My Cycle to Work

Lone Star Rogaine (November 17th and 18th, 2007) Race Report by Murray Maitland. Team Mergeo for Lone Star Rogaine was Murray Maitland and Pēteris Lediņš

Neurons don’t fire normally after a long physical effort. My mind wanders across vast distances with little focus on the task at hand. Getting ready to cycle commute the day after a 16-hour effort at the Lone Star “24-hour” Rogaine Race takes mental effort.

Getting my leg stiffly over the bike, I think forward about my route and plans for the day. I do a mental checklist of my pack’s contents, cross-referencing against the day’s activities, just like preparing for the start of a race. More thoughts about the rogaine disrupt my focus.

Murray and cacti

The maps for the race were distributed at the start/finish area at the civilized hour of 9am, 2 hours before race start. In stark contrast to the typical adventure race, even with a two-hour difference between Texas and Seattle times, it felt like sleeping in. We pondered the maps near the center of 5000 acres of treed, rolling grasslands that were scarred by shallow waterways. On the map, the Pedernales River was shown to cross in a zigzag fashion through the state park that was named for it. My multicolored highlighters were used to increase the visibility of trails and roads on the map. Other colors were used for landmarks, notes, bearings, distances, and a tentative route as we talked about options. Then the map wheel was used to get an overall distance totaling 25 miles. “Can’t be right” was my first impression because the mileage was too short for a typical 24-hour race.

The first few checkpoints set the stage for the race. A typical CP was suspended at chest-height in what the Texans called a “draw”: a shallow intermittent waterway. From a navigation perspective, we got into a routine of aiming off to the draw (hoping we were in the correct one) then following along the watercourse to the flag. A very nice consequence of putting the flags along the watercourse was that we needed to be in close proximity to see them. Also, the basins, bowls, pools, waterfalls and cliffs that were part of these waterways provided really nice up-close scenery, day and night. Pēteris and I joked around in a silly way, about how we wouldn’t want to be taken out of context using the word “draw” in Texas. It was easy to joke about language since Pēteris is from Latvia and my first language is Canadian. At one point, he called the waterway a “ditch”, but I corrected him. I had incorrectly assumed that Texas streams would be muddy, with dirt-brown water and filled with cattle dung, but we were looking at water that was clear and sparkling. I’ve raced through stinking ditches before, and it wasn’t fair to compare the two situations. The water was so clear that later, at night, sometimes I couldn’t see where the edge was.

The team

Pēteris and I worked well together in the navigation tasks. When we were bush-whacking on a bearing, the person behind would correct the other’s direction. We could compare ideas about map features and our surroundings while moving. There were (at least) two times though when Pēteris showed that he was the stronger navigator. I would have just wandered back and forth on CP 67, but Pēteris saw immediately that it was a short way up a secondary stream-bed. The only big navigation problem had us both fumbling for an hour before we found CP 52. We continued to work through CP after CP, south then east as the sun set and cast a red-colored hue on the grass that would be “alpenglow” in another environment. Dark green oaks created the brushstrokes on the landscape’s impressionistic canvas. As we traveled along the upper edge of a cliff at dusk, close below us, a whoosh of powerful wings lifted a vulture into flight.

A big attraction to come to this race was over 12 hours of night navigation. Not only was it great practice for future events, but I love being outdoors at night. With a sky full of stars, I was perplexed at why this was the “lone star state”. Pēteris was fascinated by the turquoise-blue reflections of spider eyes on the ground. Crossing the Pedernales River twice, we watched fish moving under the rocks in the lights of our headlamps.

It seemed the navigation training I was doing was paying dividends. Although it may look strange, two headlamps used simultaneously, one directed down for the map and one directed ahead, worked great. Also, my map memory exercises reduced the number of times I had to read the map. It must have been a strange sight to see me in the weeks prior to the race, eyes closed on the bus or in my reading chair at home, mumbling about elevation gains, bearings and distances.

Reaching the finish line is anti-climactic after such a great day. I would like the race to continue except my knee and hip say it’s OK to be finished. The race director was apologetic about us finishing in less than 24 hours, and handed over a little orienteering flag as a finishing medal.

Third place

The cycle ride to work ends. My daydreaming ends at the hospital bike racks, and my thoughts turn to the day's plans again. A 24-hour race in Texas seems relaxing and thrilling at the same time, compared to the daily running around in circles at work. I would do that race again in a moment.

The race website: Lone Star Rogaine The team GPS tracker: Route Mapper

Director's cuts

In the shower getting ready for work, my hand found another cactus quill sticking out of my thigh. No wonder my jeans felt a little peculiar on the flight home. Cacti, mesquite twigs, briars and other pointy objects created the temporary red and scab-brown abstract tattoos on my arms and legs. My team mate, Pēteris, called the plants “evil” as they seemed to reach out and grab hold of clothes and skin. “Your ________ (fill in blank with various parts of your body) is bleeding” he would tell me at various times in the race. A scratch on my left eye was still a little irritating. I should probably add that Pēteris had worn long orienteering pants and long sleeved shirt, so he was spared most of this bothersome detraction.

A pedal-stroke brought pain into my right hip, and brought my mind back to the present. Just a couple days before the race, I had slid my bike onto the pavement. The days before the race, stairs were painful even when using a railing. During the race, I favored my hip, and ran slower than I should have. Perhaps that’s what caused my left knee to hurt during the race as night was getting underway. Frustrating as it was to slow my pace to protect my knee, I knew I would finish the race. I was hoping that Pēteris wasn't feeling too frustrated with my limping along. "Good training" I said "for doing races when I'm hurting".