*Note: I didn’t edit or proofread this 🙂
I came into the 12 Hours of Road America with few expectations: I was going to ride hard, eat a lot, and do my best. Whatever mileage I finished with, c’est la vie.
The night before, I went to Sendik’s and bought more junk food than I have in years: cookies, fig bars, granola bars, Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies, and Swedish Fish. The irony is that I hardly ate any of it because I was too busy riding.
In the morning – we didn’t start until 7pm – I charged my lights, checked my tires, and loaded up the van for a trip to Elkhart Lake. It’s a nice drive up from Milwaukee, nice and easy on the freeway, with only a few turns over the 60-mile trip. My girlfriend and I drove up together, and we met my dad, step-mom, and friend Sam at the track.
We drove up the steep hill towards pit lane, and I was immediately hit with memories of cars and bikes gone by. I remember going to Road America as a kid, and seeing the Le Mans series race around the four-mile loop. I remember the Corvettes and Aston Martins and Porsches; and my favorite, the Audis. I loved the sound of the cars, how you could hear them coming from a half-mile away. The roar thunders down the straightaway until the car in all its glory appears from behind the trees. And in the blink of an eye, it’s gone, at over 180mph.
I never appreciated the elevation changes at Road America until I rode my bike around it. While sat on the grassy hill above Turn 3, I looked down at the cars and thought nothing of it. Of course, I remember the bridges that climbed over the course, but they didn’t seem too bad. But when I rode the first lap of the ToAD Juniors race in 2013, I realized just how hard Road America is.
After a sweeping Turn 1, the course bombs down towards Turn 3, a fast right-hander that can easily be taken at full speed. From there, you ride along the flats, all the way into the forest, before the road opens up and tips down Turn 5. The tightest turn on the course isn’t too bad on a bike, but it definitely warrants your attention. Coming out of the apex, you start climbing straight away, this time up a short and steep bit that takes you to Turn 6.
There’s another right-hand kink, then a slight downhill into a 90-degree left. The Carousel is my favorite part of the course – a long right-hand, sweeping bend, it’s like riding in a circle; but only two-thirds of the way around. The road dips down so that you pick up speed all the way through the corner, and come into the next kink at full speed. The backside of the course is dark and cold. No wind, no lights, and no spectators; just you and the track. At the end of this section is a right-hand turn that signals the start of the climb. Gradual at first, the climb isn’t too bad until you come out of Turn 14 – the last of the lap – and you see the wall in front of you.
Peaking at over 12%, the climb to the finish is brutal. And that worst part is that it’s not over yet. The gradient doesn’t relent until all the way down at the end of the pit straight. In total, it’s a 5-ish minute climb every lap, from the right-hander in the forest, and nearly all the way to Turn 1. This is the course that would become burned into my memory over the next 12 hours…
After grabbing my timing chip and setting up the tent, I met a number of guys from Project Echelon who would also be riding. I had no idea how much their presence would motivate me later in the night.
At 7pm, we all rolled out from pit lane behind a dragster-turned carriage vehicle that I still don’t understand. It had lights and people and a roaring engine, and I remember hearing it at 2am as it rolled around the track. After a slow neutral lap that nearly tore up my brake pads, we began the official race/non-race. It didn’t take long for someone to hit the first hill at 450w, and just like that, the front group was formed. We were going ridiculously fast, especially for having eleven and a half hours to go. We were pushing 30mph on the straightaways and 400+ Watts up the hills. ‘No one can sustain this pace,’ I thought.
I was mostly right.
In that first hour, we averaged over 24mph, which was way ahead of the race’s average speed record of 20.8mph. I sat near the back of the group and saved as much energy as I could. The guys on the front looked like they were absolutely crushing themselves, which is something that I wanted to hold off on for a very long time. As the time passed, darkness loomed, and fatigue set in, I knew what was coming.
75 minutes in, I really had to pee.
In the pit lane, there were tents set up all the way down to Turn 1. There were Port-a-Potties nearby, as well as actual bathrooms. All of my food, water, and emotional support was set up in stall 53, and I needed to make a pit stop. But before I left the front group, I thought about my strategy.
There’s no way I could stop, pee, eat, and grab water in less than 30 seconds. It would take me a minute or two, at least. With the front group rolling so fast, I knew it would be a huge waste of energy to try and close the gap to them with 10 hours to go. So I made the decision to get lapped – take my time in the pits, get all the food and water I need for the next couple of hours, and roll easy on the course until the front group caught up to me. I’d be a lap down, but I would have saved so much more energy for later on in the race, and soon I’d be back in the draft of the front group.
The plan worked perfectly. I was back in the front group in a few laps, feeling relaxed and fresh. As the sun set, the lights came on, and I’m glad I brought some good ones. Only a few turns on the course were lit, and the backside of the course was pitch-black.
There were few things to keep it interesting, to be honest. Headphones weren’t allowed, and I did 60-some laps in total. At a certain point, the cool-ness of riding Road America wears off, and it becomes as monotonous as running around a track. The front group stayed together (there were about eight of us) until the sprint competition began. From 10pm to midnight, there was a 200m stretch coming out of the Carousel designated as the sprint point. Times were taken every lap, and the rider with the fastest segment time would win the green jersey. It’s like a Strava segment for crazy people.
I went for it once, when one of the other riders in the front group (unintentionally?) led me out. I didn’t want to try very hard, seeing that we still had eight hours to go, but I did break 1000w.
As midnight approached, our front group was joined by two young whipper-snappers who had been riding (or not riding) easy for the first part of the event. When we hit the main climb, our group exploded. Being 4+ hours in, we had settled into a rhythm and were now doing 350-400w on the steepest part of the climbs. But for the few laps that these riders joined, we blitzed up the climb at 500w. Only one rider came with, and suddenly our front group was four. Our average speed went from 22mph to 25mph, and I just tried to hang on. It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy either. After a few laps, the young-ins pulled off. And then there were two.
We rode together for a long time, and we were both getting tired. It was now two in the morning, we were getting cold and hungry, and it was freaking dark. After a couple hours – yes, a couple of hours – he pulled into the pits and waited for his teammate. I kept riding, until taking a pit of my own. Things were starting to hurt now. I wasn’t delirious, but I felt like I’d been riding in a circle for the last 8 hours.
My girlfriend, Noelle, returned to the course at 3:30am, along with my friend, Sam. I hadn’t asked them to come back that early – they had left at 10:30pm – but they timed it perfectly. This was the toughest part of the ride for me, mentally. Already eight hours in, I was exhausted, but still had nearly four hours to go. I could hardly fathom the magnitude of the upcoming riding, and I needed a break.
I stopped almost four laps in a row, because I kept forgetting food or water, or to pee, or my light wasn’t working. Each pit stop was less than 90 seconds, so I didn’t lose too much time. With three hours to go, I entered the darkness. Not literally – I was already there – but in my own head. I didn’t want to ride anymore, I wasn’t having fun, but I wanted to reach my goal and ride more miles than anyone else. So I kept pushing, and instead of thinking, I just counted down the laps.
19 laps to go…18 laps to go…17 to go…
Whenever I ride more than seven hours, I run out of thoughts. There’s no thinking about the next day or previous day, about work or relationships, about something awkward I said or what I’m going to eat that night. There’s just…nothing.
I was hardly thinking about pedaling, and after so many laps, I knew unconsciously which gear I needed to be in for every single meter of the course. There was no thinking needed anymore, which was perfect.
I counted down the laps and kept eating every 40 minutes. Lots of Cosmic Brownies, and lots of Swedish Fish.
When the sun came up at 5:30am, the end was in sight. I felt better in the last hour, mentally as much as physically, and got on my TT bike to change up my position. I even sped up for the last few laps, averaging 21.7mph for the last hour. I was on my own by now, had been for a long time. I was lapping people from the front group all the way to the finish. It felt good to have executed my strategy.
I crossed the finish line at 6:59am, and could’ve done one more lap if I wanted to – That’s the last thing I wanted. I coasted back to the tent where everyone was waiting, and collapsed into a folding chair with a breakfast sandwich. I stared into the ether and could only think of having a nice warm shower. I couldn’t have done it without my friends, family and girlfriend. They’re the reason I didn’t quit.
It’s funny, what I did that night. I rode 240 miles in 12 hours and raised over $1200 for myTEAM Triumph. I did a lot, yet I also did nothing. I rode in winding circles for 12 hours, finishing in the same place that I started. Almost like riding a trainer all night. Did I just come up with another amazing/terrible idea?
