Barre - Cincinnati - Denver - Pikes Peak - Denver - Jackson Hole - Denver - Cincinnati - Barre
If we were true adventurers we would have had fewer duplicates and more stops, but we're married now and we have a dog to consider.
We dropped Thunder in Cincinnati and crawled at a snail's pace across the flat, sprawling middle farmland of this great continent. The giant red-orange sun set slowly to our right as we tried to haul an oversized trailer across the country with an undersized 4Runner.
When I awoke we were blazing through eastern Colorado, the engine humming and the scenery ever-improving. We were tired of driving and yet it seemed like all there was. I didn't actually think we were ever going to arrive anywhere and was pleasantly amused when we did.
We made ourselves at home in Dad and Cindy's Denver house. After parking the trailer as best we could and exclaiming at the wonderful honeymoon gift basket Cindy left us, we promptly fell asleep and stayed so for the rest of the day.
Seth only had a day to get himself and his bike ready for the event to begin. He worked all day in the shade of the garage, occasionally venturing out into the hot Colorado sun as he discovered missing necessities. As the sun set Seth's gear was all packed together in the 4Runner ready for Tuesday's sprint down to Colorado Springs. His bike was in pieces, scattered about the garage - along the driveway - drying - curing - soaking - generally trying its darndest to thwart his efforts.
Tuesday dawned early. I was trying to keep an East Coast schedule for work and Seth had some putting-together to do. The plan was to jump down to Co. Springs around noon in time for Registration, Tech Inspection and Seth's Rookie Orientation. The next day was practice at 3:30am so we needed to hit the road back to Denver as soon as possible if we had any hopes of sleep that night.
Well at Registration of course we were told that there was a special dinner that night just for Riders and their crew. Me being me and Seth being Seth we couldn't turn down free food for motorcycle racers, so our sleep was delayed while we ate barbeque and drank beer, our skin burning up under the setting summer sun.
When we did roll back into Cindy's garage Seth informed me, much to my dismay, that he still had some work to do on his bike. Around 11 we crashed into bed, the alarm seth for 1:30am.
At 1:30 we were up, excited for the first day of practice. I made sandwiches and packed water bottles while Seth loaded his bike back into the trailer and made sure he had everything he needed. I drove us down to The Springs but made Seth drive up to Pikes as I wasn't sure what would happen when we were there. The motorcycles practiced the bottom section that day and I found, to my delight that there was wireless internet available from race headquarters!
Seth got his bike out and set it up in front of the trailer, hung some lanterns and put his leathers on. When he was ready to go he sat in the trailer looking out like a king as the slowly lightening sky made his personal pit area visible.
Seth attended a riders meeting and I started working, confident that with the strong internet signal I'd get lots of work done while he played on the mountain.
The sun rose and my little make-shift office in the back of the 4Runner heated up. Soon I was fast asleep, oblivious to Seth's many returns back to his pits. Practice ended at 9 so that regular vacationers could access Pikes Peak without too much inconvenience. On our way down the mountain road Seth recounted his day 1 experience (and threatened to revoke my title of chief mechanic if I fell asleep during practice the next day). He felt quite the rookie after passing someone then promptly crashing in front of him as he misjudged a turn. "You crashed?"
"Oh yeah, a few times."
During practice there's no time to have people going up one at a time, so they start in big groups being waved off in 30 second intervals, quickly overtaking - falling back - crashing - and restarting. This is what our New Hampshire friend was talking about, Seth told me, when he talked about Pikes Peak.
Seth was all smiles. He felt great, he'd gotten to tear around on his motorcycle all morning and we'd been invited back to the campground where a bunch of racers were staying. At the campground we met all sorts of folks. Jimmy, who had invited us, is from Vermont and we'd met him at some Hill Climbs and Rallies. There was a little wirey fellow who apparently held records in almost all the different motorcycle classes. Seth was in awe. There was another guy making breakfast burritos in his camper and handing them out to anyone who wanted one. The stories of crashes, finish line crossings, mid-race catastrophes and starting line antics were passed around and kept us laughing. Someone cracked open a beer. "A little early for that isn't it?" As it slowly dawned on us that it was only 9:45am, Seth looked at me with wide-eyed wonder. His happiness was complete.
The day was spent lounging in the shade of the cottonwood trees, white puffs floating through the filtered sunlight of the peaceful campground. I suspect that most people were napping. I was trying to get some work done while Seth and Jimmy talked and reminisced about all their racing ventures. The afternoon proceeded leisurely and we decided we should head back to Denver and get a good night of sleep.
Back at Dad and Cindy's I rustled up some dinner and Seth tinkered away at his bike. After dinner I tried to put in my last few hours of work for the day and Seth went back out to the garage. Despite our best intentions we didn't manage to crawl into bed until around 10, the alarm set for 1:30am.
At 1:45 we were up-and-at-em, Seth in a panic because we were late. I slapped some sandwiches together, threw the water bottles in the 4Runner and hopped in as Seth pulled out of the driveway. We were flying towards Colorado Springs, the BBC lulling while the passing towns slept in the darkness.
Our pit the second day was a bit tighter. We had been warned and even the big Ducati team was working out of a Sprinter instead of their team big rig. Yesterday's trailers were replaced with pickup trucks and bike haulers as we all tried to pack into a tiny bit of road half-way up the mountain. Right at treeline, we got to watch the sun rise as everyone raced around warming up their engines and figuring out last minute changes before the riders' meeting.
As soon as it was light enough practice began with a roar. I watched from the sidelines and was soon engulfed by the fumes of the race gas, which I've come to learn makes me nauseous. I tottered back to the 4Runner to try to get some work done. The morning was action packed; it seemed I had barely seen Seth off for another lap and he'd be back shouting for tools and jets, gas and water. He'd be off again in a flash.
They stopped practicing a little before 9 that day in an attempt to get everyone packed up and ready to head back down by 9, so that they wouldn't be late. Apparently the cars practicing the stage beneath us had a different idea, and kept practicing til 9:30. This of course angered most of the motorcycle racers who were sitting in a traffic jam ready to head down the mountain, and could have gotten several more laps of practice in. Since my chief mechanic duties had taken up so much time I had Seth drop me at an internet-coffee shop (so I could get some work done) in Manitou Springs while he went off to lounge at the campground with his fellow racers.
It would be silly to think that we managed to get in bed before 11 that night, it's just not our way. The alarm was stuck on 1:30am and at 1:30 we were up, excited for the last day of practice. It was Friday, and the motorcycles were scheduled to practice the top section of the mountain that morning, with our pits at "Devil's Playground." I made some sandwiches and grabbed the water bottles out of the freezer. I even managed a to-go cup of coffee for the road, and grabbed Dad's winter hat and coat. I drove us back down to Pikes Peak while Seth got in some much needed shuteye. As we climbed the toll road in the darkness, it occurred to me what a great idea oscillating headlamps are. When we reached our wind-swept oxygen deprived pit area we parked, shivered and set to work re-jetting Seth's bike. Once the bike was warming up without much danger of stalling in the thin frigid air, I sat back and watched the sun rise over the twinkling lights of Colorado Springs. It really was a beautiful morning.
On Saturday Seth had the day off. Our pit crew and racer credentials gave us free access to the toll road, and most people take advantage of the off day to ride up and down the mountain, getting the hang of doing the entire thing together instead of sections of it over and over. When we got up at 7 it felt like we must have slept til mid-afternoon. The rangers at the bottom of the road warned Seth that if he raced today, he wouldn't be racing tomorrow. I said of course there were too many people on the road to go fast today, Seth raised an eyebrow at me and they remarked on the general sensibility of women over men. We rode up and down only once and decided that we needed to go back to Denver and actually go to bed early. After all, Seth was racing the next day.
We had been told that we had to be in the pits early on Race Day. They opened the gates to racers at 4 and to the general public at 6. The race started at 9. We couldn't for the life of us figure out why we had to get there so early, but we set the alarm for 2:30 and figured we'd leave by three to get there at 4, just like they said to do. Exhaustion, it seems had finally caught up with us and we didn't leave Denver til 4. We were both panicked this time, the thought of being late on race day was too much to handle. We made great time down to Colorado Springs and as we got off the exit we thought we might not be too late after-all. Then we discovered why we were supposed to be there at 4.
There was a line of cars backed up all the way to the exit ramp from 25, fans and spectators waiting to be allowed passed the gate. Seth said that we were allowed to pass them because we were racers. We had a pit pass. We had to pass them or we'd never get into the pits. We had a chinese fire-drill and he drove the rest of the way, passing cars and pickups full of people. We needed to turn left onto the mountain road, and Seth rolled down his window to ask the people who were at the front of the turning lane "I'm racing, do you mind if I go ahead?" "No WAY" they shouted, waving him on, "Good luck dude!" As we drove up the left lane of the road, the scene became more and more festive. These people had obviously been camped out in their cars since the night before. Some were sipping beers and cooking breakfast sausages, tailgating at 5 in the morning. We weren't sure if they were starting early or if they were still going strong from the night before. As people saw the motorcycle on the back of the 4Runner and realized that a real live racer was in their midst, they cheered and toasted and shouted accolades after us. We finally got up to the pit area and, due to the skinniness of our 4Runner were assigned a spot between two saplings. We could barely open the doors! Seth got all his stuff ready and we went back to sleep in the 4Runner until shouting and the revving of engines woke us up around 7:30.
The motorcycles didn't race until the very end of the day, and Seth's class was towards the very end of the motorcycles, so we had a long wait ahead of us. We went up with Jimmy to watch the first cars take off, then came back to the pits and tried to figure out what to do all day. We listened to the race radio as Monster Tajima flew up the mountain in his record-breaking-under-ten-mintue run of 09:51.278. Cheers went out around the pits and up the mountain as everyone heard the news. Every once in a while I'd wander up to the start line to get cell phone reception and a barrage of texts from Dad and Cindy, who were driving down from the mountains and trying to get there in time to see Seth race. I'd text back news of the latest delay and let them know they still had a chance.
Finally it was time for the motorcycles to head towards the starting line. We borrowed an umbrella from Jimmy and I accompanied him, shielding him from the intense Western sun. We were up there for an hour or so in the thick of things and I bummed a bottle of water for Seth off of the kind folks at Ducati.
The delays kept coming, a rider would go down and they'd send up the wrecker and the ambulance. Mostly things turned out ok and the race eventually kept going. Once Seth was at the starting line I ran ahead into the spectator zone to find the place where I could see him for as long as possible.
My stomach turned upside down, my mouth hung open, my brain stopped functioning, my knees nearly gave out. I gasped for breath as I realized I had forgotten to continue breathing. It had only been four or five minutes since Seth's group had started. I texted Dad to say that if they saw any sign of #102 they needed to tell me immediately because there was an ambulance on the course. I lingered around race headquarters with a slowly growing group of wives, mechanics and interested parties trying to get any news we could about the ambulance. They refused to give us any information until they knew what was happening and we all waited with growing dread. An eternity passed and they began speaking in low tones to a woman, who immediately broke out into sobs and was whisked away. We heard them say that they were calling for a helicopter which was going to land down at Crystal Reservoir and the ambulance wasn't stopping on the way through, but they were going to get her to the hospital as fast as they could.
Slowly my blood began to recirculate and although I was horrified for that poor woman relief slowly flowed through my body. We got the word that the race was over and the cars started their parade down the mountain. On the way down, spectators come out of their hideways and line the road, hoping for one last glimpse at the racers. They all extend their arms for congratulatory high fives and so they proceed down the mountain, 12 miles of high-fiving their fans. When Seth got down he said Dad and Cindy surprised him at the top with a much appreciated bottle of water. We looked at the results and noted that Seth had finished 15th out of 17 racers in his class. (He laughed and said he thought he would have been dead last, since he crashed twice on the way up.)
We met Dad and Cindy for a celebratory bite to eat down in Manitou Springs. We strolled around town for a bit and got ice cream cones and then headed back to Denver one last time, exhausted and ready - finally - for a good night's sleep.
