WAIVER
I have checked my bicycle and all my equipment and found it to be safe and in good working order and; I fully realize that I will be using Maximum Endurance, at altitudes over 14,000 feet, exerting far beyond my normal physical requirement and understand that this could be damaging to my health and have consulted with my doctors as to the possibilities of health problems from participating in this event I have full knowledge of the route, and am aware of all the possibilities of danger, hazards, including accidents involving but not limited to rocks, avalanches, motor vehicles, and other encounters.

IN LAIMENS TERMS, THERE IS NO WAY POSSIBLE TO SUE OR HOLD LIABLE ANY PERSONS INVOLVED IN MONTEZUMAS REVENGE. THIS IS AN "AT YOUR OWN RISK" EVENT, PERIOD.

"Without denial human beings might become paralyzed by fear, frozen, awaiting the suction of the infinite"
Ernest Becker

Without denial, Montezuma’s Revenge could not exist. Perhaps the top three racers could argue that they have brought the event into focus in a rational way. However, the rest of the field must have some special little Happy Gilmore place where they hide the psycho with the chainsaw that knows that they will most likely, or most certainly not finish the ‘race’. In fact, no one has ever finished the event, as it were. Rishi Grewal, a multiple winner is the leader at the end of the race, which is 24 hours after the race starts. Of the 13 possible loops, Rishi has made it part way into loop 11. Viewing certain ‘failure’ based on the race set up would be like putting a gun to your head while you are safe sucking on the sweet teat of Mommy at age 5 months. You know it’s going to end, and you are pretty damn sure it’s going to end poorly – your choices are clear – start whining – or give it every last bit that you have. The Montezuma’s participants clearly choose the latter, and for that, I admire every last one of them.

"It’s about the man next to you"
Hal Moore

There has been an undeniable sadness in my day to day existence lately, and without getting too specific, I will share that it stems from the lack of camaraderie in the world – specifically – in the business world. Capitalism – God bless its ability to allow us to purchase beer and bike parts – offers very little in the way of warm fuzzies, and more importantly a sense of coming together for a common goal. We work, because we have to, and yes – there are times when there are victories, and a shared sense of accomplishment, but the buzz just has not been there lately in a big way. As a result of this lack of compadre-ism in the workplace, I have sought it out in other places, namely Viet Nam literature. A small regression here, back to December of 1963, back when my Dad was in advertising and one of his accounts was Time – Life, I happened to be born. Life Magazine was in it’s hey day at that time. The nice folks at Life gave my Dad a leather bound collection of that year of Life to commemorate my birth. That was given to me on my 21st birthday and it left an impression that has stayed with me. I started reading books about that period, from Viet Nam to the JFK assassination, and I have never stopped. I always try to imagine what it would be like to be 19, and to serve my 365 days in the bush, wondering if I would live, trying to make sense of the world from the other side of the world. I think about this as I am cracking a beer, or walking around in the woods in the paradise that we live in. I can’t make sense of it, and I am not sure I ever will. So ironically, on a week long business trip to New York I watched "We Were Soldiers Once… and Young", a book I enjoyed a number of years back detailing the first major ground conflict in Viet Nam – now a Major Motion Picture (see dramatic book cover) starring Mel Gibson. It is a brutal accounting of an epic two day battle, of heroism, compassion, and brotherly sacrifice.

I share this, as it dovetails, and has bearing on the experiences at The Revenge, and God Dammit – points to exactly why we should all just do endurance races rather than pound the pavement in the rat race of commerce. End of Sermon.

T - minus 3 hours. 11:30am Friday morning

After piloting the WoofMobile (picture Dumb and Dumber without the fur) to the race site in Montezuma – Main Street: 10,400 feet, Tim and I head out for a ride to scope one of the loops – namely Loop 4 or The Grey’s Loop – where contestants bravely pilot their bikes up to about 12,000 feet, pack their bikes onto their backs, and then clamber over Grey’s Peak (elevation 14,430 feet) and down the other side. This loop takes place at night, we estimated Whit starting the Grey’s loop about 11pm – in light of this, and in light of having to find the damn route in the dark, solo to meet him, we thought it best to scope. We rode down Montezuma road, went up Peru Creek Road, and started the hideous climb up Chihuahua Gulch. The terrain was epic, and as we went higher, the views became unreal. We sought the ‘trail that looks like a creek that has a board across it’ – the course is un-marked – and challenging from a route finding point of view. We found what we thought might be the turn up to Ruby Gulch, and the summit, and turned back so we could get to town for the pre-race meeting.

Zero Hour: 4 pm Friday

We are waiting for the race to start. The racers are all lined up; we feel like we have the logistical tragedy that is supporting this race under control. As they countdown the racers all cover their ears. Understanding that this is something that they have learned from prior participation, I do so right after there is a very, very large explosion I find out later is dynamite. The race – is on. The first three loops of the race are called the S & M loops – Spectators and Media loops. Close in, high visibility, and great cheering opportunities. As the contestants come up around the first bend, we see NAKED PEOPLE. Apparently there was some tear away faction, including our racers ( I consulted with whit prior to the race and we determined that the heat loss in his unit, from exposure, would be countered by the friction of said unit on seat, thereby nullifying any negative impact on the overall race result). They ride by naked, and in a much more pleasing twist of fate, some of the support crews, namely, female, donned minimalist fairy outfits (see photos) and raced around the course. Now, chick mountain bikers are one thing, naked chick mountain bikers – there is no more righteous a way to begin an endeavor.

Zero plus 60 min. 5pm Friday

S & M loops completed, the racers sign out, and head for the first of the ‘real’ loops – loop number 4. 56 miles, 6,500 feet of climbing. Hello Mr. Montezuma! The loop leaves Montezuma, cruises over to Breckenridge, out to Frisco, back to Keystone, up Loveland Pass, and back to Montezuma’s. Night descends during this loop, and the race really begins. We are amazed at the first check point that Whit is less than 10 minutes behind Rishi – the recognized master of the race. Whit comes through clam as day, not really needing anything, just cruising. We feel that our pre-race boasting may yet be justified, and that Whit will display his human/alien form, and basically freak people out with his talent on a bicycle. We move on the Frisco drop point where Suzie valiantly delivers a couple of VERY FINE pizzas, we flag him through, about 20 minutes behind Rishi. The OLN folks covering the race are all over us, what’s your strategy, how is he staying so close to Rishi. There is a carnival like atmosphere in the parking lot; I think a muted sense of relief that we are all observing, and not participating. As whit heads out up Loveland pass, Tim shuttles me to the trail head at Chihuahua Gulch. The plan is for me to hike up and meet whit, Shepard him over Grey’s Peak, and meld our way quietly into the second day of the race.

Zero plus 6.5 hours 10:30pm Friday

Tim hucks me out of the truck, we check gear (I have whit’s frame pack – upon which he will strap his bike for the Grey’s ascent – the rules state that I can carry support gear – but he must carry his bike - some coffee, extra food, extra clothes, extra lights, and Lord know what else). I begin plodding up the trail, assuming I have a great deal of time – we aren’t expecting Whit to get to the cabin rendezvous until around midnight. As I ascend, the moon is beginning to rise, and the valley and peaks surrounding Grey’s are just lighting up like a Christmas tree. We made a few incorrect assumptions in our estimation of this part of the race, including not really anticipating Whit being in second place. When Tim and I scouted earlier in the day (seems like years ago) we made it up to a few junctions, ad we were not entirely sure of which one was the right ‘right’ turn to go up to Grey’s. Needless to say, in the dark, it all looks different, and what we couldn’t find in the light I most certainly will not find in the dark. I get to our high point; know I am close, but not sure which way to go. When in doubt, lie down, preferably in the way. I dig out my bivy sack, lie down in the grass, and promptly fall asleep in the middle of the trail.

At some point, Rishi passes me. I remember seeing lights, and hearing voices, and that’s about it. I was pretty tired at that point. Then, some undetermined time later, BOB wakes me up. I think BOB is Whit, and I yell, and he informs me he is indeed BOB, and not Whit. He also informs me that I am some mile or so from my desired meeting point with Whit, and that I’d best high tail it up there, as to be in position when the man actually gets there. Apparently BOB had won the race in the past, in the glory days. Now, call me silly, but this ‘race’ is a beat down plain and clear. Perhaps folks like Rishi, and Doze have it wired at this point, but I still saw a lot of glory out there.

We made the cabin at about 12:00, and even before I had a chance to really sleep, here comes Whit, dinging his bell. I believe the cabin was at about 11,500 feet, it was a pretty surreal scene there. Support folks for all the racers sitting around and waiting, some of them until dawn, for their racers to come through. The moon was completely full; we were all lying around in a talus field. Between the sleep deprivation and the setting, it was getting wild. Whit seemed fresh as the new day. We packed his bike up, and loaded me up with his pack, and started up into the scree. Only 3,000 feet to go!

To say there is a ‘route’ up Grey’s, is kind of like saying there is a ‘route’ across the continental divide. Tell it to Donner, or Alfred Packer. Needless to say, route finding in the dark, in the wee hours of the morning, gets a little interesting. Whit has scouted the route, and felt strongly that we needed to stay to the LEFT, and hit the ridge lower down, as there was indeed a ridge that went up to the top. We could see one or two lights above us, and numerous lights below in the valley, bobbling around on the rocks, looking for the path of least resistance. The path of least resistance certainly was not up and over, but, it seemed like the thing to do so we carried on. Whit was in pretty good spirits, considering he had been out on the course for almost 9 hours at this point. When he was faltering I kept repeating: "Hardest part of the race, after this you are in your element, you are on fire…..etc.". We kept a nice consistent pace, no one fell off the side, it got cold, there was a lot more talus, and then we summited. Simple as pie.

"Um, May I have some Tea"
Whit Johnson

Zero plus 11.5 hours 3:30 am Saturday – summit of Greys: 14, 430 feet

The summit ridge of Grey’s shoots us up over the top, and we can see lights waving, people hooting us up, and in short order a couple of nice therma-rests. Some nice folks, one very cute girl in pigtails asks if we would like a Twix, or coffee, or a DEW, or Redbull. As we are deciding (this seems to take a while) the OLN camera man gets in Whit’s face: "What’s your strategy? How are you staying so close to Rishi?" The artificial bright light, and the mike with the little fuzzy spit cover look very un-natural here in Gawd’s country. Whit gives it some thought, leans around the cameraman and asks in his quiet Whit voice: "May I have some Tea". The cute girls gives me a cup of tea, we waddle off the summit, Whit comes back to life in a huge way, starts chatting it up, and we are heading down into Horseshoe basin to look for the trail out. There is no light in the sky, but the horizon has that sharp blue edge to it that tells us dawn is not so far around the corner.

We descend with two others, looking at the results I know now they are Mark Thompson and his support person, who I spent the next 5 hours with, but cannot remember his name. The descent off Grey’s is definitely sketchy. We use our headlamps and look for the sharp left that leads out to a ridge that drops to horseshoe basin and back to town. Whit knows the way, and we hobble down the talus, looking in the very distant bowl as we see what we expect is Rishi getting on his bike and heading down the road.

We finally get to a ‘rideable’ location for the bikes, and we dismantle the packs, re-assemble the bikes and Mark and Whit are literally off to the races. The sun is just coming up as we watch them roll down the valley. We load up the additional gear, and start walking. This is where the real endurance comes in for support crews, as the road is completely inhospitable to vehicles for some 6 miles. So, unless you rode your bike up and stashed it (way too much in the pre-race fervor) you are hoofing. We are hoofing. We walk for over 2 hours, watching the sun come up, slowly coming to the realization that we have been out since 10pm the prior night, and starting to get pretty damn tired. Finally, just short of the Montezuma road, we get picked up by a white pick up truck, apparently driven by some stunt driver, and we haul major booty back into ‘Zuma, and to the support vehicle, and the rest of the race.

Zero plus 15:30 hours 7:30am Saturday

Tim starts laughing as I hobble out of the truck, make me some coffee, roasts me up an egg burrito (WOOF to Sue for pre-making six of these darlings). I crawl into the upper bunk in the camper cab, and hit hard. I think my drool beat my head to the pillow. I have no idea where our racers are, and I really don’t care.

Zero plus 1800 hours 10am Saturday

"I really don’t like Dan right now"
Whit Johnson

I wake up to Whit sitting in the little couch corner in the camper, rubbing his hands together and getting very adamant:"THIS IS BAD FOR YOU – Where’s Tim – where’s Dave". Tim pokes his head in the cab – he was outside lubing Whit’s bike, I roll over and stick my head through the little doggie door in the camper cab so Whit knows I am paying attention. "I am increasing my odds for a heart attack. I am INCREASING my chances of getting CANCER and MS. This race is BAD for you". He is rubbing his hands like some eighth grade compulsive hand washer kid, and just getting all riled up. We let him know we understand him, and ask him to get his failing ass back on course.

Zero plus 2100 hours 1pm Saturday

Dan rolls in From Grey’s, looking like he is headed down to Acoustic for coffee. He looks scary fresh, is relaxed, and about 100 times happier than the night before when Susie had to pry him out of the car and urge him on in a loving and supporting manner (Psychology today will be publishing a definitive guide to "Basic pitfalls of crewing for your spouse at any 24 hour endurance event" with exclusive interviews with Susie). I ask Dan if he wants company on his last lap, and he encourages me to join him. I saddle up, and we roll through town, signing out on our way and getting plenty of props and encouragement on our exit.

Zero plus 2300 Hours 3pm Saturday

Dan and I are wending our way up lap 7. I stress to him that my motto is ‘arrive alive’ and that I understand his deteriorated state, and the fact that his judgment is probably functioning somewhere between the level of the average sea sponge and a 12 year old on his first four beers ever. We climb, and climb, chat, I remind him to drink. We push up over some eight switchbacks that lead back to the divide and pass a few riders. One of the riders we pass is leaning on his bike like a walker, carrying his feet as though they are made of broken glass.

On the divide there is a small shack where some riders and support folks have taken refuge from the now chilly afternoon wind. The general consensus is that there is no reason to carry on – as it would be ‘impossible’ to hit the mid-lap checkpoint before 4pm – the race cut off. The riders in the shack determine that they will descend the lap reverse of what they just came up and call it a day. Dan, or I, or somewhere in between, decide that the right thing to do is to keep going, and just see how far we get. We set out, and I can see the rest of the loop, as well as the white van that is the check point. It is what appears to be somewhere in Wyoming, around about 7 bowls over from where we are. We progress.

The route at this point is a very rocky double track that runs the crest of the divide. I think we are riding somewhere along about the 12,000 foot mark. The breathing is not easy, and I find myself spacing out and looking at rocks on descents kind of like cotton puffs. It seems that it won’t matter if I hit them. My senses are dulled, and I have been out here for a solid eight hours lass than Dan. Slowly, the pace picks up as the clock ticks on towards the end. Dan keeps asking about the time, and I outright lie. I figure he is so dopey at this point I can tell him anything, and I figure that we will not be able to make the van to get credit for the top of the lap. I repeat the same time, give or take five minutes for about a twenty minute period. Dan doesn’t notice, and continues to speed up.
Zero plus 23:47 3:47pm Saturday

"Johnny T – eat my shorts"
DV8

We hit the van at 3:47. Byron, the race director tells Dan to fly – that he might make it into town – but not likely. I take position behind Dan, as I want to allow him top speed, but my responsibility it to make sure he lives. Dan, simply put – unleashes the inner freerider – and let’s go. I have written earlier this year about another great descent (see: Free Willy). The Free Willy descent was amazing in that Timmy picked his way through a very technical trail with a finesse that was mind blowing. Dan, is ignoring the trail, the boulders, the scree, and basically going as fast as gravity will allow. We see a four wheel drive vehicle blocking the road, going about half our speed. I yell to Dan, and like a perfectly choreographed Baryshnikov ballet, I slide past and start yelling at the top of my lungs "Get out of the way, rider up". Now, to the clientele on the "Tiger Run 4WD Tour" Rider up probably means that their tighty -whities are working theit way up someone’s crack. They stare, the driver stops, we thread the needle between the gaseous vehicle and the yawning abyss of the descent. I pull over, put my boy in front, and proceed to get dropped. I have ridden with Dan on many occasions, and I can honestly say he was going at least twice as fast as I had ever seen him go.

Further down the way we pass some motorcycles going about 35mph I would guess. The road smoothes out into dirt, and we are going 40+ when we round the last corner to the finish. All I see is white grill – as in the front part of a jeep. We swerve, clear it, and see the finish.

Zero Plus 23:59:41 3:59:41pm Saturday Afternoon

Dan clears the line some 19 seconds before the end of the race, and we are informally awarded the "Guys who look the most stoked to finish". I roll away to leave Dan to the glory that he has earned ten fold.

"He’s going the distance, he is all alone, in his time of need"
Cake

The celebration begins as a pre-cursor to the awards. There is a great cover band running through some classics, and – huge surprise – the beer is going down like water. There is a great sense of relief in that our boys made it, and even made it in style.

So, is the race insanity? Certainly. 234 miles and some 41,000 feet of climbing, 14 thousand foot peaks and EPIC trails, weather, navigation. I have been to two Ironman Triathlons (one as a participant) and I must say, they are chickenshit, safe havens, rinsed cottage cheese in comparison to the MAW that is the start line of The Revenge. When Paula Newby Fraser was falling down on A’lee drive, there were literally thousands of people watching – including qualified medical personnel. You fall down the wrong side of Grey’s on the night loop in this race, you literally may be there for all time. There have been instances where people have gotten as much as 20 miles off course by heading down the wrong drainage off of Grey’s. I saw people so shattered on my last lap with Dan they looked like they were walking on broken glass at 38,000 feet. Their bodies were crushed, but they were motoring on, despite very slim odds of getting anywhere near the end of whatever loop it was that they were being beaten on by. They were maintaining movement – which is clearly – key in all pursuits. There was a camaraderie born of necessity out there on the course – something that LACKS in this world, be it business, pleasure or other. It was like a huge shot in the heart to see the support and the commitment not only of the racers, but of all the support crews, without whom the race would not be possible.

One more step, you can always take one more step.

"Of course I'm going on.
This senseless push the only claim
I have on some divinity"

Harry Chapin