Mission on the bike: stay on the left hand side of the road! I'd had two chances to practice this, and it went fairly well. It was even easier on race day, because I could just follow other people, and the cones tended to prevent me from going where I shouldn't. And the bulk of the course was a long out and back, where I didn't even have to remember where to be, as long as I didn't stray from where I was. Left-hand riding? Success.

I headed out through town, past a fairly small but loud crowd of cheering spectators, including a group of people wearing wetsuits. Yeah, still raining. Most people seemed to be avoiding the bike lane, riding in the middle of the road, but I knew I was going to get passed a lot, so I stayed in the bike lane. Which meant I went over some sort of grate thing in a puddle, and my bike started making a strange ticking noise. Tick tick tick. As if I'd broken a spoke. Oh, please say I hadn't broken a spoke. It still seemed to be riding okay. I didn't feel all unstable or.. whatever it was that happened when a spoke broke. I wasn't really clear on that. Nor on what it would mean to continue to ride if I DID have a broken spoke. But I also wasn't sure what in the world I would do if I had one. Would I have to have it replaced before I could continue? Is that something the SAG people would even have? Are the spokes for 650 wheels different from those for 700s? Because we'd been told NZ wasn't big on having 650 replacement gear. Would I have to just quit? I decided ignorance was the better part of valor, and if it wasn't causing me obvious problems, I would be best off ignoring it. If it destroyed my bike.. well, I'd deal with that later. Maybe I'd never want to ride my bike again after this anyway! So I soldiered on. Tick tick tick. Maybe it was just one of my sensors that got knocked out of place and was hitting something each time the wheel spun. 112 miles of that certainly couldn't do anything other than.. destroy my paint job, right? Right. Tick tick tick. (The whole thing was slightly less Tell-Tale Heart than this implies. But only slightly.)


Heading through town cautiously on wet roads.

I was making sure to ride cautiously, avoiding riding on the paint stripe on the road. My caution was reinforced when I got to the first turn, a left-hand turn that goes straight into an uphill. Right before that turn, there was a guy and his bike laying next to the curb, obviously just having wiped out before the turn. My heart stopped briefly, since I knew Matt was somewhere relatively close ahead of me, but it wasn't Matt, and the guy got up and out of the road on his own, so hopefully he was okay. There were plenty of volunteers on that corner to make sure he was, so I very slowly made the turn and started up the hill.

I was still warming up and just going up the hill at an easy spin, but I passed several people as I easily spun my way up. On their right. Weird. The first few miles was a gradual climb up to the highway, so it was a relief to finally get to the highway (Broadlands) for the out and back.

The course was basically a gradual downhill out to the town of Reporoa, then a gradual uphill back to Taupo, most of it bad, bumpy, chip-sealy road, with some crazy random spurs added on depending on which lap you were on. In order to know which lap you were on, and so whether to add on the spurs or not, there were wristbands. This confused us completely when we first heard about it. Do we have to stop and have them put a wristband on us? That seems awfully time- and volunteer-consuming. But we asked our tablemate at the carbo-load dinner, and he explained that the wristbands are stretchy, and they basically hold it out as you ride by, all stretched out, and you put your hand out for them to slip it over your wrist. Your left wrist. So as not to repeat myself, I present this post for your reading pleasure. Specifically item number 5, where I expound on my feelings on Things LeftHanded. As a summary: I suck at doing things with my left hand on the bike, and in New Zealand, everything on the bike is done with your left hand. So the wristbands were just another thing to be nervous about.

Now I was out on the long out and back to Reporoa, and I immediately regretted that I hadn't studied up on Flags of the World. Why? Because everyone in the world began to pass me (at least the ones that hadn't beat me on the swim), and as they passed me, I got to see their bib, which had a tiny flag of their country of origin in the corner. I admit.. I don't know a lot of flags. I had the USA flag figured out.. I was pretty proud of that one. Also the Union Jack. Japan. China. And I knew, based on the fact that there were allegedly a ton of Aussies at the race, and presumably a ton of Kiwis, that the one flag that had the Union Jack and some stars must be either Australia or New Zealand. I saw a ton of them! But I couldn't puzzle it out, because I didn't see any OTHER really, really common flag that would be whichever of the two countries this one wasn't. I was mystified. In fact, I had completely forgotten about it until just now (and wouldn't have remembered at all if I hadn't made notes for myself after the race), so I went and looked it up. I looked up New Zealand. Yeah! Union Jack with stars! That's the one I kept seeing! So what the heck is Australia's flag? Oh. Union Jack.. with stars. Dammit. When the flags are that small, two flags which are identical except for TWO TINY STARS isn't fair at all. But it explains a lot.


Just before I tossed my original bottle at the aid station. Still early, 'cause I'm still smiling.

Flag-analyzing (some of those flags were almost definitely made up) helped pass the time for the first few miles, and I skipped the first aid station, but as I approached the second aid station, I knew I needed to replace both my Horleys and fill the water in my aerobottle. Okay. I could do this. Just like with right-handed water bottle handups, when it came time to do it, it would just happen naturally. So I confidentally rode up, called out 'Water!', reached for the proffered water, and promptly knocked it out of the guy's hand and onto the ground. Failure! No time for regrets, though, because I also needed Horleys, and the Horleys guy was right there. This time I managed to grab the bottle and very awkwardly and painfully cram it into my water bottle cage with my left hand. I even managed to do it in time to grab another water bottle at the Last Chance person, which I squeezed into my aerobottle and then tossed in the discard area.

I'd like to claim that after that one flub, everything was flawless from there on out. That would be a lie. I never dropped another bottle, but it never got less awkward. In fact, eventually I found it was just easier for me to grab with my left hand, GET DOWN IN MY AEROBARS to pass the bottle from left hand to right hand, then sit back up and stash the bottle with my right hand, or squeeze the bottle into my aerobottle with my right hand. I'm a model of cycling efficiency. But I got what I needed and didn't crash. And though I feared I would end up reaching across my body with my right hand to get bottles, I never did that. I did see one guy do it, though. Ha.

I was also right on schedule for my eating, but it was made much more complicated by the rain. I managed to tear all the packages/open the ziploc bags with my teeth, but for my poptart and my clifbar, I had to take a bite or fish some out, and then immediately fold the bag over as much as possible before stowing it back in my bento box. Even being as careful as possible, my food still got wet and began dissolving in the package. My plan had been to eat some solider food (clifbar and two poptarts) early on, then eat all clif blocks toward the end, hoping that would help me have less stomach problems when I began the run. As my food melted, I decided after one bar and one tart that I would just stick to the blocks. They tolerated the INCH OF STANDING WATER in my bento box a little better.

Because yes.. still raining. Sometimes I'd think it had stopped, but upon further inspection, it had just dropped to a drizzle. Sometimes it was a completely ridiculous deluge. The good news? Hey, I'm in my element! I can pee whenever I want, and nobody will know! I took advantage of that, oh, yes, indeed.

Matt and I had pre-ridden some of the course, just a 90 minute out and back, a few days before, so we knew the road was bumpy and rough. However, we hadn't gotten out to the section near Reporoa, and so didn't realize just HOW bad the road was going to get. It was a mess. (And then just to torture us, there's a section of smooth, perfect road that lasts maybe 5 minutes, just to remind you of what life COULD be like.) And then a small headwind sprung up. Nothing horrible, but noticeable.

But all of that also meant I was near Reporoa, which meant turning around, which meant 1/4 done!

The turnaround was very wide, the width of a two-lane road plus a bike lane, which was good, because I hadn't really practiced my right-hand U-turns. And then I was headed back toward Taupo! With a tailwind! Also a net uphill, but I was feeling good. Despite the rain and the bad roads and the wind (and the left-handed incompetence), I was moving along at a really good pace, feeling strong and confident. I was passing people on the uphills (who promptly passed me back on downhills), chatting with people as they passed me, just generally feeling good. I got to my first Decision Point, where your decision to turn or not was based on your wristbands accumulated (or lack of wristbands, in my case), and managed to follow instructions and go straight back into town. The roads back into town are screaming downhills, which is a little scary with all the car traffic, pedestrians, volunteers, rain and sharp turns, but was still fun and effortless.

I was keeping an eye on my bike computer periodically, and I noticed when I was roughly halfway done, mileage-wise. I didn't want to look. I really didn't. But I did. I looked at my time, and saw that if I were able to maintain the pace I had for the first half, I would have a bike PR. I was cautiously excited since I was feeling good and ready to go tackle another loop.


Back through town, wetter and tireder this time.

Except then I was back to that first uphill where I'd seen the guy wipe out earlier. And for some reason, that uphill was twice as hard this time. That whole uphill section was harder. Suddenly, and randomly, things felt much more difficult. I realized I was a little off schedule with my eating, and thought maybe I could eat my way back into feeling better, so I ate an emergency gu as I rolled up to Special Needs. Called out my number as I approached, and a kid held out my bag as I rode by. I stopped and unclipped one foot, set it down, took my Special Needs bag, and almost dropped my entire bike with me still attached to one pedal. Evidently in addition to suddenly very tired, I was also not very graceful. I unclipped the other foot to avert further potential disaster, stuffed my replacement blocks into my bento box, and got back on the bike.

Just after Special Needs, I got to my first wristband station! Wristbands are a tangible, wearable sign of progress! I was excited. A volunteer held out a yellow wristband stretched really wide, I held out my arm and success! I was now wearing a wristband. I dropped down into my aerobars, then had to immediately get back out because there was a turn coming up. And my wristband stuck to the velcro on my aerobar pads, almost resulting in a disastrous crash. I pushed my wristband up to my elbow and turned, then a truck almost backed across the street directly into me. So far, loop 2 wasn't the high point of my race. (Spoiler alert: It doesn't get any better!)

I finally made it back to Broadlands and started my out and back. This time I had to turn onto one of the weird spurs, then when we rejoined the main road, there were tons of people coming back as I went out. And they had ANOTHER wristband. I was so jealous. I wanted to be almost done with my bike, with two fancy wristbands. But I still had many miles to go. And the headwind was getting stronger.

I was pretty low. Things were hard. I was tired. And then suddenly, the rain stopped! The sun came out! I could actually see the beautiful landscape around me! I glanced down at my bike computer and noted that I was at mile 71, mentally writing my race report as such, "Then at mile 71, the rain suddenly stopped! The sun came out! As if the rain gods looked down and said, 'Hm. Y'know what? They've suffered enough. Let them have nice weather for the remainder of the race.'" I basked in the sun. Then it started drizzling. I checked the bike computer. I amended, "And then the rain gods thought, 'Well, actually, I dunno about this sun thing..'" At mile 79, the rain gods evidently said, 'Fuck this,' and it began absolutely pouring rain again, pushed directly into my face by a grueling headwind.

So let's review. Pouring rain. Headwind. Awful road. Having to pedal on the downhill. Life was just not good. I was crawling along, making no progress. This was made abundantly clear when I passed by the sign for the dairy bar in Reporoa, which claimed it was only 5k away! I hadn't even really noticed this sign the first time, because I was flying by it, and that 5k went by so fast. This time it was the slowest 5k I've ever experienced. I'm fairly sure it was slower than the first 5k I ever ran, which was like 36 minutes. I kept pedaling and pedaling for what I was pretty sure was 3 hours, then I'd look down to find one mile had passed. In case I haven't made it clear, this was a very, very low point in the race for me. I never considered giving up simply because I had nothing in my brain other than, "If you keep spinning, eventually this will be over." I barely even remember that 5k into Reporoa.


Yellow wristband achieved, face a whole lot less happy.

But eventually I did make it to the turnaround. Another wide right U-turn, and immediately there was another wristband station. A teenage girl stood out with a big grin on her face, stretching out the wristband for me. I lined myself up to ride right next to her, took my left hand off the bike and held it out, then veered drunkenly directly toward the girl and her friends standing further on, almost wiping out the whole lot of them. Somehow I stayed upright, didn't crush anyone, and most impressively, actually ended up with the wristband dangling off the end of my fingers! Not my finest moment.

But now I was headed back to Taupo again! With a tailwind! I won't say life was suddenly magnificent, but knowing I was 3/4 done and being out of that headwind did wonders for my attitude. When the rain again went from Steady Downpour to Absolute Deluge, I just kinda laughed, and probably peed again for good measure. I may have been a little delerious at that point. I vaguely recall having a heartfelt conversation, out loud, with Horleys (yes, my electrolyte beverage), telling it that I loved it, and I was sorry I ever disparaged it. When I realized I was a bit loopy, I started really shoving down the clif blocks, hoping I was just behind on nutrition, and eating more would get me back in shape. This had the unfortunate side effect of causing me some intestinal distress. But I refused to stop at a portaloo. I knew that my bike was going to be slow, that I wouldn't be happy with the time already, so I didn't want to add minutes on by stopping. I would take the time hit in T2, if I could make it that far.

And as bad as I felt, there were STILL people heading out as I headed back in. I was certainly near the back of the pack, but there were people far behind me, still heading into that headwind. I tried to yell encouraging words, but I'm not sure if they helped, or were even heard. Eventually I saw the last rider, with the sweep van riding along directly behind them.

Meanwhile I'm fairly sure they added extra uphills on the way back to town the second time. Hills I had gone up with no problem the first time, I was having to drop to my lowest gear to get up this time. And still passing people on the uphills. As people passed me back, some people saw my USA flag and apologized for the weather; obviously locals.

I got to the decision point from earlier, where I'd had no wristbands so had to go straight. Now I had two wristbands! But I was so far back in the pack, they'd taken down the decision sign, and everyone was turning right. Another deluge hit right as I headed into a steep downhill. The people around me were riding the brakes, but I needed that free speed, so I just hung on for dear life and flew down the hill. I continued to fly down the hills as I headed back into town and toward transition. Traffic was thicker now, and the congestion of cars and pedestrians was ridiculous and not really being effectively policed. And oddly, none of the corner marshalls recommended that you slow down on the steep downhills into a tight turn, even with the road completely drenched in rain.

As I rode by transition, feeling completely spent and just mentally and physically DONE, I was pretty sure I heard Mike Reilly announcing that Terrenzo Bozzone was finishing. I wasn't even done with the bike, and he'd just finished the entire event. I want to be that good.

I didn't even really consider doing the shoeless dismount. I was wobbly, and I didn't relish the idea of running through the bog of transition in just my socks. So I rode down the final street (and over the promised/warned speed bump), stopped my computer and turned it off (so as not to come back to a dead battery later.. evidently I had SOME presence of mind still) and dismounted. I expected one of the volunteers to whisk away my bike, and stood there looking at them when they didn't, but they pointed me into transition, so I started running my bike in, only to have someone take my bike a few feet later.

As they took my bike, I split my watch and decided to look, even though I knew I shouldn't. 7:10. Not as bad as I feared (I was afraid I was going to be close to 8), but not at all what I had hoped for.

(I never did figure out what the ticking sound was, though it persisted the entire ride. Matt checked the next day and it didn't seem to be a broken spoke and no sensor seemed to be hitting the frame. Ironman Mystery!)