The Day Across Minnesota Race Report

Race Date: Saturday August 10, 2024 – 12am midnight

Back for more. Minutes before midnight on August 10th, in Gary Minnesota, I felt apprehension, fear, excitement, and like a certified bad man. (‘Bad man’ in the context of how Mr. T would compliment me). I signed up for the Day Across MN way, way back in January shortly after they announced that the race was not cancelled forever, and coming back in the year 2024. A group text message thread ensued and there was a lot of interest from many of my oldest and fondest training partners. We all agreed we’d register, and I almost missed the slot. I didn’t want to do the race and thought very critically about bowing out. The peer pressure got to me, though, and when I woke up obscenely late on a January weekend morning to a bunch of missed calls and text messages I felt a small sense of relief and also sadness. Sorry, boys! Then I looked a little closer and realized that registration was indeed still open, I promptly signed up, paid my entry fee, and was in. Sheesh.

I knew training would be a challenge. Even before signing up for Day Across, I felt pretty burnt out with training hard. I wanted a year off. I needed to grind, to hustle. I made it a priority to work for a year to bolster my savings account (which is besides the scope of this blog category and story in general), and told myself that during the year 2024 I didn’t have to train at all if I didn’t want to. It’s just not a priority this year.

Over the winter and spring, I got a few rides in on the trainer. My old triathlon bike and bike shoes from 2009 were fit way before all the road marathons and 50ks and 100ks and 100 milers, and 240 mile bike races. I think my feet have flattened over time, and biking on the trainer was challenging due to that aspect – my toes would go numb within 30 minutes. I felt stressed in many aspects, also trying to train for the Garry Bjorklund Half Marathon and simply getting my doctor’s recommended 20 minutes per day of physical activity. Work was getting in the way, just as planned, and I had to remind myself on a weekly basis that I don’t have to work out if I don’t want to. A little here, a little there, and as summer rolled around, I had a couple rides outside and had gone much faster at Grandma’s than expected. Into the heat of summer training was going poorly, overall. I was working a lot. I took some vacation time and got in a nice ride or two… but by August I had logged maybe three 60-milers and an 80-mile ride. I was also able to complete 100 miles on the dot at the cabin in mid-July, and finished the Freedhem 76 mile gravel bike race a week prior to that. You know you’re in over your head when a century ride is considered “moderate distance”. In ’21 I’d done maybe four 90+ mile rides by August, including nearly 130. Another issue was that my rides were broken up with nothing… I didn’t do shorter rides, I didn’t do daily workouts. It was, like, the “every four weeks ride 60 miles” training plan. However, I was feeling strong on the bike. Really strong. Surprisingly really strong.

The other component of Day Across is logistics. My planning was so garbage, and a month out I didn’t even have my crew set or had considered any aspect of the race itself. I tenderly encouraged, then asked repeatedly, then begged my dad and brother Andrew to crew me. They kindly obliged and it was a huge weight off my shoulders. I promised them we’d have a nice hotel in Red Wing after staying up all night. Well, when I finally got around to booking, every single hotel and lodging option was booked solid. I didn’t have a plan B from there besides keep looking for a hotel opening, or just keep driving and go back to the Minneapolis area right from the finish line. Bummer.

The text thread was getting overrun as August hit and we were within a week or so of race day. Unlike 2021 where we deliberately rode as a group, there was no conversation of teaming up this year. It was understood that Nick was going to be in contention for the win depending on exactly who showed up at the start line. I didn’t necessarily want to ride with someone, but felt that it helped me tremendously in 2021. Nick and I got to yapping and I happened to say that if was going to ride with anyone… him, Ryan, Dave, Eric, Tony also on singlespeed, Nate, his dad Dave… it would be his dad Dave. Fitness-wise, goal-wise, I figured we were closest. Maybe Ryan. Nick immediately got excited and regaled me with a story from the weekend before in North Dakota at a 100-mile gravel race. Dave had started cramping at mile 50 and had debilitating leg stiffness for over 3 hours. He didn’t really have a crew plan and was kind of down in the dumps. Nick said his pops was questioning just riding with his wife Rhonda, or not even riding and just providing support crew duties for her. Dave could allegedly could use a boost and agreed wholeheartedly that he and I would make a good team for the long race in a few short weeks. I texted Dave – Nick was right. He was all on board. I let him know I had a night crew, and he let me know he had crew coverage with his brother in the morning and day, plus an extra hotel room in Red Wing. What a good strategic partnership! I mentioned I wanted to finish in 16 hours, er, thought that 16 hours would be a tremendous goal to set. He seemed on board to ride around 15 mph including stops, and had developed several nerdy spreadsheets to help us plot and scheme. Finally, things were really coming together for me. All I had to do was buy food. $165 later, I had enough junk food to fuel an elementary school field trip. The only thing left to do was spin my pedals for 20 hours or so.

The plan was to pick up my support crew Andrew and Dad from Plymouth, eat pizza then drive 3 hours west to Gary, South Dakota. The plan worked out perfect and my mom graciously bought pizza for our dinner, and for me to stuff leftovers in baggies for the next day. On a dead straight country road as the sun went out down, we admired the amazing sunset in a clear sky – the oranges, pinks and purples overtaking the entire horizon. The stars started appearing and I mentioned how there was a chance of both aurora borealis and the Perseid meteor shower overnight. The conversation waned and I started feeling sleepy. Ah, shoot. Not already! The first feelings of dread and anguish entered my head as I thought of staying up for another four hours, then starting this dang race, biking through the night, and the whole next day. How? Why? Why would I choose this for myself?

We made it to Gary right on time and I sent out a message. It was surprisingly quiet on the group texts. I had a plan, though, and went straight to the check-in to get my bib and take care of business. Check-in, get the bike ready, then ride. An easy enough task list to complete in two hours. Done and done. I went back into my minivan and laid down on the twin mattress folded down and ready for nappers. I set my alarm for 30 minutes, and didn’t even get close to sleeping. I probably spent more energy trying to keep my eyelids in the closed position. After 25 minutes with my mind racing, I decided I should change into my bike shorts and white long sleeve tech tee. I disrupted the complete silence of the van, with my crew both presumably resting their eyes in the front seats, and disruptive digging through various bags and shifting around and changing of clothes. I cancelled my alarm. ANXIETY! At about 11:40pm, I got out of the van and my crew followed behind me. My bike was all set, I had a ton of food on me, my lights, backup lights, backup batteries, everything. Good. I hadn’t heard from Dave except they were leaving the hotel maybe a half hour prior. I messaged him. No quick word back as I told Andrew and Dad I was heading to the start line and asked if they were going to check out the start. Yep, they wanted to see it. I told them about the fireworks. I found Nick near the start and asked about his dad. I nervously questioned whether he’d heard from him lately. Finally, with maybe five minutes to midnight, Dave called me to let me know he’d found my minivan, dropped his gear off and is biking down. Not a minute later, we were ready to roll. My dad asked Dave if he was excited. Dave said he gets so dang anxious with this stuff. Yep.

With a massive hoard of riders completely clogging the main street of Gary, fireworks started exploding into starry, black night sky. We’re off! White lights in the front, red lights in the back, lights everywhere, strobes and bright colors of spandex biking jerseys and flashy bikes – the start was overstimulating. A mile on the road, then we turned onto gravel. It’s on! The dusty gravel wasn’t as loose as I was expecting or remembered, and Dave was right by me as well as hundreds of other riders. I stayed behind him as we navigated through the pack. Dave’s rear red light popped off almost right away and bounced around on the road as someone yelled “light!”. I didn’t even say anything… that light was a goner. After a handful of miles, we seemed to just end up in this excellent pace line. I spotted a singlespeeder up front with a red bike and calf tattoo. Keep eyes on that guy, I told myself. It was great riding – the roads were in good shape and I was right behind Dave just spinning nicely. There wasn’t any movement in the pack itself, some angel was just pulling us all along from up front, unseen in the strobe light-ridden darkness. All I could focus on was Dave’s wheel. I unfortunately could not focus on eating food and was too scared to remove one hand from the bars to dig in my bag and find suitable calories. Even if I safely retrieved a baggie without crap spilling out of my overstuffed frame bag, there was no way I could open it and get the food into my mouth. I could at least drink water, but felt like I was running my tank empty early on. The miles just clicked off, 10, 15, 20, 25, and we were going fast. I thought about how we could just ride this out for about 12 more hours and be in great shape.

Around mile 35, I suddenly felt liquid on my legs. A spraying liquid. I thought right away it was sweat dripping down to my leg. No, nope, I was actually freezing and not even close to perspiration, let alone dripping sweat. Maybe my water bladder… no way! Not my water bladder! That would be a critical situation. I took a sip and tried to feel around, and luckily my water system was fully intact. Ah, maybe it’s tire sealant. No way. I tried to swipe my finger across my calf and smell my finger. Uh, no idea. No scent. The spraying seemed to stop. It was my wheel. I knew it. Whatever, I expected to have blood, sweat, and tears on my legs by the end of the race, it didn’t matter what was on my leg. 60 seconds later, being hypersensitive to my surroundings, I confirmed with certainty that my back wheel was going flat. I broke out of the pace line, surged aside Dave and let him know. I told him I needed to pull over, he bumped out of the paceline and we landed at someone’s mailbox. I immediately grabbed my pump, as well as a Mountain Dew and some snacks. I was hungry. Dave asked what I had. “Uhh, pretzels and, uhhh. Oh! For the flat I got this uhh…”, and essentially mumbled and fumbled around with food and my pump in my hand and food on the ground. Meanwhile, he already had a device in his hand with an electronic screen reading “35”. “Here”, he said, “this will work to get you back up to your PSI”. Then, he installed this mind-blowing device on my wheel and it inflated in a matter of seconds. He told me to flip my wheel around and let the sealant do its work. I had snacks on the ground and felt so distracted and underprepared for this situation. My pact with Dave was working out very favorably for me right away. I took a leak in the bushes while we were stopped, rushed to shove my food and pop bottle back into my frame bag, and could tell Dave was eager to get going. Our spectacular pace group was long gone. In fact, two others had rushed by in a blur of lights and whooshing noises of gears and chains and crunchy gravel, with eerie silence and darkness between. I confirmed my wheel was holding air and we re-entered the road alone in the night.

Dave took off fast and I could tell leaving the pace group was stressful for him. I felt bad, not for getting a flat since that’s essentially random and unavoidable, but for relying on him to fix my bike. Now we’re scrambling to make up lost time. We picked a few people off, and I felt flat and deflated. Pun not intended… my tire was fine, and I checked it a few times by pulling up on my pedals to lift my back wheel off the ground. But, what if I had issues for the whole rest of the race with this stupid puncture? That’ll be a hassle. I am hungry, I thought to myself. My legs are sore 35 miles in and we’re cranking hard. I wanted to stop pedaling so hard. My mind was racing without a nice smooth paceline to focus on. When we’d come up on a few people, I’d tuck in right behind, and Dave would pull to the side and bike on. I didn’t disagree with him, but my propensity was certainly to sit in with a group. At this point, I was getting cold and starting to really look forward to the crew stop that we had planned for mile 55. The goal was to stop on a random gravel road then skip the town of Morton’s 24-hour gas station at mile 85. My hands were freezing, my thin shirt felt provided very little comfort to the low-50 degree air rushing by. We got closer and closer, and hadn’t linked up with a paceline, then finally got to the minivan. We saw Ryan stopped at his crew vehicle at the same intersection, and as we were rolling in he was rolling out. When we stopped I requested clothes right away. I dug in to find gloves, and tried to eat food. I was searching for the mini muffins and caffeine. I pumped my tire back up with my floor pump and it seemed like it had lost only 5 or 10 PSI from when Dave pumped me up with his handheld air compressor unit. Good. I was scared to leave, scared of the cold dark night, scared my lights wouldn’t make it, scared my legs wouldn’t make it. But, we set off either way after our rushed, frantic, quick first crew stop.

I had put on gloves and was just plain cold. I warmed up eventually, but we were seemingly hitting pockets of warm and cool air so felt either perfect or cold. I certainly wasn’t warm at all, ever. The field had broken up quite a bit since the flat tire incident, and Dave and I just weaved our way through small groups. We were moving fast, I felt. I was pedaling decently hard and felt like my output was high to where it should be. A couple more corn fields and we hit Morton. The gas station was absolutely packed with vehicles and Dave and I both seemed to be glad we weren’t stopping just to avoid the circus. I remembered in 2021 stopping for delicious warm coffee and a breakfast sandwich. I missed that. It was in the morning light when we stopped in Morton last time, from what I remembered, and this time around it was pitch black. Dave and I were alone on the road out of Morton, and we skipped down into the Minnesota River Valley soon after. This section was scary, and I didn’t like it. We were moving so fast, and there are hills all over the place. Punchy downhills in the pitch dark, little rollers back up, a mix of gravel and thin strips of asphalt for peoples’ driveways all made biking stressful. My primary light’s battery level was on the blinking red. I had to pee almost constantly and requested to Dave we stop again. I tried to plug in my light to my battery bank and remembered that it was not able to charge and provide light at the same time. So, I switched to my headlamp which was uncomfortable but worked fine. I charged my light in the meantime.

It didn’t take too long for the deep night to start transitioning to morning. Fear and discomfort start transitioning to excitement, relief… and still discomfort. My legs were starting to feel gassed, but I was confident enough to unzip and rummage through my frame bag for food. I was able to flip my light off for good before the minimum maintenance road climb out of the Minnesota River scenic byway road. I didn’t have the juice to make the climb and knew it. In 2021 I wanted to flex on my teammates by pushing up the entire rugged climb on the singlespeed. But, that was a 40/17 gear ratio, and this year I was riding 40/15. Also, we had been riding much faster this year. Dave went way down to an easy gear and passed me as I was walking my bike up the washed out gravel side road. I felt like having to dismount and push was my first chink in the armor, so to speak. When we got to the top, though, the horizon was lit up and morning was here. It was a great feeling. Also, it was just 15 miles or so until our next crew stop. I needed the stop. With corn stalks taller than eye-level on my bike, the beautiful gravel roads, and sporadic small groups of riders, I was thankful to be out of the dark. Interestingly enough, I started feeling really sleepy before we got to the stop. I was drowsy, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, just annoying and unexpected. Pushing the pedals was a chore and I took any opportunity to stick behind Dave’s wheel. We linked up with a group of 6 riders for a bit and it was a good relief. We each pulled for a bit and it was fun being in a traditional pace line. Dave mentioned that we were pushing some pretty heavy wattage with the group, and recommended we don’t go that hard anymore. I felt like I was pushing harder when it was just us two biking, but he is the one with the power meter and I trusted his judgement more than my own, for sure. I felt like each mile up to 110 where our planned crew stop was at a cemetary was a big chore. My hands were absolutely killing me. The bony bump on the opposite side of my thumb near the wrist was tender to the touch. If I rubbed it on my handlebar just the right way, I couldn’t hold back gasps of pain. My neck was getting sore, butt was getting sore, my problem right big toe was certainly feeling tender and my legs were starting to feel depleted.

We cruised on in to the cemetery and Dave seemed excited to see his brother Dale for the first time. I sat in a chair outside the minivan and started eating food like crazy. I noticed Dave sneaking into the woods and figured I’d have plenty of time. I ate two bags of mini muffins, two “go-go squeeze” baby food-type fruit packets, a baggie full of potato chips, and took stock of my food on my bike. I packed way too much from the start and had eaten maybe 10% of it. I took all the food out of my bag and repacked more sensibly. I brought pizza with me for lunch at our planned non-crew stop in Henderson. I was vibing on the candy, and made sure to keep my sugar stockpile full. I was ready to go, and Dave had been swift with his stop. I thanked my brother and dad profusely and told them I’d see them in 100 more miles or so. I met Dave out in the road so I could get a little sunshine. He caught up and we made our way east towards the rising sun. The low sun was super bright in a cloudless morning sky. It was an immaculate day, weather-wise. We took a wrong turn at one point, or rather missed a turn, and had to bike back west for just a tenth of a mile, and the headwind was absolutely noticeable. I asked Dave how frustrating it would be to ride east to west, but instead we enjoyed a prime tailwind.

We didn’t have a lot of options for a pace line so just kept moving forward at an effort that felt good (or, perhaps looked good according to Dave’s power meter). We were passed sometimes and passed plenty of people. I wasn’t feeling sleepy anymore, but certainly physically tired. Biking was hard. I saw Gretchen running on the side of the road, Schuney (in street clothes – nooo!) and Sonja at an intersection. He must have dropped out, I pondered. Bummer. On endless gravel roads with short stretches of pavement simply to connect, I was hugging Dave’s wheel to make my life just a little bit easier. We linked up with someone he knew from the Brainerd area, a gal who was making good time. We could have passed her up but we all stuck together for a handful of miles and Dave chatted. He was a social butterfly and seemed to know every other racer we came across out there. I just sat in the back and was thankful for a slightly easier pace with the gal we were with. After a few miles we left her and I surged ahead with Dave. I started counting down the miles to Henderson. Ugh, 30 miles still, I thought. A slow death was beginning to materialize for me. Dave was steady up front and I was struggling to stay on his wheel. Slowly, I’d fall back just a little then push just a little to get back onto his wheel. I wasn’t pulling him at all. An hour later, I was falling way back and he’d look back to see me just coasting, essentially stop and let me catch up and I’d have enough juice to ride with him for a few minutes, then fall back further and further. It was a cycle, a downward spiral continued for a painful couple hours. Dave turns around, sees me way back, stops and lets me catch up, we ride for fewer and fewer minutes together and I’d fall back further and faster each cycle. Two hours after our crew stop at mile 110, I felt like absolutely garbage.

As we got closer to Henderson, my mindset had become very negative. When we hit mile 140, I questioned how I’d make it 100 miles though intense hills. I was riding a much harder gear this year than last time. Also, my training was so much worse this time around. And we’ve gone hours faster so far. My legs are shot. Thoughts of dropping out started creeping in. The thoughts were less of “I ought to”, and more like “I have no choice to drop out of the race at Henderson”. All of these questions and thoughts were dominating my focus. Staring down a large hill climb into Henderson and I felt so completely gassed I didn’t even try to make it up the hill. The first inkling of a positive grade and I unclipped and started walking. I was in a terrible mood. The hill was a turning point for me where I wasn’t questioning or even thinking about the finish. I AM dropping out. I thought of the implications of a DNF. I’d have to explain to everyone at work… I posted my tracking link on our company message board. It’d be quite the tale for the rest of my Day Across comrades. Would my crew be relieved? Do I call my dad now? Or should I just let Dave ride away and call him to pick me up in a moment of privacy and solitude? They’re probably halfway to Red Wing by now, I figured. I almost got my phone out and texted to meet me in Henderson. Yeah, we’d talk it through there, I told myself. I wondered what I’d say to Dave? He won’t just let me drop… how will I spin this to him? He was at the top of the hill out of sight, and I was slowly walking upwards looking at the ground. I picked up a Lake Superior agate. Fuck gravel roads, I muttered under my breath. I hate biking.

When I rejoined Dave at the top of the hill, he asked how I was doing. I lied and said “fine”. Head down, we kept biking. I couldn’t continuously pedal and had to stop frequently to just coast. My legs were just completely depleted. I had no energy. Hands killing me. Dave stopped and doubled back and asked me how I was doing. I told him I’m gassed. He said I need some carbs. I ate a few bites of candy, then fell back again. Dave asked how I was doing. I said not good. He said I need carbs and asked me what I’m drinking. Water. He was aghast. You need carbs!! He practically shouted at me. I tried to explain how I was eating candy, had a bunch of food at the aid stop 30 miles back… I was eating carbs. He didn’t buy it, and told me I need 70 grams of carbs per hour. I tried to run calculations but gave up and just put my head down, felt sorry for myself and ruminated on how I didn’t want to be out here. I told myself I’m dropping out at Henderson in 5 miles, and cycled through all of the reasons why in my head. We came up on rogue aid station with people Dave knew from the Brainerd area and he let them know how I was struggling and low on carbs. I was embarrassed and repeatedly declined a nice lady’s offer for energy balls. On one hand, I wondered if that was illegal aid. On the same hand, I didn’t want to give in and felt stubborn. On the other hand, they looked delicious. If they helped me and I felt even a little bit better… well, I am going to drop out anyways so who cares. That’s the way it is. I’m dropping out, and in some twisted way the worse I felt, the easier it would be to justify on actually dropping out. So I declined the energy balls. Then just as fast, to get these four people off my back, I gave in and ate two homemade energy balls. There were indeed quite delicious. We made our way through paved city streets to the small river town of Henderson. When we stopped, I hit rock bottom. I went into the gas station and only wanted a red bull. When I came out holding only a red bull, Dave practically busted out laughing. MIKE – YOU NEED CARBS. He might as well had slapped me across the face for making such a poor nutrition choice as to drink a singular red bull. I explained how I had pizza on deck, pulled out my baggie of smooshed, lukewarm leftover pizza and took it out of a baggie in one big clump. Straight into the mouth and it slid down my throat. Mmm. Carbs. See, Dave?? I was silent, head down, sipping my red bull on the curb as Dave went between taking care of himself and talking with his brother Dale, and trying to explain and encourage me to take in carbohydrates. He told me he had another canister of “mix” with Dale and that I could have it. It had 70 grams of carbs in it, exactly what I need for the next hour. He begged me to take it. I told him no several times. Dale left to grab the mix canister from the vehicle out of sight then returned a minute later. It looked like a drug deal, Dave shaking the canister in my face egging me on to take it. He told me, promised me, that I’d feel better. I finally obliged, similarly stubborn as during the energy ball situation a half hour earlier, and mixed this mystery powder into a 1L bottle of water. It was a cloudy mixture that eventually settled clear and I took a huge chug of nearly half the bottle. Ryan rode up and was looking good and in good spirits. I may have told him not to look at me… I didn’t do much to acknowledge him, that’s for sure. Dave asked if I was ready. I said yes. I stubbornly set off, painfully mounting my bike. Every point of contact was in extreme pain – hands and wrists, feet and legs, ass and taintal region. I had to pee so bad, and pulled off in an extremely high-profile location along the highway right outside of Henderson, two minutes after we set off from the gas station. I felt some distorted sense of entitlement because I was doing such a long bike race. I can pee anywhere, you assholes! Don’t look at me!

Somehow, I felt strong as we crossed a bridge and got back onto some prime gravel roads. Not physically strong, but mentally – I felt strong that I was able to muster the confidence and energy to proceed. Dave exerted far more energy to get me out than I did. I was acting like a baby. Give me my go-go squeeze! Wah wah wahhh. It was just 40 miles until our final rest stop where we’d see our crews again. I just had to drag my sorry excuse for a carcass to Mile 195. Dave’s bike computer beeped and he noted that we have the first official climb of the day coming right up. I requested clarification, and he told me it’s just his GPS software or Garmin deciding that the grade or length of the climb was enough to categorize it as a “climb”. It was a point of revenge, or an opportunity to prove to myself and maybe to Dave that I had what it takes to finish this race, and I decided I would not walk up the hill. Halfway up, I told myself I wasn’t going to walk any more hills. And I made it up our first official climb. Was it the mix? Was it the red bull? Was it the pizza? Was it all mental? The race totally turned around for me in the blink of an eye, mashing my pedals up an ungodly huge hill in the blazing mid-day sun on a stupid single speed bike.

After the big climb out of Henderson, about mile 160, Dave and I enjoyed lots of solitary, easy, effective miles passing a sporadic solo rider or small group. The weather was prime. It was warm, but nothing extreme at all. Not even close to the blistering heat of 2021 or what could occur in southern MN in mid-August. Perfection. My mood improved every mile, and I started talking to other riders that we passed, giving encouragement, chit chatting with Dave, and feeling no pain. We made our way and I started thinking about the finish line. I was in a bit of disbelief. It was far out, but running some basic math made under 16 hours seem achievable. I mentioned that to Dave and he said he didn’t even care. The finish is what’s important. It seemed he was far, far more concerned with Rhonda and Nick’s race that his own. We talked about how Nick was probably way up there, maybe finishing. Dave was getting some intel to his Garmin bike computer or something, and eventually excitedly reported that Nick finished under 12 hours which was faster than the previous course record. Wow! The miles flew by steadily as we made our way to the final crew stop without incident.

At 195, we pulled right instead of left and I biked right to the van. My dad and brother looked good. They must have been napping, or been consuming high quantities of caffeine because they looked alert and happy. Excellent. My plan was to stock up on carbs, and I instructed Andrew to empty my water bladder and fill with all Gatorade. I wasn’t too hungry for things like clif bars, trail mix, or anything that savory, but wanted more candy and stocked up full with the pure sugar products. I could feel my left knee getting sore and, like 2021, took some KT tape and wrapped that baby up in a way that seemed helpful. With my leg hair, tire sealant from 160 miles back, dust, dirt, sweat, maybe one single tear drop from the hill into Henderson caked onto my legs, the tape barely stuck. I confirmed my tracker was working well – my dad said the dot was moving along just fine. Dave sped over after a short pit stop as I was making final preparations to mount my bike. We set off with excitement. Dave and I rode side by side for most of the last half of the race, and that was no exception once we hit mile 200 and got into hill country. A few highway crossings, and we’d kind of leapfrog each other on big hills. I had to crank up hills with just one gear to work with, and would push hard to make it up each one with Dave right behind me. Then Dave would pass me on the downhill. He asked me how much I weighed. Uhh, I told him I haven’t weighed myself in a long time but probably 155. Yeah, that sounded accurate. He confidently said he weighs 154 and was confused why since we’re about the same weight why he was going so much faster on the downhills. I said I didn’t know, but asked under my breath if he was clutching his brakes down the steep grades like I was.

Up and down. We didn’t see many racers and I wondered what place we were in. More importantly, I was very curious where I was at in the singlespeed division. I’d been looking and not really seen any fellow one-gears for hours and hours. It was utterly fascinating to me to be able to crank up a huge gravel hill then just blast 18 mph on the flats with Dave. I felt no pain. How was that? So much excruciating pain, feeling worse than I’ve ever felt on my bike, feeling like I’d probably drop out. No, convinced I was dropping out and plotting my exit from the race. Then, somehow 50 miles later I feel no pain whatsoever? What is that about? I was confused, impressed, maybe a little scared and in awe of the human body. Am I dead, actually? In the later miles of the race, while feeling good physically, emotionally and mentally, I felt overcome with gratitude for Dave pulling me out of a deep, dark hole. Waves of euphoria, excitement, contentment were in a stark contrast to utter despair 4 hours earlier. Dave had been persistent and straightforward with me and now here I am. I couldn’t believe I had been acting so sad back there. It probably fell on deaf ears, as Dave had told me all about the North Dakota race where he cramped for 50 miles AND FINISHED THE RACE. He said his legs cramped so bad on a hill that he literally fell over on his bike and couldn’t unclip his pedals. He managed to do so eventually, then he got up, stiff-legged walked up the whole hill while every muscle in both legs convulsed uncontrollably, then rode it in 50 miles. Yeah, I was being a baby back here. I also had extreme gratitude towards my crew for making it happen with ease and positivity. I maybe could have pulled myself out of a hole on my own accord, but I seriously don’t believe Day Across would be possible for me without a support crew. And I was excited and happy for Nick finishing with a super fast time, and everyone else out there.

I focused on sipping gatorade and eating candy. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice going into a calorie or carbohydrate deficit. The miles just clicked by. We zoomed down a huge paved downhill and I thought of Nick in the lead pace group, with gears of course, and how fast they were probably going. Yikes. I didn’t have to (or rather, couldn’t) pedal for, like, a mile. I kept running calculations and looking at my watch, and was fixated and obsessed with a 16 hour finish time for some reason. I don’t know, it was just this goal time that was maybe slightly out of reach but achievable. I didn’t think it was possible at Henderson, that’s for sure. And now, we’re right there. I let Dave know, and told him we can make it. He essentially told me “naw” and disputed my mileage tally! Whatever! I had to explain that the time is motivating to me and I do this at every race, no matter how arbitrary the time or placement or carrot that I’m chasing is. 16 hours was just an arbitrary time, after all. At the top of another hill outside of Cannon Falls I had to pee again and picked another high profile location as a big truck sped by. I’m probably on private property, I thought embarrassingly. Probably this guy’s property. Sorry, property owners of central/southern Minnesota! Dave seemed to be doing good. I could sniff the finish line. One last huge minimum maintenance road downhill bomb and we were into Red Wing. We rode up, dropped in and distinctly recalled a bloody, broken bike owner on the ground in ’21 when we were at this part of the race. Yeah, I wasn’t going to let that happen and tapped my brakes constantly down the twisty and turny descent. Last time, it was starting to feel like evening when we were bombing downhill to Red Wing. This year, it was right in the afternoon. Dave was way ahead. When we got to the bottom, I had a major jolt of energy because I saw the leg tat red singlespeeder!! THERE HE IS! I told Dave it was a dude from the very first paceline before I blew a flat. That seemed like years ago but it was only 15 hours back. I saw the single gear back then, and I saw it again. There he was! What if I was in second place for the singlespeed division, and he was first? I rallied Dave and we passed the gentleman with ease. He wished us good luck and in no time he was out of sight. Let’s go! One last gravel uphill and we’re in Red Wing. I mashed my pedals to make it up the hill, to complete my prophecy of biking up every single hill after rock bottom in Henderson. Meanwhile, Dave’s chain got totally jammed up in his gears. NO!! Every single hill, 238 miles, pacelines, all that, and he has a mechanical right after passing potentially the first place singlespeeder to take the lead and get under 16 hours? I anxiously scanned the horizon for my red bike dude to surge to the hill, but Dave fixed his chain entanglement very quickly and we were off to Red Wing like nothing happened.

Zooming down the neighborhood streets of Red Wing, Dave and I chatted about how in 2021 it was getting dark at this point. We had shared many miles last time as well, and would mindlessly zoom ahead of the group then have to stop and wait. We agreed this year was more fun because we were moving at our own pace the whole time. At least I was moving at “my pace”… I kept thinking of close I was to dropping and how this was by far the hardest I’ve fought to finish a race, ever. And the finish was right there. We made the bridge over the mighty Mississippi River and I had a huge smile on my face. A little turn here, some motorcycles there, and we could hear it. We could hear the crowd, and see the spectators eagerly looking to spot their riders. We made it with plenty of time to clear 16 hours. Hell yeah. The finish line was awesome. We crossed and the race director gave Dave a big hug and told him his son got third. How cool. Then he hugged me and I told him I’m a singlespeed. He told me that was cool and asked me my gear ratio. Yeah, enough with the small talk, what was my placement? I demanded he tell me. He said 6th. No, 5th. 5th! I was a little discouraged, thinking and hoping maybe I was in first place, but literally could not have gone a minute faster. We shaved about 4 hours from 2021. Weather was a big factor, and more hours could be shaved with optimal training, a more solid nutrition strategy, and better luck. For now, Dave and I enjoyed a cold beer and started telling stories and listening to everyone else. I watched Tony and Ryan come in. It was a glorious evening.

Place: 93/320
Time: 15:42:44
Pace: 15.5mph

Race Results

GPS Data