Flying too close to the Sun: 2022 Silver State 508
Last year I raced the Silver State 508 for the first time, and according to some people around me I swore I’d never do it again. Yet, here we are. The 508 is a 508-mile bike race that starts and ends in Reno, NV. The concept is simple, ride 255 miles to Eureka, NV turn around and come home. The clock never stops and there is a 48-hour cutoff. In the division I competed in I was allowed a follow car with a crew that would help me with anything I needed including carrying food, water, and a spare bike, helping with mechanical issues, and giving me emotional support. Last year I finished the race in about 33 hours and it was absolutely the hardest thing I had ever done. Sleep deprivation, severe fatigue and dehydration, and intense saddle sores were all obstacles I battled to get to the finish line a broken man. This year I was fitter and had prepared better so I was hopeful going in that I would break 30 hours and finish in one piece.
Leading up to the race I hadn’t felt more excited or prepared for anything in a long time. I just finished riding almost 700 miles loaded on a bike tour a couple weeks prior and I felt recovered and much stronger as a result. I was comfortable on my bikes, I had heat-trained well, and the days leading in I felt rested and recovered. My only concern was the air quality at the start of the race and how this would affect me. Smoke from the Mosquito Fire was covering Reno on and off for a week and I was worried the race would be canceled. And if we were allowed to ride I was worried about possible lung damage from the smoke.
My crew, made up of my dad and his friend, and I arrived in Reno the day before the race. Check-in went smoothly and I put down about 2,000 calories worth of pizza and honey (try it). I felt ready to go physically and mentally and didn’t feel nervous at all. Smoke was covering the basin but I was hoping it would improve by morning.
On race day we woke up at 3:30 and I started eating as many calories as I could. I knew that due to my body size and power output needed to get through the race that calorie and carbohydrate consumption throughout the event was paramount. We walked downstairs to the start line that was conveniently in the hotel parking lot and I lined up with the other racers. Unfortunately the air got even worse overnight and the AQI at the start was 350, unhealthy to just exist in. So I started the ride with an N95 mask on to hopefully prevent lung irritation and damage. The gun went off at 5am and the group rolled out for a neutral start around South Reno towards Geiger Grade.
The first climb of the day, the 2,000 foot ascent up Geiger, came at around mile 10. A small group went up the road and I elected to keep my effort low even though I knew I could ride with them. I intended to pace the race better this year because last year I exploded a bit towards the end. I rode through the dark smoky air by myself, enjoying the calm morning and getting excited for the day ahead. I kept the leaders in sight throughout the whole climb, seeing their blinking lights winding up the mountain side ahead of me. I wanted to hit the first flat sections with them so I descended as quickly as I could and caught up to the group at the bottom. We made it to highway 50 where our teams were waiting for us and we jumped onto our time trial bikes and the race was on.
The next few hours were flat and fast. I was stalking the leader from about 30 yards behind and tried to keep my effort as low as possible both physically and mentally. I felt pretty comfortable and I wanted to keep him in sight because he was the favorite to win. I knew if I could just keep him close as long as possible I could zone out and let him set the pace. We passed Silver City and Fallon and made our way out towards the more isolated stretches of road. I went through the first 100 miles in 4:48.
The second stretch of road took us up a couple small climbs and some long flat stretches past the remote town of Middlegate. At this point I felt a lot better than last year and was still riding well within myself. However, my breathing and heart rate were a little elevated due to the altitude and possibly from breathing harder through the mask for the first 100 miles. I tried to get my heart rate down but I had trouble keeping it under 140. I knew this would come back to bite me later so I let off the gas a bit and tried to cruise easy. Shortly after Middlegate I made the right turn onto highway 722 and started the climb to Carroll Summit.
At this point I had let the leader go up the road because I didn’t want to risk my entire race to try to win at this point, so I was all on my own. The climb to Carroll Summit started to heat up and the temperature peaked at about 90 degrees. This was one of the longest climbs of the day at about 25 miles and 2,900 feet. I crested it still feeling pretty good, just a little hot and dehydrated, so I got to the top and refueled a bit. I made the fast descent to the next valley and started working on the monotonous, long stretches of road that lay ahead. These stretches might be my least favorite part of the race. The road is perfectly straight and bumpy and you can see ahead of you all the way to the next turn that’s about 15 miles away. It’s like riding on a hot, windy treadmill. I tried to just keep my head down and push as best as I could until the end of the valley, where I would do it all over again.
I ticked off the final flat, fast miles of highway 722 and finally made it back to highway 50 where I would make the short climb up to Austin. I fell a bit behind on my fueling and while climbing up to Austin I all of a sudden felt extreme fatigue. I was bonking hard and just shut my legs down and rolled up to town as slow as I could. I planned on taking a longer break there to catch up on calories and sit in the shade. I was now at mile 185 and it was the heat of the day. The leader rolled right through Austin and I was about 30 minutes behind. However, I knew I needed some time to regroup, so I sat in the shade for 20 minutes and munched on some chips and pickles.
After regrouping a bit I made my way up the climb out of Austin to the highest point of the race (7,300 feet). My heart rate was still elevated and breathing still high so I was a bit concerned with this. But I pushed it out of my mind and just continued forward, chalking it up to the elevation and just overall fatigue. After reaching Austin Summit I made the descent into the next valley and hopped on my TT bike to start chipping away at the final 60 mostly flat miles to the turnaround. When looking back on the race this moment stands out, for a weird reason I wasn’t expecting. When I got back onto my TT bike I also switched my road helmet out for my tighter fitting aerodynamic helmet. I put it on and for some reason it didn’t fit well and felt really tight. I asked my dad if he tightened the straps (why would he do that??). He obviously didn’t, so I just loosened them and moved on. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it in that moment, but looking back I was experiencing significant cerebral edema that I wouldn’t know about until after the race was over.
At this point I was starting to feel some stomach discomfort and made a couple unfortunate emergency stops off the road in the desert. I kept pressing through the flat sections leading up to Eureka while rain fell on me. The sun started to set and I enjoyed a really pretty sunrise behind me with the orange rain clouds overhead. As I approached Eureka I saw the leader riding back the other direction and knew he was about 11 miles ahead of me, which on this terrain would be about 30 minutes. I was happy to be this close because of the unexpected stops I had and the longer break I took in Austin. But I also planned on a longer break in Eureka so I knew all said and done I would be about an hour back after making the turn. I tried to not think about it because this race was still far from over and there was a lot of time to screw it up.
I rolled into the turnaround in Eureka at 7pm, having completed 255 miles in 14 hours. I did a quick systems check and I actually felt surprisingly good. Either that or I had convinced myself and everyone around me that I did. To this point I had a great handle on my mental game and barely looked at my watch all day. I stayed surprisingly present and didn’t have much dread of the coming night ride. I couldn’t believe how calm I felt and how ready I was to ride 250 miles through the night with the chance of getting rained on. I think deep down my body was crying for help but I wasn’t answering, I felt nothing that I didn’t think was normal for having just ridden 255 miles with haste. The feeling of being halfway through a race of this magnitude is bittersweet. I was relieved to make it to Eureka before dark, however, the feeling of knowing you have to do it all again and ride 250 miles through the night can be extremely disconcerting. Last year I definitely let the dread enter my mind at this point in the race and I allowed my mind to creep into what lay ahead of me far too often. This year one of my main goals was to maintain control of my mentality a lot better and just ride in the moment. Up to this point I had done a really good job with this, and as I sat at the turnaround I tried to just focus on the moment and be grateful for where I was.
As I pedaled out of Eureka the sun had just begun to set and rain started coming down. However, the air was unusually calm so I was very happy I didn’t have to deal with cross- or headwinds. Physically I was feeling ok, my energy was good and my legs still had life in them. However, due to the altitude and smoke I had a lot of trouble keeping my heart rate and breathing down all day. My abnormally high cardiovascular strain was taking its toll on me, as my chest was hurting a bit and my breathing was rapid and shallow. I tried closing my eyes and taking long, deep breaths but there was nothing I could do to reduce the strain. I knew I had a limited time before I would have to stop for a long period to let my lungs and heart rest, but for now my legs felt fine so I just kept pressing on.
Turnaround in Eureka. I still look ok
On the way back to Austin the darkness set in and I saw all the other racers heading the other direction, still on their way to the turnaround. Part of me enjoys night riding, especially during this race. At night the winds die down and there’s a sense of peace you get riding along unable to see anything around you. Mentally it’s also a bit easier because when you are unable to see the road ahead you don’t think about how far you have to go, which lets you stay more present. Additionally, being a bigger rider I tend to suffer in the heat, so the cooler temps are usually a welcome change for me.
However, not being able to see well has its disadvantages. Riding a steep downhill I hit a large pothole and my rear tire exploded. I was lucky to stay upright considering my high speed, so I changed bikes while my dad fixed the flat tire in the car. I made it safely back to Austin around midnight and I downed an energy drink and put on some warm clothes. In the high desert the temperature can easily drop 50 degrees from high to low in a single day, and I was beginning to shiver like crazy on the downhills. When you are experiencing that much discomfort the little things like keeping your hands and head warm go a long way towards keeping your spirits high.
I had trouble getting warm in Austin so I took an extended break to sit there and shiver before continuing the descent. I ended up leaving around 12:30 am and began working on some long flat sections before one of the biggest climbs of the ride. These flat sections were about 20 miles long and perfectly straight, so the monotony was starting to weigh on me. Luckily I couldn’t see more than 50 yards ahead. I finally got to the base of Carroll Summit and I took my time to get to the top. The descent down the backside was frigid and my body was starting to tighten up. It was now 3am and I was beginning to hallucinate a bit. I made it to the bottom and quickly jumped into the car to warm up a bit and eat a sandwich. I was now 387 miles and 20 hours into the race but I tried not to think about anything but my next pedal stroke.
The next 25 miles were pretty flat and fast and I made it to mile 400 at around 4am. Last year the winds picked up around 9am and I rode the final stretches of highway 50 before the steep climb to Virginia City into 30 mph headwinds. It was honestly one of the worst few hours of my life and I wanted to do my best to avoid that situation again. I had a feeling this year the wind would be similar so I continued to push to get through mile 480 and off of highway 50 as soon as I could. Luckily I was a couple hours ahead of my previous time so I was hopeful the winds wouldn’t be as bad. Miles 400 to 440 went by quickly and I made it back to Fallon by dawn. I was happy with my time to this point and was relieved to see the sunrise. However, I was now dealing with a substantial amount of saddle discomfort and was having trouble staying seated on my bike. Additionally I was experiencing severe G.I. distress which was causing me to take way more frequent bathroom breaks than I was hoping. I “only” had about 65 miles left, however, I knew these would be the most difficult miles of the race considering the buildup of fatigue, physical pain, and the ongoing excessive cardiovascular strain I was continuing to experience.
I pushed through the final stretches of headwind past Stagecoach and Silver City and finally made the right turn onto 6 Mile Canyon Rd., which was the last brutal climb of the day. As the name implies it’s a 6 mile climb up to Virginia City that consists of the steepest grades of the whole course and is really a bit cruel to include at the end of a race of this nature. As I started the climb I felt ok but I was starting to get an uneasy feeling of extreme fatigue. My mouth was all of a sudden really dry and I was getting really dehydrated and overheated. My breath became extremely shallow and labored and I was hyperventilating even while sitting down trying to recover. I had to stop every 5-10 minutes up the climb to catch my breath and it still didn’t calm. By sheer willpower I forced my way up the climb to Virginia City and collapsed under a tree.
With all the buildup of pain and fatigue I had experienced over the last 30 hours my body was completely failing me. I felt like I was seconds away from going dark, so I sat on the ground to recover and sip some fluids. All of a sudden my dry cough I had for hours turned into a nasty wet hack and I started coughing up substantial amounts of yellow fluid while also dry heaving. I sat under that tree and watched my goal time slip far away. However, my only concern was whether or not I could make the last small climb to the top of Geiger Grade and the final 10-mile descent to the finish line. I felt extremely disoriented and knew that if I got back on the bike I might fall over or weave and get hit by a car. No matter how long I sat or how much I drank my symptoms didn’t get better and I had an uneasy feeling that if I kept riding something bad would happen. So when my dad suggested pulling out I didn’t hesitate to agree.
I was a little sad that I didn’t get to complete the race, but to be honest at this point I didn’t really care. I had made it through the night and completed all of the hard stretches of road. I felt extremely content with what I had accomplished. I rode 490 miles and climbed 20,000 feet in about 31 hours with no sleep, and that effort is what I came there to give. The finish line would have just been the cherry on top.
When we arrived back at the hotel I still felt terrible. I was coughing like crazy and I was still very disoriented. I also couldn’t catch my breath and my heart rate was resting around 120. I walked around outside and considered just going to bed to sleep it off, but the thought rolled into my mind that if I went to sleep there was a chance I wouldn’t wake up. I got worried and decided to get a ride to urgent care.
I was admitted into the hospital and they drew blood, did a chest X-ray, and immediately gave me IV fluid. After the IV I started to feel a little better cognitively but could still barely walk. I sat in my room for an hour and the doctor finally came in and said she had bad news. Over the course of the race I had developed rhabdomyolysis which is a pretty serious, potentially fatal condition in which the body experiences severe muscle damage that can lead to organ failure. In addition I had pneumonia and my heart was leaking protein associated with excessive stress and potential heart attack. I had gained 15 pounds during the race due to the swelling my body was experiencing from the muscle damage, and even though I was holding onto so much fluid I was extremely dehydrated. The doctor said she wanted to keep me overnight to monitor me, but over the course of a few hours my blood levels began looking better so they felt comfortable releasing me into the wild.
For the last few days I have been racking my brain trying to figure out what went wrong this year compared to last. Maybe I went too hard, maybe I didn’t drink or eat enough, or the smoke or mask got me, I may never really know. That’s the only thing that bothers me about the race. I wanted to finish but the breakdown my body was experiencing was severe and I wish I knew exactly what went wrong and what I should have done differently to prevent it. Besides this I feel very content in my effort and proud of the mental fortitude I exhibited throughout the 31 hours I was riding. I didn’t have any mental or emotional breakdowns this year and I controlled my mind well, which in the end is the only thing I really have complete control over. As Charles Bukowski said, “What matters most is how you walk through the fire.” and that’s one thing I can definitely be content with.
If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Hopefully this inspires you to get out and get after it, in whatever form that may be.