Belgian Waffle Ride 2013
Where – San Diego, CA
April 7, 2013
Who Raced – Pablo Maida
I’ve come to one conclusion after this experience. There is no good reason to do
this ride. Ever.
130 miles, 10,000 feet of climbing, 8 dirt/sand/gravel/rock sections, water
crossings, waffles, beer.
The ride, limited to 350 riders, would start in two waves to control the group
size and group riders by speed. The faster cat 1/2 racers, some pros and current
state/national champions included would make up the first group off. 10 minutes
later the second half of us would roll out as well.
First 22 miles were neutral and with a pace car escort to keep the group safe on
the open-to-traffic streets. We seemed to coast along at a parade lap pace until
we were let loose at a river bike path. This is where the ride really started,
actually EXPLODED. Like ravenous dogs chomping at the bit the moment the car
swung wide and we all swung onto the bike path it went to 30+MPH single file
tongue dragging pace, going two or three wide closing gaps on a path barely wide
enough for 3 wide. We probably scared the crap out of the morning recreational
riders and joggers that we kept dodging to keep pace. Just as I thought to
myself “this is just like the NOW ride, only faster” the route veered right off
the edge of the bike path, down the embankment and into the dirt, our first dirt
section took me by surprise. BAM, down into 4″ of soft sand on the steep slope,
elbow to elbow trying to not fall over, trying to keep from running over the guy
that fell off. BAM, hit the hard packed flat dirt trail and kept going at what
felt like 30MPH but was probably 15. “This is just like the NOW ride, only
faster…and in dirt.” Continued at a tongue dragging pace to keep a wheel, legs
burning as we kept going from hard pack to sections of deep sand, then hard
pack, then a drainage ditch to jump, then more sand, then it was over and we
hiked it back up the embankment.
Back on the bike path for what seemed a second then turned off, hard right to a
cul-de-sac…bunny hopping a curb to get to dirt section a guy in front of me bins
it trying to hop curb and goes ass over tit right into the gravel. Sure, we all
scream “you ok?” as if any of us would actually stop to help. Too busy ripping
our legs off trying to stay on a wheel. This section was hard gravel with big
boulders on the sides if you managed to fall. Nice. We jumped from one side to
the other trying to find the fastest, smoothest line through what looked like a
dirt/gravel service road, gagging on the dust and humbled by the girls whose
wheels I could barely hold praying for the end of the section which came a short
time later.
Then we continued on a paved road for another nanosecond before hitting a third
dirt section. This one was like a fire road, only pointing up. Everyone
including myself was ripping our legs off trying to hold a wheel. Holy Christ
was it fast. Finally settling in and someone mentions its only 100 more miles to
go. WHAT? We’re only 30 in and I’m done.
The next 40 miles are a blur of multi name roads ending in Canyon, Knoll,
Heights, Diablo or Hell. Seriously. Short hills, long hills, up hills, where
were the descents? Jesus, it just kept going up. On one particularly long 9
mile slog I was feeling smug having just dropped the dude with one leg, until he
passes me near the top never to be seen again. It was turning out to be that
kind of day. Maybe I was able to drop him initially because Greg Leibert came up
and gave me a couple pushes…I’ll never know. I stopped at the godsend that was
the 2nd sag stop for what seemed like an eternity. I pondered having only ridden
just over half the course while I drowned myself in Coke and Bonk Breakers. The
ride was starting to take on a `race the sunlight’ feeling.
More miles, more hills, more dirt sections. The dirt sections never went
downhill either. Most were flat hard packed trails with sandy sections but one;
just after the deepest water crossing (Do I get off and walk across or try to
ride through?) was the rocky stair step to heaven. At least that’s the direction
it went, but the rocks belied its true purpose, to kill any living thing on two
rubber circles. This section would claim the most tubes and rear derailleurs of
the day. This was also the section where the guy with one arm went past me. He
had a metal attachment on his left wrist that was connected to his handlebars!
Damn if I wasn’t going to bury myself to stay on his wheel. I finally dropped
him 10 miles later. Smugness ensued.
I finally found myself in a small group of familiar faces from the South Bay,
some of whom had pre ridden the course so they kept me informed what was to
come. After a bit of flats where we had a nice rotating paceline we again headed
skyward. One of the guys was able to tell me “this steep section is short so
just power over it”, as if it were easy. It was for him, as he dropped me. I
spent another fair few miles alone. It felt like the sun was starting to set. We
were into it for about 110 miles by now. It felt like riding Pepperdine hill
over and over, for 4 hours but by mile 115 we hit the serious climbs…
At about mile 115 we hit the first longer steep climb of the day, Twin Oaks. It
was long, straight and surprisingly painful. The worst part was that after a
brief descent we turned right onto the hardest climb of the day, Double Peak.
This was about a mile long registering between 20-23% for most of it. There
really is no easy way to describe it.
More stats: 432, 47 and 5. The first is the number of holes in the perforated
bar tape on my handlebars. The second is the number of dust sized missing paint
spots where my handlebar tops are starting to fade. I got to study my cockpit a
great deal around this time. The third number is my approximate crank rpm while
climbing.
My legs were shattered already and I struggled just to keep from falling over.
At one point I could see a rider standing around up ahead. I thought it was the
end. Instead it was a spectator and the road switchbacked the other way
continuing its ascent into the clouds. Up ahead I saw a small group and an ice
cooler. Thinking they might be the sag stop at the top of this earthen torture
device I soldiered on, doing my best impersonation of a paper boy only to
discover it was the photographer. Me, “how far?” Photo assistant, “one more
bend,” then a pause, “maybe two”. Right then. After what seemed like several
hours later I managed to claw my way up those last 500 meters or so around the
last few bends to the sag stop where I could no longer swing my leg over the
bike without my hamstrings cramping causing me to scream like a little girl.
“One day I’ll look back on this and think I was having fun,” is all I could
think, “But not now.”
I hung out there for high tea services, ie long enough to gather more of my
friends for the slog back to start/finish. Another 15 miles of Pepperdine type
hills awaited us. I cursed every turn upward. I cursed every rider with a
compact crank. I cursed every rider with a 27, or a 28, or anything other than
my 39/25 standard cranks. I cursed every red light. I cursed the sky, the
setting sun, the pavement. Then something happened. Within the last few miles
everything started to look familiar, flatter even. I could almost taste the beer
waiting for me at the end. I could smell the sausages. Well, that might have
been me I smelled. Not sure. All I know is that our group got a second wind and
started to keep a nice pace to the end. Around the last few bends and one last
short climb to the finish banner! I sprinted up to it dropping my friends. That
is tradition after all. One of my friends, Gus Bayle, did a nice wheelie across
the line behind me. Total elapsed time was something like 7 hours or 7-1/2
hours, can’t remember now. Maybe 1 hour of stop time total out of that.
I’ve never had a better beer and sausage.
There is no good reason to do this ride. Ever.
I’ll probably do it again next year. Until then I’ll wear my BWR jersey with
pride.
Note: Just so you don’t think I was making that bit up about the one-legged rider or the one-arm rider, I should tell you that the Spy Belgian Waffle Ride was a charity ride in support of CAF, the Challenged Athletes Foundation. And the guy with the prosthetic attached to his handlebars was “One Arm Willie”. Here is his story and the CAF story:
http://www.challengedathletes.org/atf/cf/%7B10e89006-a432-401e-bc75-805e68ce5c27%7D/WillieStewart.pdf
http://www.challengedathletes.org/site/c.4nJHJQPqEiKUE/b.6449023/k.BD6D/Home.htm .
Cheers!
Pablo-
2.243201
-2.274170
