So about a week before we were going to do the Mohican 100 mile MTB (in May of this year) we started catching on to the fact that it was going to be difficult. We had just picked it because it was near where my parents live and they could watch Bryce while Rod and I raced. We hadn’t really paid much attention beyond that. It was supposed to be a warm up after being off for a few years and playing mommy. The first thing that caught our attention was the fact that Tinker Juarez was racing. Then we read that Cannondale and Trek were both sending their full teams because it was supposed to be a real challenge. Then I checked out last year’s results and there were only 12 women who even finished. 10,000 feet of climbing and 40+ miles of technical single track inserted into 100 miles of dirt. I didn’t think there was that much climbing in the whole state of Ohio – but I was wrong.

About 4 miles into the race I realized I had the wrong tires. They had cut a new trail which was off camber with tons of roots and was still a bit muddy from the night before. I was slipping everywhere. About 7 miles into it I didn’t get clipped out on one of my falls and twisted my right knee pretty good. I was still fine when I could spin but on the steep single track uphills if felt like someone was poking me in the knee with a hot poker. I was also gun shy from all the slipping and the net result was that I was crawling along at an agonizingly slow pace.

At the aid station at mile 36 I had really taken a mental turn for the worse. I was worried I wasn’t going to make the cut offs and beating myself up. I mean seriously – I had been playing mommy, doing the corporate thing, and gaining weight for the past five years. Dave’s passing had inspired me to get out there and try to race again but I was really feeling foolish. Who was I to think I could manage all that and still do these wacky endurance races. It was time to quit and go home. Then I overheard one of the volunteers say "How’s it going Dr Dave?" My heart stopped – I got tears in my eyes and I turned and looked – the volunteer was talking to an older guy who I had been riding with all day. Well we weren’t riding together but we were riding about the same pace and were consistently near each other. He would always pass me on the down hills and then I would pass him on the uphills.

Then I really started crying – I mean what are the chances that I would be riding with a guy named Dr Dave and that I would be sitting somewhere so that I would hear a volunteer say his name – you know how crazy aid stations are – its just too much of a coincidence. Maybe my Dr Dave wasn’t physically there but I really believe he made darn sure that I knew he was with me – even if he just sent someone with the same name.

So of course I went on to finish the race. The race got a lot easier after that because most of the single track was behind me. Once I was on the roads I was fine (aside from one other spectacular wipeout on a downhill). I was one of the last people across the finish line – but I did it – and I will do it again.

Oddly enough a bit later in the race I got a chance to talk to the guy. I said "pardon me for asking – but I just wanted to make sure I heard correctly – did that volunteer call you Dr Dave?" He said "yep – that’s what I go by" Of course I got the tears again. I said "sorry – my friend Dr Dave died last Sept and when I heard your name it inspired me to keep going." He pointed to his seat and he had a date written on there in marker – not Dave’s date – but it was from last autumn as well. He said he was riding in memory of his friend who had also died about the same time as Dave. He said he really believed it was important to challenge ourselves but also know our limitations and stay within them. I agreed with him then said "thanks" and rode on. I never saw him again that day. It seems like Dave and that man’s friend were sitting together in the netherworld swapping stories and somehow our meeting that day was the outcome. Crazy – and I still get tears when I think about it.

Good luck at PQ. Don’t give up – but also be safe. The Badlands are called that for a reason. Dave’ll be there with you.

- Tracy