Decision Point

The story of this year's Wausau24 really comes down to about 5 seconds. That's all the time it took to seal the deal, less than 4 hours into a full day of racing. Thank goodness, sometimes gambles pay off.

I was more relaxed than I've ever been, for any race, going into this year's event. Which was weird, considering that the cards were stacked against me in some respects: I haven't raced a full 24 in two years; I had double, fairly physical, tradeshow duty in the week leading up to the race; I was traveling and had shipped everything I might need to Wisconsin; the course is backwards from what I used to know so well; my dad was my only confirmed crew member, and wouldn't be able to handle wrenching duties should anything go wrong.

On the positive side, title sponsor Salsa Cycles went out of their way to help my dad and me make the race. The idea that I'd be back at Wausau really began to take shape way back in February while at the Quality Bicycle Products Frostbike tradeshow in Minneapolis, when there just happened to be enough space on our return pallet to fit a Spearfish frame, size L ...

I finally got the bike built in May, and have been really digging it ever since. Salsa's got a good thing going, at a good price point, and the 29er with just a bit of full squish has really taken to the trails of Tsali and Pisgah in a big way.

I've been having a lot of "Adventure by Bike", and when the folks in Bloomington asked if I wouldn't be interested in doing a small "Adventure" for 24 hours at Nine Mile, it was an offer I couldn't refuse!

The leadup week was spent "altitude training" at two shows in Utah, both of which happened to have plenty of Salsa folks around reminding me to save my legs. Taking their advice, I missed out on a couple of opportunities to test other bikes in their fleet, including the beautiful-looking Selma and the bigger-hit Horse Thief, which would make an appearance in Wausau complete with a Cane Creek Double Barrel Air ... In the meantime, the Spearfish, an extra set of wheels and more than 30 pounds of gluten-free food were on their way to Wisconsin via the Big Brown Santa!

I flew into ORD, where my dad was waiting; we arrived at Nine Mile in the late afternoon. My fully assembled bike arrived soon after, and I was able to get out and pre-ride with just a small amount of getting-ready fuss. As hoped for, pre-ride was horrible, with minor bike adjustments leading to swarming mosquito attacks followed by a big stick in my rear derailleur causing shifting issues followed by more swarming mosquitoes! Thankfully bad pre-rides lead to great races for me ... After finally finding good Mexican food (after years of trying, and thanks to the course guy for the recommendation!), we passed out in the comfort of the race hotel until it was go time.

Eat, get ready, chill out -- it's pretty rad when your personal mechanic is the product manager who specced your bike. And his riding partner is a hammer and also there to help. Tim and Ryan would prove to be the final pieces of the puzzle for my pit, and together with my Dad kept me rolling all night long. Then it was time to line up ... and we were running. I was doing fine until the turn, when I got behind the flailing boehmeth -- oh yeah, I remember this guy! Three elbows and a flinging heel later, I was able to get away from him, just in time to funnel into the timing gates and out the other side to our bikes. Our bikes! This is a riding race!

I was maybe 15th into the singletrack, maybe a bit more, with a solid but not spectacular start. I was determined to carry the relaxed vibe onto the race course, at least at first, and see where it would take me. Apparently, farther than expected, as I rolled through the second lap in 2nd place! Third, Jeff, had just caught me, and we chatted for a bit -- but Mike and Ben in fourth and fifth were just behind and were quicker on the draw out of the pits.

So Jeff and I rode in fourth and fifth for Lap 3 and most of Lap 4, when we caught up to Mike and Ben right before Checkpoint Charlie -- about 2/3s of the way through the lap. Mike was beginning to fade, so I made my way to Ben, who absolutely killed the singletrack and eased up a bit on the gravel. "OK," I thought, "I can play this game," and I shadowed him into the chutes.

And that's when it happened: the decision point. Turns out, we had put 2 minutes into Mike and Jeff, the next pair of solos, and as I rolled to my pit, a volunteer stepped up to speak to Dad and Ryan. "Did you hear about the weather?" she asked.

I looked at Dad and Ryan. "What?"

"Severe storm coming in."

"How long?"

"An hour, maybe less."

My lap times were 53 minutes. I looked at Ryan. "Do I race it?"

"Yeah, race it."

I was off. Our fate was sealed, one way or another.