11-16-07 // Events: LA RUTA Journal Stage 2

Federico Ramirez won his second stage in a row yesterday at the '07 La Ruta

Greetings from the laundry room of the Best Western Irazu in San Jose, Costa Rica, where the machines are being abused almost as badly as the bikes being ridden by participants in La Ruta de los Conquistadores. A cue of grimy racers, looking worse for wear after stage 2’s sadistic eastward trek through the rugged mountains south of San Jose, are clutching soiled clothes and jostling for position. This, along with other things such as keeping your bike running, cramming yourself with as many calories as you can possibly stand and hauling your big yellow gear bag around every day, is part of what racing La Ruta is all about.

Stage 2 was held on a new route, part of an added day this year to complete the original route of the Spanish Conquistadores. Over the past few days, murmurs began to surface that the new stage would be brutal. So now that it’s in the bag, what do the laundry washers think? Well, a quick poll confirms that, yes, it was a very difficult day. Some comments: “Steepest roads I’ve ever seen; they would never even allow those roads to be built in North America; I think they put that last mud section in just to fuck with us; I was cursing Roman [Urbina, La Ruta’s creator].

Well, you get the point. Today we climbed more than 11,000 feet in 75 kilometers. That itself is one hell of an undertaking, but the real trouble was condensed into just 4 kilometers. Near the very end of the race, with quads quivering and the mind already moving on to the thought of how good a cold beer might taste after 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 or 11 hours in the saddle came the gut-punch: a section of soggy, churned up earth upon which mountain bikes had no business traveling. So there I was, traveling on smooth pavement, my bike working fine. All of the mud I had picked up earlier in the day was dried and crusty and really not so bad. After riding through dozens of chaotic villages, dodging lots of stray dogs and bunny-hopping the largest squashed toad I’ve ever encountered, I was nearing the end of the race, on a peaceful section of road. My friend Troy Rarick, owner of Over the Edge bike shop in Fruita, Colorado, who is here crewing for a team, drove up next to me. “Well, looks like you’re damned near finished with this thing, Kip.” Thank you, Troy. That’s the best news I’ve heard since I woke up at 3 a.m. to shove pancakes, beans and rice down my throat in an effort to avoid bonking in an unknown foreign country where my cell phone doesn’t work.

Well, it turns out Troy was wrong. A few minutes later a course marshal directed me off the road to the right. What followed was a steep, rutted out hike-a-bike climb. It was wet, but kind of gravelly. I could deal with this. I even rode a few sections, and hell, it would only be 4k to the finish. Then I came over what I thought was the top and got a clear view of what was ahead. Or part of it, at least. The trail dropped steeply into a meadow, crossed the five thousandth river I’ve waded through in two days, and then shot straight up, as far as I could see. But it wasn’t the steepness that made this hill nearly impossible to scale with a bike on your shoulder. It was that damned mud. A soupy glop ran right down the middle of it. I don’t even know what to call this “trail.” A mud river, I guess. A river of mud. I tried both sides of the mud river and didn’t fare well. Then I just went straight up the middle, sludge pouring against my stride. Several times I stopped and set my bike down so I could bow my head to my handlebar and curse Roman Urbina. (Of course, he’d be immensely pleased to know this.) Each time I set it down, my bike collected many additional pounds of mud. While I was post-holing through the muck, lunging my bike forward one step at a time, my feet would just keep sinking, occasionally all the way to my knee. And I’m 6-foot-3, with some pretty storky legs. Finally, I made it to the top, but getting up to the ridge required lifting a bike overhead to place it up there, and then somehow scrambling up. Luckily, there was a kind man there to help. He grabbed my bike from above and helped me heave it up. He then picked up a muddy stick from the ground next to him, thrust the stick toward me and gestured to grab it. I did. And he yanked me up the hill. Thank you Muddy Stick Man, I am eternally indebted to you.

Believe it or not, it got even crazier after that, but eventually it all ended at a place called the Terra Mall. Stage 2 took me about 6 hours to complete. Now if you clicked here hoping to read a factual report about the race, I apologize, dear reader, but you’ll have to go elsewhere. I can repor this much: Costa Rican Federico Ramirez won for the second straight day, as did Trek-VW pro Sue Haywood. Sue said she had a pretty good battle with three-time La Ruta winner Louise Kobin (aka La Ruta Louise), and she also was kind of pissed we didn’t bring her one of the McFlurry’s we scored at McDonald’s before hopping on the shuttle to the hotel. For stage 3 tomorrow we have a volcano to climb. One that goes to about 11,000 feet. It won’t be quite so hot up there; in fact, it’ll probably be pretty cold. This comes to mind as I glance over at our wet, muddy shoes and gloves resting on the windowsill. All part of the adventure.

-Kip