A Hotly Contested 508-Mile Ride
One of the world’s most inhospitable places seems benign as midnight approaches. A dense quilt of stars and a sliver of moon throw an iridescent glow over the maroon van parked on the shoulder of California Highway 190.
Inside, asleep on a bench seat, is Perry Smith, 227 miles and 17 hours into a bicycle race called the Furnace Creek 508. A short nap is necessary because Smith was falling asleep in the saddle--while hurtling at 40 mph down a grade into Death Valley.
At 12:01 a.m., Jim von Tungeln, the leader of Smith’s support crew, pokes his head through the van’s sliding door and gently wakens Smith.
“Hey, buddy, want to go for a little bike ride?”
Considering that it’s 281 miles to the finish line, the question might sound sadistic, but Smith doesn’t complain. He straps on his helmet, clicks into the pedals on his titanium-framed road bicycle and rejoins the race.
*
Actually, “race” might be a misnomer for this annual journey through the harsh California desert. For riders such as Smith, a 47-year-old technical writer from Costa Mesa, the competition is internal: You race against yourself and, of course, the course.
From the start--a motel parking lot across Interstate 5 from Magic Mountain in Valencia--to the finish in Twentynine Palms, the course winds 508 miles, mostly on two-lane high-desert roads.
Riders have 48 hours to reach the finish, but the fastest expect to finish in fewer than 30. Making it tougher are the extreme weather conditions common during the race. Even in October, temperatures can soar above 100.
Head winds make pedaling torturous. Sudden crosswinds can knock a rider to the pavement.
It’s a daunting undertaking, even for ultra-marathon bicyclists, which is what helps make Furnace Creek special, said Chris Kostman, the race director.
“In the world of endurance sports, there are the events that the vast majority of the participants consider the ultimate event, like the Ironman Triathlon,” Kostman said. “Then there are some events that exceed even that.”
Furnace Creek, which definitely belongs in that category, serves as a qualifier for what many consider the ultimate ultra-cycling test, the transcontinental Race Across America.
Said Smith, “It’s one of those challenges that you look at and say, ‘It’s something I could just barely do if I stretch myself beyond what I feel comfortable doing.’ ”
It might be surprising, therefore, to hear Kostman downplay the difficulty of his bicycle race.
“It’s easy to portray this as an insane gruelathon of people self-inflicting torture on themselves,” he said. “But actually, people are having fun most of the time.”
That seemed possible as riders lined up at the starting line in Valencia several weeks ago.
“Eight years ago, this started out as this kind of mystical journey for me,” said Ron Shepston of Silverado Canyon, a rural Orange County community. “Now it’s, ‘Just get it done.’ The next step for me is the Race Across America.”
At 7 a.m., sharp, Kostman sent the 35 solo riders, among them four women and four riders on two tandem bikes, on their way.
The support vehicles fell in line behind the riders. Because of traffic, riders are on their own for the first 12 miles, but from then on, crews are supposed to keep their riders in sight.
*
Forty minutes and about 12 miles into the race, Smith pedals smoothly past his support crew and up a slight grade in the foothills east of Valencia. He’s only minutes behind the leaders, and his crew chief, Von Tungeln, wonders if he isn’t pushing himself too hard.
“But it’s his ride, his nickel,” says Von Tungeln, the only one of the four-person crew who has done anything like this before.
A good support crew is crucial. There are few amenities along the course and nothing is provided for riders at the six official time stations. Everything Smith needs, from food and water to spare bike parts, is in the van.
Water is especially important. Extreme exertion combined with sleep deprivation often lead to hallucinations. A crew must be able to recognize warning signs and, if necessary, get a rider off the bike for a rest.
However, most of the crew’s time is spent making sure the rider stays on course and gets enough to eat and drink. Smith had to quit 355 miles into his first Furnace Creek race last year because he didn’t get enough calories.
That isn’t going to happen this time. Every hour, Smith is handed a liquid meal--500 calories of energy drink mixed in the back of the support van. Every third hour a bottle of electrolyte fluid replacer is mixed and handed off. This is in addition to the 28 ounces of water Smith is hoping to drink every hour.
Smith, in form-fitting, full-body black tights, is holding his own.
He hits the first time station, California City, the 84-mile mark, at 11:50 a.m., 20 minutes behind his target, but it’s nothing to worry about.
Mercifully, the weather is relatively mild, daytime temperatures lingering in the low 90s. But riders are starting to heat up as they near the 100-mile mark. Crews use various techniques to cool the cyclists.
Water-filled garden pesticide sprayers are popular, and one crew douses its rider with a pressurized hose rigged to the vehicle.
Meanwhile, Smith declines external water, while drinking steadily.
“Our guy’s out there with black tights on,” Von Tungeln says, shaking his head. “It’s sad, it is. Did you guys hear me try to get him to take it off? He’s got to be sweating more because of that stuff.”
Smith doesn’t seem bothered. His only problem, a leg cramp at 100 miles, was quickly rubbed out by Von Tungeln. But by the second time station, Trona--155 miles--he is nearly an hour behind his planned pace.
In Trona, Smith makes his first pit stop, at 4:19 p.m., and admits his strength is flagging.
“I hope I don’t look like I feel,” he says.
After 15 minutes, he remounts and tries to get back into a pedaling groove, knowing the toughest part is still ahead.
Looming is Towne Pass, the steepest climb of the trip, 3,800 feet in a 10-mile span. The crew is growing pessimistic, although nobody says anything to Smith. When, at midafternoon, he says he is falling asleep, he is given an energy bar, his first solid food of the ride.
At 7:50 p.m., he switches to his second bike, the climber, and begins his ascent.
Since darkness had fallen, the support vehicle moves in behind him, its headlights augmenting his bike’s small light and protecting him from other traffic.
Given his fatigue, Smith is pedaling with surprising power.
“I’m not sure what’s going on but he’s definitely got a second wind,” Von Tungeln says.
Moments later, not 15 minutes into the climb, Smith stops for a massage because his thighs and calves are cramping. Later, he passes several riders on the hill but at 9:30, still two miles from the top of the pass, he decides to push his bike the rest of the way up.
“If I ever do this again, I will really train for it,” Smith says as he wearily changes into running shoes.
An hour and a half later, he’s at the top of Towne Pass, ready for the downhill ride into Death Valley.
Only 295 miles to go.
At this point it is becoming clear that Smith won’t finish (15 solo riders did, and 22-year-old Justin Peschka of Chandler, Ariz., won), but he pushes on. The 20-minute nap refreshes him enough to continue 62 more miles until 4:05 a.m., when, still in Death Valley, he takes a two-hour sleep break.
At 6:10, Smith is back on his bike, ready for a relatively gradual climb out of the valley. Less than two hours later, slightly more than 25 hours and 304 miles after the start, Smith takes a break and asks for a roast-beef sandwich.
Between bites he says, “Jim, I think I’m going to pack it in. I feel pretty used up now and it’s not going to get better.
“I had fun but it’s a lousy showing.”
A bit later, before jumping into the van for the drive home, Smith is already looking ahead.
“I might do it again next year,” he says.
*
Next time, Smith wants to be better prepared. Six weeks before this race, a project at the Cypress telecommunications firm where he works forced him to dramatically curtail his riding.
He wanted to work up to two 12-hour rides each weekend, but stopped at one eight-hour ride.
He considered pulling out and didn’t sound very optimistic at the first meeting of his crew a week before the race.
“Probably the first thing we should do is give everyone an opportunity to back out,” he said. “Because I’ve been thinking about that a lot myself.”
But he decided to see how far he could push himself.
Why?
Nearing the top of Towne Pass, walking beside his bike, Smith gave as good an answer as any.
“The race is so compelling, and it only happens once a year,” he said. “So if you like it, you want to come out and do it, even if you haven’t trained properly.
“Even if you probably shouldn’t.”
(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC, Orange County Edition)
Furnace Finishers
The top 15 solo finishers in the Furnace Creek 508:
1. Justin Peschka, Chandler, Ariz., 28 hours 42 minutes 2 seconds.
2. Seana Hogan, San Jose, 30:03.30
3. Andrew Bohannon, Sunnyvale, 32:40.30
4. Harold Trease, Jemez Springs, N.M., 32:46.46
5. Dwight Bishop, Butte, Mont., 33:20.46
6. Peter Pop, Malibu, 34:14.21
7. Charlie Liskey, Somis, 36:11.00
8. Paul Evans, Asheville, N.C., 36:49.05
9. Thomas Maslen, Menlo Park, 36:56.22
10. Lubomir Hristov, Tustin, 38:28.24
11. Bernadette Franks-Ongoy, Hawaii, 41:43.56
12. Drew Olewnick, Brooklyn, 44:26.00
13. Tim Kinkeade, Moscow, Idaho, 44:49.47
14. Zoran Musicki, Upton, N.Y., 45:00.45
15. Terry Zmrhal, Redmond, Wash., 45:13.18