To beloved teammates, family, friends, and sponsors:

I have just returned from Whistler B.C. Canada, having competed in the World Solo 24-Hour Championships.

Yet again, allow me to preface this report with gratitude, love, and an immensely appreciative thank you for all of your interest, support, and encouragement. If it weren't for you, especially Jennifer Klausner (my pit support chief) and my parents, it would’ve been impossible to race.

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Just barely recovered from the last one, I found myself registered for another 24-Hour Solo event, only this time it was because I qualified for it. Placing 8th at the Monterey 24-Hour Solo reserved a spot for me at the World Solo Competition this Labor Day weekend at Whistler B.C., Canada. Little did I know that this was going to be one of the most challenging and technical courses I’ll ever race.

So Jen (Klausner, my pit boss, who will chime in to this narrative in italics) and I found ourselves packed up and ready to go. Resembling a Tetris game on steroids, my bikes were broken down and mashed together in a huge unwieldy travel box (which thankfully, had wheels). With three other duffel bags, we checked in at LAX and attempted to get past baggage security. Then the surprise question came from the security agent: "are you carrying CO-2 cartridges?" Of course I was (we use them to inflate tires quickly), but they were all over the place in various locations. We had already checked one bag through and sure enough, it had some cartridges in it. So we waited for an hour or so for the bag to come back from the plane just to remove three tiny, little cartridges. The security agent felt compelled to inform us that exploding pressurized CO-2 cartridges were one of the possible explanations for the infamous Value Jet crash. Not the kind of thing you want to hear before a flight.

We got to Vancouver and what can I say … absolute beauty! It was good to be back in my birth town, my old stomping grounds. We checked in to the hotel. We had an amazing view of downtown, the North Shore, and the boats in Stanley Park harbor. After a good night’s rest in a luxurious hook-up (my dad has good connections!), we awoke to sea planes taking off, running their charters.

We ran around town tying up loose ends, including buying new CO-2 cartridges, and had lunch with my dad. (We went to a nice restaurant where all the waitresses were apparently supermodels – the comical thing was how Dave and his dad both had the same exact awestruck look on their faces throughout lunch.) Then we hit the road to Whistler in our rented SUV, packed to the roof with all of our gear.

Only an hour and a half drive from Vancouver, we arrived at Whistler. The scenery was breathtaking. The greenest trees and most dominating mountain ranges I’ve ever seen. Winding roads led us through old Whistler village to the newer village where we saw loads of people on bikes outside loving life. We had arrived at Bike Mecca. (It’s official: I love Canada. No, really. I’ve always teased Dave and my other Canadian friends about maple syrup and hockey and beavers and the way they say "out", but now I realize it was all out of jealousy. Sign me up for that sporty maple-leaf tattoo – I’m a newly converted Canadian wanna-be.)

Most of the competitors, including myself, stayed at the Westin Resort and Spa, a beautiful hotel only minutes from the start line. As Jen proceeded to check us in, I took the bike box to the designated "bike build area". There I met Heather Mason (elite women) and her boyfriend/mechanic Wiley, who, as it turned out, were pitting two doors down from me at the race. I also met Justin Burger (under-25 men, 5^th place), who helped me put the Scalpel together. Cool people. I noticed that after the Scalpel was put together, the "lock out" on the Lefty fork wasn’t working. Somewhere deep down inside I knew I didn’t need it. (Sure, Dave. Is that why you sent me running all over Whistler village in search of a compatible battery?)

Friday morning the plan was to meet up with Tinker to do a pre-ride. Weeks before the event, through the wonderful family of Helen’s and Cannondale, it was arranged for me to meet and ride with Tinker Juarez. On a big road ride up to Mt. Wilson and beyond, we talked about strategy, nutrition, and bikes. His words exactly described how much I would love the Scalpel especially on rocks and roots. As for our plan to meet and pre-ride the Whistler course, Tinker was unfortunately unable to make it. I ended up pre-riding with Jen (who was on my hardtail) and Titus-sponsored Barbara Kreisle from Boise, Idaho. Barb was our next-door neighbor in the solo pits.

Getting lost at the beginning, we finally found our way back onto the course. After a very cool wooden-bridge river crossing, the course swept around some condos on a nature path which then launched us violently into some narrow, shoulder banging, loose big rock, technical singletrack with banking climb corners. We continued to ride the rest of the course, encountering more of this and an impressive variety of other trail conditions. What I found most exciting were the multiple technical tree sections: some with big rock shelves and roots strewn across them, some mossy petrified wood sections that you’d sink into if you stopped. Good times. Now let’s ride this over and over for a day … and a night … and another day. This is the kind of trail you ride recreationally or as a "one time" section on a big loop race. Not your typical 24-hour course, that’s for sure. Barb and I looked at each other at the end of the loop and just laughed - kind of the same way you laugh when your dentist tells you he/she needs to pull all of your teeth out: hahahahahahahahahahahaha … not. At that point we called it a day. I did bump into Tinker that night, and we talked and laughed about the course. I told him that I’d been having problems with my lock out, and he assured me that everything would be fine (meaning: you’re not going to need it … in fact, leave it on and hold on for dear life!)

We woke early Saturday morning to a gorgeous day and got a head start. I went over to the Mavic booth, where they were offering free bike service. There I met Karen who hooked me up big time and dialed my bike in. After a couple of test rides in the parking lot I was ready to gear up for the insanity to come. I got dressed, put on the mp3 player, and proceeded to the pre-race meetings. This is where the organizers make sure we understand where we’re running for the LeMans start and where we’re riding for the parade or prologue lap.

At 11:20 AM, we gathered at the transition/timing tent to be put in order for the racer announcements. One by one, they called us out and we all received a grand welcome from TriLife, support people, and spectators. We were rockstars. So here’s a poignant moment: as I watched the clock tick down to 15 seconds, I leaned over to Barb (who was staged right next to me) and said "15 seconds to insanity"; she replied, 5 seconds later, "10 seconds to hellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!"

BOOM - GO! And we’re off. I decided to walk the LeMans run because I experienced tendon and knee issues early on in the Monterey race. I did not want to risk anything. Twenty-four hours is a long time, and the race is not won or lost in the LeMans start. So I walked. I was the last guy out. No, second to last - some dude decided to run backwards. I sort of trotted in some sections. As soon as I got to my bike, I hit the pedals hard and caught up to everybody quickly.

When I made my way into the first singletrack (one of the most technical sections), I came up on David Leichman from Pacific Palisades, a talented17-year-old local guy. He was walking opposite flow of traffic with no bike or helmet. I slowed down to ask him what happened. Crying, dirty, and scuffed-up, he was unable to answer me. I simply put the pieces together right there. The guy crashed, lost his bike and helmet. Race over and not even a mile into it. I felt so bad for him. But I had to keep moving.

I opened the day with three consecutive laps and then settled into a manageable pace.

The course began to wear on my nerves as I approached each technical challenge repeatedly. Pull up, bank, duck, hop, slide it, tuck in…seriously, this was nuts! My knuckles and palms were white and sore and I should’ve had a mouth-guard in because I was grinding my teeth from nerves.

I wore orange lenses but could’ve gotten away with bright yellow. In the sparse exposed sections, it was quite warm, but as soon as you got into the trees, it became cool and very dark. We’re talking about some big trees here. I could’ve sworn I saw some hobbits and gnomes darting around trees in the forest … no wait, that was probably just the side effects of my brain being shaken around. And to add insult to injury, we were given probably the most difficult of the single tracks in the final Worlds Solo section, right before coming back into the pits. This was the last mile of the course with winding corners and tree root drop-offs followed by immediate banking climbs. I was constantly lifting up on the bars, popping over rock steps, and then shifting my butt to the back of the saddle in order to negotiate a steep drop or a rear "brake locking" slide. Sounds like fun, huh?

Nighttime set in and time seemed to lose linearity, along with my thoughts. (On an early evening pit stop, Dave said, "What time is it? No, don’t tell me." A lap later, when he asked if it was midnight yet, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him it was only10:15, so I just said "soon…") I had a couple of great evening laps fueled by fresh watermelon. I had a bout of leg cramps that were tolerable, not too bad. I would come in from laps and have the massage team of my dad and uncle work on me. My pit crew was a well-oiled machine. Even with the cramps, I was able to keep a good pace and manage the course.

It was comforting to know that my fellow competitors, including Tinker and Chris Eatough, found the course to be difficult. Although when I saw them out there, they seemed to be doing just fine. Immortals. I would give a "looking good!" shout-out and they both were quick to reciprocate the salutation. Yeah right … I guess they couldn’t foresee that I’d be tossing my cookies on the trail soon thereafter. I remember coming in from a lap and Jerry McGuire was telling me that I complete him, hmmm. And then I caught the aroma of hot buttered popcorn for the folks watching the big screen. That pushed my nausea to the edge. (Good thing you missed "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone".)

"Looking good, Dave!" Someone get me a bucket. I felt like Mr. Creosote in the dining room scene from Monty Python’s "The Meaning Of Life". "Would you like an after-dinner mint? It’s only wafer thin." … but I digress. I think my stomach issue could be attributed to the sugary sport drink I was using. Over time, the high sugar content led to stomach bloating and inevitably throwing up. After a really long lap of combined riding, walking, and being sick, I decided to head in for a longer break. But on that lap I came up on Brent Chapman. At that time he was either race leader or top 3 for our category, Solo Men 30-34. He had just crashed and injured the bottom of his foot. I walked with him for the remainder of the lap. After exchanging our respective battle stories, we realized we were both in the same category. That moment eased my nerves, knowing I wasn’t the only one with issues. We were able to walk together, calmly enjoying the stars, the stars, and the stars. Every once in a while, team guys would blow by us with the supportive "good job solo" shout-out. The comraderie, all throughout this event, seemed to be overwhelming at this point. Solo helping Solo. We both walked the final Worlds loop singletrack and safely got back to our pits.

So there I was, around six in the morning, sitting in my pit, wasted. I had difficulty drinking because my throat was acidic and scorched. I said to Jen, in anticipation of her shoving food in my mouth, "all I want is hot yummy soup". At that point, like a mad scientist in a frenzy, she grabbed some scrap pieces of roasted chicken, cold pasta, fresh basil, water, and a bunch of salt and threw a pot of Miracle chicken noodle soup together. (The joke was that I created soup from rocks and twigs, but that, in fact, was not the case.) As I nestled down into my chair for some soup therapy, we heard a little injured voice come from the pit next door. "I heard there’s soup over here." It was Barb, feeling, shall we say, not well. So we souped her up and had a good laugh as reality once again stared us in the faces.

Dawn was upon us. Another beautiful day was born. And in true 24 -Hour fashion, I became instantly energized. Healed from the soup, I was ready to attack the morning. (Oh yeah. Bring it on, he says. This was after the conversation that went "I’m not racing my bike for the rest of the year.") Our friend Timari Pruis, of Ellsworth sponsorship, came to visit us as I was getting ready. She was struggling to get some rhythm back in her race as she had crashed early on in the Worlds loop tree section. Her bar turned and dug into her stomach. Lying on the ground for awhile, she really thought her race was over. For many, it would’ve been. Tough girl. (She rocks.) So Timari, Jim Dover (her teammate and our friend), and I went out for our morning laps. We had all projected that with the time left we could comfortably do two more laps. And we did. It was phenomenal. I felt strong again. I was attacking the technical sections, making all the obstacles, and hitting all the clean lines. And so was Timari, who could’ve easily been in the hospital getting x-rays at that point.

As the clock approached 11 AM (which is the cut-off time for riders going out), I was a little more than halfway through my final lap. I bumped into Brent Chapman again. He had crashed, yet again, this time nearly breaking his collarbone. He slowed me down to inform me of his latest accident and to ask if I could tell his pit and TriLife to go and find him if he was out there for more than 2 hours. More than a little disconcerting. He was worried about not being able to hold on to his bars with an injured collarbone. He came in shortly after me. Way to hang on.

I looked at the clock as I finished and it read 23:28:51. Past 11:00! No more laps. DONE!!! I was greeted with a hug from Jen and my dad. Hey, my knees are fine! I immediately went over to a TriLife official to report Brent’s situation. When that was somewhat under control, I went back to my pit to decompress.

After some time sitting and slowly drinking water, I realized I didn’t feel quite right. I asked my dad to call First Aid. They came over and checked me out. They gave me oxygen, took my vitals and recommended that I get down to the clinic for a saline I.V.. I didn’t argue. Let’s go. An hour on the table, 2 bags of saline, and I was once again alive and peeing every 20 minutes. My dad came to pick me up. He sat across from me to chat as the nurses were yanking the tubes from my arm. We both said, at almost the same time "we won’t tell mom." Hahahahahahahaha. What a tremendous bonding moment for my dad and me. Geographical distance and life drama has separated us for a great deal of time. We simply haven’t had a chance to do anything significant together. Like Cuba Gooding Jr. at the end of Jerry McGuire, "I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry" … <crying> … ok just a little … This race made up for a lot of time.

Dad, I dedicate this race to you. If it weren’t for your incredible enthusiasm, devotion, and unconditional love, I would’ve felt empty.

I love you.

dp