by Mark Sykes
edited by Diane Sykes Bartholomew
September 10, 2014
I've got a red blood spot on my eye
from LoToJa. Does anyone know a good
ophthalmologist?
I rode in LoToJa (a 200 mile
bicycle race from Logan, Utah, to Jackson Hole, Wyoming) last Saturday. My brother Scott supported me last year and
promised to ride with me if I chose to attempt it this year. I’ve felt weak since my brain surgery last
December; I've also been taking a trial infusion drug that makes me tired and
sluggish. Yet, all summer Scott and I met up three times a week in Chad
Carson's basement for training. We rode
bike trainers hooked up to computers--Chad is quite scientific about his
training, and he pushed us hard.
As LoToJa approached, I resolved to
make the attempt, despite my weakened condition. Friday evening my mom, two of
my sons (Bennion and Maxwell), and I travelled to Scott’s house. We inventoried
our supplies and reviewed our strategies.
At 4:30 Saturday morning we made our final preparations and drove to
Logan. With a pack of 50 riders, Scott and I crossed the starting line at 6:36.
This is my 5th LoToJa. In the previous 4 races I rode effortlessly
with the pack through the flat 35 mile section to Preston, Idaho (there are
only two or three real hills in this section). But this year by the time we
reached the first hill I had already fallen far behind the pack. I simply wasn’t strong enough to keep
up. Scott came back and “pulled” for me
(he rode in front of me at a pace I could maintain to create a draft for me to
ride in).
We arrived at Preston 30 minutes
behind my predicted schedule. Mom,
Bennion and Maxwell met us and replenished our drinks. Over the next 30 miles we climbed 2,500 feet
to the summit of Strawberry pass. Scott pushed me up the hill. Literally, pushed me. He rode on my right a few feet behind me with
his left hand in the small of my back, pushing me so that I gained 1-2
mph. When his left arm tired, he
switched to the other side. He continued
this for the next 140 miles.
Chad had prepared a cocktail of
pills for symptoms we would feel at different stages of the event. At the base of the steepest climb—the King of the
Mountain--I vomited, thus losing all the nutrients of Chad's carefully
calculated cocktail. At that point Scott silently ceded that we would not cross
the finish line.
Scott's tire went flat within sight
of Afton, Wyoming. Fortuitously, a
helpful WY highway trooper gave us a ride the remaining kilometer to town where
we received refills--physically and emotionally---from Scott’s wife, Jen, and
Scott changed his tube.
Between Afton and Alpine we fell in
with a good group of riders and settled in to a nice rotation of pulls (I took
no pulls but Scott and the others did). Among the riders we met a friendly
fellow named Rhett. He stayed with us
for the 50-mile stretch from Afton to Hoback Junction. Sometimes both Rhett and Scott pushed me at
the same time. Our two support vehicles
manned by Bennion, Jen, Maxwell, and Mom leap-frogged us--stopping about every
5 miles to cheer us onward.
We arrived at Hoback Junction at
about 7:15 p.m. A sign at Hoback informed us that we still had 29 miles to the
Finish. To finish by the 8:30 cut-off time would be impossible. After a brief rest at Hoback, Rhett zoomed
off to finish before 8:30, and Scott and I resumed our plodding pace. As the sun set and the sky darkened Scott
stopped to get headlamps out of the support vehicle and affix them to our
helmets. I left my helmet with him and proceeded alone.
I continued riding for about five
miles before Scott caught me. He was
surprised to see that I had no helmet and no light. Hadn't Bennion brought it to me? Scott had attached
a headlamp to my helmet and sent Bennion to deliver it to me. However, I had
already taken a "racers only" turn, and Bennion couldn’t deliver the
helmet. Scott then removed his helmet and
placed it on my head--he rode bare-headed for 10 or 15 miles in full dark. We reached Wilson where the bike path merges
with a highway. Even though official
race time was over, a LoToJa volunteer was still there flagging us in the
direction we should go. We rode on the
shoulder of a busy highway for 2 or 3 miles. Scott rode behind me and directed
his flashlight to illuminate the reflective material on my gear so I would be
visible to drivers. When we turned a corner for the last six mile stretch to the
finish we met up with Bennion and finally retrieved my helmet.
I was entirely spent by this
time. I had been on my bike pedaling for
14-hours. I had been riding for several
hours with my elbows locked because my triceps had failed me. Now my right arm could not grip the
handlebar. Only if I stopped pedaling
and stood on the pedal on my left leg could I use my back muscles to relieve
the right arm—but then I wasn’t pedaling.
Scott pushed me the last few miles, with me alternating pedaling and
resting.
We saw the Finish from over a mile
away. The race coordinators removed the
timing strips at 8:30, but the finish line was still lit up at 9:00. We crossed
the finish line 14½ hours after departing from Logan. Our support crews and
several race volunteers welcomed us with much celebration. We collected our “Finisher” medals and posed
for photos at the finish line.
After Scott and Jen left to travel
back home Mom, Bennion, Maxwell and I drove to a KOA campground where we had
reserved a cabin for the night. As I reflected on the LoToJa experience I felt
brimming with appreciation for a remarkable family, and most directly, for a
phenomenal brother. Scott physically pushed me for more than 140 miles, at
considerable expense to his knee from the added burden; he showed vast wisdom
by concealing his doubts about our finishing; he sacrificed his safety by
giving his protective helmet to his brother with stage IV cancer.
The next day, at Maxwell’s
insistence, we stopped at Lava Hot Springs on the way home. That’s when I
noticed a blood spot on my eye.
Which reminds me, does anyone know
a good ophthalmologist?
