Nearing the end of the 2010 summer, things were starting to change for Caveman. His first big project with the new career endeavour was close to paying off. The architecture business was booming once more and Caveman was able to secure some contract labor with an old boss. Although there were parts of the daily grind Caveman really didn’t miss, there were some things he did. Riding to work, a morning cup of hot coffee to start out drawing, exercising the brain with design problems, going for a ride after work.

Yes, riding was making a comeback. With some steady income and work hours, it was only a matter of time before the thought of racing and riding would breathe new life into this once mighty but now dormant warrior. He kept track of other warrior’s preparation for the the dearest of races Caveman kept close to his heart, the one and only, 24 Hours of Rocky Hill.  He had not anticipated competing this year due to time off the bike. He was prepared to make the sacrifice and not race for the rest of the year in the name of building a new career. He kept hearing of epic training rides and a cool bike frame that would go to the 2010 winner. The fire was kindling; he tried his best to put it out. Sometimes, a Caveman has to do what he was made to. The Burning Flame was ignited once more. Caveman would shoot for the title again, and he’d get to work right away.

He would have just a little over two months to get back in shape and square away equipment choices. How the heck would he get back to top form after barely riding a bike since February? Would Proud Mary fly once more? What about Big Tex? Single speed or gears? Rigid or full suspension?   This would be his first year doing the race without a bonafide race team. What would he wear?

Indeed, this year would provide a whole new set of challenges. To get back in shape, Caveman would embark upon one of the most demanding training regiments to date. A strict Paleo diet was the first step. Lots of raw meat, eggs, and veggies. No more sugar or grains. No more beer, limited Tex-Mex and ice cream. P90X was resurrected, and it brought him to his knees this go round. Wednesday night rides on the backtrails with the Sport Shop boys were new this year, but  a great traditional training tool. The road bike was dusted off for some long casual rides in rural Travis county. Some running was thrown in the loop, made more interesting with the canine friend now a valued training companion. This year, there would be some new training ideas. Caveman started pedicabbing once again following his dismal outing the past winter. He figured this killed three birds with one stone, satisfying 3 of the 7 primal laws: move frequently at a slow pace (like when one is riding around looking for a fare), sprint once in a while (when a driver has to start/stop a lot, or make it through a yellow light) and lift heavy things  ( hauling three full grown men on a machine that already weighs 80lbs is no joke). Another new tool would be tire pulling. Caveman found some large used tires in a drainage slough near his dwelling and decided to haul them home to tie off to and do sprints with. He would also pick them up and see how far he could throw them. The ancient art of warrior Yoga was put back into practice to restore balance and harmony from within  There was a fair amount of on-the-bike training, but this go round Caveman would put more trust in hardcore off-the-bike workouts to deliver as well. Rocky Balboa remained his ultimate training guide, not “expert” coaches who dictate 30 hours a week on the bike and power meters and heart rate monitors. A keen awareness of self, of the environment , and of instinct would be all Caveman needed to gauge progress.

A machine was chosen, but this info is not available at press time. Besides that, it is undergoing some improvements to make it one of the most lethal 24 hour weapons that course will ever see. Stay tuned or show up at the race to check it out.

The 2009 Rocky Hill race was the last one ever that Caveman donned the once proud NRC/Pedalmasher jersey. It was time to find a new team and some new colors. While there are plenty of great teams in the State of Texas, they all come with with one form or another of bureaucracy. While he understood the name of the game, he still didn’t like it. He was always a bit of a lone wolf anyways. And so Team Caveman Productions was unofficially formed. Over the years Caveman had worked hard to acquire friends and businesses that saw value in his talent and offer him sponsorships. Performance Wellness, Chipotle, Puresport, Karmabiker, Bobcat13 to name a few. The fallout of team NRC left him without a critical sponsor though, a bike shop. Caveman had long supported his East Austin local bike shop of Eastside Pedalpushers, a small outfit by the tracks in an industrial part of town. Lee, the scruffy red headed owner, agreed to be the new shop sponsor, and alas, the fellowship of Caveman Productions was complete.

As of September 21, Team Caveman Productions became Official with the arrival of the new tribal cloth:

And so friends, this brings us out of third person NFL voiceover guy and into the present. I’ve been training hard and only look to train harder for the next 2 weeks as the race date of October 23 fast approaches. I hope you have enjoyed the recap of Caveman’s 24 hour race adventures and life story. In addition to making the decision to get back into racing and training, putting some new posts up on the neglected blog has helped me get the mental focus back. If you are an athlete or a very goal oriented person, you know the importance of mental focus.

Mentally, I feel like I will be better prepared than any other race I have done. Mostly because I haven’t raced this year and I don’t plan on racing much afterwards so I can put a lot of energy toward this one race. Physically, it will be tough to get to where I was this time last year. I have also set a goal that will undoubtedly push my body beyond ruin. I expect good competition from the solo racers, and I will respect them and definitely shoot for the solo victory. This year, though, I will up the ante by focusing on competing with the 2 man, 4 man, and even grande teams. Sounds crazy, I know, but if a national 24 hour champ like Eatough or Tostado were to come to a race like this, they would probably destroy the multi-person teams. If I want to race at their level, I have to set goals of their caliper. I honestly cannot see myself winning the whole thing given my condition at the moment, but maybe top 5 or 3rd would be respectable. I tallied up 26 teams from last year that had more than 18 laps. There were several in the 19-20 lap range, only a handful in the 21+. I could have turned 19 had I wanted to, but it wasn’t necessary. This year, I will shoot for 20 or 21 laps. I don’t care if the next solo rider down only makes 17. With the good Lord willing, I’ll be gunning for team bragging rights!

So the fun begins. Anyone who has ever built a large out of control fire knows how hard it is to put out. I think the only thing that will put this fire out is the race itself. Only time will tell. Thanks for reading. Have a great day.

Caveman

Caveman went on to win the 2010 Dirty Dozen at Warda once again. “Dirty” turned out to be an understatement this year as torrential rains the week before left the course soaked and sloppy. It was brutal struggle against the elements and war tattered steeds that couldn’t quite keep up with the punishment Caveman was bestowing upon them. In the end, though, Caveman snatched the victory with little fight from his competitors.

Following the Warda race, Caveman embarked upon a new life journey. There would be no racing, no training, no hunting. Instead, he would tie the knot with his chosen  mate and settle into a new dwelling. He would take up a new skilled trade because the old one had left him with little pay and naught to do during hard economic times. While he did miss racing, he enjoyed the time off. It was greatly needed chance to work diligently and sow the seeds that would bring a fruitful harvest for years to come.

During this time, Caveman’s fitness and health declined. In many ways, Caveman began to lose track of his inner being. Not only was he no longer placing the physical demands of racing upon his body, but he was sacrificing sleep and mental stability to his newly chosen trade. The once strict Paleo diet was succumbing to occasional modern conveniences with highly processed grains and sugars. High quality meats and plants still remained staples, but he gave in to bread, pizza, caffeinated fizzy refrescos, alcohol, ice cream, cake, Mrs. Baird’s pastries, and other sumptuous deserts. Dark chocolate gave way to milk chocolate.  Raw meat and eggs somehow became cooked. He traded in the sheep skin on the floor bed for whatever cushy nest his mate had before him. The new dwelling had working conditioning of the air, and Caveman was pampered cool air during the hot summer days and nights. He was spending more time indoors, and less in the great outdoors. Were it not for an occasional run, hike, or bike with his high strung canine companion, exercise would’ve been neglected altogether. The stress of a new career, of starting a small business was testing Caveman’s mental grit to the max. He knew these artificial stresses were silly things to worry about, but they still ate away at him anyways.

Caveman suddenly found himself in a state of Purgatory. He longed to get back on the trail, to be in the races once more. This would be his heaven. But hell beckoned louder. Caveman knew he would have to go though a little bit of hell for a while before being able to return to the good life. The return to bliss would be more glorious though. With a new business up and running smoothly, he could work his own hours, cut his own paychecks, and buy lots of bike parts and race entries.

How long he would stay in this state was unknown. Would things come together quickly? Would he fail? Would he break down and go back to a steady day job? When would he return to racing? Only time would tell…

Following his sh0rtcomings of 2008, Caveman spent the fall and early winter recovering and reflecting upon his journies. It wasn’t long into the new year that his racing instincts began to thunder from within. The 12 hour race in Warda was fast approaching in early February. He had completed the race victoriously in 2007  as part of a two man effort. In 2008 he patiently sat it out in preparation for the Old Pueblo race that he would depart for in a few days. This year there was nothing holding him back. The time had come to brandish his weapons once more and set out for the hunt, solo.

As is traditional with several endurance races, the gun went off and the blood thirsty riders from near and far scrambled for rank in a running LeMan’s start. Caveman’s strategy would be similar to races past. Ease into the pace and then finish strong. He knew he couldn’t pace himself too much, though, for he only had a 1/2 day this go round to seize the win.

The pace was kept consistent and inched up steadily until about halfway through when Caveman gained the lead. By this point, the pace had become too much for Caveman to sustain. His body and  mental stamina began to degrade. With about 2 hours left, Caveman had built up some nice breathing room, but then disaster struck. An overworked IT band had rubbed his knee for several hours; the pain was to the point that the leg all but froze up, refusing to pedal any longer. He was forced to stop and try to massage it out. With some quick body work in the pit, Caveman managed to get back on the trail on carry on through agonizing pain. With the lap times he was cranking out, he had 2 laps left to secure the victory. Pain succumbed to iron will. Caveman hooked on to a wave of adrenaline and cortisol to finish the final two laps in the cover of darkness and hang on for the win.

It wasn’t a 24 hour victory, but none the less, the price of victory was still steep; the reward just as great. At the awards ceremony, Caveman graciously accepted his trophy in one hand, while smacking a raw t-bone steak that had come from the very ranch the race was held at. It was a definitive moment in the warrior’s young career. He had proven that his ancient Caveman training tactics could prevail in a world obsessed with increased athletic performance through technology. More importantly, he had proven he was still a top notch endurance racer and that he was ready to get back in the game.

The defeats in Tuscon and Moab loomed deep in Caveman’s heart. He sought vengeance and a return to those mighty courses to prove he had the mettle to perform well. Finances, wisdom, and patience would keep Caveman in Texas for the rest of 2009. He spent the summer focusing on Xterra’s, a type of battle altogether new to him, incorporating both a swim and run part into the race. While the events were somewhat foreign, a true neanderthal adapts quickly, or dies. He was able to survive the swims, crush it on the bikes, and do well on the runs. He finished the Xterra season 2nd place in the regional age group standings, another indication he was getting stronger and better prepared for the next big thing.

Making the trip back to Rocky Hill in that same little pickup truck on a very similar morning to the one in 2007 awakened feelings of nostalgia for Caveman. It had been a long hard journey for him to get back to this point, just to compete in yet another long journey. While Caveman was away in Moab in 2008, a newcomer had come along and won this race on a singlespeed. Caveman had no idea if this respectable warrior would return to defend his title, but Caveman figured if he did, there would only be one proper way to duel such a gentleman: on a rigid singlespeed. He knew it would be a tough and agonizing struggle to the end, but having endured the likes of Tuscon, Moab, and Breckenridge, he was up for it.

The plan this time would not follow traditions of the past. he would not walk the LeMan’s start, but run it. He would not start slow, but fast. He would not stop for breaks. He had learned how to eat, drink, and answer the call of nature while on the bike.  Every second counted. Caveman knew what it would take, he knew he could do it, now all he had to do was do it.

A slew of small mechanical problems were putting kinks in Caveman’s plan, but just like a steam locomotive keeps on chugging, so did the tireless warrior. He stayed in hot pursuit of the leader until catching him at the end of lap 11 in the early hours of the night. Perhaps sensing the closeness of his pursuer, the leader had battled valiantly to hold the lead, perhaps a little too valiantly. As Caveman caught sight of his prey in the feed zone, opportunity knocked and he sped off into the cool night for the next lap. The former leader didn’t go back out for another 4 hours, forfeiting the chance to stay in the fight with Caveman.

From here, Caveman just had to stay consistent and avoid trouble, which, minus a few more nagging mechanical problems, he was able to do. The rigid single speed had been pretty rough, but Caveman had prepared well for this beating. Caveman completed his 18th lap in 23 1/2 hours, 1 hour ahead of the nearest competitor. He had bested his lap count by 1 from two years previous. He had done it in less time. He did it with  a technologically inferior machine. He did it eating mostly fruit and Caveman energy bars. No gu’s, no gels, no processed food of any kind. It was was a race that harked of old times; a race that spoke to the power of getting back to the basics.

Caveman’s return was now complete.

Following Caveman’s great feat at Rocky Hill, he was left bloodthirsty for more. He was looking for an even bigger kill, beyond the Texas state line. A group from his racing clan had assembled a 4 man fellowship to travel to Tuscon, AZ for one of the largest 24 hour events in the US, held mid February. The legendary warrior Tinker was rumored to be there, along with a host of other mighty fighters from faraway lands who excelled at such feats. With the glory of victory still fresh on his mind and pumping through his veins, it was a no-brainer to accept their invitation to join them on such an epic journey. Caveman set out a plan to prepare for this gigantic undertaking.

Rocky Hill had taken a great toll on his body though. All sorts of ailments hampered training throughout the winter. He slaved over equipment choices and fine tuning to improve comfort and efficiency. Up until this point, just getting things close was good enough. When taking on feats such as 24 hour racing, though, the slightest biomechanical inconsistency can take a huge toll. Recovery was an art neglected in the past as well, but at this level, it could no longer be overlooked. Caveman spent countless hours sifting through modern manuscripts and consulting with voo-doo body healers. Returning his body to a healthy state of homeostasis was a costly and time consuming endeavour, made tougher by the fact his strenuous training slowed progress.

When it came time for the mighty showdown in the desert, Caveman felt as if he had made enough progress  to toe the line with the best of the best. He was no longer in the presence of small village heroes, but rather great knights and giants from powerful territories. A great ‘norther had blown in the night before, bringing with it a unseasonable chill and snow. Having lived in a land of sunshine and balminess his whole life, this was a force of nature Caveman was unaccustomed to, but at the same time, not afraid to confront. It would not be deciding factor for his race, but it would, as he came to find out, add insult to injury.

The race was off at high noon and things were running smoothly for the most part. This particular battlefield mandated lap distances of 17 miles, compared to 10 at Rocky Hill. It was smoother,faster course; even so, having to go so far out into the wilderness away from base camp for so long was a bit disheartening for Caveman. A mighty warrior in the woods, he was reduced to a young pup in the unforgiving desert. Suguaro cacti and a host of unidentifiable succulents lined the fast and narrow singletrack, proving to be almost as much an enemy as the enemy warriors themselves. Still, he trudged on. As the sun fell across the sky, so did the mercury.

By the ninth hour, the race was taking its toll on Texas’ main hope. At 11pm, with temperatures near freezing, warriors spread thin across the vast emptiness, and an aching body telling him it was about done, he set out for the 7th lap. Halfway through the loop, a dormant demon flared up and excruciating knee pain befell this helpless rider. The bitter cold night was beginning  to hand Caveman more than he could handle. Local tribesman had come out to witness this great battle and had setup outposts along the trail with warming campfires. Caveman took refuge at the next one he came to. When he accepted their gift of fire water whilst sitting on a rock next to the radiant glow, he knew in his mind that the battle was over. This injury would be too much to overcome, and the piercing winds of the night would only get colder and leave him more vulnerable. He had to live to fight another day.

After gaining a little strength and warmth courtesy of his newfound friends, it was a slow and arduous crawl back to base camp. Depressed and war battered, caveman crawled into his portable man cave and hunkered down for a frigid night in the Sonoran desert. His bloodlust for conquering 24 Hour races had come to a screeching halt.

The injury to his left knee was severe enough to keep him off a bike for 3 months. It was back to voo-doo doctors and manuscripts to not only repair the damage that had been done, but also learn how to keep it from happening again. Time passed on and Caveman didn’t even want to think about doing another 24 hour race. It was a dark and scary time for this once accomplished warrior. He was able to compete in the last XC race of the state amateur series, and although he finished way back of rivals he normally would have had the upper hand on, it was a start into riding again.

Word came round that the racing clan was looking to build a fast 4 man team for the granddaddy of 24 hour races, Moab. Not feeling the strength or mental reserve to attempt it solo, Caveman happily agreed to join the team. If he could go out with a 4 four man team and do well, it would be a good indicator that he was ready to return solo. It would be held the same date as the Rocky Hill 24 Hour, but Caveman was still doubting his solo capability, so Smithville would just have to be put off in 2008.

The team arrived safe and sound, only to be greeted with gale force winds stirring up the desert floor of Moab. Car paint was dulled, bare skin was exfoliated, and tents were destroyed by the relentless winds. The winds would die down before race start, but they would contribute to very dusty conditions with so many riders on this hardpack course. It was another long 15 mile loop, this time with some technical sections and a lot more climbing. Base camp sat at about 6000 feet above sea level, not horrible, bit still 5600 feet higher than the team’s hinterlands.
Caveman was chosen to anchor the team and got out to a good start, but suddenly all hell broke loose. The front tire blew off the rim on a technical descent. He put in his spare tube and got back to it. A minutes later, the rear tire sustained a small gash. He had no more tubes, so he had to baby the ride and stop frequently to put air in until it just wouldn’t hold anymore. He was left no choice but to walk and beg passerby’s for a tube until finally a rider just out for fun stopped and lent a helping hand. By the time he rolled in, the team was 30 minutes back. They fought valiantly anyways and got into a rotation, but despite their efforts, the competition was too fierce this day.

Caveman went out for his 3rd lap at dusk. This nasty course was taking its toll, but everything was still holding up. He made it back to check in only to find out his team had abandoned him. An executive decision had been made without him that it would be a lost cause to keep going. Maybe it was, but nonetheless he hadn’t traveled across the country to just throw in the towel. Caveman was devastated. He crawled into his portable cave of despair once again to settle in for a few hours sleep. He would eventually ride a lap in the middle of the night, just to see what it was like being out on such a desolate place in freezing temps. With one hour left til noon, he would take off for a final lap to finish what he started. A broken seatpost halfway through the lap only caused laughter this go round. He was past the point of depression now and just trying to take in the beauty of the ride. Some duct tape and zip ties at an aid station got him back in business to finish with at least a little dignity. It was not the race he had imagined it would be. Having seen what the big dogs had accomplished in the solo category on such a demanding course only made him feel smaller.

It had been a dark year for Caveman, but the worst was over. He would spend the rest of the fall and early winter relaxing and riding for fun. Although 0 for 2 in large 24 hour events, how vowed to come back one day and be better prepared.

Stay tuned for Caveman’s next great episode of the saga: Part V, Caveman Strikes Back