Many people have a bucket list. Mine is a little different. I’ve decided to re-do items on my list as an adult. When I started cycling a few years ago this meant racing the Nevada City Classic again (which I have,) completing the Davis Double Century (which I haven’t,) and completing the Death Ride’s 5-pass challenge. This weekend I took on the Death Ride after some gentle prodding from Mike Nicholls, and Todd Schaffer. Cathy Paladini closed the deal a few weeks ago when she visited and told me that her daughter, Rachael wouldn’t be riding. This cemented the deal with this cheapskate: My entry was paid for.

As I suffered through the climbing of 5 major mountain passes over 129 miles, my views on the ride went through a metamorphosis. I saw it as a fun way to spend time with friends, then as a tortuous suffer-fest, and finally as a major life achievement more difficult than anything I have done before.

We had awakened at 4am and driven to Turtle Rock with my support staff of Cathy and Rachel, Lisa, Emily and Patrick (who had graciously gotten out of be with me) to find the rest of the cyclists having barely climbed out of their sleeping bags. We set off just before 6:30 am, the cutoff time for any attempting the 5-pass challenge.

I began the early morning climb of monitor pass thinking, “This is going to be fun.” I was riding with some of my best friends in some of the most stunning settings in California. We joked with each other and laughed even as the climb began to take it’s toll. At the first rest stop I told a joke to the door of an outhouse thinking Mike was inside (he was in another.) My old friend Gordon Ong, who had joined the adventure at the last minute, found a bag of weed on the ground and we all stopped to inspect it. “Someone won’t be doing all 5 passes,” we joked.

Toward the top of Monitor-at 8,300 feet-Todd was the first of our group to flinch. He admitted that he had trained for only 6 days for this. Five passes was going to be tough. He was already considering less. We waited at the top so we could all descend together, and the flight down the backside was incredible. The valley below seemed impossibly far away, and I was torn between wanting to fly down the smooth pavement with wide turns or meander more slowly and take in the incredible views. I did a bit of both.

As we began our climb up the back side of Monitor pass I was still in a good mood, but that was changing fast. I had waited what seemed like forever at the rest stop at the bottom and then rode slowly with Mike while Gordon pushed on ahead. Riding slow is fine. Even the fittest cyclist does well to take a slow ride every so often. Climbing a mountain pass slowly on a bike is another thing. I began to liken it to doing push ups slowly. You can do them, but they’re a lot harder and they’ll take their toll a lot faster. I decided I need to set my own pace and I said goodbye to Todd and Mike and pushed on to catch Gordo.

Perhaps it was my elevated mood that made me chase him down for nearly 20 minutes. Perhaps my brain wasn’t working well in this thin air. Either way I heard the voices of famous cycling announcers Paul and Phil telling the world that I was digging deep into my suitcase of courage, and I charged up the hill to ride with Gordon and eventually to ride ahead without him. I would pay for my efforts. I would dig deep into my locker of pain.

Gordon and I tore down the front side of Monitor together. What a rush. The corners were wide and the pavement was perfect. We took turns passing each other, tucking then pedaling as our eyes teared up. I opened it up on one section to set a maximum speed for the day: 51.9 miles an hour.

I was pleasantly surprised that we were at the lunch break and we stopped for a quick turkey sandwich and a soda. This event is extremely well staffed and supplied. We could have our fill of jells, gu’s, chips, Cytomax, fruit and even sunscreen.

I ran into fellow Rio Strada mates, Nick Castor and Craig Martin who had already completed 4 passes, and Gordon told me that he had seen Nancy Fairbanks as we were coming down the hill earlier. Gordon and I had decided a quick break was in order, but for me the short rest just meant that my punishment would be that much sooner.

Our next climb was the 8700 foot Ebbetts pass, and if this was a marathon, I was about to hit my wall. I moved forward without Gordon in the first few miles of the climb knowing that I had to find my own rhythm. I found it for a few miles, but at 12% grade in places, Ebbetts was a tough cookie and soon I was swerving to stay up and barely pushing my pedals in circles.

I entered into a long period of personal hell. The day was getting hotter, my friends were no longer around me, and the other cyclists that were around me were in a similar kind of mood. It was contagious it seemed. I considered quitting, then I thought for sure that I would. A glance at my computer revealed that I had only ridden 45 miles. I still had 3 major passes to climb and more than 80 miles to go. What reason did I have to keep going? Why should I punish myself like this?

One of my favorite life philosophies is this: “Once you’ve done it you can always say you have.” I’ts what helped me eat escargot, jump out of an airplane and eat chocolate covered ants. I don’t need to do any one of those things again, but for the rest of my life I can say, “I’ve done that.” As I rode with Gordon in the morning and talked about the Death Ride in the 80’s I realized that I had never completed the 5-pass challenge. At most I had done three. Certainly I would have remembered if I had done 5. Today was going to be the day that I would add the Death Ride to my life list.

I got a bit of a second wind toward the top of the climb and was inspired by throngs of 50, 60 and 70-year-olds chugging up the mountain beside me, battling their own climbing demons. I was inspired by the fact that I had not been passed by anyone in the last couple of hours, and I was passing others by the dozens, perhaps by the hundreds.

I saw Nancy descending as I reached the summit and set a goal of catching her to have someone to talk to, if only briefly. The descent of the backside of Ebbetts was too short and gave me only a brief break from the punishment that was the third and 4th passes. I set a pace on the way back up and stuck to it, drooling, eyes blurred tapping out a pace that ensured I wouldn’t be passed.

If there’s such a thing as a third wind, I got it on the way back down the front side of Ebbetts pass. The curves were tighter here, but I was riding on rails and I passed groups of 20 and 30 at a time screaming, “On your left.” I came up behind a group of perhaps 15 and watched them scrunch through a corner and then force one unlucky guy into a cart-wheel spin and a face plant into the dirt on the side of the road. I was the only one to stop to help him.

I pressed on and considered not stopping at the lunch spot this time so I could catch Nancy. As I was rolling away from the crowds in the road I heard Mike calling to me and stopped to see how he and Todd were doing. That turned out to be the move that got me to the finish. As I sat chatting, Nancy and her husband John came up behind me to say hi, and I quickly made the decision that I would ride the rest of the way in with them.

John is a well-respected local cyclist and a powerhouse on two wheels, and Nancy is no slouch herself. For me the two were the perfect combination of workhorse and inspiration: I sucked John’s wheel for most of the next 10 or 15 miles and when I couldn’t hold it he would frequently sit up and wait for his wife anyway. Just having someone to talk to kept my mind off the ride and pain in nearly every part of my body. I had hot spots on both feet for hours, my neck and shoulders had nearly given out 60 miles earlier, and I won’t even talk about the obvious pain in my legs. Okay, just this: I had blown out a knee two passes ago and the tendons were screaming.

I had run marathons, raced my bike in multi-day stage races, completed countless century rides, and this, a ride aptly named the Death Ride, would be the toughest thing I had done in my life. I was elated and found strength to hammer up the final climb, Carson Pass. I lost Nancy behind me and John in front, and I wouldn’t see either of them again.

As I topped the final climb and rode into the throngs of people at the finish, it was all a bit anti-climatic. I received my special 5-pass pin, but none of my friends were there to share it with me. None of my riding partners were anywhere to be seen. None of my family were there to cheer me on and offer congratulations or a cold beer (there was no cell coverage, and we hadn’t agreed on a rendezvous point.)

I rode back to Kirkwood where I sat and waited for my friends and family for more than 2 and a half hours. I was rescued by a group of cyclists who brought me back to their suite to have a beer, some cheese and crackers and a quick shower. The Tour de France was on TV. I felt like I was in heaven for a short while. I had completed 5 mountain passes and no one could take that away from me. For the rest of my life I could say, “The Death Ride? Yeah, I’ve done it.”

I owe a special thank you to Cathy and Rachel for the ride entry and the room at Kirkwood. I gave Cathy some special words on Facebook, and it’s clear that her daughter is following in her footsteps with her graciousness.

Ride Stats

Miles ridden: 135

Major mountain passes ascended: 5 (both sides of Monitor Pass, both sides of Ebbetts Pass, and the final climb up the east side of Carson Pass)

Total elevation gain: 15,635

Number of times I saw breasty chick bending down on the downhill as I passed slowly while climbing: 3

Percent of pain I expected to feel after climbing 3 of the 5 mountain passes: 35-45

Percent of pain I actually felt after climbing 3 of the 5 mountain passes:80-90

Number of total cartwheel-endo face plant into the dirt crashes I witnessed: 1

Number of people who stopped to aid said crash victim: 1 (me)

Number of passes Nick Castor and Craig Martin had completed when I had completed 2: 4

Number of people who passed me on the last 3 mountain passes: 10-20

Number of people I passed on the last 3 mountain passes: 250-300

Number of family, friends or other participants who greeted me at the finish: 0 (it was very difficult to coordinate and communicate with no cell coverage. )