WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?

Linda and I have been friends since our daughters, Lauren and Ali, were 6 years old and competing for Duncanville Gymnastics at USAG Level 5. Through the years we have shared much together—at their daily practices and on meet trips to Denver, Kansas City, Oklahoma City, Austin, San Antonio, Houston and Las Vegas, just to name a few. We have spent more hours than I care to remember riding in vans with kids talking and laughing loudly in the background while we tried desperately to carry on a conversation. In addition, for many years Linda was indispensible to me carting my kids to and sometimes from their after school activities because both my husband and I have full-time jobs. All three of my kids are in college now as are her two—and they are still fast friends. Linda is definitely my kids’ second Mom.

Linda took over cleaning my house twice monthly after my cleaning lady quit. I hope she never quits on me as I would be devastated! She is a real perfectionist—which you can’t be if you’re in the business of cleaning houses—which she isn’t. She is my desperately-needed right arm at parties—even vacuuming up the silly string that was literally all over the house after Ali’s Sweet 16. Lately she has taken over as resident handyman—fixing toilets, hanging doors, shampooing carpets and, just lately, painting rooms. I’m embarrassed to say I don’t pay her anywhere near what she’s worth only because it would be out of my means—but what would I do without her? So when she and her husband, Mark, asked me to crew for a 600k (actually 357.45 mile) bike race that he entered in the Texas Hill Country, what could I say?

Mark has been doing bike races for as long as I have known him. A few years ago he did RAAM—the Race Across America—which is the cyclist’s equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest—twice. It is basically a race from San Diego to Atlantic City and the first one to cross the finish line wins. So sleeping is a luxury few can afford during the 12 days or so it takes to make the journey. I have heard many horror stories about RAAM from Linda and Mark. Riders have actually lost their lives when, because of lack of sleep, they swerved into trucks or ended up in hospitals for severe dehydration or worse. Mark’s most severe injury came not while doing RAAM but while training for it. While riding, he was attacked by a dog only 8 days before he was due to compete in his second RAAM. He broke his hip, collar bone and ribs and was in a wheel chair for 3 months.

This brings us to our trip to Fredericksburg where in March of ‘09 Mark had entered to race in the Hill Country 600 and I had agreed to be on his two-man crew. After all—what are friends for—and besides I owed the Metcalfe’s big time! Before the trip I knew very little about what to expect. I knew the race would take Mark approximately 24 hours and I knew I would be expected to stay awake during that time. I knew that from 7:00 p.m. until 7:00 a.m. we had to follow Mark closely as our headlights were his running lights—if he stopped we stopped and if he didn’t, we didn’t. That part worried me a little as I wondered how I would do between bathroom breaks—especially since I knew I would be drinking lots of Cokes and coffee to stay awake. I knew that Linda would be the crew leader and most of what I would be doing would be taking orders from her.

On Friday morning Mark drove from Dallas down to Fredericksburg where we would be staying in a Bed & Breakfast the night before and the night after the race. Linda and I followed after work on Friday. The traffic on I-35 was horrendous and what normally would be a 4-hour trip took 6. I managed to stay awake most of the way—just to prove I could—but Linda told me to take a nap once we hit Austin. We arrived at midnight to a locked house—we thought—and unfortunately we woke Mark before we realized the door only needed a little elbow grease. We stumbled around for an hour or so unloading the food in the van, making up the daybed, taking vitamins, and finally laying down for a very short nights’ sleep.

We were up at 5:15 a.m. for a quick breakfast before loading the bikes in the van for the hour-long drive to Helotes where the race actually started and finished. When we arrived, the bike shop was already teeming with activity as riders and crew began their preparations. George Thomas, the Race Director, met with us to explain the rules—most of which were new to me but “old hat” to Linda and Mark. Next the van was inspected to make sure lights and turn signals were in good working order. Also inspected were the two flashing yellow lights attached to the roof of the van and the “slow moving” magnetic triangle for use at night when the vehicle is following the rider. Each rider’s name and number were taped to his pace vehicle to easily identify him while on the course. A sign proclaiming, “Caution Bicycles Ahead” was attached to the rear of the van. Inside the van, time station protocol was fixed to the dashboard making it easy to report the rider’s progress and a digital time-keeping device was taped to the glove compartment.

After the inspection, Mark changed from jeans into tights and jerseys—layering for the 43 degree weather. He taped up his ankles and pulled on socks, bike shoes and helmet. Outside the van, he made a quick inventory of his bike making sure his water bottle was filled. Mark didn’t seem nervous but only anxious to be on his way; Linda, on the other hand, who is usually the picture of serenity, seemed agitated and apprehensive. I performed my first crew activity—getting Mark two cookies for his saddle bag. The enormity of his undertaking was starting to sink in. The race entrants lined up at the starting line while the crew members snapped pictures and cheered.

The race was small—only 8 entries. It was the inaugural Hill Country 600 and George said he didn’t mind that there were so few participants—it would give him a chance to “get the bugs out”. He has run the Race Across Oregon, a 527-mile race which features a 40,000 ft. climb, for 12 years. Although he lives in Oregon, he was brought up in Texas where he trained in the Hill Country for much of his young adult life. His Dad and brother live in San Antonio and his college friend runs the bike shop here in Helotes, so it seemed like the natural progression. Mark, Dave (a Navy Seal) and John C. comprised the Men’s Upright Division. John S. and Kent were the Recumbent Division, Sharon and Vickie were the Women’s Division and Bicycle Heaven was the Mixed Tandem.

The race was on at exactly 8:00 a.m. The vans pulled ahead as the pace vehicles couldn’t begin “leapfrog support” until mile 15. From mile 15 until mile 100.4, pace vehicles drove a few miles ahead and then waited for their riders to go by, asking if they needed any water or sustenance. Our van was filled with water, protein drinks, bottled Starbucks, Monster, Coke, cookies, Veggie Straws, Pirate’s Booty, and sandwich fixings. Vans were not allowed to caravan and had to maintain the speed limit to prevent any unnecessary traffic tie-ups. This part of the race was tiring as I felt like a pogo stick jumping in and out of the van every few miles, but it was nice to be able to take some pictures of Mark and the scenery. At this point in the race, Mark was passed by John S., Dave, John C. and Kent although a little further down the road Mark and Kent changed positions again. Linda kept yelling for Mark to stand up and use his low gears on the hills—of which there were plenty. I was beginning to understand why exactly it was called “Hill Country”. After going through downtown Bandera the racers passed the first time station at mile 42.6 in Medina.

Very early in the race Mark began to complain of knee pain. It seems he had pushed too hard initially, before his tendons and ligaments had time to warm up. He worried he might have to forfeit the race. He started asking for Motrin, of which we had a fair amount, but not nearly enough for the kind of pain he was in. Linda and I both knew it wasn’t healthy to take so much medication in such a short time span, but there was no changing his mind. We stopped at a country store between the first and second time stations and purchased the pills and some baggies to make it easier to hand them off. At this point, Mark had probably ingested 10 Motrin in about two hours time; he probably took another 10 in the hour following.

The stop also gave us a much-needed bathroom break. The restroom was primitive to say the least—with a sign proclaiming we were in the worst drought since the 1860’s. There was ample evidence of that as, even though it had rained a lot in the past week, it didn’t look like it had made a dent. We were instructed to put our paper in the trash can and not to flush unless it was number 2. We saw Kent’s crew asking the shop keeper for pickles. I only later realized it was for Kent’s leg cramps. He was having trouble too and was hoping the salty pickles and juice would help the cramps ease up.

Luckily Linda had purchased an iPhone for Mark for his 50th birthday so we were able to see the internet posts. After every time station, George would update the website—although not always correctly. I think, like the rest of us, he got fairly fatigued as the night wore on and mixed up names and numbers; but we usually figured out what he meant. With the iPhone we could calculate how far ahead the three races were who had passed Mark. Mark was determined to catch at least one of them. It was our duty to call George once Mark crossed each time station so George could keep apprised of everyone’s progress. It amazed me how busy we were taking care of Mark. It seemed like he was always asking for something which we usually had to prepare lickity split.

The second leg of the journey was the steepest and most treacherous. It seemed like Mark was always climbing—laboring to what would most certainly be the point of exhaustion for the common man. I couldn’t fathom exerting such an intense amount of energy for such a lengthy period of time. And it continued. The hills went up, and up, and up—there were 3 false summits beginning at mile 54.7. To make matters worse, the surface of the road was recently covered with “chip seal” something I had no knowledge of up to that point. It was rough and bumpy not smooth like a road should be. We handed water and protein drinks to Mark at almost every stop. Meanwhile we ate sandwiches and munched on snacks to make the time go faster. We were also heavy into the caffeine already—I worried about the wee hours of the morning. Time Station 2 was at mile 79.4 in front of the Leakey Post Office.

During the race’s third leg, pace vehicles could begin following their rider but weren’t required to do so until 7:00 p.m. After stopping for gas and a restroom break, we caught back up to Mark for the long haul. Linda took the first shift so I could watch how it was done. She followed so closely behind Mark that at times I was afraid she was going to run him down. She told me that one time during RAAM a crew had actually run into its rider only to be fired on the spot and left to find their own way home. It was about this time that Mark asked for more electrolyte capsules. I proceeded to rummage through everything in the van looking for them while Linda barked orders from the driver’s seat. I think she couldn’t believe they were nowhere to be found; she thought I must not be looking hard enough. After we told Mark the grim news, he admitted he had probably left them behind. At least this one wasn’t our fault. Now that the pace vehicles were following the racers, handoffs were done out the window only once every 15 minutes. As long as I was decisive, I could do it—however I couldn’t let doubt creep in. Time Station 3 was at Rock Springs with 129.7 miles thus far.

With the start of the fourth leg, there were more hills. I took my turn driving behind Mark. As it wasn’t dark yet, I could practice before I actually had to be good at it. Mark stopped once to change into warmer clothes. His were damp from exertion and it hadn’t warmed up any. While Linda was helping Mark change, I took advantage of the great outdoors and relieved myself. A couple hours later it was getting close to dinner time. Linda and I were craving real food and dreaming of Whataburger’s. It was also getting close to the time when we would be required to stay behind Mark. We prayed he would make it to Time Station 4 in Junction before 7:00 p.m.

More time passed—Mark was asking for Starbucks, Monsters, and cookies. We were afraid he wasn’t eating enough to keep up his strength. We could see he wasn’t going to make it to Junction in time for us to get food. But another problem cropped up—we needed another bathroom break. We decided to go ahead to try to find an appropriate place quickly. Because it wasn’t yet dark and there were few trees by the side of the road, we ended up driving all the way to a gas station in Junction. Who knew women could go that quickly—we were in and out of there in a minute flat. When we caught back up with Mark it was only 3 minutes after 7:00 p.m. and no one had noticed we were late. We were surprised at how far he had come. When he passed Time Station 4, we checked the website and saw that he was only 15 minutes behind John C., 20 behind Dave and 30 behind John S. The blog commented that Mark was picking up speed. His knees were finally feeling better.

Linda was driving again during the fifth leg from Junction to Llano. Mark was already half-way through the race. The sun finally set and the riders were using the vehicles’ headlights to see. Animals started showing up in droves—mostly deer. They would run alongside the bike, wait for the right moment to dash in front of it and then leap the fence on the other side of the road. It scared us all to death that they would misjudge and run smack into Mark or us. We could see by the carcasses that they didn’t always make the best split-second decisions. Havelina or wild boar also showed up every now and then—dead or alive—as did armadillos and giant jack rabbits.

It was during this section that we finally had some excitement. There were flashing lights up ahead. A vehicle appeared to be stopped; it couldn’t be anything but another rider. Mark’s energy level jumped a notch in anticipation. The van ahead began moving as soon as they saw our lights. We were in hot pursuit. Mark pedaled with all his might, finally catching and passing Dave. We couldn’t believe that Mark had made up that much time. We figured Dave must be exhausted or hurt. But Mark didn’t stay ahead for long. During a series of hills we watched in the rearview mirror as Dave gained a little ground on every one. Linda was beside herself—yelling at Mark to pick up the pace. It did no good; Dave passed Mark again within a half hour. For the next half hour, we could see Dave’s pace vehicle disappearing in the distance. Later we found out that because he was so far ahead, Dave had just been taking it easy. In Mark’s defense, Dave is just 34, is training for RAAM and is an ultra-marathon runner—so he’s no slouch!

Linda was feeling the urge to pee again and Mark probably wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon. There was nothing in the van appropriate for a make-shift potty except a gallon water jog. I filled empty water bottles with the water from the jug and was working on sawing off the top of the bottle with a dull knife when Mark gave us the high sign he was stopping. What a relief! Thankfully it was dark so no modesty was necessary. Further down the road, at Time Station 5 in Llano, Mark lay down on his back and rested on the pavement. The RAAM vehicle, a van advertising the Race Across America, came by to make sure he was alright and to tell him what an awesome job he was doing.

During the race we often saw official vehicles on the course monitoring the racers and making sure everyone was following the rules. George, the Race Director, or the RAAM vehicle was often monitoring the time stations. The RAAM vehicle, with its two passengers, frequently stopped while out on the course to cheer for the racers. They were watching when Mark passed Dave and again when Dave passed Mark relaying the information to George to post on the website. The RAAM vehicle generated excitement and a feeling that someone actually cared what the riders were doing. It was on a much smaller scale than the thousands who lined the streets of New York during the marathon that I had run —even though Mark was doing something far more difficult.

The sixth leg was from Llano to Fredericksburg and I was at the wheel again. I got my first taste of driving while Linda was handing off to Mark and it was scary. I pulled up beside Mark while Linda yelled faster, slower, closer, etc. It was hairy, especially when Mark was riding on a road with a drop-off and no guardrail. I was afraid of pushing him off into the abyss. The deer were becoming more and more prevalent—we were seeing them every few minutes. It was during this leg that we saw blinking tail lights again; a vehicle appeared to be stopped in the middle of the road. As we passed it, we saw John C. sitting dejectedly on his tail gate as his wife tried to console him. When we consulted the blog, we found out he withdrew for medical reasons. When we finally arrived in Fredericksburg, Mark pulled up to the curb on Main Street and instructed us to go to the B&B for the electrolytes. We drove around the block, ran into the cottage and were back in no time. We hoped that the pills would give Mark a much-needed burst of energy.

Mark got into the van again to change clothes and get warm. Temperatures were dropping slightly now that it was the dead of night. This was Mark’s longest stop and I was afraid he would never get going again. I certainly felt like sleeping and could only imagine how tired he was. When we got moving again, Linda was driving. Time Station 6 was only a few miles up the road—by that time Mark had pedaled 300 miles.

Leg number seven was tricky with many twists, turns and dips. Linda followed closely behind Mark allowing him to see the treacherous road ahead. It was clear to me that her skill came from many hours of practice. It was also clear that Linda was tired—she was tired of the massive amount of preparation, money and time it took to participate in one of these races. Mark was tired too—but it was a different kind of tired. Linda was sick and tired! I wondered if it was just the lack of sleep or something far more permanent. At one fork in the road, we were confused as to which way to go. While Linda stopped in the middle of the road to consult the course map, Mark and I used the opportunity to pee. As I was leaning against the van, it started to move. I was startled as I jumped up and pulled up my pants. Even though it was 3:00 a.m., someone chose that exact moment to come up behind us. He asked us if there had been an accident and chastised us for blocking the road when he found out we were just trying to figure out which was to go. We arrived at Boerne and Time Station 7 with very little reserve left.

Gratefully, the last leg of the journey was short. I’m embarrassed to say I dozed off for a minute or two quite a few times. Linda was having a very difficult time staying awake—she kept sticking her head out the window to clear it. Mark plodded on—his determination and willpower amazed me. There were some big hills even on this last leg—and it started to rain. The last few miles seemed to go by in slow motion. Every minute was agony. Finally, we saw the finish line and George sitting on the ground with his camera poised. Mark had done it! It was 7:16 a.m.—just 23 hours and 16 minutes after the start.

We took some pictures of Mark with his medal—Mark and Linda with his medal; Mark and me with his medal; Mark, Linda and me with his medal and Mark and George with his medal. After Mark changed, we left slowly to drive back to Fredericksburg stopping at a breakfast buffet to refuel. We lay down to finally sleep at 10:00 a.m. We found out later that John S. on a recumbent crossed the finish line first in 20:59. Dave was next in 22:22 so he won the Men’s Upright Division. Mark followed at 23:16 with a win in the 50+ Men’s Upright Division. Kent, who was the second recumbent, clocked in at 26:24 with the mixed tandem crossing at 26:35. Of the girls, Sharon was first at 28:53 with Vicki following at 29:53. John C. dropped out with vision problems—something that has plagued him in previous races with cold temperatures. The after-the-race party was held at the Floore Country Store in Helotes where most of us couldn’t keep our eyes open long enough to congratulate the winners. The bicycle racers basked in the glory of their few fans—for their accomplishment they deserve so much more.