​Personally for me, the clocks have been reset.  What would have been "My RAAM Story...  415 days to RAAM 2021", is now "780 days to RAAM 2022".  RAW 2021 is 415 days away.  Even with that, I recognize much uncertainty ahead even in those dates.   Historically pandemics have taken years to resolve, and I think the community has still not wrapped its head around how slowly things will return to normal--especially with larger events.  The economic impact of CoVID-19 will be huge.  Some of us tragically may have already experienced personal loss of family or friends, or will before this is over.  RAAM is already expensive and mustering crew and logistics for RAAM will only be much more difficult in coming years.  Perhaps it will be too much, and RAAM will have to be delayed, or recast.  Only time will tell.

From a practical standpoint, my training is still going forward.  Training is part of me, and ironically even though I have less focus now with everything going on, I actually have more time.  Just before the shutdowns, I had a string of fantastic 8-9 hour rides--although that 9 hour epic Box Canyon loop with the dirt segment was probably my last "normal" ride.  Like the rest of  the world, my training is on pause...and perhaps it's helpful to outline what I'm doing through all of this:

• The training volume is still about 18 hours/week.  Several years ago, that would have been a lot of riding.  Now its baseline.
• I've postponed the planned increase to 25-30 hours a week preparing for RAW 2020.  There is no need for this volume now, and preserving a robust immune system is important right now.  Stress is cumulative, and adjustments need to be made to account for the stress of world events.
• I've picked up the pace... my long rides are now 5 hours or so, but now over 20 mph (32 kph).  Ultra's are races after all, and this helps give me something to focus on when focus on solo long rides is hard to muster. I'm hoping in the next block to get back to 6-7 h, and maintain enough fitness to do the Hoodoo if that happens.
• I stay closer to the house, and no longer fill up water bottles at public sources.  
• I carry a buff to serve as a face mask if for some reason I need to interact with people.
• I ride in remote, unpopular areas.  Fortunately, Tucson has many such areas.  When I do pass another rider, I pass as if I have an overzealous race official following me looking for a drafting violation.    

I just ordered up the "RAW 2020" jerseys--they have a mountain theme, and the back reminds me of the profile of the Chocolate Mountains heading northeast towards Blythe on RAW/RAAM First Night.  One of my greatest joys during ultras is riding through the night.  First Night is especially splendid--you are still relatively fresh and it's a time that you settle in for the long haul.  You are alone, but still encounter riders, and can see the amber lights of other crews for miles.  At RAW/RAAM, First Night is the gentle climb through the Chocolate Mountains (a range few even know have a name) and the descent down the Palo Verde Valley to Blythe CA.  At Hoodoo 500, First Night includes two major climbs, Roudup Flat and the Summit at Windy Ridge, and the nighttime descent and run into Kingston.   Each is a special memory, and a shared experience by all my fellow racers.​​

​We will be back and the epic challenge, celebration of life and the shared adventure will be even more special when the time is right.  Meanwhile, all we can do is work towards being a better athlete, and in the process become a better person. I so look forward to riding through the night again with the sounds of the night and the hum of FOLLOW's tires behind me again

It's been one year since "Day Zero", the day I committed to training and entering RAW 2019, with the ultimate goal of attempting the full RAAM in the future.  Over that next month or so, a more detailed plan developed that included a 500-mile class ultra in 2019, Race Across the West (930 miles, 3-4 days) in 2020, and finally, perhaps, an attempt at the full RAAM (3072 miles, 10-12 days).  I was building on a successful ride at the Hoodoo 300 in 2017.  At the time, one of my cycling friends remarked that 300 miles was too much, to which I replied "If it did not seem like too much, it would not be what it is."    Now, two years later 300 and 500 miles are challenging but feel straight forward.  RAW 2020 and RAAM 2021 will be the next steps in the progression.

The plan is simple progression to longer and longer events, accumulating experience and fitness along the way.  Of course, like all plans, we had our detours along the way. After being surrounded by a few too many life-changing experiences of colleagues and friends, I decided to attempt RAW a year early, and DNFed in the desert in Salome AZ.  Still, it was valuable and the experience for both crew and racer will prove itself in 2020.  After the DNF we regrouped and completed Hoodoo 500 ten weeks later.  Most of Hoodoo went spectacularly, but miles 320 to 410 were a spectacular slowdown and loss of mindfulness.  Again, more important lessons and experience working through that and knowing that we can get my wheels back on and moving well.   The experience showed that at RAW 2019, when I DNFed just beyound Hope AZ, I was actually no where near beyond hope.

With the Hoodoo 500 finish, I'm now a RAAM qualifier. The idea of being qualified for RAAM is exciting and stirs emotions that I cannot describe and don't fully understand.  It is tempting to throw caution to the wind and line up for RAAM 2020. However, being qualified for RAAM, and being ready to line up in Oceanside for 12 days and 3000 miles are two different things. In my mind, RAW still is the quintessential prerequisite for RAAM.  Having the confidence of successfully riding from Oceanside to Durango in under 92 hours will be critical when riding down the The Strand from the RAAM start in 2021, turning right, and knowing that the task ahead is 3071.2 miles to Annapolis MD.  With RAW 2020, Hoodoo 500 2020, and another early season ultra in 2021, my crew and I will accumulate nearly 2000 additional miles of experience.  I will build another 19 months of fitness.  We will have 12 additional months to muster the crew and the logistics tail to follow me across the country.

• Feeding: My feed has evolved.  At Hoodoo, I exclusively used a custom Infint mix with 300 cal/bottle, and a high dose of electrolytes with BCAAs and protein.  Other than some comfort food, the Infinit mix was >95% of calories consumed.  It was simple for the crew to mix and feed.  Total caloric intake is easy to measure and monitor.  It worked.  On unsupported long rides, it's compact and allows me to carry 8-10 hours of feed without stopping for snacks at various convenience stores. It's actually cheaper by calorie than other mixes and bars combined.  Into next year, I'm going to experiment with adding the median chain triglycerides (MCT) powder back in as the stomach will take it and get the early bottles up to 400 cal/bottle.  The scientific literature would suggest that MCTs can be absorbed independently without impacting the carbohydrate digestion (see Jeukendrup 1995).  I think the extra 100 calories an hour will make a big difference later in RAAM. I've also added a second custom Infint mix based on their Jet Fuel mix with a big dose of caffeine to replace the over-fizzy but fun tiny can of Coke.  I was so impressed with Infinit, after being initially skeptical of custom mixes, I became in Infinit Ambassador.  

• Cooling: Staying cool across the desert is critical to a successful RAW and RAAM.  Living in Tucson, I had become quite accustomed to 1-2 hours in > 100F since I bike commute all summer.  Unfortunately, going in to RAW 2019, Tucson was unseasonably cool--right up to race week.  Mentally I was prepared for the extreme heat to begin in Borrego and extend a few hours into the evening.  I was not expecting > 100F for most of the afternoon climbing out of Oceanside, and all of day two, and did not adjust my plans.  For RAW, I invested in a cooling vest, spare inserts, and a dedicated high end cooler just for the inserts.  It was a failed approach.  The front inserts hung pointlessly off my chest.  The rear inserts quickly warmed up.  The cooler did not keep the spare inserts cold enough.  Basically it was a warm, heavy vest that needed a lot of attention.   
• Cooling 2020. For next year, we are taking a different strategy.  Lots of ice, and covering up.  The crew says they can supply as much ice as I can go through, and I will test that.  (They said that in 2019, but I did not listen.) We have an "innovative" clothing strategy to hold the ice close to the chest (watch my OhioRAAM interview in February 2020 for an interesting discussion on this topic and more with Shu Pillinger).  I have new white arm and leg coolers.  Finally we will try harder not to spend too much time off the bike and not get caught out between Parker and Salome at midday.

• Bike: My primary bike for RAW and Hoodoo was my Serotta HSG.  This was my team bike back in 2007 when I rode with Bethel Cycles team in New England.  I had some of my best racing seasons on this bike.  Serotta only made a few of these--mine is serial number #49.  The HSG was before its time as an endurance race bike.  Its been upgraded to a 11-speed mechanical Dura-Ace drivetrain, and most recently with a bullhorn/aerobar cockpit.  The aerobars and cockpit stay on year around at this point so that I can become accustomed to that position. The stock Profile F-35 pads have been replaced with Cee Gees Cushy's.  Lighting is all Light & Motion--bright, aero, compact, and quick charging. The L&M mounts allow me to mount a second light for follow-not-required races like Hoodoo, and for technical descents.  After experimenting with a noseless saddle, I'm back to a more traditional endurance saddle.  The spare bike, my Specialized Tarmac, just watches me ride from the top of the car.  I used to think of it as the "climbing" bike, but analysis with bikecalculator shows any slight advantage climbing is more than offset by non-aero position and the time and disruption of changing bikes.  

• Bike RAAM 2021: I'm hoping to add an updated version of the Serotta for RAAM, with similar geometry on a newer frame, an all carbon bullhorn/aerobar cockpit, and electronic Dura-Ace drivetrain.  I'm looking for a local shop to partner with and make it a very special ultrabike.

​My RAAM Story, Day 73, 580 days to RAAM 2021.

So... how does a business trip to Maui, a book about meditation, and 100 difficult miles at Hoodoo all converge into an insight into training, competing, and life?  One of the best rewards of age and experience is how, if you pay attention, you begin to make connections and build synergies between what seem disparate concepts.   For those of you that have followed my blog before, you know I often speak about how elite training and competition develop courage and character that enhance all aspects of our lives; that competition is an opportunity to practice these skills in a safe environment; that these skills allow us to build a path from outrageous to straight forward; and allows us to act like we have been there before.  

Much of traditional sports psychology focuses on emotional and mental control.  Techniques focus on specific behaviours and skills, such as leadership, goal setting, anxiety and anger management, concentration, and imagery. At first, these foci of sports psychology would seem to be in conflict with mindfulness--but quite the contrary.  Mindfulness is more fundamental.  Mindfulness does not attempt to control where are thoughts wonder, but instead accepts them non-judgmentally, observes them with curiosity, considers them in the context of the current moment, and then sets them aside.  Mindfulness is an environment in which we can immerse ourselves and assess and develop these skills thoughtfully, purposefully, objectively, and enjoyably.

There were many lessons from Hoodoo 2019--things to repeat and things to improve.   But most of all, I was reminded of the importance of a mindful approach. The root cause of my issues for that 100 miles was a simple loss of mindfulness.  I was not there.  I was everywhere else.  My mind was cluttered with negative thoughts, remunerations of the past, and extrapolations of future events.  Fatigue and my wandering mind turned simple events into a catastrophic Moose and Muffin story.  During an ultra, these feelings are inevitable, and through mindfulness I could have simply observed and acknowledged those feelings, set them aside and moved on.  At Hoodoo, that process took all day and about 100 miles.  Next time, I will have been there before, and will strive, hopefully non-judgmentally, to work through it quicker.  Like all things in life, it's a work in progress.  

Also at Hoodoo, I had my share of time in the zone.  In the zone we achieve a purity of awareness that goes beyond mindfulness. The zone is a wonderful but elusive place. Mindfulness, confidence, and practice are all prerequisites that allow an athlete to enter this elusive place.  When performing in the zone, the mind and body are synchronized, attention becomes effortless, and negative thoughts and self-doubt are absent.  We are on autopilot. In the zone the distractions and negative thoughts we observe, acknowledge, and purposefully set aside through mindfulness are now automatically dismissed before even reaching our conscious thoughts.  The zone enables optimal performance and is immensely pleasurable.  In the zone, we can challenge the limits that normally hold us back.  I have found that successful solo-breaks are always mindful, and often in the zone--just enjoying riding the field's legs off while race tactics, feeding, hydrating, and pace are all so practiced they are on autopilot.  There are no worries about the outcome, it's all about the performance.  In fact, the most important factor between successful and unsuccessful breaks is always the level of mindfulness.  At Hoodoo, that last 40 miles from Enterprise to St. George was in the zone.  

The zone goes by many names.  In the martial arts, the Japanese word mushin is used.  In the scientific literature, the zone is refered to as a "state of flow", a term first outlined in Dr. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's groundbreaking 1990 work Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience.  Entry into a state of flow remains a puzzle even today, with no magic key for entry.  Michael Lardon's book, Finding Your Zone, looked promising, but did not contain a key for entry into the zone.  Even in the scientific literature, the key is still missing--take for example Swann et. al. 2017 paper, New Directions in the Psychology of Optimal Performance in Sport: Flow and Clutch States:

​My RAAM Story, Day 36, about 617 days to RAAM 2021.

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.

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

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.  

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".    

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.

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. 

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, 

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.

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

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)

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.

During a nine hour solo unsupported ride, you have a lot of time to think about things.  Often I think about "The Why"... and it's a subject I talked about at a talk I gave to the University cycling team recently.  Sound bites about The Why show up in my story and my racer bio.  The interesting thing about The Why is that the answer is both simple and complex. Like the colorful shifting crystals in a kaleidoscope, the answers can seem very different and complex, but in reality they are just shuffled orientations of the same simple crystals.   

These ideals form a nexus.  For me this nexus is about developing the courage, the character, and the skill set to take what at first seems outrageous, and allows us to redefine it as audacious, then purposefully learn, plan, prepare, and execute. We make it straight forward. Straight forward is not simple. Straight forward is far from easy. Straight forward is not about the result, or how others perceive our accomplishment or failure.  Straight forward is what we make it with composure and comportment along the way.  Developing the ability to take the outrageous and make it straight forward is empowering.  It can lead to great athletic triumphs, significant career achievements, and rewarding family accomplishments.  In a crisis, these skills can even save your life.

I enjoy finding inspiration in unlikely places and different perspectives.   One of the views through this kaleidoscope starts with a famous football quote, often attributed to the great Vince Lombardi:

Most often, the quote is used in reference to excessive celebration on the football field, after a touchdown, and may go back to a Travis Williams touchdown celebratory dance back in 1967.  Humility, respect, and dignity were important to Coach Lombardi.  There is true class watching old videos of Barry Sanders or John Riggins score, and just flip or hand the ball back to the referee. Garrett Griffin's touchdown in the Saints vs. Ram's playoff game this year was such a show of class. Did you notice he kept the ball?  It was his first NFL touchdown and in a major playoff game, after playing on the Saints practice squad for two years.  Even though he really had not been there before, he had the class, composure, and respect that would have made Vince Lombardi proud.

But there is so much more in these seven simple words.  We do not forge paths from outrageous to straight forward in any endeavor without acting like we have been there before.  It's about much more than composure and humility while celebrating a victory along the way.  As athletes, spend hours training, preparing both our bodies and our minds not only for competition, but for the challenges in everyday life.  We train thousands of hours.  Training builds confidence in ability.  We prepare detailed plans.  Planning lays a foundation of familiarly.  Both are essential.  For RAW, we have a spare of nearly everything. We have studied the route.  I have memorized the turns on the unsupported 24 mile starting segment.  I know the McDonalds in Camp Verde closes at midnight, and that the likely looking spot to pull off 21.7 miles out of Parker is really a sandy wash. I know the average high temperature in June in Congress, and that the Bullshifters will have a refreshing pool waiting at Time Station 6.  I know the last 2.2 miles up to Fort Lewis College climbs 360' so that it will not surprise or discourage me.  ​All of this planning builds a foundation of familiarity that will help us to act like we have been there before. 

My RAW training has entered its first "Ultra-Endurance" block.  The weekly back-to-back >100 mile rides (typically 6-8 hours) progresses to three-day weekend blocks with the total time on the bike approaching 20 hours over those three days.  There is also the Wednesday 5 hour ride, with the Christian Cycling Jam Session! nighttime crit.  As training volume increases to close to 30 hours a week, recovery becomes critical--perhaps even more important than the training.  Come Monday, my entire focus shifts to being ready for Wednesday, and then ready and fresh for the weekend 3-day.

Masters athletes know that as we age, we can still handle big training loads, but recovery takes longer than when we were young.  What took one day of recovery when we were 20 or 30 years old, now takes two or even three days.   To maintain high training volume productively, it's a huge benefit to be able to enhance the recovery process as much as possible.  At some point, you must enhance recovery so that you can continue to increase training load.  I'm very fortunate to been introduced to US Cryotherapy Tucson by James and Lisa Colella, two new friends from New England snowbirding in Tucson, and meet Ray Rede, the owner of US Cryotherapy Tucson.

Dancing in the Cryochamber.  Music by Henry Mancini, The Baby Elephant Walk

The most unique therapy US Cryotherapy has is the Whole-Body Cryotherapy (WBC) in the Cryochamber.  Basically, it's a two stage walk in freezer--a very cold freezer.  In the inner chamber, its -170 F (really... -170 F, no kidding).  That's colder than anyplace on surface of the Earth! You are only in there 2 to 3 minutes, and the staff monitors your skin temperature to make sure you get the desired 45 deg temperature drop, and don't over do it.  Unlike an ice bath, you don't have to endure that shock-like gasp reflex.  Your head, hands, and feet are all protected.  The wool mittens are the best.  You dance around and act silly in there for 2 minutes, listing to your favorite music.  My favorites have been the Henry Mancini's Baby Elephant Walk, and Queen's Bicycle.  The chamber is pretty big, there is room for your friends in there with you. The cold shock causes your hypothalamus to react, releasing endorphins and norepinephrine to aid in recovery and reduce inflammation.  Blood is pulled form the extremities to the vital organs, then released as you warm up, effectively flushing your tired muscles with a rush of nutrients.   After three treatments, I'm convinced.  And... it is a rush, and it's fun.

US Cryotheraphy has several other services, the Hydro Massage Bed is probably my favorite, and really gets the back loosed up after the 3-day block.  It's a warm waterbed with jets that massage your whole body.  After the Cryochamber, its a relaxing way to warm back up too.  The NormaTec Compression gives a pulsating compression message, flushing the residual waste products out.  Finally, Cathy likes the spot cold treatment, that is a lot more comfortable and quicker than ice packs.

One of the best parts of the RAW Story has been the new friends, new contacts, and new experiences.  I would have not imagined having access to pro-quality athletic recovery like this.  Even on my first visit, Ray and the staff there were so friendly.  Ray showed me some of the technology behind the chamber--it's pretty unique to have an electric air conditioner that can go to -170 F--most WBC use liquid nitrogen in a little enclosed booth like thing.  Between the three compressors and the automated, remotely monitored control system,  the system was the most advanced air conditioner system I've ever seen.  The center was really busy when I was there the first day, and I was impressed that Ray and the staff knew all the regulars by first name.  It's a rare business where everyone knows your name anymore. 

I originally had a 5 week race block, planned after the first big endurance build to get the speed back in the legs, and to stay in contact and support the local cycling community.  Its a great community, with many friendships based on a shared passion for the sport and mutual respect for each others talents, both on and off the bike.  I ended up extending this phase a couple of weeks to include Tucson Bicycle Classic, a race I first did back in the 1990s, and one of the few races by parents saw me race at.  We climbed that same hill today, six times, and I remembered them on the side of Anklam Road with my young sons, who were just little kids back then.

With the race schedule, every other week was back to endurance, and I finally managed to get the progression to the 9 hour ride accomplished.  There is still speed in the legs, more than I expected.  Even at RAW, its important to go fast, and take care not to get just really super good at riding really slow.  Having that quality work in raises both the LT and the aerobic threshold, so "easy" is faster.  That will be important in 99 days.

Probably the most exciting development during the 113 day journey to date was partnering with Arizona Greyhound Rescue and Sol Dog Lodge as my charity.  Arizona Greyhound Rescue has been operating in Southern Arizona for over 25 years.  They are committed to the belief that every sighthound deserves a loving, permanent, and responsible home--their "forever home". In addition to placing retired  greyhounds, AGR also works with local shelters to retrain and rehome all breeds, and helps place rescued sighthounds as service dogs with individuals with disabilities and veterans.  Learn more in my blog announcing our efforts to help them with RAW 2019.

AGR had a wonderful reception at the Madaras Gallery last week, which Cathy and I attended.  We also bought a couple of prints of Diana Madaras's very cool southwestern art, 20% of which went to support AGR.  Sol Dog Lodge will be located just a few miles from our house in Northwest Tucson.  Sol Dog is expected to break ground on their new site this summer, and open in late 2019 or early 2020.  Just this last Friday, AGR closed on the purchase of the land for Sol Dog, a huge milestone for them.

Chevy and Napa already have their reservations at the current Sol Dog for RAW.  The current facility is pretty small, so its can be hard to get in.  The new Sol Dog will be much larger.  We will have one less thing to worry about knowing that Chevy and Napa at at Sol Dog.