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Name: Josh
Fairchild |
The Challenge 96
kilometers of road biking, with 6400 feet of elevation gain. 64
kilometers of mountain biking, with 3200 feet of elevation gain. 9.6
kilometers of running. 32
Sardines 32 Camparis and grilled cheese sandwiches.
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I Thought This Was Supposed To Be A Puff Piece
Here's
how I remember it.
Our
Crew:
Angela
Sandoval: my wife, cake baker, driver, the brains behind the team.
Steve
Edwards: aka, Esteban: Fit,
Drunk, German. Support crew
captain, main drinking partner, tireless BDCer.
John
Fieldhouse: Road bike guy (nice draft), likes to get up early, enjoys
Campari in small doses.
Jennifer
Fieldhouse: Chef, commissary,
grilled cheese making machine, doesn't enjoy Campari, even in small doses.
Reed
Bartlett: Big engine, born on
the Ganges. Mountain bike guide,
drinking compatriot, disappears at in-opportune times.
Patrick
Schlosser: Safety expert,
high-tech guru, owner of large vehicle.
Chad
Elmer: Waif, birdlike build,
un-known dorsal features. Goes
uphill better than most.
Corvus,
Ellie, Cody and Foxy: Dogs,
slobber factories, occasional run partners, good nap partners.
Our Goal:
96
kilometers of road biking, with 6400 feet of elevation gain.
64
kilometers of mountain biking, with 3200 feet of elevation gain.
9.6
kilometers of running.
32
Sardines
32 Camparis and grilled cheese sandwiches.
15 minutes before midnight, Oct. 28: Sitting, waiting. Campari at the ready. Running shoes laced. Dogs eager.
12:00.
let's have a drink. that was good. let's run to the bar for some more.
| Esteban and I are waiting for the hour to turn, I pour some Campari, midnight strikes - we're off. We down the first Camparis, and I get my first feeling of invincibility. This is gonna be simple. Steve recommends run to the bar, killing a couple of birds with one stone. Okay. |  |
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Hmmm. I’ve run about 6 miles in the last 12 months. The first mile – to the bar – is all down hill, no problem. Get to the bar - Rama Garden, which is . . . a little strange. I mean, I go there about 6 days a week, but never on a Friday night, and never at midnight. It was like a disco. Everyone was real drunk. Steve and I are adorned in running outfits, and red beanies. Most people didn’t even take notice. Michael pours us some drinks, yum yum. The
run home, uphill wasn’t so much fun.
Hmmm. 2 miles of running, starting to hurt. Could be trouble.
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We get back to the compound on Pescespada Island, and decide to have some sardines and grilled cheese. What could possibly go wrong? Within 45 minutes, I’ve run 2 miles, eaten one grilled cheese sandwich, had 5 Camparis and 11 Sardines. I go to bed feeling pretty good about myself. Little did I know, deep down there was something bad brewing. 4am.
A stabbing pain, in my gut, awakens me.
A quick trip to the lavatory confirms that my body doesn’t
particularly like Sardines. (Note:
I’ve never eaten sardines before this night.
I had eaten one anchovy before.
I liked it.) I get back to sleep for another hour and a half before the
alarm goes off. 6am. Drink some coffee. Spend more time in lavatory understanding the complexities of sardine digestion.
never had a sardine. i thought it was your favorite food? |
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7am on the road bike. I proceeded to burp sardines for the next 3 hours. Yummy. Who gives a shit. John provides fantastic riding support through the road ride. Giving me a great launch onto both climbs. The first climb goes okay; I’m never at my best on the first climb of the day. Hard to find a rhythm. The sardines aren’t helping. I eat a banana, hoping to burp banana rather than sardines. Instead, of course, I’m now burping sardines and bananas. Over
the first climb, and Jen shows up. Grilled
cheese, she offers. I
decline. Worried?
A little. Through the
first descent – 49.8mph - and up the slopes at the base of the second
climb, I’m starting to feel better.
The second climb is a bit more demanding, with a 17+% section right
off the bat to get you thinking.
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John
catapults me off, and I start to find my rhythm.
Nice. Sardine burping
diminishes. There are few
more joyful things to me than going uphill, in the mountains, on my road
bike. I stop at a little respite to pull of the leg and arm
warmers, and as I’m getting back on, John comes up.
He’s hurting with some strange electrical charge running down a
leg. I go on, and he says
he’ll call for the sag wagon.
¾ of the way up the final climb, the shining visage of the Team Van is coming down for me. We reconnoiter at the top, I feel good. I’ll see you at home. The descent off of Oak Glenn towards Yucaipa is quite fun, except in the fall when everyone is up picking and eating apples, when it’s real scary. Towards the base, there on the side of the road is none other than John, he reversed the second hill and came around the flanks to help me home. What a guy.
above & left: with john before the bike, with ang at the summit below: man's best friend. ellie, the team van driver, executes a perfect hand off. |
11:15am
Home. 15 minutes ahead of schedule.
Simple.
11:30am eat some more grilled cheese, drink some more Campari, but I’m steering clear of the Sardines. A show down is brewing. Fishes, man.
12pm the crew assembles. Load up the enormous red vehicle with bikes and people, and drive up the South Fork of the Santa Ana River: A fascinating region teaming with extraordinary single track. We chose its trails as our next destination.
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1 pm and we’re off on the mountain bikes. The first 11 miles of this trail are rolling, wonderful single track. Some of the best I’m told.
| After 11
miles, we hit some fire road and start climbing.
Hmmm. My legs don’t
feel great. I take some salt
pills, some anti-fatigue pills, drink some water, and try to find a
rhythm. By the top of the climb, I’m feeling okay.
We stop at the country store for some refreshments.
I have a can of coke, and pretty much regain my feeling of
invincibility. What do they put in that stuff?
By 4pm we’ve covered a little more than half of the ride. One last major climb and then its just miles and miles of highly technical, steep, overgrown single track. No problem. Chad, as befits those whose bones are hollow, flies up the climb on his single speed as if he was riding up the driveway. I decide that, since this is the last climb of the day, and since what the hell it’s only bike riding, I should go faster. So I do. And then I hurt. And then I remember the 21 sardines still awaiting their place in my gut, and then I slow down. And then, I’m out of gears. |
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At the top of the climb, I want a nap. He next 6-7 miles are technical single track. And someone should go up there and clear that trail. Full fingered gloves and long sleeves are a must. Full body armor and a full-faced helmet would have been nice too.
At
some point, I take a deep breath and realize, oh yeah this is the Inland
Empire and the sky really is brown. I
have smog lung; a simple affliction wherein your lungs burn from the tiny
particles you are inhaling. Wonderful.
above: various poses on the santa ana river trail. a rather technical crossing. right: wait a minute. take! below: josh laid out after the right, then right back in action. it was a tabby, i think.
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6:15pm we pull into the yard back at the compound, and I crawl off of my bike and lay my self down on the concrete. I feel great, just not physically or mentally; its more of a metaphysical thing. Pat and Chad head off for smarter activities; and its just Esteban, Angela, me, and the dogs. We eat some grilled cheese and Steve realizes: it’s not his challenge, why is he eating the same as me. I’m not feeling it for the sardines, or for the remaining grilled cheese, or the run, or Camparis.
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7 pm.
I take a very long hot shower. I
need some motivation. I need some
energy. I don’t need any more
grilled cheese, sardines or Campari. I
could probably go without running 4 miles too.
7:15 pm I
lie down on the couch for a little rest. Mistake?
Yeah, probably.
7:30 pm
I’m startled awake by Ellie’s tongue. What
a dog! She doesn’t want to see me
fail. I jump up (more of a roll and
grown really), slide on the running shoes, have a Campari, and I’m off for two
miles of running.
7:50 pm. 20 minutes = 2 miles. How hard can it be to run two miles? Well . . .
8:00pm.
More grilled cheese, more Campari. Still
struggling with the Sardines.
8:30pm. I
decide to finish the running. Angela
hitches Corvus up. Is it cheating
if he drags me the final two miles?
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9:00pm. Corvus and I finish the run. He’s significantly more upbeat about it than I am, as if . . .
above:
corvus dressed as gollum for halloween pulls josh along for promise of fisheses.
less above: people pay thousands of dollars for wedding cakes. ang molded this
masterpiece in 30 minutes. a true work of art.
9:15pm.
There’s an open can of Sardines sitting on the counter.
In my absence, Steve and Angela have been tallying:
there are 9 sardines in that can, they tell me.
That will put you 2/3s of the way there, they tell me.
Then I notice the tally of Grilled cheese: 7.
Yikes. Camparis: 9. Double
Yikes. Shit. I may be sandbagged here.
I don’t want to eat any more. I
want a Manhattan: a good drink, with Bourbon.
I eat the 9 sardines. I want
to puke. 2 more Camparis, quickly.
I’m done. No more fish. No more cheese. No more bread – well, okay, I’ll have a little cake. I quickly realize that my Campari, sandwiches and Sardines adds up to more than 32. That’ll have to do. I mix Steve and I some Manhattans, Angela cuts the cake. We toast. We eat. I go to bed.
Final
Tally:
96
k, on the road bike w/6400 ft of climbing
64 k, on
the mtn bike w/3200 ft of climbing
9.6k
running
32+ Camparis, Grilled Cheeses, Sardines.
A big thanks to everyone who helped. It was a fantastic day. I’m already thinking about next year. Anchovies!
