The Road to Perdition is in Bakersfield
Clint Gaver
report filed August 2002, Bakersfield, California
The Road to Perdition is also known as Famoso Raod off highway 65, Norheast
of Bakersfield by 30 minutes, but a million miles from civilization ... a
hideously desolate, dry and depressing drive to Purgatory USA. There was not
one green leaf, tree, shrub, or square inch of shade visible in any
direction..in other words, nothing lives out there. If I am unfortunate
enough to be damned to Hell when I pass, I now know what it looks like. I
thought my onboard temperature gauge in the Astro was reading incorrectly at
112 degrees. I was right. It was 114.5 at the 3:30 PM start time.
I started the race with 5 ... yes, FIVE ice-cold bottles. The only chance
to get more would be at the 13 mile neutral feed. Then it would be 24 miles
after that until I reached the same feed again, sans assistance in the main
feed.
The race rolled out fairly piano, approaching the initial 3 mile climb
where someone decided to start the weeding-out process. The pack was
immediately stretched thin at the 7 mile point, half way up the climb. I was
happily sitting about 10th wheel when I felt the unbelievable sensation of
squishiness from my front end. Yep. Another flat. The Shimano support was far
back, since he was squeezing thru the recently elongated field. I had enough
time to pull off the wheel, finish my second bottle in less that 7 miles, and
ponder goin g back to my air-conditioned car for a cool drive out of Hades. I
made the change and then conjured up images of people like Johan Museeuw who
chases back on after 4 flats in Paris-Roubaix or, more close to home...John
Hunt who flatted at Copperopolis and rode alone until his eyes bled. I was
inspired. There was still a lot of miles, so I figured I would accept the
challenge, and ride a TT for howmanyever miles it took to claim back my top
ten spot I held just a few minutes earlier.
I steadily picked off riders up this first climb, made the drop down to
the feed and began pulling back more on the series of three following climbs.
This race was pure torture. I truly was in an abysmal inferno, and a lonely
one at that. I can't describe how hot it really was. I was passing riders who
looked like they had ridden 120 miles off the front of a pro race, yet it was
only mile 16!! Some were literally barely creaking over their pedals to keep
moving...and some very strong riders... including Del Valle from Spokesman,
and Wordin from Mercury.
Our recent honeymoon trip in 100 degree temps while climbing the
Dolomites must have prepared me. I addition, I had drank over two gallons of
water the previous couple of days to tank up just in case. It turns out I would need every
drop.
I eventually found a lone Mercury rider to work with for the last few
miles thru lap one to the feed, where he was gracious enough to notify his
attendants in the feed zone to relinquish a few well needed bottles to his
chase mate. I had gone thru 7 bottles already in the first 24 mile lap. I
knew that he had a man up the road, and would have to leave him soon, but
needed a friend for this flat stretch in order to earn my ration of water in
the feed.
We picked off two of the dropped riders from the lead group before the 3
mile climb began. Once we hit the climb, I was once again on my own. Thanks
for the bottles, but got to go. I now had the group in site at 30 seconds up.
It looked like about 8 riders. Mike Carter {the winner} was up the road by
three minutes. It was a race for second. I finally clawed my way back on
after the second climb through the descent. I got a couple of double takes
from these guys as I rolled up to the front to not lose momentum. We now
started the last series of two or three short climbs. A Mercury rider and
another both took turns at attacking, which only dropped two riders of our
party of eight. Evidently, another rider snuck off the front before I caught
on, so we were now racing for 3rd. The Mercury guy went hard one more time
and I could not follow...I only managed to drag along five of the last 6.
After the 55 MPH drop, I started my predictable series of attacks over the
final five miles. If I made it this far, {I never expected to really make it
up to the front} I had nothing to lose now. Live by the solo attack/ Die by
the solo attack. I managed to get rid of two more, but the solo chasing
effort and late attacks took there toll. I managed to lead out a long one
kilometer sprint which forced all of us to sit up at 300 meters to recover,
then go again. I took third in our four up sprint, and just missed the top
five paying spots.Oh well, my motto is to make it hard for me and hopefully
harder on the other guys: goal achieved.
The Shimano guy gave me the best award one could hope for though. He said
he could not believe he saw me in his rear view mirror approaching the lead
group, as he had given me the wheel more than 75 minutes earlier. He gave me
a Shimano souvenir hat as a "consolation" prize along with a solid hand shake
for my solo effort all day. That's racing for ya. I think only about 20 or so
riders bothered to finish after the first lap. Understandably, only a
masochist or mush-brain would have continued after the first lap ... and the
heat melted a few thousand of my cells ...
-Clint Gaver
