Wheeler Pass looms at 12,500 feet and the winding trip there featured alpine wildflowers and stunning views of granite peaks and grassy bowls. There seemed little point in making the effort to get there if you weren't going to enjoy it, so I lingered to look around and take photos. Philip caught sight of me from above and shouted down, but even with his sinus infection he out-powered me on the long hike. Alex from Kenya seemed to be struggling today, so I chatted with him for a bit, and made the windy summit with Yeti Dave.
In theory the hard part was over, but the trail down was narrow, steep, eroded, loose and rocky, and I was shaking from lack of breath and the exertion of the climb. My bike handling was more drunken sailor than mountain bike racer, so I walked a good half mile of the sketchiest trail. Once below treeline, I could ride more, but some steep, rocky bits still had me off my bike.
I stopped at the junction of the Continental Divide Trail to shed a layer and remembered the adventure race Zach and I did a few years back where we hiked this section. I had cell service, so I made a quick call to Jay to let him know this section was taking longer than planned. He and Rio and Julian were waiting for me along the bike path--although not fun on a mountain bike (especially a singlespeed) those were pretty easy miles and gave me a chance to eat, drink, and catch my breath.
A few geared riders passed me on the bike path, but I left Aid 2 ahead of them and caught two more people on the hike up steep, rocky Miners Creek Road. This climb went on far longer than seemed sane and deposited us on a heinous trail that descended back to the Peaks Trail. Rolling and rideable, Peaks led to the finish six miles south, but did not yield the fun factor I felt entitled to after the hell of Miners Creek and I rode angrily (which means I rode well) the rest of the way then shared laughs and Big Johnsons with Yeti Dave, Jay and Rio.
I think if Day 5 had been a riot, I would have looked forward to the final stage, but the frustration I felt from seemingly hiking my bike more than riding it pegged my Give-A-Shit meter near zero for Stage 6. Judging by the looks on my compatriots, I was not alone. It seemed as if Dave, Katherine, Jill, Philip and I were competing to line up nearest the back.
This would be the least physically yet most mentally challenging stage of the race. At just 32 miles and 3,600 feet of gain, there were only two significant climbs, one at the beginning and the other more than halfway through, and both topping out at Boreas Pass on the Continental Divide. After a week, I was still gasping for air and forced to pedal slowly or walk more than I would otherwise. The first climb was long but mellow and would have been completely rideable if I could only breathe. I leap-frogged with the usual suspects and caught up to Philip a couple miles below Aid 1 at the top of the climb. My legs had plenty of gas, my lungs, not so much. I gasped and wheezed and worried I was coming down with something and came the nearest to quitting I had ever been.
Philip and I pedaled silently yet companionably through the pain cave. Our arrival at the aid station could not have been more perfect: at the sound of cheers and cowbells,we looked up from refueling just in time to see the leaders hammer through, just six miles from the finish, Wells in front, followed closely by Grant, with Takei Kayosuke, the eventual stage winner, a couple bike lengths back. Inspired by this superhuman performance (for perspective, keep in mind that Todd Wells finished Stage 5 around the time I crested Wheeler Pass with 22 miles to go...), we rolled down the road and made a hard right onto the singletrack descent. Philip waited for me at the bottom of the rough, rocky and rooty section and led the way into a flume-like trail that arced and flowed its bermed way to the final gravel road ascent.
These were dark miles, as Philip and I entered the pain cave once again, together. The grade was manageable and perfect for my gearing, but again my lungs heaved and would not process enough oxygen. I tried to start a conversation to relieve the boredom, but Philip seemed disinterested and my lack of oxygen uptake forced me to hang my head and focus on maintaining a slow but steady cadence. Philip dropped back when I had a strong moment, but I refused to pull ahead. He called a walk break at a switchback and I joined him. Then it was my turn to lag and he waited on me.
Finally, we could see the aid station a half mile away and we pedaled determinedly on after a final walk break to catch our breath. He stopped to refuel, but I rolled through, knowing there were just six downhill miles remaining and that he would pass me on the first serious descent. We pressed our knuckles together in mutual recognition of our effort.
The final miles of singletrack were actually quite fun and I was able to enjoy them knowing the finish was near and I was in no danger of DNFing as long as I rode cautiously and avoided crashing. Back at the condo, I devoured the mac and cheese left over from Julian's gourmet feast the night before and savored a hoppy Portland brew in the bathtub before I succumbed to a nap.
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