“The struggle alone is enough to fill a man’s heart”

- Albert Camus

After finishing my first ultra endurance bike race at the 2021 Silver State 508 I swore I’d never do anything like it again. I finished the event in 2nd place with a time of about 33 hours and 30 minutes, but the physical and emotional toll was significant. I was in no way prepared to ride my bike that distance and in those conditions, and it was by far the most painful and difficult physical experience of my life. While I did finish in my first attempt, which to my knowledge is pretty rare, I quickly became hungry for more. I signed up for the 2022 event hoping to improve upon my decent rookie showing, because I knew there were dozens of things I could change to have a much better race.

When 2022 rolled around I was confident I would improve upon my previous showing. My goal was to drop 2 hours from my 2021 time. Long story short, I botched my nutrition plan (or lack of plan), and ended up in the hospital, pulling out of the race about 18 miles from the finish. I had never quit a race before, but it was clearly the right call as I easily could have been seriously hurt or worse. Even though I was proud of my effort, I was deeply disappointed and embarrassed that I didn’t finish. This one stuck with me.

Flash forward a year; I decided to sign up for another ultra and try to properly train and prepare for this one. While the Silver State 508 holds a special place in my heart, there was a chance I would be traveling during the race. I decided to sign up for a different event, the Hoodoo 500 in St. George, Utah.

2021 Silver State 508. I only rode my TT bike twice before the race and ended up with severe saddle sores, so I had to ride upright on my rode bike for about 350 miles.

While the 508 is a relatively flat course, with about 20,000ft. of climbing over 508 miles, the Hoodoo 500 is not. It has an extra 10,000ft. of elevation gain over 520 miles, and peaks out at 10,600ft. atop the tallest climb. The average elevation is higher and the temperature throughout the course would likely be hotter than the 508. More climbing, more heat, more altitude. For a 200+ pound rider from foggy, sea level, San Francisco I knew this course would not play nice with me, and would not suit my abilities at all. But I decided to sign up for it anyway.

Leading up to this event I tried some new things to better prepare myself for the demands I would face. Some of these included:

-Reducing run and swim volume leading into the race. Years past I just did normal triathlon training which for sure isn’t optimal for 500 miles on the bike and I knew it.

-Trained myself to eat way more on the bike which is crucial for a clydesdale like me.

-Dialed in a better hydration plan which had an emphasis on sodium intake after getting hyponatremia two years ago.

-Heat training to prepare for high temperatures.

-Dialed in my position on the time trial bike so I could be comfortable in aero for hours (in 2021 I only rode my TT bike once before the race… lol)

-Did proper, consistent strength training which I think helped my legs’ durability in the latter half of the race.

With all of these changes and a few other small things I knew I would be much better prepared this year.

In addition to all of those changes, I also decided to go up to altitude a week before the race in hopes of mitigating its negative effects. At the 508 both years I ended up getting (I think) high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE) which led to major fluid buildup in my lungs to the point where I couldn’t take full breaths of air. Additionally it caused my heart to beat about 10-20 beats per minute higher than it would at sea level which led to a lot of extra anxiety and energy expenditure during the race. So I decided to go camping in the Nevada high desert and mountains of Utah at about 4,000 to 8,000 ft. of elevation for the week before the race. Ideally you need two weeks to mitigate high altitude symptoms, but unfortunately I have to work for a living so I rolled the dice with just a week.

By the time race weekend approached I had been camping at altitude for about 5 days, and unfortunately my sleep suffered. This could have been due to my body adjusting, or also just because I was sleeping on the ground and not in my normal bed. Either way, I came into race weekend a little worn out and not feeling my best. But I still held out hope that the altitude adjustment was worth it and would pay off come race day.

Cedar Breaks National Monument (10,000ft.)

My crew, which consisted of my dad Lance, his friend Jimmy, and my friend Cory, arrived on Thursday and Friday and we discussed my race plan and major things to watch out for. I was familiar with some of the course because I had ridden it casually years ago, but much of it was still unknown. This would make bike swaps difficult because we didn’t know what the terrain looked like and which bike would be appropriate at what time. We did what we could to prepare, ate our last meals, and got ready for Saturday.

On race morning I woke up before my 5:30 alarm and immediately started consuming calories of various forms. Bananas, cereal, eggs, muffins, biscuits and gravy… I knew the most important variable for my race was how many calories I could eat, as I would be burning through almost 800 every hour. After stuffing my face we walked down to the start line outside the hotel and waited for the gun.

At 7am the race set off. The first 6 miles were a parade start through the city of St. George to get us to the first major highway. At mile 6 everyone was allowed to start racing, but I really had to pee so I dropped back and watched the group set off. After hopping back on my bike I raced to get back to the front of the group, but didn’t know how far back I was from the leaders. After passing most of the racers, I was told I was in second and settled into my own pace. The first 30-35 miles took us on some undulating roads past Sand Hollow State Park and to the town of Hurricane. In Hurricane we had an option to hop in our support vehicle and get a lift up a narrow, winding climb to the top where we would jump out and start riding again. I took the free ride and passed the first place racer on the way up the hill. All of a sudden I found myself in the lead with 485 miles to go.

Leading into the race my main goal was to simply finish. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about going for the win. When I found myself in first place so early in the race I was excited, but I knew that riding anything but my pace so early would lead to disaster. For this reason I settled into an effort I knew I could hold, and didn’t even think about my other competitors. The next 70 miles took us down across the Arizona border toward the town of Cane Beds where we would hop on a seldomly trafficked road past beautiful Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park. 2nd place was creeping up on me, but my sole focus was on my effort and vibes. I clicked off the first 100 miles in 5:16 including stoppage time.

Peeing in a bottle in the shuttle up Hurricane Hill. Time is of the essence.

The next 100 miles were fast and uneventful. We had a ripping tailwind as we climbed up from Mt. Carmel on U.S. highway 89 towards Bryce Canyon. A long gradual descent followed in which I barely had to pedal because the wind was so strong. When it came to saving effort this was a blessing. However, I knew I would never catch first place if we had a tailwind the whole time. Leading into this race I knew I would be at a disadvantage on the climbs and conceded I would lose time in these sections. I figured I was at least 30-40 pounds heavier than the other riders, and my strength would be in headwinds and on flat sections because I’d have more GIRTH, raw power, and experience on my TT bike. I wanted to take advantage of the false flats by using my time trial bike but the tailwind was making this impossible. I was coasting at 30mph so I decided to just sit up and not pedal for this long gradual downhill section.

We cruised into Bryce where I would tackle another 1,000ft. climb on a separated bike path. I remember thinking for the first time here at mile 135, “Oof, I’m kinda tired.” Stop thinking about that. Cue up some good music. Vibes. At the top of the climb I got off my bike for the first time. 7.5 hours had gone by and I was pretty hot and sunburnt, so I decided to partake in some self care. Use the restroom, apply sunscreen, chug a Red Bull, eat some cookies, and we’re off. 17 minutes, too long.

Out of Bryce we had some flats and then another ripping downhill/false flat section. I was annoyed because I was being blown around in the wind to a point where it was unsafe and I had to ride my brakes down the descents. The flats were the same story, frustrated because I couldn’t take advantage of my TT bike. I rolled into Henrieville around 3:20pm where I started another cute 1,600ft. climb. I hopped on the TT bike at the top of the climb to take on the next 20-mile false flat/downhill section. Too much wind again. I put the sails up and cruised into Escalante. I finished the first 200 miles in 10:17.

The next 45 miles were some of my favorite of the race, and some of the coolest roads you can ride in the country. I was already familiar with this section of the course and knew the scenery was beautiful. We rolled through Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument, climbing up winding canyons and looking down the steep cliffs these roads navigated through. I remember feeling super grateful to be cruising these 2-lane roads at sunset. That feeling helped carry me up and over Boulder Mountain, sitting at 9,600ft. We rolled past open range cattle and hunters setting off on ATVs looking for elk. The wind calmed as the sun sank lower.

I descended Boulder Mountain just after dark. With the high altitude and darkness temperatures plummeted. The long, windy downhill wreaked havoc on my upper back and shoulders. My body started locking up and I was shivering down in my core. When I reached Torrey I hopped off the bike for a mental and physical reset that I knew I needed. I used the restroom, put on warmer clothes, and sat down on the ground to eat some solid food. When I was sitting there eating in the dark I remember briefly allowing myself to contemplate the road ahead. I normally try to stay in the moment and don’t allow myself to think about what lies in front of me. However, I was almost exactly halfway and a little voice in my head said, “You have to do that again.” Bummer. Allow the anxiety to overtake you, accept it, take a deep breath, then move on.

I rolled from Torrey to take on the second half of the course at 10pm. It’s funny, sometimes your mentality is darkest when you’re off your bike. Your mind starts racing, and the activation energy to get back going can seem insurmountable. Once I got rolling from Torrey through the darkness I started feeling motivated again. I turned off my brain and clicked off the miles past the town of Loa. I crossed mile 300 in 17 hours and 30 minutes at 12:30am.

The next 67 miles were some of the flattest of the race. I was excited because I felt super comfortable in my TT position and knew I could make up some time in this section. We were now deep in the middle of the night and I felt confident I could thrive during the night shift with cooler temperatures and a huge assortment of energy drinks. I was cycling with intention, ticking off the miles at about 20 mph for 3 hours, fighting the occasional rain shower and large bug in the eye. There were some sizable lightning storms illuminating the horizon, and I prayed we were not heading through them, although it looked like they were unavoidable.

These few hours from 1am-4am are the most dreaded by some people, but for me they have become special. There’s something about grinding through the late hours of the night when nobody is around and you feel like the whole world is still. The wind is usually calm, traffic doesn’t exist, and your whole reality consists of what’s illuminated by your headlights and the moon. Small hallucinations generally occur during these hours. The occasional animal or person drawn up by your imagination and the moving shadows can give you a bit of a scare, but that’s part of the fun. Sleep deprivation is easily fixed by drinking another caffeinated beverage.

I rolled into Panguitch where I intended to regroup before the largest climb of the day/night/following day. A 4,300ft. beast that peaked out at 10,600ft. at Cedar Breaks National Monument. It was 4:30am and I was actually excited to rip the last climb as the sun came up. I still felt pretty good physically and mentally at this point, and I began moving up the climb pretty well. With the rising sun came an increase in spirits and positive energy, but also the wind. Over the course of a couple hours I approached the final summit, where I encountered a strong crosswind that chilled my bones with the frigid high-altitude air. My energy levels started crashing and my breath became short. I was within 1 mile of the summit when I started feeling the urge to close my eyes and pass out, so I called my team to come save me. I laid down on the side of the road as my amazing nutritionist gave me the elixir I needed. Smuckers uncrustables, rice krispy treats, bananas, water, Monster energy, and anything else I could stomach at this point. I had done pretty well keeping up on my caloric intake to this point but I knew my body was a ticking time bomb that could blow (literally and figuratively) at any moment. Get down this mountain immediately. I shivered my way down the steep descent into Parowan around 8:30 am. I crossed mile 420 in about 26 hours 10 minutes.

When I got to Parowan I shotgunned a Red Bull, ate as much as I could, and prepared myself for the last 100. The whole race I told myself, “Get to mile 420 and the rest is a piece of cake.” In hindsight, this is the main regret I have. While telling myself this served as motivation to get to that point, it left me emotionally weak to take on the last 100 of the day. I let myself go mentally and started counting down miles to go to the end rather than cycling with intention like I did for the first 420. I started riding out the clock rather than riding to get my ass to the finish line proudly. There is a key difference here and it’s something I’ll have to improve upon for the next race. On paper the last 100 miles was supposed to be the easiest. Unfortunately, I didn’t know I’d be fighting a stiff head/crosswind the entire time. And on top of this my now mushy, unprepared, weak mind had left me out to dry to suffer the consequences.

As I slogged toward Cedar City I was getting blown around by the wind and found it very difficult to stay in my aero position. On top of this traffic had picked up substantially, and big trucks were blowing by me causing air pockets to knock me in and out of traffic. I started feeling a mixture of frustration and anger at the wind, the course, and at life in general. Why does this always happen to me??

The miles ticked by slower and slower. I tried to stay present and continue focusing on nutrition and hydration, but the anger and frustration continued to build with each stiff gust of wind that threatened to blow me off the road or into traffic. Physically my legs still felt strong, and I was powering up each small climb. But mentally I was almost completely gone, and at this point I was stopping every couple miles or less to lean my head against the support truck in despair.

I knew I was spiraling and I was not proud of what was happening. I called Julia (my fiance) and told her how mad I was at the situation, and how I knew I was mad, and how mad I was that I was even mad in the first place. It was like Inception but instead of dreams it was me being mad. Her wise words helped me calm down a little, but it was still a fight to turn my attitude around. My number one goal before this race was to finish strong and not let the course break me, and I felt like I was failing. I started going dark, turned off my music and just put my head down and kept grinding out the miles. I pushed well up the uphills and tried not to get blown over on the downhills. Every mile was a fight, but I knew the quicker I went the sooner I’d be done.

I tried to remind myself that I had been through much worse in other races. The wind and saddle sores weren’t as bad as the first time I did the 508. And the muscle pain/rhabdomyolysis and high-altitude pulmonary edema I experienced in year 2 wasn’t nearly as bad this year. As bad as I was suffering I really had been through worse, and this perspective helped me push on.

At last I approached the final section at Snow Canyon State Park and carefully made my way down the steep descent, fighting to keep my eyes open. My crew had to leave me for this stretch, and naturally my phone died and I got lost, adding to my frustration. After 15-20 minutes of trying to figure out where I was I made my way back on course and finished out the last 5 miles. Excitement started to build, but I was so dehydrated and tired that I needed to get to the finish line ASAP before I passed out. As I approached the finish I felt a huge sense of relief, crossing in about 33 hours. It was 4pm and I had been awake for 35 hours.

Pretending I'm not about to explode. Sometimes you just gotta fake it.

I can’t thank my crew enough for getting me through this event. Without their physical and emotional support things would have turned out a lot differently. Ups and downs are in the nature of this sport, and it means the world to have people with you to help you through the tough times. Also it was my dad’s birthday and he didn’t hesitate to spend it in a car all day helping me.

These races to me are less about metrics such as time, speed, or power. Rather, they are more about testing your physical and mental limits. They’re about broadening your perspective on what is actually hard, so you can reflect on those experiences and use them in your daily life. For this reason I consider this race a success, because mentally I feel like I was the strongest I have ever been. Every time you push your limits you learn something, and the Hoodoo 500 was no different.

Here are some fun stats:

-Ride time was 29:23, at 17.6 mph. Unfortunately my stoppage time was close to 4 hours which is something I need to cut down a lot.

-I burned somewhere between 25-30,000 calories, that’s the equivalent to about 8 pounds of fat.

-I probably ate between 15-20,000 back, consisting almost entirely of pure sugar, rice krispy treats, and smuckers uncrustables.

-I decaffeinated the week before to get a little more buzz going during the race. I still drank 8 energy drinks; 4 Red Bulls, 3 Monsters, and 1 Ghost.

-I drank about 30 liters, or 65 pounds of water.

If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading. I really like writing these for myself to wrap my head around big experiences, but it’s cool when people reach out and tell me they enjoyed it!

“To the untrained eye ego-climbing and selfless climbing may appear identical. Both kinds of climbers place one foot in front of the other. Both breathe in and out at the same rate. Both stop when tired. Both go forward when rested. But what a difference! The ego-climber is like an instrument that’s out of adjustment. He puts his foot down an instant too soon or too late. He’s likely to miss a beautiful passage of sunlight through the trees. He goes on when the sloppiness of his step shows he’s tired. He rests at odd times. He looks up the trail trying to see what’s ahead even when he knows what’s ahead because he just looked a second before. He goes too fast or too slow for the conditions and when he talks his talk is forever about somewhere else, something else. He’s here but he’s not here. He rejects the here, he’s unhappy with it, wants to be farther up the trail but when he gets there will be just as unhappy because then it will be “here”. What he’s looking for, what he wants, is all around him, but he doesn’t want that because it is all around him. Every step’s an effort, both physically and spiritually, because he imagines his goal to be external and distant.”

The Ego Climber from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig (1974)

Hoodoo 500 Race Report

Sleep Better Tonight!