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A Fred’s Eye View: Lessons learned at La Ruta
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La Ruta finally cracked me with about five miles to go. Riding along yet another ass-rattling section of railroad track during the fourth and final stage, my rear wheel smacked the square corner of a concrete tie.
Pfssssss!
This marked the third flat tire of the day — the second in 50 meters. I had kept my good humor for four long days and 220 painful miles, over 40,000 feet of knee-busting climbs and across uncountable sections of mud. But standing there dripping wet on the edge of railroad tracks in the middle of the Costa Rican jungle, my calm waters boiled over.
Birds scattered in fear as I peppered the air with a string of obscenities — I followed that up with a good ol’ fashioned Bjarne Riis bike toss into the bushes.
My friends, I was having a La Ruta moment.
Luckily the next rider to roll my way was former VeloNews editor Kip Mikler. Kip and I had ridden together during the monstrous Day 1 slog from Jaco Beach to El Rodeo, and our commiserating had helped me reach the finish line. He supplied me with a spare tube and some words to cool my hot head.
“Dude, in half an hour we’re going to be drinking beers on the beach and laughing about this,” he said.
He was right, of course, and after downing my second post-race bottle of Imperial, I was healed — for the most part, anyway.
Kip’s words of wisdom stood as the umpteenth La Ruta lesson I learned from my first stab at the self-described “World’s Toughest Race.”
I am happy to announce that I completed my first-ever journey from the Pacific to the Caribbean across the mountainous interior of Costa Rica without sustaining serious injury or too many mechanical calamities. I suffered like I have never suffered before. The Stage 1 mud was unlike anything I had ever seen. Stage 2 boasted climbs so steep I had to contort my body on the bike simply not to tip over backwards. I crashed into a huge mud hole on the Stage 3 descent from the Irazu volcano, and emerged looking like Swamp Thing. The stage 4 railroad tracks flattened both my tires and my will to keep riding. But time has healed all wounds, and now, with a week of recovery time separating me from La Ruta, I can honestly say I would go back.
As a member of the press, I feel obliged to share my newfound wisdom with you all, be you a potential La Ruta rider, or not. Here are a few choice tidbits I learned along the way:
Prepare to eat mud
Yes, Costa Rica’s jungle mud is as thick and greasy as La Ruta veterans say it is — trust me. While organizers replaced the final muddy climb of stage 1 with a road section for 2007, the unseasonably heavy rainfall churned the rest of the route into peanut butter. My thin knobbies bogged down and my bike weighed 40 pounds after rolling through the sludge. Still, I was more surprised with how much muck ended up in my mouth, eyes and digestive track than on my bike. Once rolling, my dirty bike transformed into a two-wheeled mud shooter, and my face was the primary target. Next year I’m packing some fenders.
Costa Rican roads are ridiculously steep
For 2007 La Ruta’s organizers debuted the first new stage in the race’s 15-year history. The new route came on day two, and boasted nearly 12,000 feet of climbing as it wound a route around San Jose. We spent nearly half the day torquing up paved climbs so steep I wondered how the asphalt remained stuck to the hillside. I lived on the front edge of my saddle, chain in the granny gear. These roads made the sheer grades in the steepest Malibu canyons look like my driveway. And present on every one was some clapped out Costa Rican bus or truck grinding its way to the summit.
Costa Ricans possess a bad sense of distance
When a Tico standing on the side of the road screamed “Dos mas kilometers!” that usually meant between 10-20 kms remained. Uphill. In the mud. I never found out if the Ticos evolved with poor senses of distance, or if the inaccuracies were simply masked taunts.
La Ruta will destroy your bike
I finally mustered up the courage to crack open up my plastic Serfas bicycle case last night — yep, the same one I haphazardly packed at 5:00 a.m. in San Jose last Sunday. There lay the tattered remains of my Giant Anthem 1, twisted and disfigured from four days of jungle, water and mud.
On the list to be replaced now: cables and housing, wheel bearings, tires, chain and brakes. During the race I fried two derailleur cables and both my front and rear disc brake pads, which brings me to my next lesson.
Have some sort of mechanical assistance lined up. I spoke with plenty of riders who organized their own mechanics, however I went with the tried-and-true $150 mechanical package offered by the race.
After each day my rig received the full treatment — pressure wash, derailleur adjustment, chain lube and any cable replacements. Yes, it was a tad strange that my bike reeked of kerosene after each treatment, but it was better than putting on the mechanic hat after seven hours in the saddle.
Getting lost is part of the journey
Riders accustomed to the traditional course markings beware! Organizers mark La Ruta’s course with neon green arrows sporadically spray-painted on telephone poles, rocks and signposts. From top-level pros to mid packers, many riders lost their way at least once. My journey into the wild happened on stage 1, when orange course markings from a different race pointed my group into a cow pasture and up a 45-minute hike-a-bike section. D’oh!
Tinker Juarez is a BADASS
The 46-year-old Californian was back for his third La Ruta and used consistent top-10 finishes each day to grab the fifth spot in the overall. Yep, Tinker schooled young bucks half his age, and he did so without the aide of a chamois. Apparently, the only race Juarez rides with a pad these days is RAAM. Ouch.
So is Heart Akerson
Perhaps you’ve read about Heart Akerson — the 57-year-old American-Costa Rican ex-pat sports a mangy Gandalf-like beard and hairdo, and races La Ruta in a pair of cutoff jean shorts and Teva-like sandals (with clipless pedal cleats). This year marked Akerson’s 10th-consecutive La Ruta finish — more than any Gringo or Tico. And accompanying Akerson — a trained physicist and wealthy businessman — were five of his nine children: Teal Oceans, Forest Bear, Rom Kanga, Orion Orca and Nyo Stream.
Apparently the lack of cycling attire doesn’t slow him — Akerson finished 14th in the Veterans division.
La Ruta is damn tough
This epiphany came to me while walking up an impossibly steep wall of mud while carrying my bike in the sweltering jungle on day 1. I could hear dissenting cries in my head reminding me that three days still remained.
I have completed two Ironman races and ridden stages of the TransRockies and Cape Epic — these events pale in sheer toughness to La Ruta. My breakfast-table conversation with Canadian hardman Andreas Hestler before stage 4 cemented this fact.
“Dude, would people think I was a big wussy if I sat this one out?” Hestler asked with a serious look on his face.
Hestler eventually started and finished seventh on the day. But knowing that the big Canuck was an inch away from quitting cemented my opinion that Costa Rica’s race is the toughest thing around.
