At the start line
“I’m not feeling too good,” Patrick said, in the understatement of the day.
“He says he might throw up,” Ryan added. “We have 15 miles to go. Let’s make all this pain and suffering worth while. It’s just 15 miles. You can do anything for 15 miles.”
Patrick stood up from his seated position on the side of the road. He was ashen colored at best. He swung his leg over his bike and cautiously crossed the road. The gravel was done for the next few miles and the tarmac felt incredible. Unfortunately, the smooth strip held little physical respite as it quickly pitched uphill after the first few hundred meters. The next 15 miles took nearly 2 hours.
The Rapha Gentleman’s Race is an unsanctioned, unmarshalled “road” race starting and ending just outside of Portland. The distance covered would be 130 miles, the vertical feet climbed 10,700 (though the initial route map suggested just 6700 vertical feet. WRONG.) The race begins with a staggered start. Some 28 teams of six riders have been on the course since 7:30am. Our team, River City Bicycles, started last at 9:18am. Start times were based on strength of the team and flattery goes a long way. Winning the race meant one of two things: fastest overall time or first across the line. Prizes and glory for each. I watched all the teams roll out, including last year’s first across the line team Upper Echelon (then Veloforma Women’s Team) and Ira Ryan Women’s Cycling. Team BEER rolled out first for obvious reasons followed by Ross Karre riding solo with an abundance of camera equipment adorning his bike and person. He was there to gather information, both about the race and its suffering and glory, and himself (especially the suffering part.)
Finally we lined up behind the Ironclad Men’s team. They started 4 minutes in front of us. All was quiet at the start as pretty much everyone was out on course in one capacity or another. We rolled down the gnarly gravel driveway, opting for the single track option through the woods. After about nine miles we caught a Ironclad as they were fixing a flat. At mile 15ish came the first real climb, Keller. In my opinion, Keller is the hardest climb on the course. The run in to it on Corey is all gravel and rolly. We had our first flat on Corey, fixed it quickly, and rolled on. We hit Keller with a decent clip and decided each of us should ride our own pace up the climb. Jason flatted again on the descent of Murphy back to Dairy Creek and I feared a trend.
We caught a couple other teams and rolled through as a group of 18 or so. We headed to Bald Peak, a large foot hill south of Gaston. About halfway to Baldy we catch the Tall Men, consisting of 6 team members all over 6’5″ (Except Doug Wilmes who is a last minute replacement for a sick rider. He’s only 6’2″). Pro racers Ryan Trebon and Tom Zirbel highlight this team. They join our peloton and we continue to the climb. As with most ascents, paces differ, egos swell and legs react, some better than others. Our mantra was to ride within ourselves, never pushing the pace beyond what the slowest rider wanted to do. Our peloton exploded, some ahead, some behind. We crested the Peak as a full team and refilled at the first rest stop. We rolled down the southeast side of Bald Peak only to re-ascend on Holly HIll, a wonderful twisting climb of gentle grade. Its final kilometers are unpaved but still enjoyable. We re-refill at the same rest stop and head down a nasty gravel descent with a sharp right turn. We’re fortunate to make it through without any spills or flats. Not true for every other team we saw. Onto the last half of the race.
Exhaustion manifests itself in shifting prowess. As soon as the road leveled even slightly, Timmy shifted into the big ring. Reasonable cadence packed up and went home hours ago. Hours ago, yes, but only about 12 miles covered since the last check point. “If we don’t make it to the check point at mile 105 by 4:00pm we don’t get to do the last loop,” I mentioned as we pedaled through the oven between Gaston and Forest Grove. A block headwind turned our faces crusty white with salt while Ryan pulled for miles on end.
“Ryan Weaver you are living god!” John remarked. The pace was steady and fast enough. We finally reached the checkpoint. 4:13. Time to go home. Relief began to settle in. “The time cut has been extended until 4:30,” Dave Roth proudly announced. “Up Hayward to the left to do the final loop. It’s only 25 miles.”
It’s only 25 miles. Hayward is a great road. It’s 7 miles long, all gravel, about 3.5 miles rolling up then rolling down the rest of the way. We’d ridden together for the whole race, never separating, always keeping each other close. Hayward put a fork in us and twisted it. Cramps dictated cadence and pace. Jason continued his role as an unrelenting machine and pushed those of us that needed assistance. Timmy was cramping heavily, as was I. We both pedaled through while noticing Patrick was strangely silent. He began to fall off pace so Jason tucked in behind him and put a hand on the small of his back.
Timmy flats. Jason and I stop. I ready to compressed air only to realize I too have flatted. I wonder how long that’s been flat? Bonus points for timing. Patrick, Ryan and John pressed on while we changed the flat. Ryan pushed Patrick while he contemplated spirituality. John needed to keep rolling or systems would fail. All the while, remnants of shattered teams passed us and we passed them. Here comes Ward and Cindy from the Ira Ryan women’s team. No one knows it but it’s Ward’s fault we’re on this road. It’s her fault we climbed the next hill, too. The victims of suffering need a device for motivation and that device is blame.
Ira Ryan Women's team
As Hayward begins descending in earnest, my fear of flats sky rockets. Graciously, the county had dust controlled several sections of the road making it significantly less chaotic. The shadows, however, coupled with tunnel vision and dehydration, made the ride genuinely scary. Timmy was struggling with the light and took it very easy. Finally we roll up to Ryan holding Patrick’s bike while he sat on the road, unknowingly showcasing his tight IT bands. John was gone. He pressed on with Zirbel and Trebon to keep the systems from continuing to fail. We provoked Patrick and climbed Pihl road toward Green Mountain.
“After this slight downhill it pitches up hard,” I warned. The top of Pihl road is damn near 20 percent and gravel. Staying seated and climbing was not an option. Neither was standing.
The five of us are together with John up the road. He ended up catching the remaining teams except for the Steve Rex crew. We rolled down Green Mountain road, a flowing gravel descent. In my head, I warn my team mates not to get to far ahead because we’re making a left turn soon. Patrick misses the turn and Jason goes to get him. Somehow, Jason gets Patrick to climb back up to the turn. He is a zombie, a shell of his usual jovial self. Jason pushes Patrick with Ryan monitoring Timmy. I take my shoes off and stare at the wool Swiftwick socks. Moron. Re-saddle. Press-on.
There’s John, circling, waiting for us. We’re going to finish together. At mile 129.6 Timmy exclaims: “this is fucking ridiculous! It’s time to have a talk with Slate about how 130 miles means 130 miles. 130.5 or 131.” That blame device again.
The approach to the finish line is steep and loose. The single track route is actually rideable. I cross the finish line and cramp so hard I can’t unclip from my pedal and immediately fall over in front of everyone. Patrick is walking his bike the last 20 meters with Slate proposing he finish quickly because we likely have the best time. All six of us in, we escort Patrick onto the grass. He soon makes good on his desire to throw up and unloads.
Wrecked.
It's over.
John Walrod before the final 25 miles.
Patrick Marzullo alive but not well.
Weaver and son
All photos courtesy Dave Roth.
Team River City Bicycles: Winners fastest time 2011 Rapha Gentlemen’s race
Ryan Weaver
John Walrod
Patrick Marzullo
Timmy Reinhart
Jason Riffle
Matt Karre
Our boy Mark Gyulafia is going places. On June 25 he won the road cycling race in the National Paralympic Championships in Augusta, Georgia. He was first overall in the race and first in his category, C5.
