Category: Race Report

To do the Hoodoo

8/29/2019

Last year's Hoodoo 300 was my first road ultracycling experience-discovering the pristine joy of riding silently through the night over distances that most would consider somewhat outrageous. After my recent DNF at Race Across the West in the blistering heat of the desert, we set our sights on returning to St. George for the Hoodoo 500. Successfully finishing Hoodoo would qualify me for RAAM, and open up options to attempt RAAM as early as 2020.

The short story is that I had 410 really awesome miles in a 512 mile race. Oddly, the difficult miles were not the last. From about 320 miles until about 420 miles was an epic struggle of self-doubt and self-discovery when everything that was going right suddenly wasn't anymore. My crew got me through it, and I'm sure it was as difficult for them as it was for me. We got my legs back on and my head straight for a strong final 90 miles into St. George, a finish well below the time limit, and qualified for RAAM.

Throughout my blogs I tend to use the pronoun "we". My only real job race day is to pedal the bike. My crew are with me every step of the way, following with a wagon full of feed, hydration, and encouragement. Their investment in time is a much as my own. Their sacrifices supporting my passion are immense and deeply appreciated. Every finish is a shared accomplishment.

My crew are with me every step of the way, following with a wagon full of feed, hydration, and encouragement. Every finish is a shared accomplishment.

My Hoodoo 500 Crew, my wife Cathy, and my youngest son Jack.

Light check in the morning on our support vehicle, cleverly named "FOLLOW".

The Routes

Both the Hoodoo 300 and 500 are famously beautiful and infamously difficult courses through the canyon country of Southern Utah. The 512 mile route passes through Coral Pink Sand Dunes, Bryce, Grand Staircase-Escalante, Capitol Reef, Black Rock Valley, over Bristlecone Summit and down Cedar Canyon, and finally Snow Canyon. The route traces every mile of scenic UT-12, including the 10-12% climb out of the Escalante River Canyon at 202 miles, and across the "Hog's Back", where the road is perched in the sky between two deep valleys and featured in the "Visit Utah" TV commercials. The major summits are mostly unnamed and include the summit at Roundup Flat (229 miles, 9580'), Windy Ridge (281 miles, 8410'), Bristlecone Summit--the top of Cedar Canyon (410 miles, 9912'). Other more subtle challenges stand in the way late in the race like the 10 mile/2-3% climb to the unnamed 6450' summit climbing out of Cedar City at 445 miles, or Hoodoo's last punch: the 5 mile/3-5% climb out of Enterprise at 470 miles to another summit marked only by a small green sign.

The Hog's Back on UT-12. Photo by Mike Conti (https://hoodoo500.smugmug.com/2019-Hoodoo-500/Mike-Conti-Photos)

The Early Miles

Hoodoo starts with a 8 mile neutral rollout as a single group containing both the 300 and 500 solos, and the 300 stage solos. The neutral start is a pleasant affair and an opportunity for the socialize before the racing begins with a rolling segment into Hurricane, and the 6 mile/4.5% climb out of Hurricane. Several of us it seemed were in a hurry to separate from the peloton before the narrow highway segment on out to the State Line. The new route this year offered a scenic treat, a visit to the Coral Pink Dunes State Park. A newly paved segment of road provided this scenic bypass, eliminating half of the high-traffic/no shoulder of UT-89/AZ-359. After turning north off the highway onto Cane Bed Road, the lack of traffic and Utah scenery was a real treat.

From a racing standpoint, a couple of interesting things happened along here. First, I had been leapfrogging back and forth with Justin Diamond since before Hurricane. Justin is a 25 year old former collegiate racer doing his first ultra. He had a film crew and drone along, and I'm sure they got some incredible footage of both of us. I was really impressed with his strength and pace--ultra is not a young man's sport, but he was moving right along. Also through here, Heather Poskevich from Iowa went by me like I needed an orange triangle on my back. I had chatted with Heather during the neutral start, and was impressed with her bike setup, handling skills, and obvious fitness. I learned that she had recently finished the Iowa Wind and Rock 340 mile gravel grinder non-stop in under 32 hours (see her Iowa Wind and Rock race report here). She was intending on riding straight through without sleeping. It was pretty obvious who was going to be the person to beat today.

Heather took a break out on US-89 and lost some time--I was puzzled when I saw her crew holding her bike and she was nowhere to be seen. I first I had assumed she had changed bikes and was still up the road. I don't know what delayed her, but she obviously figured it out. She would more than make up the time later. On up the road at TS1, Forschers Bakery in Orderville, Ron Iseri would roll in first, with Justin, Tim James, and myself all together 8 minutes back. It was fun to actually feel like I was racing!

From a racing standpoint the next 50 miles were uneventful, and my mind was filled with the wonderful scenery and the gentle climb to the top of Gravel Pass (7482'), After turning onto UT-12, I had a delightful run on the Red Canyon Bike Path through Bryce chatting with Tim James. Tim was riding super strong, but beginning to suffer in the heat. I remember he asked me what the secret to finishing this thing was. Truthfully, I didn't really know, I had DNFed at RAW, and this was my first 500. Sometimes the simplest advice is the best: "Stay hydrated. Stay fed. Keep moving." As I've learned, nearly everything in ultracycling rolls up to one of these three fundamentals. At the time I forgot the tip about changing your shorts--sort of an less obvious component of "keep moving".

Stay hydrated. Stay fed. Keep moving. And change your shorts often.

We flew through Bryce and exited the bike path... 142 miles done, 8:32 into the race, and we had less than 5 minutes of stopped time. Minimizing stopped time has always been a challenge for me, but today, nearly all of the feeds were handups, and we were hitting every one, even the double bottle and the high speed ones. Using an all liquid diet (a custom mix by Infinit Nutrition) was working, and greatly simplified feeding. Everything was clicking--at least for now. The first major climbs were just ahead.

50 servings of my Infinit Ultra1 mix, about 14,500 calories! This is actually my lighter mix, the one I used at Hoodoo is 300 calories/bottle, higher in BCAA and electrolytes.

The Tropic Canyon Wobble!

After exiting the bike path and passing just north of Bryce, the route hits the first major descent into Tropic Canyon. The Tropic Canyon descent is not especially a technical descent, but the upper part of the canyon is steep at 7-8%. I've had front wheel wobble issues before at Hoodoo, and they returned with a vengeance on the upper part of the descent. At one point, the front wheel was oscillating back and forth several inches and I was resigned to getting of much speed off as I could before going down. I managed to get the bike stopped at a pullout and almost instantly FOLLOW arrived. The Tropic Canyon Wobble would recur throughout the remaining miles, and I learned to manage it with a combination of staying on the aerobars, a very loose handgrip, and rear-only braking.

In a separate project, I'm working on my ultrabike for RAAM 2021, and testing a new cockpit for the Serotta, which will include a new Enve fork and Chris King headset (to chase the wobble away), and a conservative bullhorn aero basebar. Since 95% of my time in ultras in on the aerobars, and the rest of on the hoods stretching or climbing, I'm going to leave the drops behind, have a more aero setup. Enve is one of the few aftermarket 1 1/8" straight steer tube forks available anymore. Sort of ironic since the t-shirt I won at the Hoodoo raffle was an "Enve Composites". I'm hoping to bring a local shop to work with me on the final setup. Look for some Blog posts in the coming months as I build up Eric's Ultrasteed.

Down to the River and Back Up Again

After Tropic, the scenery changes as the route slowly climbs the multiple benches through Grand Staircase-Escalante. Each layer has its own unique color in the fading sunlight. The major climbs seem to have no names--the next 14 miles gently climbs 1900' following Henriville Creek through blue sandstone mountains cleverly named "The Blues" on the USGS topo maps. The spectacular scenery was only beginning with 3300' of descending over the next 33 miles to the bottom of the Escalante River Canyon. Here is where the real climbing began, with 5000' of climbing ahead to the summit of Roundup Flats, the highest point on the first half of the Hoodoo.

Cresting the climb up from the river was an epic moment. I had ridden over 200 miles. Our pace allowed us to arrive in the golden hour before sunset! Each segment of the climb was exceedingly difficult and rewarded by an equally astonishing view in the fading golden light. At one point I stopped for bottles to remark to my crew that I felt so alive--then had to move on down the road before tearing up emotionally over the experience. We crossed the Hog's Back before sunset--something reserved only for those moving at a pretty quick pace. The epic moments just kept coming. In the fading evening, Seana Hogan passed us briefly when we were stopped at the base of a descent. We quickly overtook her again as we got underway and the climb steepened. Finishing the climb in the fading twilight is one of the best hours I've had in cycling. When we rolled in the TS3 in Escalante, I had been on the bike for 10 h 53 m, with less than 13 minutes of stopped time.

Each segment of the climb was exceedingly difficult, yet rewarded by an equally astonishing view. I felt so alive.

The Summit at Windy Ridge

The TS4 at Bicknell (260 miles) was an expected treat--Starbucks Coffee (we were told he would have coffee at the prerace meeting)! We arrived just before midnight--nearly a full hour ahead of schedule. We found the official at the back of what appeared to be an otherwise unoccupied motel. I was surprised that I was greeted enthusiastically by name, and he told me that I was the first solo-500 rider. We took a short break and headed out of town. The next challenge would be the 9 mile/3% climb to a nondescript hilltop that I had named "The Summit at Windy Ridge" on the time sheet. Windy Ridge tops out at 8400', finishing off the last of the high altitude summits on the first half of of the route. I was still feeling awesome, excited to be leading, having no feed or cramping issues, and still feeling strong. The descent was incredible, blasting down the hill at 40 mph. I had learned how to control the Tropic Wobble--if I stayed on the aerobars, the wheel would run straight. Since it was a dark moonless night, the visual scenery had been replaced by the audible ones--the occasional hoot of an owl, the song of crickets, a group of howling campers around a campfire, and the occasional rhythmic sound climbing on my deep dish carbon wheels echoing of the sandstone wall alongside the road I had become accustomed to the periodic grown of the fan on FOLLOW, and the sound of its tires as my crew adjusted their follow distance. I could judge the distance back to FOLLOW by the angles of my shadow in its headlights. The miles flew by with little sense of time.

The night run to Bicknell. Photo by Mike Conti.

The Colossal Kingston Slowdown

One truth about ultracycling: Things can go really really well--right up until they don't.

There are some simple truths to racing vast distances. One is that things go really really well--right up until they don't. Until Kingston, everything was going exceedingly well. My stopped time was well managed and still under 20 min total, I was moving along well, had no biomechanical problems, and had been feeding and hydrating well on the new all-liquid diet based on Infinit products. The only issues I had was a bike computer that would not charge on the on-bike external battery but we had a spare. The night was still warm, as we descended towards the two river valleys that would lead us to Kingston. After putting on a couple of layers, we cut on over into Kingston, where the temperature suddenly spiked up to nearly 70 F. We gave it a while, then shed some layers... then it was 50 again, but this time it felt to me like it was 30. Suddenly I was chilled, shivering uncontrollably, and just shut down both mentally and physically. We took two long breaks without much result other than wasting time. Seana and Heather both passed quietly in the dark. It was a struggle just to get into Panguitch, still chilled and bundled up like it was December. Racing to win had suddenly become a struggle to finish.

While we were stopped, one of the relay support vehicles pulled in behind us, and one of the riders came up to the car. "Are you Eric Pearce?" he asked. They had been watching the run into Bicknell, and then my colossal slowdown live on the GPS tracker. I don't think I have ever received that kind of support in a race before from another athlete. They knew my struggle and were rooting for me. I was genuinely touched. I still am. It helped get me into Panguitch.

The final miles into Panguitch. Its about 50 degrees, I'm dressed more like its 30, and still cold.

Bouncing Back

It would ultimately take 100 miles and a good 8 hours to return to form after the Kingston Slowdown. We have some theories about what went wrong, and it certainly reinforced the idea that you should never, ever, let an tired ultracyclist get chilled. Climbing up to Bristlecone Summit would take forever, with all forward momentum you expect in an LA traffic jam. At times, progress was being made 1/4 mile at a time, with long stoppages, and spirited discussions with my crew about the merits of ultracycling. I tried to put my bike on the roof rack twice, but did not have the energy to get it up there. At one point Cathy said "Remember your dream of doing RAAM!", to which I replied simply "RAAM is stupid." By the time we finally got up near the lava fields short of the summit, I was coming around (yes, the crew was right, I was wrong--I was not going to die). Getting over the summit was a en-route victory bigger than finish. The 52 miles and 5312 feet of climbing from Panguitch had taken all day. I had survived the still unexplained mental and physical shutdown out of Kingston, but had bounced back, and was ready for the final run back to St. George. During the climb Jen Orr and Tim James had long since passed. Jen was struggling but moving purposefully and with tenacity. Tim James was clipping right along, obviously completely recovered from his prior difficulties. I had given up any chance of a win, or even first 50+, but finishing and the RAAM qualification was well in hand again. I descended Cedar Canyon, controlling the front-end wobble that still haunted the bike the best I could,

Goblins in the Dark

Riding through the night is an awesome ultra experience, but at Hoodoo, we only expected to do that once. After the Kingston Slowdown, we were 7 hours behind schedule, and the run into St. George would be in the dark on our second night. During an ultra, you see lots of strange things at night. Maybe they are not hallucinations if you know most of them are not real. At RAW, I remember being startled by the sudden appearance of my right brake hood running along beside me! Earlier in Hoodoo, I was puzzled that there was someone that looked like Mr. Potato Head looking in the back of FOLLOW, only to figure out it was my own image in the rear view mirror.
At Hoodoo, we have Bench Road. No one seems to like Bench Road. It's an out of character cutoff from Newcastle over to Enterprise. It's an odd 8-mile segment of featureless local road striving to become a highway. Even riding at night when the miles pass without a sense of time, Bench Road feels endless. The grass along the road is high and it is very very dark. The combined shadows from FOLLOW and my own light create all sorts of moving shadows that my tired mind tries to make sense of. I saw all sorts of things, creatures, a living room furniture set, even a group of Peruvian sheepherders crouching down in the bushes. I think most of them were not really there.

The Final Run From Enterprise

After surviving the imaginary gremlins along Bench Road, I was really beginning to feel back in the groove I was in for the first 300 miles. My crew told me the Ron Iseri was 7 miles up the road. I last saw Ron in Cedar City at the time station eating a popsicle, then he quickly left while I enjoyed my own big gulp and continued to recover, The chance at recovering 2nd place in the 50+ inspired me and I began to chase, hammering up the climb out of Enterprise. "Hammering" is a relative term 450 miles into an ultra--I was putting out 150-160 W at most. After miles of chasing I was about to shut the chase down. I had not seen another rider since leaving Cedar City. Finally, at the top of the climb out of Veyo I spotted Ron's follow vehicle, and we passed just before the turn into Snow Canyon. The crew had already given me my cell phone back and my wrist strap (in the unlikely event the guard at the Snow Canyon gate was there charging admission at 1 am), and I made the turn and went right down into the Canyon without stopping.

Coming into Enterprise--a stiff flag foretells the headwinds that would slow the final run into St. George.

Finally another rider on the road!

FOLLOW says goodbye as I dart down into Snow Canyon for the final 40 minutes alone in Hoodoo 500.

Epilogue

The support rules are such that the final miles at Hoodoo are alone. The solitary run through Snow Canyon and St. George takes about 40 minutes, and gives you time to reflect on the ride, and on the journey that brought you to a level of fitness, courage, and character that you are completing a 300 or 500 mile solo bike ride across awesomely beautiful and difficult terrain. And most of all, time to reflect and be thankful for those that helped you along the way.

Without my family and crew, none of this would be possible. The crew light my way and keep me safe. You share all of yourself with your crew. The ultra exposes your weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and self-doubt. When you are weak, they are strong. They remind you who you are and who you want to be. Without my crew, I would have been heading back to St. George in a car down I-15.

I am also grateful for the many individuals that supported us along the way: the other athletes at Hoodoo, tracking and rooting for me when I was down, and to Ian Scott-Parker who chatted with my crew outside of Hurricane, and the Hoodoo official out on FH050 who offered encouragement when all I could say was "We are contemplating a DNF". Thanks also to my sponsors and supporters back home,

Maria Crawford and her team at Edge Integrative Wellness
Ray Rede and his team at US Cryotherapy Tucson
Honey Stinger
Voler and Light and Motion
My charity partner, Arizona Greyhound Rescue and the Sol Dog Lodge
My dear friends Joel Thompson, Richard Rast, Jim and Lisa Colella
And my crew:
- Jack Pearce and CTS (Dirty Kanza 2014)
- Cathy Pearce and Karin Hibler (Hoodoo 300 2018)
- Cathy and Jack Pearce, Adam Block, Paul Rasmussen, and Maria Crawford (RAW 2019)
- Cathy and Jack Pearce (Hoodoo 500 2019)

Tonight I end this blog with a new byline... the thought of continuing to pursue the dream of racing 3000 miles across this country is humbling. The idea of being qualified to proceed is exciting and stirs emotions that I cannot describe and don't fully understand. However, being qualified for RAAM, and being ready to line up in Oceanside for 12 days and 3000 miles are two different things. The real work towards being ready to credibly roll down The Strand and make that right turn onto Surfrider Way towards Annapolis Maryland is still ahead. I invite you to follow along.

Being qualified for RAAM, and being ready to line up in Oceanside for 12 days and 3000 miles are two different things. The real work towards being ready to credibly roll down The Strand and make that right turn onto Surfrider Way towards Annapolis Maryland is still ahead.

My RAAM Story, Day 1, about 652 days to RAAM 2021.

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341 Miles from Oceanside to just beyond Hope

6/28/2019

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It's been two weeks since RAW 2019, and I am still sorting it all out in my head. After 16 days of ruminating experiences, the epic moments, disappointments, and lessons are being to organize themselves in my head. RAW (and I imagine one day the RAAM), is an adventure like no other. The race is colossally difficult and epic in proportions--full of extremes and beyond superlatives. It has left me full of complex and ambiguous feelings. I felt incredibly empowered, rolling across vast distances in the darkness, guided by the lights of my support vehicle and following the white line and flashing amber lights of other racers ahead. I rode through the night and had blissful descent down the moonlit Palo Verde Valley into Blythe CA. I ate the best ice cream cone ever sitting under a scrawny tree in Parker AZ. l felt totally defeated in the searing 115 degree desert heat like a withered houseplant someone forgot to water. Riding 341 miles across the Mojave and Sonoran Deserts, more or less non-stop, most of it in 100+ degree heat feels like a grand accomplishment and a disappointing defeat at the same time.

Experience was gained and lessons learned both about the challenge of RAW and about myself. I am impressed and humbled by the other athletes, those that finished, and those that did not. I am in awe of the dedicated crew members that followed their riders, watching over them, lighting their way, motivating them when they were down, and taking them home. I feel compelled to return to Oceanside in 2020.

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Reflections on the Gila... and the final push to RAW

5/6/2019

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This weekend I competed in my fifth Tour of the Gila--and completed my third. The Gila is a most special race, one of the last remaining amateur five day stage races in the country. Simply put, it is iconic. No other race holds the same emotional attachment to me than Gila. For older masters athletes, the race is especially tough, as we race in a combined 40+ field. The stage distances are more typical of Cat 2 racing. To put Gila into perspective, compare it to the two major Arizona stage races, Valley of the Sun (VoS), and the Tucson Bicycle Classic (TBC). The criterium at Gila has more climbing than all three stages of VoS. Any one of the three road stages at Gila are nearly as long, or longer than all the stages of VoS or TBC combined. Don't forget the altitude, the Gila low point is about 5700', and the climbs twice to over 7400'. The Stage 1 summit finish at Mogollon is at the top of final 1700' climb from Whitewater Mesa. Gila has it all, epic climbs, exhilarating descents. beautiful scenery, open roads, and fantastic support. Gila is selective, like bike racing ought to be. Most of all, Gila has a sense of community surrounding it, from the locals you chat with at the coffee shops, the race director mingling through the peloton at the start and shaking your hand, and catching up with fellow racers from all over the region that come to this unique venue. It's not hype to say that the Tour of the Gila is a national treasure of amateur bike racing.

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Hoodoo 300 Revisited

12/27/2018

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This recap of my second ultracycling race, the Hoodoo 300 in August 2018, was originally posted on the Tucson Masters Cycling website shortly after the event. Its been expanded a bit here and some additional photos and retrospective observations added. Hoodoo was a great event and experience, and was the catalyst for re-energizing my dream of attempting RAAM someday.

As many of you know, all summer long I’ve been starting the team rides early, and finishing late, training for my first ultra-cycling event, the Hoodoo 300, up in St. George UT. This was my first real ultra–I did Dirty Kanza back in 2014 (203 miles on gravel in 14 hours). I was excited about a new challenge. The route includes 309 miles across some of the best scenery in Utah and extreme northern Arizona, with 17,000 feet of climbing.

The first 80 miles St. George to Fredonia were the toughest. It’s a pretty good climb at 28 miles out of Hurricane, then 50 miles of narrow, busy highway, and a nagging head-breeze. It was frustrating, but the locals had told me the winds would shift heading north out of Fredonia through Kanab–they sort of did. I breezed through the first time check, Cathy checked me in and I picked up the tailwind to Kanab. Finally 7:31 into the ride, I crested Gravel Pass (7460′), and picked up the tailwind again and long gentle descent into Panguith and Time Station 2.

The Hoodoo Start/Finish Line set up in the hotel canopy the day before the event.

I had a soft rear tire at the top of the climb out of Hurricane, but the radio worked, and the crew was ready for a quick wheel change at the first support point. Unfortunately, the spacing on my spare wheels is not identical, and there were several stops to adjust the derailleur, before changing back to the primary wheel. Another lesson... take the time and get the wheel change right. Second lesson, if possible, have identical spare wheels.

I also owe a thanks to Colin Ng's crew, who took the time to help Cathy repair the flat, and get the primary wheel back up and ready so they could all keep chasing us down the road towards Fredonia. Crew help crew... it's a great sense of sportsmanship out there.

Leaving Panguitch (156 miles), there is a tough little climb as you gain 2000′ up into the mountains heading toward Duck Creek. Bill Packard (Phoenix) and I must have passed each other 6 or 8 times through here as we both suffered a bit and had to stop for food. Bill had been hovering 3 minutes up on me most of the last 160 miles

The climb to Duck Creek was the first departure from the 100% energy food. To this point, I had been on a steady diet of Clif Bars and "Hoodoo CytoBottles". A Hoodoo CytoBottle was 24 oz of water with two scoops of Cytomax and one scoop of Cytocarb (pure maltodextrin). They tasted sort of like hummingbird food, and at 230 calories a bottle, was the most calories I could get into a drinkable bottle. I had not developed the 40% calories by fat approach at that point and I believe the cravings for "real food" were the result. My crew also shared half a Subway turkey sandwich, which was a nice change to fresh food. Some cantaloupe helped hold off some cramps. I have no idea where the crew came up with cantaloupe--they were awesome.

Turning left towards Mammoth Creek, we joined the Tour of Utah Stage 2 route. I picked up a baggie of potato chips from my crew, and started down the Black Rock Canyon descent, named for the young lava flow defining the left side of the road. I was in a rush by this point, hoping to summit the top of Cedar Canyon so I could descend into Cedar City before dark. Descending Black Rock Canyon at 35-40 mph, eating potato chips, I looked to the left and there was the cliffs in Bryce Canyon, brightly lit with the red sunset across a huge meadow with a herd of antelope! Epic… 180 miles, 11 hours on the bike, descending into the evening, 57 years old, still moving well and feeling good, wildlife, awesome scenery. That made the top ten list.

I stopped and mounted up the lights at the top of Cedar Canyon right at the Tour of Utah KOM line, and started down the hill. I’d easily make Cedar City, 18 miles, and 3200 feet down, by dark. There is really only one technical turn on the descent, the S turn someone ironically at Mile Post 13. Safely around that, another epic view with the steep rocky slope of Blowhard Mountain deep red in the setting sun… another 45 mph quick view and epic moment. Unfortunately, on the descent, the crew went ahead and stopped to put the “orange triangle” on the back of the car, and did not see me fly by at 45 mph. They wait, thought I crashed or flatted, and went back up looking for me. I kept wondering what was taking them so long. No cell phone (my was charging in the car and there was no coverage in the Canyon), no radio. We lost nearly half an hour finding each other at the unmanned Time Station in Cedar City (basically a Chevron parking lot).

The spectacular descent of Cedar Canyon in twilight. My support crew, still in leapfrog mode, could not get around me.

There are several lessons here looking forward to RAW. Scouting the route via Google, I knew the descent well. I knew it was non-technical, except for the double hairpin at milepost 13. I had watched the pro field at the Tour of Utah come around the same corners, overcooking the second, in the recent TV coverage of the ToU. The detailed time sheet helped ensure we got the top of the descent before dark and descended in daylight. Planning pays off.

The harder lesson showed the importance of rider/crew communications. Communication mistakes cost half an hour in Cedar City and created a considerable amount of stress and worry about each other mid-race. I tried to make the most of the time, eating what I had left, changing clothes. I should have had a token amount of money. If you pass your crew, always make sure they see you! During leapfrog support, always have a cell phone with you. Be prepared to use a race monitor at home as a single point of contact--they could see my position on the GPS tracker and relate it to my crew, even if I could not reach the crew. Overall, we had way too much stopped time at Hoodoo. We are working on that for RAW.

The crew finally arrived, more bottles, more snacks, and I headed out solo, while they crew got gas, and had the most delightful time blasting down the gentle descent toward Newcastle. This was the first moment where I was really certain I had this-I would finish. Soon, the radio announced the crew had rejoined, and they took up follow, with twin orange lights on the roof, and the slow moving triangle. Oddly, Henry Mancini’s “Baby Elephant Walk” popped into my head. It would become a bit of a touchstone keeping me rolling through the night, over the final two climbs, and back into St. George. It’s a great little tune.

Over the next 4 hours, Enterprise, Central, Veyo, and two unnamed summits just seemed to pass with little effort and little perception of time. In the bright moonlight, I could see the terrain ahead, but little else. At 1:40 am, we reached to top of Snow Canyon, 295 miles. From here, the crew had to leave me to my own for the final 14 miles down Snow Canyon and the final dash across St. George (race permits did not allow cars in Snow Canyon). It was somehow fitting to cover the last 34 minutes solo, unsupported, with the Baby Elephant Walk still in my head.

As with Kanza, I found that I could quickly get my mind out of thinking “its just another 240 miles…”, and framed it as getting to the next town, the next checkpoint, the next landmark. The time passed quickly and the training made it actually feel pretty straight forward. Sure, there was cramps to manage, the scary 30 min miscommunication with the crew descending Cedar Canyon when we lost each other, and two sandwich stops, but all in all, I felt good and strong to the end. In my mind, I have a list of 10 or so “epic moments” in cycling, ranging from solo breakaways in major races, to private more retrospective moments that just put a kid like smile on my face. At least two of those moments have been added to the list from The Hoodoo.

Night direct follow, shortly after midnight after almost 17 hours of riding. Only 2 hours to go.

We had a great lighting approach to Hoodoo. I have commuted at night for 30 years, and had a lot of experience with it. For daylight, I had two Cygolite Hotshot Pro 150s on the rear and a Cygolite Dash Pro 600 on the front. You cannot beat the Dash 600 as a daylight beacon. Its bright enough to get by at night if need be. On the front after dark we had a Niterider Pro 2800 Enduro. The Enduro batteries have a USB port, and allowed me to charge my Wahoo bike computer, and keep the backlight on. I also had a Niterider Lumina OLED 1100 on my helmet. It was the backup light (at Hoodoo, direct follow is not required, and with redundant lights you can make your own way at night as we did briefly out of Panguitch). The helmet mounted light also let me look around, and encouraged me to move my neck and not stay stuck on a single spot in front of me.

For RAW, daylight safety will be more important, and since nighttime follow is required, we will have a single front light, but enough to get me down the descents near Prescott if out outrun the vehicle briefly. On bike charging of the communication system and bike computer will also be critical.

Ultracycling is pretty grass roots. Nine solo racers started the 300 (actually 309) mile event, and 11 started the 500 (actually 532.6 miles, that seems to be an ultra thing, whats another 10 or 30 miles after all). We had only two DNFs and one DNS in the 300, but the 500 was cruel, leaving only four solo finishers, and seven DNFs. Ouch. The finish is anticlimatic to say the least. My crew, and the race director meeting me at the finish, which was set up right outside the lobby door at the otherwise quiet hotel.
My crew was awesome. As hard as 19 h on the bike might been, 19 h of driving across Utah 10 miles at a time, looking for places to pull off, mixing drinks, shopping for food cravings, and then following at night for 120 miles at 18 mph is not easy either. Cathy, my wife, and her sister did a fantastic job. The Tucson Masters Cycling support training, and Joel’s help tricking out the car with signs and lights is deeply appreciated. I’ll be back… 500 next year (actually 532.6) [note: that plan changed... now its RAW 2019!]. That will push beyond 24 h and through a sleep cycle–there are sure to be new challenges and personal discoveries there. And, more epic moments await.

After 19 hours and 309 miles, the 2 am finish is rather unembellished ending.

Looking back, Hoodoo was a great confidence builder. Finishing my first 300+ mile seemed to most be to an audacious goal. I remember telling a racing friend of mine who said it "seemed like too much", that if it did not seem like too much, it would not be what it is". Planning, preparation, and execution led to a successful ride. My original plan to do Hoodoo 500 in 2019, RAW in 2020, and RAAM in 2021 was accelerated as a result. Now the goal is RAW 2019.

My RAW Story, Day 47. 165 days, 17 hours to RAW 2019.

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To do the Hoodoo

The Routes

The Early Miles

The Tropic Canyon Wobble!

Down to the River and Back Up Again

The Summit at Windy Ridge

The Colossal Kingston Slowdown

Bouncing Back

Goblins in the Dark

The Final Run From Enterprise

Epilogue

341 Miles from Oceanside to just beyond Hope

Reflections on the Gila... and the final push to RAW

Hoodoo 300 Revisited

Eric Pearce

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