Dairyland Dare: report and results

First of all, sorry if you visited Morning Roll last Sunday expecting updates from the DD. Half the time I didn’t have phone service; the other half I was too tired to think of anything entertaining to say.

For those who still don’t know, the Dairyland Dare is this brevet-style ride in southwest Wisconsin, starting a few miles west of Madison. Three things make DD different from your run-of-the-mill brevet: 1) The word ‘brevet’ is not in its name; 2) participants receive a timing chip; 3) it is advertised to “ironpeople” and similar endurance nuts. All of the above make the DD, I think, a relatively competitive event. The course is murderously hilly. Really. I climbed walls that exceeded a 20% gradient. Several times. Many others were between 10 and 20%. And I remember few stretches of flats. In fact, I switched so many times from small to big ring and vice versa that I was afraid I was gonna stretch the cables into some sort of bungee rope.

What follows is an exceedingly long and horrible report, which seems appropriate for that ride.

How it unfolded

About 5.30am: I get into my wool kit, which would keep me dry for the first 500 meters of the ride. But I looked classy. Well, at least for the first 500 meters. For the remaining 299.5km I looked like I had just come out of a tub of brine.

Joe and I are in the first wave of starters. There are about 50-60 riders. The others (up to 1,100 in total!) would start at different times during the morning. Riders in my group are attempting different distances, from 100 to 300km, but there’s no way to tell who is doing what.

Km. 0: Off we go! Ahead of me: the goal of 300km and the promise of a swimming pool, a shower, a massage, and a huge dinner in the evening, all provided by the Dairyland Dare organization.

Km. 2: A group of Castelli-clad overachievers quickly forms. I join them.

Km. 8: We hit some rollers and the Fast Guys keep pushing it. “Is it wise to push it now? What distance are these guys doing anyway? What if they’re doing just 100km? Is it wise to kill myself now, with more than 250km to go?” And as I think this I let them go, and any pretense of being in a race disappears. It is 6.20am. I would spend most of the rest of the ride by myself. Until 7.20pm it would be just me, my bike, and the Little Voice in my head.

Km. 35: It seems like the most energy-efficient thing to do is to climb piano piano, on the saddle, and descend as fast as I can.

Km. 38: First food stop. I stuff my face with trail mix and electrolyte capsules, refill the water bottles, drink a cup of electrolyte drink, and off we go!

Km. 47: I look down at my speedometer: 74 km/h. “If a deer crosses the road now, or a tire blows out, they’re gonna have to pick me up from the asphalt with a vacuum cleaner.”

Km. 132: “Hello, Mr. Aero Bars. Are you expecting to get the full aerodynamic benefit of those bars on the 15%-gradient hills? Or is it perhaps that you wish to have as little control as possible over your steering in the steep descents? Please, Mr. Bars, explain to this dumb roadie.”

Km. 167: Somehow I end up on a gravelly, unpaved road with a 10% downhill grade. “The person who designed this course is evil, but not a murderer. I must have taken a wrong turn.” I turn around. Yes, I missed a turn.

Km. 169: A long section of rollers. “Descents are so futile. For every descent, there’s one other hill staring at you and laughing at the pathetic excuse of a moving object that you are.”

Km. 170: Not feeling so fresh any more. In fact, this is not fun any more. “Why am I doing this? I could be doing a nice, stupid ride to Schererville instead. Who cares if I finish? Should I finish? I want ice cream.”

Km. 204: “Why doesn’t my chain break? Or a cable? Or something... Just some excuse to stop and go home…”

Km. 205: “Where is that damned food station? Where did they mark the distances to the food stations in miles? Did I miss a turn? I wanna be home…”

Km. 206: “Can I crash into that oncoming car? Just a little. Enough to get out of this with some dignity.”

Km. 211: Me: “My right foot hurts. A lot. That’s a good reason for quitting, right?”
Little Voice: “Nah, you never read ‘Rider X quits Tour de France because his foot hurt.’”
Me: “Maybe in The Onion?”

Km. 215: Blood-sugar self test: "How many units are there in a dozen?" "...err... Where is the next stop?"

Km. 219: I ride in a haze. My brain has swollen to fill all the space available in my skull. “Hereford cows are so pretty. I wish I could have a Hereford cow as a pet.”



Km. 225: “The nice thing about the sun is that it moves across the sky.”

Km. 227: Finally, the rest stop! I sit, dejected. I don't care what Joe thinks, what the Tati guys think, what anyone thinks. I'm done. I'm not moving. I'm done...

A guy in a kit from “VeloViet” on a Pinarello speaks to me. He and a guy in a Trek kit have been near me, in front or behind, the whole morning. I tell him that I feel like shit and that I’m quitting. He doesn’t look very good either though. I ask: “Are you gonna keep going?” “Oh yeah,” he says. “I drove five hours to do this.” He adds: “Just keep riding till Harris Park. That’s 266km!” “Nah, I don’t think so” I reply. The guy in the Trek kit sneers at me.

I walk towards the volunteer in charge of the food station. I’m gonna ask her what I have to do to get the sag car to take me back to the start zone. In the last second I steer away from her and walk towards my bike. “Just ride to the timing line for this rest station, 50 meters up the road, so that at least you get credit for this distance.” I ride to the timing line, then inertia keeps me going. I pedal very slowly. “OK, keep going till the Trek guy and the VeloViet guy catch you. Then you can quit.”

Km. 242: Trek catches me.
“OK, keep going till the VeloViet guy catches you. Then you can quit.”

Km. 244: I stop at a tiny water station on top of a hill to take a breather. Then VeloViet guy passes by me and invites me to follow him. I hop on my bike and join him.

Km. 250: I feel better and better. I pedal with renewed strength. My foot doesn’t hurt any more. I ride with the VeloViet guy.

Km. 252: I feel pretty strong, considering the mileage covered already. I drop VeloViet. I’m moving a decent gear and can even pay attention to my form. Now I have the certainty that I’m going to finish the 300km. Yay!

Km. 254: VeloViet and I regroup at a rest stop. We encourage each other. I can tell he’s cooked, even more than I am. “Let’s take it easy” he says. “OK” I reply. I drop him 200 meters later.

Km. 266: I arrive at the finish point. Now just one more 33km loop. I see Alison, who takes a picture of me I think. “Do you need anything” she asks. I shake my head. I don’t need to stop know. I cross the timing point and turn around. This is the home stretch!

Km. 280: I’m lost. Less than 20km to finish and I get lost!!! I take out my iPhone to find my location. No service! Wait… I get a weak signal. I start fumbling with the mapping application, but in my state of tiredness and confusion I can’t make it work. Shit, shit, shit!!!! I don’t wanna do this any more. I wanna curl up in fetal position, roll on the grass, and sob. “No, you can’t do that.” “Of course not.” I decide to backtrack to the parking lot, even though that’s not the designated route. Nobody will know. “That’s cheating!!” “SHUT UP!”

Km. 284: I stand at the intersection I missed, and precisely at that moment Joe, who had been slower during most of the ride, takes the turn, all smiles. “Hey!” he salutes. “Damn it, now I can’t cheat.”

Km. 285: Joe and I started at the same time, so if we finish together we’ll get the same finishing time. I can’t let that happen. I CAN’T LET THAT HAPPEN. “Dude, time for the performance-enhancing tricks! Let’s see… what do we have? Paris-Roubaix 1972. You’re Roger De Vlaeminck. With 20km to go, you ride away from the selected pack of favorites to glory in the velodrome! Yes, that should do it! I can be De Vlaeminck!” And as I think this De Vlaeminck/me stands on his bike and powers away from Joe. 15 km of feverish gear-grinding, corner-carving ensues.

Km. 299.8: “The finish line! I can see it! OK, you made it. You can relax now. No, wait, Alison is taking pictures!! Gotta look good!” And as I think this I clench my teeth and sprint, storming towards the camera. And then bliss falls upon me.

Joe rolls in 3’15’’ later, as fresh as a cucumber. How does he do it?

7.45pm: The parking lot is half empty. Half the volunteers are gone. Half the food is gone. No massages any more. No showers. No swimming pool. I clean myself as well as I can with a wet towel in a toilet booth.

It almost doesn’t matter. I came so close to quitting but I didn’t. I feel an immense sense of achievement. And Alison, Steve and Angela were awesome. They had stashed away a bunch of food for Joe and myself, so we were taken care of.


Epilogue: The following day

Back in Hyde Park. I bump into my friend K., a non-cyclist.

K: Hey, how’s your weekend? You were riding your bike, right?

Me: Oh yeah, I rode almost 190 miles in the hills. My longest and most challenging ride eve…

K: Ah… that’s cool. Well, my Saturday was really exciting, you know? I found these shoes… OMG! They’re like awesome, ‘cause they match that turquoise handbag I told you about, and the scarf from Bloomingdale’s for the fall season. I drove around for like 12 hours looking for them, and then at the last one they had them and I was like so excited… I saw the shoes there and it looked like that was the only pair, and they were my size! How about that as a culmination to a long day? I felt soo complete. I went to get some ice cream to celebrate.

Me: Yeah…awesome…


Results

I finished 18th. My official time is 13h 17’, which includes stops, and my riding time is 12h 2’. The best time was 11.5 hours. Two women beat me. Check out the provisional results here. (Scroll down aaaaall the way to the bottom to the see the results for the 300km ride.)