sharp flint rocks, a washed out ravine on the side followed by a steep ditch followed by an ambulance ride home. I laid on the rear brake and after it dried off a bit it almost was able to stop me. I finally had to pull my foot out of the pedal before the ravine and I became intimate with each other. I decided I should take a shot of where I almost died on the Death Ride.

The one great thing about this ride, is that it is in beautiful country. If you want to see it, let me know, I’ll lead you through it for free. Oh wait don’t forget about the first Adventure Monkey Flint Hills photo-cycling tour on the weekend of September 10 through the 12. It will happen for sure, details to be announced soon so clear your calenders. Any ability of cyclist and photographer is welcome, but not every tire will survive. Fun will be had by all. Now back to the Death Ride.

The course for this ride was pretty nice, I must say. There was more challenge than the past couple of years I heard and it was pretty challenging for me too. Not that I am a stud (I am), but I do most of my cycling in the Flint Hills. The vast prairie was green and beautiful and the clouds were a perfect touch, not to mention they kept it a bit cooler. The humidity was hard to take as usual.

Somewhere after this point I was all alone pedaling in the thick Kansas humidity. I looked a the speedometer. It didn’t seem to be moving. It seemed like hitting 50 miles would never happen. Then I heard the worst sound ever, maybe even worse than Mikey’s whining voice as he screams at Melissa. It was my chain. The mud had dried it out and coated it with gunk. It was not only squeaking, I could hear it grinding. I was cranking hard up hills listening to the chain making nasty squealing and grinding noises that I could also feel in my pedals. All of this was playing havoc on my mental state. I still haven’t hit 50 miles. All then sudden, I no longer wanted to be on my bike. I was exhausted both physically and mentally. I had pushed hard for 40 miles and zapped my energy. But there’s no way I was going to finish the Dirty Kanza and NOT finish this ride, no way. I kept pedaling and thinking.

I thoughts turned to my day job and how I like the actual type of work that I do, but I hate the job. The ride had become just like that. I love to ride my bike, but now all I wanted to do was get off the bike and lay down in some air conditioning. I stopped to stretch, looking behind me I saw no one. I was lonely and not having fun anymore.

There were only three ways I could solve my problem.

• keep pedaling and finish this damn thing, it would be over soon enough
• get rescued by a support vehicle
• die

No support vehicles came to resue me. I have a feeling no one will magically “discover” me and rescue me from my job either. I did not die and I probably won’t escape my job that easily either. Once again, bicycle riding parallels life. Keep pedaling and this trial too will end soon enough. I feel my job is the same. I am learning and honing my skills. Keep at it and it will be over soon enough. There are no shortcuts to greatness. Keep pedaling and soon enough a new adventure will begin where this one ends.

Something great did happen though. I made it to the next SAG stop. Seriously, thank God. I was in a dark lonely place on the road. I asked for chain lube to quiet that demon that wouldn’t stop screaming at me for the past number of hours. After some work, they found some lube. That killed the demon of the groaning chain. Then to my surprise, my friend Sam Tovar showed up as I was getting more water and cooling down. A friend to ride with. Normally I am a lone cyclist, but I was really happy to have someone to ride with now. We started off after a little more cooling down and we rode off towards more hills. My body was exhausted, but the cramping only tried to come back on one other hill. We rode in strong and had a good, but tough time.

We hit another sag stop. I ate some pickles and a banana and made a little small talk with the volunteers. We were only 13 miles from the finish. Let’s do this!

This hill was steep. My legs were no longer able. I tried, but ended up walking up the hill.

There’s me, walking up my second hill of the day.

We made pretty good time and then came to a green marker. That means to turn left. We did. It felt wrong. It was. I wasn’t too happy, but at least I shared the experience with a friend so it was much easier to take. Here is a shot of Sam and a random cyclist trying to figure out why that marker said left. It was just a wrong marker. Great, we added what seemed like 10 miles on the ride but I think it was only three. When you are that tired, extra miles are not really what you want to deal with, especially because of a marker that was wrong. We should have went with our gut and looked a little closer at the map. The guy in yellow seemed a little madder than me, which I actually found kind of funny, so things weren’t too bad, we were almost there anyway, nothing to worry about right?

Then we hit another left. We checked the map. No questions asked, it was a left here for sure. When we started the race, the promoter said they’d reroute if it was too muddy to ride. Cool.

Then pedaling was no longer an option. I was trapped in a mile long stretch of mud so deep it enveloped my shoes.

It was so bad, I could no longer push the bike and the weeds were too thick to walk through on the side of the road. Happiness was now far from me. I was very unhappy. My light cross bike with muddy tires was getting pretty damn heavy. I had to set the bike down a few times to make it through the longest mile I have ever experienced. Man, I am really earning this t-shirt. There I am in the mud. Nice picture from Sam’s phone huh?

Yes, I finished and now I must thoroughly clean my bike, but I am moving too, and we have a bit of remodeling to do in the new house. Magazine number three has to get started too, Oh, and the online store…

If you are on facebook, it looks like there are plenty of goofy pictures of me, the new spokesperson for butt butter. The only picture needed to end this day was at Sam’s house with a cold one (or two).

Feed Your Monkey!
Eric

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I was talking to Matt, Bobby and Garret about the hill I wanted to shoot the picture on. It was the hill that I take to get into the Flint Hills. They knew this hill and let me know it is the first big Dirty Kanza hill and even these members of the insane cycling posse knew of its power. I didn’t feel so bad because this is the hill that sometimes slows me down to 5mph and I feel on top of the world (and close to a coronary) If I can keep a 10mph pace up that hill. That usually doesn’t happen. Even better. Dirty Kanza hill here we come.

Bobby seemed pretty excited so I didn’t remind him that this shoot wasn’t for a “real” magazine and that only 41 people would read it. I wanted to keep him enthused.

We had some great conversation on the way to the hill. Another plus for biking. If we were jogging I would have been out of breath and the conversation would have been limited to about four minutes. A bike ride is perfect for making friends and telling stories. We discussed biking, shaving, God, mud, marriage, careers and other things on this short ride.

We turned off the pavement and hit gravel. The road was packed down enough to where we could ride fine, but the mud started flinging up and onto everything. It was funny, at first. This is what got me into trouble as a kid. In the moment of doing something stupid, it feels fun and reckless and I don’t think of the consequences. It is an Adventure Monkey kind of high. I knew I was getting a bit muddy but I didn’t realize just how muddy. The thing was, we were shooting the cover shot for Kansas Bicycling and this was the perfect Kansas Winter day just like I described HERE.

We got to the Dirty Kanza hill and rode to the top. I felt the burn. I set my bike against a fence post, got my camera gear out of my trunk bag and instantly realized it was freezing outside. I was wet, muddy and cold. I rigged up my flash to use outside, picked the spot to sink it into the muddy ground and told Bobby to ride up the hill. This could be the steepest hill in this area. I was using my little Nikon strobe at full power and therefore could only get one good shot per hill climb for Bobby. This was definitely a low budget, high talent production. We had no assistants to help us out. In fact, I was so muddy, that my muddy gloves coated my nice camera with mud and it was difficult to even check out my images on the LCD of the camera. The image was obscured and I hoped my knowledge would get me a good shot. Good thing I was using a weather sealed Nikon camera. I will talk serious details about how I shot this later.

Flash clamped to the fence was too far away so I jammed the clamp into the mud on the side of the road with the flash head sticking out.

Just starting and still in good spirits

Checking the flash output while striking a pose

Getting ready for the first climb

Can't really have too many pictures of Bobby right?

Climb one of twelve - this one didn't make the cut

Hey Bobby can you hold the flash in your cold dead fingers so I can shoot the Fargo?

Pure Fargotastic

After counting the pictures, I made Bobby ride up that hill 12 times to get the shot. I would have made him do it more, but I was freezing and he started to cry. Just kidding Bobby rode that hill like a champion. Unlike the team that shoots the covers of Bicycling Magazine somewhere warm, we still had to ride back home in the cold mud. I had on my nice warm gear including shoe covers, while Bobby didn’t. I think I heard him say something like, “My feet have never been this cold in my life.” I laughed. More on the inside than I showed him I hope. I got home and looked at my bike. Yuck, it will probably never be the same.

It was worth it. The final image is sick. You’ll have to wait to see it. I have something cooking… tell you about it tomorrow.

Back at High Gear

The Fargo in the rack at High Gear

To shave or not to shave? I call this piece "mud coating on hairy leg"

What was I thinking?

I hope I didn't screw up the bike...

I bet Lance doesn't have to clean his bike(s)

I call this piece, "mud splattered backside"

Thanks for reading.

Feed Your Monkey!

-Eric

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