The pic above Checkpoint One, Madison, KS.
Note: this post is about my first-ever Dirty Kanza 200 experience on June 4, 2016.
Read Part II – Prep / Training
Part V – Checkpoint One
Read Part VI – Hitting The Wall
Read Part VII – Checkpoint Two
Read Part VIII – Checkpoint Three
When I first turned south, past the early mud flows, a kooky roadrunner ran from the fields and issued a warning.
“Jeep. Jeeep! Jeeeeeeeeeeep!!” Looking right at me from just a few feet away. I hoped that it meant for another, but nope just me.
I watched him watch me as I continued on my path southward, he stays in the same place, in the middle of the road, waiting, suddenly silent, expectant.
What was the message my strange sentinel of the Flint Hills carried I wondered. Was he telling me that I should go rent a jeep before continuing on? Ride like a jeep maybe (hopefully)? Beware the jeep? Or, that it would be a jeep that would have to rescue me later?
And that’s about when the excitement began. To be truthful I don’t remember many details about that first leg of the 2016 Dirty Kanza.
It was a whole hell of a lot of fun. There were hills, water crossings, and roads. It’s rocky, muddy and technical and the Willard performed brilliantly. I was having a blast. Not going too wild, making sure to keep the speeds below 30 mph on the downhills, less than that if deep ruts, or other unpredictable surfaces, could be discerned, which is often the case.
This kind of riding allows me to forget all worldly cares and focus on the moment. It’s about making it past the next obstacle or hurdle in front. Amazingly awesome therapy. 
River crossing during the first leg of the Kanza
The other side (a few moments later)
handheld gopro shot
The field was crowded during the first leg (shared with half pinters). There often were two lines established on a given road. The temps were comfortable and the winds favorable.
@ 25 miles
In short it was smooth sailing. My kind of riding. I was feeling pretty good until looking down and being surprised at my heart rate. Expecting to be running between 130 and 140 bpm’s with peaks into the 150’s. It was running a full ten points over that.
It’s called burning matches. Burn them too soon and you run out before the finish. Once you’re out, it’s over. This is still early, why all the matches?
My cousin Gregg later characterized the first leg as doing squats for four hours straight. That’s probably not far from the mark. Speaking of Gregg, it was just before we hit Checkpoint One that he speeds past me. I hadn’t seen him since around five or six miles in but there he goes now.
I remember wondering what that meant. Was it because I was getting slow, he fast, or a combination of both?
No worries, push it to the back of the mind and press on. Rode into Checkpoint One feeling kind of OK but not really. Sort of sputtering. A piston was misfiring.
My cousin’s girlfriend, Cheri Parr, was there to welcome me and provide the support. Her big happy smile was the first thing I saw and it felt like coming home.
Cheri Parr
Gregg had beat me by a few minutes and (still) feeling chipper.
Gregg Corum and yours truly at Checkpoint One
I was smiling too (sort of) but somewhere in the back of my mind I knew there was trouble.
Nonetheless I stocked up on the ample provisions that Cheri had loaded into her Land Rover…
Cheri’s Land Rover had everything we could have possibly needed.
Special care had to be taken of the equipment. The water crossings on the first leg had dried out the drive trains and they were squeaking mightily.
My appetite was waning. Higher temps were kicking in and a normally hearty food consumption rate was dropping off.
It was then a fateful decision was made about hydration opting to refill both bottles and the 1.8L bladder with the EFS mixture. I thought going all-in with the EFS would get me back some of the calories being lost from lack of appetite.
I should have carried a couple more pints of pure water. There was plenty of room inside the jersey.
These mistakes were caused by a fuzzy-head, from the lack of sleep the night before.
And another problem… time. As in it’s being wasted. It had taken almost four hours to reach Checkpoint One. Some of that can be blamed on derailleurgate, but really? Four hours to go the first fifty? Not good.
Not exactly burning up the race course.
Adding insult to injury, it took (what seemed like ten minutes) to find the support vehicle. Bottom line, it was thirty minutes before returning back to the course bound for Checkpoint Two.
Waaay too long and yet another worry that had to be pushed to the back of the mind.
Next Post: Part VI – Hitting The Wall
