Friday, March 5, Kevin and I embarked on a weekend trip to Death Valley National Park for the Death Valley Double Century. We were fortunate to have a break in the winter weather and traveled into the Sierras and over Kingsbury Grade to travel down 395 through Mono and Inyo Counties. The sights on that drive are stunning. Mono Lake has an eerie beauty covered in ice and surrounded by snow. Much of the drive is over 7000 feet in elevation with rugged mountains covered in a heavy blanket of snow towering above the highway. 
As we drove through the town of Lone Pine, we both got our first sight of Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48 states at 14,491 feet. The sky was clear and the views were amazing. It’s just a two-hour drive from Lone Pine to Furnace Creek in Death Valley, most of it across rugged desert within the National Park boundaries. As if enjoying one of the most beautiful drives in California wasn’t enough, Kevin and I had hours to ourselves talking about anything and nothing without the many daily interruptions at home.
We arrived at the event host hotel, Furnace Creek Ranch, with plenty of time to eat dinner, check-in for the ride, and go through our pre-ride preparations before having an early night. Even though it was a strange bed and the night before a big event, I slept well. Furnace Creek really is the middle of nowhere with all the accompanying silence and darkness you can only enjoy away from towns and cities. The black sky glittering with stars is a rare and amazing sight for me living with so much light pollution in Sacramento.
Saturday morning the ride started in waves of 50 riders beginning at 6:00am, and we were up and ready to go with one of the first waves of cyclists. The beginning of a double century is so different from the other types of events I’ve done. The sun usually isn’t up and most riders roll out slowly, a long warm-up starts the ride. After about 10 miles, I felt warmed-up, and we were rolling easily along the gentle slopes of the eastern side of Death Valley as the sun rose.
Early in the ride we passed through Badwater Basin, the lowest spot in the United States, 282 feet below sea level, less than 24 hours after driving past Mt. Whitney the day before. Telescope Peak, bounding the valley on the west, reaches over 11,000 feet above the reflective water pooled in the basin. It was impossible to get a sense of scale or distance in Death Valley because the contrasts are enormous with almost no vegetation every exposed rock is visible.
There was little traffic on the road as it visibly stretched ahead for endless miles, other riders looked like ants dotting the way. It seemed as though a rainbow of ribbons had been laid across the colorful desert mountains, and the tumbling process of erosion was visible everywhere. One rock formation looked like a melted banana split.
The ride to the second aid station at 45 miles was fast and easy. It quickly got more challenging from that aid station at the southeast edge of Death Valley as we began the big climb of the day. The hard work began with a 5-mile climb to Jubilee Pass at just over 1200 feet. This was the turn around point for the century ride.
I hit this early climb harder than I should have considering the work still before us. Kevin was waiting at the top for me and we paused a minute to admire the view of Death Valley spread out below us. From Jubilee Pass we had a short, steep descent before the endless grind to Salsbury Pass at 3315 feet. I’ve never ridden anything like it, 12 miles uphill with no respite.
After a couple of miles, I realized there was no way I could continue to ride at the speed I had been going. My heart rate was at the limit, and I’d been there as long as I could stand with the mountain still looming miles above us. Stressed and afraid that I couldn’t make it, I told Kevin I had to stop and rest.
While we waited for my heart rate to drop back to a more comfortable level, Kevin told me this climb was like a Death Ride climb, which is far outside my experience as a cyclist. The two double centuries I’ve done were in the Coast Range with more forgiving climbs that bear little resemblance to this beast of a mountain that I found myself halfway up. I was quickly learning that distance and elevation gain were not the only barometers of ride difficulty.
When I was ready to begin again, Kevin stayed right with me, setting a slower pace that kept me from self-destructing on our continued ascent. It took about 2 hours to ride the 17-mile climb to the top of Salsbury Pass. It was a brutal experience and we spent a few minutes at the top taking photos and commiserating with other cyclist about the painful task we had just completed.
We remounted our bikes for the 1800-foot descent to the 75-mile checkpoint at Shoshone. I found I couldn’t enjoy this part of the ride because I spent the whole time thinking about the fact that I had to ride back up every mile we were riding down. After a rest in Shoshone we headed back to tackle to mountain from the east this time.
Kevin did a great job setting a pace I could manage all the way back up the mountain. When I felt as though I couldn’t continue the relentless ascent, I asked Kevin what elevation we had reached (his Garmin bike computer has so much great data, I need one). We were over 2800 feet with just a few hundred more to go, and I knew I could do it.
Now it was time for the payoff, the longest climb I’ve ever done on a bike was finally accompanied by the longest descent I’ve ever done. Kevin advised me to keep my legs spinning so my muscles wouldn’t get cold or tight. With little traffic on the road, I was comfortable taking the lane and enjoyed the descent. The ride that took 2 hours one way was completed in 30 minutes on the downhill trip, and we were finally at the 103-mile rest.
As we continued our progress back the way we had passed hours earlier, I found my mental attitude becoming increasingly poor. I had put so much of myself into getting over that mountain that I was physically and emotionally drained. I finally told Kevin I was not enjoying the ride, neither was he.
I really struggle with the idea of not finishing an event and had to that point only two DNF’s (did not finish) in my life, I remember them both vividly. We talked about why we were both so averse to a DNF. I hate to not finish something I’ve started, but this was supposed to be something we were doing for fun. It wasn’t a job; we weren’t accountable to anyone else. We agreed to end the ride at the 150-mile aid station that also happened to be the start and finish of the ride.
Pressure off, we continued to ride to the lunch break at Badwater, Kevin towing me and a couple of other riders down the road. Wind and rain showers began to kick up as we continued our journey back to the hotel at Furnace Creek at a leisurely pace. It was amazing how difficult the gentle rollers of the morning were on the return trip with a headwind and fatigue setting in. The rock formations we passed developed an otherworldly golden glow in the low light of sunset.
Just after only the second stop sign on the entire ride, we arrived at the Furnace Creek check in to be greeted by about a dozen riders and their family members milling around. An Adventure Corp staff members called to us to come check in with her if we were finishing, to which I replied that I was happy to check in with her but clearly coming from the wrong direction to be finishing.
We found out that they give credit in the results to riders who complete 150 miles, so instead of DNF’s, Kevin and I are both listed as 150-mile finishers. Just in case I still had any doubts as to whether riding a century and a half instead of the intended double century was a good idea, when I went to get back on my bike to ride to our hotel room, I had a flat tire. Kevin and I put an end to our long day with pizza and beer.
