Drake Does Davis Double

38th Annual Davis Double Century
Davis, CA
May 19, 2007
Weather: 52F am to 85F pm
Field: ~900
Course: 200 miles, 8000+ ft elevation gain

There are certain distance thresholds in conventional ground-based travel which, when reached, one looks for a faster or more efficient alternative. This holds true for all forms of transportation, albeit with a great deal of overlap based on myriad factors. As for my personal threshold with my favorite mode, it's generally been around the hundred mile mark, give or take 25 miles for either racing or training. Above that threshold I tend to get that not-so-fresh feeling and am ready to stow the bike for another day and sit on the couch, eat, and stare at some inanely soothing television programming. But with my race season getting off to a late start followed immediately by a slow decline in performance, I decided I needed to shake up some of my conventional thresholds.

I can tell you with a wide margin of error that before Saturday I'd never reeeally considered riding a bike for 150 miles let alone 200. A couple times I hit the 120ish mile mark. Once after riding back home from the Mt Hamilton Road Race in preparation for the SF Grand Prix and one other time some years back, when former Webcor Pro Marc Hagenlocher and his pal Levi Leipheimer took Ted Huang and me out on some ridiculously long, hard 130-some-mile ride from Santa Rosa to Skaggs Springs and back. I have few memories other than being towed by Marc and Levi for miles on end at uncomfortable speeds and cracking profoundly around mile 100 and then watching in a mix of utter befuddlement and awe as Levi rendezvoused with his wife Odessa and left for what must have been his real workout for the day: motorpacing at 30+ back to his house - the long way.

And sure, I've heard of RAAM and thought to myself that I might have a physiological bent that suited me in some way for it but I also just watched a show where some guy layed on a board that was tethered to the world's largest slingshot and was launched 300 feet into the air whereupon he let out his base-jump chute and glided to the ground. I mean, seriously, I think I might be able to do that - but I most probably won't. Let's just say that I have really never understood why someone would ride a bike for longer than a hundred-or-so miles, out of necessity or want.

So you can safely assume that times were desperate and my measures drastic when I registered for the 38th Annual Davis Double Century last week. If I was thinking at all I was thinking that at the bare minimum I'd get a really good workout on some roads other than those on the Peninsula and have rest stops every 20 miles and SAG support for when I cried "no mas."

It came to this point because this year's overly intense training and aggressive weight loss regimes in rush preparation for the mid-season NRC stage races had left me an empty shell about the time the Wente Road Race rolled around. Or maybe it was just a simple case of bad flaxeed oil. Regardless, after struggling to come around I finally backed off and returned to base mode. I ate and rested and put on six much needed pounds. I also rode lots and lots of miles. But as you may have guessed, nothing more than a hundred-or-so at any given time. I figured I was at the point where the Davis Double would surely kick me in the rump and maybe get things back on track. The worst case would be a kick in the head but that actually may not have been such a bad thing really. You get the picture.

For all the times I grumbled about the standard Velo Promo 8:00 am start times, I sorely lamented them as I read that the Davis Double start was at 5:15 am. Not being one for a short night on a lumpy bed in a less-than-exotic locale after a long day of work I hit the sack at the homestead and woke up at 2:30 am, loaded the car and hit the road. After one of my quickest trips to Davis in history, I rolled into the parking lot under the cover of darkness to a sea of
flashing red and tiny beams of white and bluish bikelights reflecting off ankle straps, armstraps and helmets. Wow. This wasn't the typical start I'm accustomed to. Nor was it the typical race, I mean ride, I'm accustomed to. I was starting to wonder if I was underprepared - in every aspect of unpreparedness. Not only had I never ridden these kind of distances I hadn't brought any lights or reflective gear. As looked around and I watched these grizzled long distance road warriors gird for battle I realized that I hadn't even brought a saddle bag.

I was greeted in the registration room by a small contingent of very awake and very enthusiastic individuals who informed me that I had to wait for the darkness to recede before I could start the ride. Having spent four years living in Davis I can attest to the keen eye the police have with regards to traffic laws, both for cars and bikes as the local paper reported on more than one occasion that someone was arrested for "BUI."

The Davis Double Century is considered an entry level ride into the long distance world and it is not timed like some of the more competitive events. The start time is actually a window between 5:15 and 5:45, with many slower pedaling participants actually starting earlier to capitalize on the empty roads. As I changed my clothes and pinned on my number, I watched 700-800 cyclists quietly filter out of the parking lot and disappear down the street with nary a
hint of pomp or circumstance.

But I had to focus my attention to more pressing matters as I tried to muster some early morning arithmetic skills to figure out how many calories to stuff into my pockets. "Two hundred miles divided by Xmph multiplied by Ycalories/hr..." It was slow going but the product of my calculation was irrelevant as it would have had me towing a bob trailer with a stocked Coleman cooler and a hibachi grill. With my caloric needs vastly exceeding the space available in my size-small Voler race-cut jersey, I decided to throw the math out the window and literally stuff the pockets with gels and bars until the threads started to crackle in protest. This of course was after loading them with two spare tubes, a patch kit, a McGyver-like multi-tool, and some allen wrenches. And a pump.

Bursting at the seams with my rations in tow and a couple pounds heavier for the effort, I rolled out of the parking lot to start my odyssey. My plan was really quite simple. Start pedaling until it hurts just a little bit and then keep doing it for 200 more miles. No heart rate monitors, no wattometers, just me, my bike and my full pockets, sans saddle bag.

As mentioned the course is relatively forgiving for a double century, with only 8000+ total feet of climbing. It was to head northwest out of town towards Winters then up and over the hills to Middletown, then climb up to the small hamlet of Cobb Mountain, east through the rest of Lake County, southeast to Colusa County then back to Davis through a smattering of quaint small towns I'd never heard of.

The lucky part about starting near last is that I didn't have to look at the map. At all. In fact, I stuck it in my jersey but didn't even glance at it before leaving. There was a steady stream of cyclists as far as the eye could see, largely single file with the straggler either coming or going. I quickly learned that if I couldn't see any cyclists up the road then there must be a turn coming up very soon. The first twenty miles were flat country roads and I just locked into my big ring and spun at a pretty high cadence to warm up the legs and the rest of the body as the first casualty of my limited space was the shell vest and arm warmers. I knew they'd come off in a few hours but I'd have nowhere to put them for the next seven. They stayed in the car. Now I was pretty cold.

At a steady 24-25mph out of town I felt pretty comfortable if not a tad bit uncomfortable but I figured as long as I didn't go into the red I would be fine as long as I kept drinking and eating. I was picking off long stretching pace lines as I cranked up the road, with many opportunists hopping on and off my wheel for some free miles.

I expressly ruled at the start of the ride that I would never ever ask someone to pull through. I'd live by the sword and die by the sword. This was a learning experience to test my limits and "to crack or not to crack"; for that was the question that I'd surely get an answer to by day's end.

The first rest stop at mile 25 was not needed so I blew through with what had become a couple regulars on my wheel. Several riders over the early miles tried to pitch in and pull through but ended up dropping my pace by 2-3 mph so I gave them 30 seconds or so before coming back through and resuming the effort. On the way to the second rest stop I came upon a couple fellow Webcor riders, including Jim Kern on his recumbent. One note I had about recumbents - they don't give much draft it seems. After spending about a minute behind one I noticed that it almost felt like there was more turbulence than when I passed him and rode into the wind by
myself!

At the second rest stop there was a huge line for the bathroom and bikes everywhere so I blew that one off as well figuring I'd fill up both my bottles at the mile 65 rest stop near where the real climbing starts. The long straight barren flat county roads had given way to still largely flat but gently rolling winding roads full of trees. I continued to pass big groups of bikes of every
kind: road bikes, touring bikes, tandems, hybrids, faired recumbents, standard recumbents. I didn't see any BMX bikes but did see a Bike Friday! 200 miles on that? Ouch.

As the course hit Cache Creek the road began to tilt upward and the light crosswinds became a slight headwind. I was left with only one companion from the earlier miles, KP from Delta Velo who was content to stay on my wheel, as I really didn't give him any chance to pull through. Really nice guy who happened to be a former teammate of our own 1/2 rider Matt Morenzoni. I picked up another passenger somewhere around mile 50 and kept the big ring spinning up the shallow gradient. The road then pitched up even more and I was alone after being thanked by one of the guys for the "hour-long pull." The weather was warming up and I was finally starting to warm up on the bike and breaking a bit of a sweat.

Just before reaching the third rest stop I made sure to drain the last of my bottle to maximize my hydration and get two full refills. At the side of the road the oasis came into view and I was all smiles as I rolled up to what appeared to be a fully stocked buffet largely devoid of any cyclists. It seems I'd passed most of the field at this point. The first thing I saw was a gal making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on sourdough. Damn that looked good. I hadn't had one in a couple years so I indulged after stuffing a couple fig newtons in my mouth.

After making quick work of the sandwich I made my way down the line to the large yellow water coolers with "Cytomax" written on them. As I went to fill up my bottles, a volunteer somewhat sheepishly told me they didn't have any water. Looking at the five different kinds of fruit, assortment of cookies, sandwiches, energy bars, baked breads and bagels I asked if I heard him correctly. He replied that in fact the course had been diverted back at mile 20 because of a fire near Middletown. His rest stop was supposed to be on the road near there but was closed by CDF right as the ride started earlier in the morning. Apparently this information was being delivered to all the riders at the first rest stop - which I blew through at 25 mph. This poor group of volunteers ended up having to drive an hour or so this rest stop as a contingency plan. The only problem was that there was no water hookup at this rest stop like at the other one they were scheduled to be at. The big glitch was that there was nothing in the way of services within 25 miles each direction

At this point, while I was trying to comprehend what they were telling me, the Fig Newtons and PB&J notified me that they were not sure they would be able to complete to whole trip to my stomach unless they received some reinforcements in the way of something resembling a liquid. Quickly.

All the rest stop staffers could offer me was some of their supply of lukewarm V8 drinks. Now I don't know if you've had a V8 but let me tell you something: They are really not a "drink" in the classical sense of refreshment where hydration is the primary goal. While yes they are a liquid and yes they are packaged utilizing in a small aluminum beverage container they are not the go-to choice of parched endurance athletes just completing the first third of a 200 mile bicycle ride.

Regardless of these well established, self-evident truths I nonetheless cracked three of those things open and filled up my bottle. Desperation? Yeah. Drastic measure? No. Drastic would have been to drain someones hot radiator into my bottles - which briefly crossed my mind.

Now, I can only say that V8 is a fine "supplemental" beverage. The salt content in each gulp alone would satisfy the daily requirement of most sedentary hominids. And yes it sure tastes like vegetables once you habituate to the overwhelming salinity. Had I a second bottle full of H2O I can assure you I would have had very little to complain about. Just a splash to wash down the red sludge would have sufficed. But alas I hadn't even a splash left.

So the next two climbs, I think they were named resurrection, or heartbreak or something like that, were an uncomfortable affair with half liter of V8 sloshing in my gut. Fortunately I was feeling good otherwise and made short shrift of them and rolled into the lunch stop at an elementary school at mile 85, immediately bypassing all food related items, heading straight to the big yellow coolers and slugging all the Cytomax I could stomach. I was tempted to ask the
motherly looking volunteer to pick up the whole jug and pour it on my head NFL-coach-playoff-style but I don't think she could have lifted it so I was content to politely drink and refill, rinse, repeat all on my own.

I mowed a ham sandwich, grabbed a granola bar and stared glassy-eyed at the large map propped on an easel in the middle of the grassy area, trying to reverse engineer the course instructions as this was now an out-and-back ride with Cobb Mountain being both the highest point of the ride at 3000+ ft elevation and the turn around point at mile 100. As I pedaled my first stroke out of the parking lot I immediately forgot which direction I was supposed to head and ended up riding around in a couple circles for a mile or so in this nice little town before figuring things out.

The rest of the ride to Cobb Mountain was largely uneventful aside from picking off a rider here and there and almost running over a fox who dashed across the road directly in front of me.

By the time I was a mile or two from the turn-around, I could see the riders ahead of me coming back through on the opposite side of the road. At this point there were less than 15 of the 900 or so starters ahead so I had something to motivate me beside my quest for limit-testing.

After a short climb out of the rest stop at the turn-around point, the course was more downhill than up and in theory should have had more tailwind than head. The first 100 miles took me just over 5 hours including stops. The long road back was at least a known quantity, having just ridden the route but that was both a blessing and a curse, knowing that I had to traverse two climate zones, four counties and 100 miles after already having heavy legs from 100 miles.

The hard part of the first 100 miles is to avoid going into the red, knowing you could go faster on the climbs and the flats, especially for a cyclist with a race background. Conversely, the easy part of the last 100 miles is not going into the red as it's just not really an option as the miles tick away. I found that the more the miles went on the more it became a mental challenge to keep focused on staying on top of the gear, keeping the speed up. In the morning I was trying to keep an average on the flats between 23-25 where in the afternoon on the flats I was about a mph slower. I began mentally deteriorate to the point where I was simply counting down the miles to the rest stops so I could refill my rapidly emptying bottles.

The other real challenge in the afternoon which didn't pose a problem in the morning was the fast moving traffic on Highways 16 and 20, both two lane highways with cars and trucks blazing past with little or no shoulder, a couple of times within inches of my bars. I still continued to pick off riders but at this point many of them were bailouts who decided to turn around at lunch instead of making the way to Cobb Mountain, shaving off 30+ of the hardest miles.

Once I got into my unknown zone at mile 130+ I was pretty much in a single minded state with one intention of turning over the pedals and trying to stay relaxed in the meantime so my contact points with the bike wouldn't hurt as much. It's really amazing how you really feel every aspect of the human to machine interface in the later miles. For example, I could feel exactly where on my feet the most power was being transferred to the pedal. They hurt! Especially 30, 40, 50+ miles past the not-so-fresh feeling mark.

It was more of the same for the next 50 miles as I slowly began the descent into raw fatigue that nutrition and hydration could barely stave off. At the second to last rest stop at a farm at mile 180ish the support crew told me there were only a couple guys who did the whole 200 left in front of me. After filling up and vaguely noticing a group of women in full bridal attire(?) I made off in search of what may or may not have been the last two guys ahead of me.

I noticed the first guy within a couple miles and reeled him in. Like me he was in a pain cave but just pedaling slower. I managed a slight wave of the hand as I passed. It took another 10 miles before I saw a solitary figure in the hazy distance of the Yolo farming country. The course was horizontally stairstepping it's way southeast towards Davis. I was still managing to crank the big ring over at 22-23 mph but with everything hurting I was much less efficient than earlier in the day and many, many times less comfortable. Every couple minutes I had to get out of the saddle to pick up my speed and relieve pressure on my sit bones.

With less than 10 miles remaining, on the long flat final run into Davis on Road 31, I reeled in the last rider. Shortly afterward I rolled into the start/finish. The last 100 miles were quicker than the first with a time under 5 hours. All in all I probably rode 80 of the first 85 miles in the wind and 115 of the last 115 miles in the wind and completely alone.

All in all the Davis Double was an interesting experience and full of serendipity. I didn't crack so I definitely caught it on a good day where I was feeling fresh and strong. I didn't train for it so I don't know that I'd really recommend it to just anyone because it is a huge undertaking and needs to be taken more seriously. I think I had a fair amount of luck on my side. And only you can make the call if you're ready to handle the commitment to that many miles. But I can say that it wasn't as hard or as bad as I thought it might be.

Interestingly, what I don't know is whether it was a kick in the rump or a kick in the head as I'm actually still recovering but feeling pretty good. Only time will tell.

Also interesting is that I think I may have actually validated my theory that there is no reason to ride more than 100 or so miles, but with an addendum: There is no reason to ride more than 100 or so miles other than the fact that it can be done, which may just be the only reason necessary.

Thanks for reading,
-Greg Drake