Silver State 508 Race Report

Here is a brief summary of my Silver State 508 race experience. For brevity I’ll skip pre-race details, I’ll just note it included a lot of nerves and a large calorie surplus.

The race started at 5am on a Friday which called for a 3:45 alarm. Luckily I slept pretty well, since I knew sleep would be my biggest challenge the next couple days. There was a neutral start for all the solo racers (there were teams that started after us) and we soft pedaled to the first hill. We started climbing Geiger Grade before dawn and I finally began calming my nerves now that the race had begun. I felt good and actually borderline excited for the day ahead. I ended up making it to the top just before sunrise in first ahead of the 2019 winner Shane Trotter, which meant I was either really fast or the absolute worst at pacing. I was hoping to keep him in sight to cue off of his pacing but I got turned around in Virginia City and I lost him. At mile 30 I met with my crew and jumped onto my time trial bike. If you choose you’re allowed to race on two bikes, one that is faster on flat roads and one that’s lighter for the climbs. I also wanted two bikes for comfort because the positions are slightly different as are the seat pressure points. The next 60ish miles through Silver Springs and Fallon were dead flat with a slight tailwind. I tried to get in a rhythm and catch up to Shane but my heart rate was getting a little high and I had trouble keeping fluids in, having to stop at least every hour for a bathroom break. I assumed this was due to the altitude since I’ve had similar issues in the past. I kept drinking water and electrolytes and was worried I was going to be dangerously dehydrated by the end of the day. For these reasons I decided to just ease up and stay within myself since I had 450 miles left. I came through the first 100 miles in 4:52 including stoppage time.

The next 100 miles took me past the tiny “town” of Middlegate and off highway 50 onto the remote 722. I crested Carroll summit which peaks over 7000 ft. and rode through a couple seemingly endless valleys that were 20 miles dead straight with no turns or stops. I made the connection back onto highway 50 and ascended to Austin for the second time check around 3:30pm and laid down in the shade for a few minutes to eat some pickles. I continued on and rolled over Austin Summit which is the highest point of the course at around 7600 ft. Shortly thereafter my watch hit 200 miles. Total ride time was 11:40, a huge milestone in itself, and I tried to not think about how I was still less than half way.

After the descent from Austin Summit the road was mostly flat to Eureka. Ideally I would be on my time trial bike but I was getting pretty physically and mentally fatigued and decided to stay on the road bike for comfort's sake. I knew I could ease up for the next 50 miles and focus on eating and drinking, and if all went well come into the turnaround in good spirits. There was a 30 mile dead straight road with a slight tailwind where I kept the effort easy while the speed stayed relatively high. About 20 miles from the turnaround I passed by the leader, Shane, who was absolutely smashing on his TT bike in the opposite direction. I knew I’d be a bit behind but the gap was surprising. I was sure he’d be close to the record at that point in the race and I believe he finished about 30 minutes outside of it. Shortly after, it started to get dark and I tried to glance behind me to catch the beautiful sunset. I rolled into Eureka around 7:45pm, covering the first 256 miles in 14:45 including stoppage time. I was super happy with the time considering I was on my slower, less aggressive road bike for 200 of those miles.

Usually in a shorter race I look for the halfway point as the first goal to hit. For example, in a 10k run at the end of a triathlon I focus on the first 5k and no further. I run hard for the first 5k, then the second half always feels easier mentally because I’ve passed the hump and I start counting down the distance in my head. It’s the same with any workout or task, once you hit the halfway point it gets easier mentally and you push to the finish. However, for this race I felt very little joy when I stopped for dinner in Eureka. There was a brief moment of happiness that I had made it this far, but I let my mind stray to the task ahead of me which I had tried to not let myself do all day. The key to endurance, and especially ultra endurance is to stay in the moment but acknowledge the future. You have to pace yourself with the distance ahead in mind but you can’t let the magnitude of that future undertaking burden your present mentality. I was having a lot of trouble grappling with that in this moment. Sure I had already ridden half of the race, but that didn’t make me feel any better. If anything it made me feel worse because I was starting the second half exhausted. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff ready for a leap of faith. I started doing the math. It was 8:15pm and I had 252 miles to ride. If somehow I didn’t sleep, maybe I could “even split” the race and finish the second half in 14:45 just like the first. That would put me across the finish line around 11am. But I knew in the back of my mind that wasn’t going to happen. More realistically I would have a headwind almost all the way home which could add hours. Additionally the fatigue in my shoulders and saddle sores from my TT bike would mean my time on that bike would be limited, and I would be forced onto my slower road bike for almost the entire way home. This could also add hours. All these things weighed on me heavily as I ate my egg and cheese Subway sammich, and the jalapeños burned my dry, chapped mouth. With every chew I contemplated my fate, but there was obviously no option but to hop back on the bike, especially since third place had just rolled into Eureka.

The first 60 miles back to Austin were mostly flat and I anticipated a stiff headwind. I strapped my lights on my TT bike and got to work. By now it was mostly dark with only light from the moon, so I just focused on the light in front of me and tried not to think about where I was or how far I had left. Just keep your head down and try not to get smacked in the eye by a moth. The winds had died down a bit as the sun set so I had hope for a calm, clear night ride ahead. For this long, flat stretch I only stopped a couple times briefly to urinate and remove trapped moths from my helmet that were flapping around on my scalp. One by one I passed all of the cyclists heading in the other direction, yelling encouragement and waving as they sped by. I’ve never been so excited to cheer on other racers. This event felt special, and I’ve never been so excited to see people out testing themselves in a race of this magnitude. Seeing companions out on course also made me feel less alone in my struggle against the “Loneliest Highway in America.” I made it back to the climb to Austin and stopped briefly for a bike change and an uncomfortable bathroom break in the sagebrush off the road. My only real goal remained to finish. However, I couldn’t help but track the third place headlights in the distance behind us as I squatted in the sand.

While I remain one of the heaviest cyclists in the country (slight exaggeration) I am a climber at heart. I was happy to tick off the miles back up to Austin Summit for the second time and I actually got a little boost from knowing I had come over the highest point of the race for the final time. I descended into Austin for the fourth checkpoint as the clock hit midnight. I took my time through this checkpoint, changing my shorts and putting on warm clothes. I had hit that segment pretty hard so I was a little disappointed to see third place roll in shortly behind me. We exchanged pleasantries and he asked how I was doing. With my excellent poker face I said, “Really bad. I’m exhausted and I’m usually in bed by 9:00 so I may fall asleep soon.” At this point I didn’t really care about racing, it was just really nice to talk to another guy grinding it out with me. However, getting passed is never fun for your morale so I wanted to maintain my lead simply for that reason. But after my response to his question I’m sure he said to himself, “I’m gonna beat this softie”, so I shotgunned a Red Bull, threw my leg over my bike, and rolled out into the darkness. I completed the first 325 miles in about 19 hours and 16 minutes.

After descending from Austin we took the left turn back onto highway 722. The next 20-30 miles would be conducive for riding the time trial bike, but at this point merely staying upright was a win, so I decided to ride the roadie and just try not to stop and stay in good spirits. I tried to keep a good tempo because third place was still stalking us from about a half mile back. I knew there would be a long valley with a false flat incline before the next substantial climb. You could see the reflectors lining the road ahead, but they would come unbearably slow. They looked like they were getting closer but in reality those reflectors could be 15 miles in the distance. It was a long slog just to the base of the 13-mile Carroll Summit climb. It was a clear night and luckily the winds had died down significantly. I tracked the moon across the sky in front of me while dodging jackrabbits with a death wish. I thought the night riding would be the worst part but at this point I actually started to enjoy myself. It wasn’t hot anymore, there was little to no wind, no cars were speeding past us, and I had 365 degree views of the stars above me. I actually started to feel better mentally than the last time I was at this point on the course about 11 hours earlier. Mentality at this stage in the race is basically everything, because in terms of physiology there's nothing you can do to ride harder, it’s just a matter of grit. It was the perfect time to receive the following quote from a podcast in my ear: “Although I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil...because I am the meanest motherfucker in the Valley.”

I think the climb to Carroll Summit was where I started to come apart. The Red Bull in Austin 3 hours earlier did well to mask my fatigue, and I put in a good three hour stretch to the top of this long climb. I think this is where some minor hallucinating began as well. It wasn’t a full on Alice in Wonderland situation, but I continuously mistook the lights moving across the rocks and grass as animals getting ready to dart across the road. The weirdest one was a large rock on the side of the road I mistook for a huge crab and it actually scared the s**t out of me. I fought the urge to walk until I finally made it to the top, and I knew I had summited the last major climb until the final 15 miles of the race. This brought me a little bit of happiness. Unfortunately the descent was almost as bad as the climb. The forward pressure on my hands and shoulders as well as the aching in my neck was agonizing. I had to stop at least once before I got to the bottom to stretch my shoulders and make sure I stayed awake. I finally reached the bottom and cruised back to the junction at highway 50. I quickly got my shivering body into my support car and closed my eyes for a quick nap. Unfortunately I just sat there for 10 minutes and got no shuteye as I couldn’t stop thinking about the race and finishing the dang thing.

At this point the 2- and 4-man teams began catching me and I leap-frogged them a couple times. It was great to see others on the same road as me and I felt the camaraderie. We hit a wall of smoke as we continued west and it got thicker and thicker. The sun still wasn’t up quite yet but we could see the dirty air in the headlights ahead. I made the quick climb up Sand Springs Pass and quickly descended to the lowest part of the course. I finished the first 408 miles in 22 hours and 40 minutes. Only 100 to go and I actually started to get excited. But it was way too early for that.

The last century started as hopeful. The sun had risen and the smoke around Fallon blew away. I tried to get on my TT bike to cut through the wind but I was only able to stay on it for an hour, as my saddle sores that developed while riding this bike were unbearable. I made it to Fallon and jumped on my road bike to have a more comfortable ride home. As I pedaled through Fallon I called Julia and a couple friends and they congratulated me on my accomplishment. I was keeping track of third place who was now 10 miles behind me so I knew I had a buffer of 30-40 minutes. I decided to reduce my effort and just make it to the finish as slowly as possible while still keeping my position.

The good feelings didn’t last long. As I exited Fallon and made my way toward Silver Springs the slight headwind I had got stronger. In addition to this there was a false flat incline all the way to Silver Springs, and I was averaging about 11mph. At this pace I would complete the 14 miles to Silver Springs in 90 minutes including stops… not the end of the world but not ideal. As many cyclists do I take headwinds personally. I know it’s unproductive and irrational, but when I’m battling a stiff headwind I imagine it’s doing it on purpose just to mess with me. Again, I know...not ideal. This led me to get more and more frustrated, and by the time I made it to Silver Springs I was borderline pissed. I tried to refuel with food and fluids but at this point it was getting hot, and the arid wind had sucked me dry. I was hoping the road would turn, but my crew informed me it would now be another 13 miles straight west into a headwind before turning up the final climb.

I don’t know if I was bonking or just sleep deprived or dehydrated or a bit of everything, but this is where I became completely undone. The headwinds kept blowing harder touching 30-40mph and I slogged my way up a 1-2%climb at 8mph for the next couple hours. I couldn’t keep a straight line and was swerving across the bike lane, stopping every 2-3 miles to regroup with my team. It seems silly when not in that situation, but at this point the obstacles between me and the finish line seemed insurmountable. I knew if I just kept turning the pedals over I’d eventually make it, but the accumulation of fatigue, shoulder pain, saddle sores, and just being pissed at the wind got me closer to quitting than anywhere else in the race to this point. I remained in my feelings all the way until the road finally turned north and I kissed the headwind goodbye momentarily.

I regrouped quickly before the final climb up 6-mile canyon to Virginia City. I knew it would be pretty long but I was happy to not have a headwind no matter how steep the hill would be. It ended up being way steeper than I anticipated (I know I went down it 30 hours ago but I forgot). I fought up 10-15% grades for the next 40 minutes as my knees fought back at me. They had hurt for the last 100 miles or so but at this point I was feeling sharp pains in both kneecaps. I was a little worried because both of them were pretty swollen and I didn’t want to do any lasting damage. I slogged my way to Virginia City then knocked out the last climb up to Geiger Pass. I was elated to know the climbing was over and it was downhill to the finish, but something still felt bad internally and I knew I had to get to the finish line soon.

I was in full survival mode at this point and knew it would be a photo finish before I collapsed. I started the descent to Reno and was immediately blasted by the windstorm that had developed in the valley. My bike was so hard to control and my shoulders were in so much pain that I had to stop multiple times on the descent. My brain was also moving extremely slowly and I was worried the wind would toss me into traffic. Halfway down the mountain I stopped with my crew and lied on the ground, getting sand thrown in my mouth by the wind. I had 8 miles left of downhill and flat roads but I still knew finishing wasn’t guaranteed (I found out after I finished that a team of 4 had pulled out of the race on the descent because of dangerous conditions). I felt extremely unwell and knew I would either cross the finish line or end up in the hospital, or both. I remembered I didn’t have health insurance so a hospital visit was not preferred. So I sat on the ground a little longer and sipped some fluids. I finally regrouped and climbed back on the bike, completing the end of the descent and finally making it to Reno in one piece. I covered the last 50 miles in four and a half hours.

I crossed the unceremonious finish line alone with nobody else from the race in sight. I immediately limped off my bike and hugged my crew who had just parked the car. I had never been so happy to finish anything in my entire life. All I needed at that point was to lay down. I found a patch of grass in the sun and flopped on my back, shedding a few tears of joy in the process.

I finished the race in 33:15 including about three hours of stoppage time and no sleep. I averaged 17.1mph while riding and burned north of 20,000 calories. My average heart rate was 133 which is staggeringly higher than I anticipated. I think the altitude, heat, and smoke got to me. My lungs had been hurting since mile 100 and I found out why. I started coughing up balls of brown phlegm shortly after the finish and didn’t stop for the rest of the weekend. My knees were so swollen I couldn’t bend them while walking but luckily they healed pretty quick in the week after the race. My saddle sores on the other hand will need some more time.

Now that I have had a few days to reflect on this race a couple things come to mind that I’d like to put on paper. The first is that it reinforced to me that the limits we impose on ourselves are almost 100% psychological. To finish a race like this you don’t need to go fast or be a pro-level rider. You literally just have to sit on your bike and pedal for 30-48 hours. Out of 24 solo riders 20 didn’t finish. The three race leaders did, and guess who else finished; the rider in the back who finished in 57 hours. Going fast makes it easier but it is by no means a requirement. In the last 50 miles I was suffering, but the whole time I knew that if I would have quit it would have been because I failed mentally not physically.

The second thing is that races and events like these represent life. There are always goods and bads, sometimes there are more goods than bads and vice versa, but there’s only one way to the finish. You have to enjoy the good parts and take the difficult ones for what they are; learning experiences. They may be twice the magnitude of the highs, but you’ll be stronger for them. And if you look at it like that then you’re still coming out on top as a stronger person in the end.

When you do hard things it broadens your sense of discomfort in your daily life. It makes everything seem easier, which I think most people can agree is a good thing. It allows you to be calm in otherwise stressful situations and keep perspective when times are hard. “When the world around you is chaotic, sometimes all that remains to keep you grounded is the character you’ve constructed previously.” And I think throwing yourself into the fire once in a while is an excellent way of developing this character.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading. If you sent me a DM or text or helped me get to the start or finish line in any way I salute you. I hope that me doing this serves as motivation to test yourself more in your life in big or small ways. Until next time...maybe.