An orphaned post, from 2004, in which I reach my highest world championship finish ever, matched again in 2019…
Xterra World Championship Race 2004
In previous years, I have stayed at the host resort, the Outrigger (now a Marriott). The place is plush, set right on the ocean, with rolling lawns dropping from the low-slung hotel complex down to the lava rock shore. Two pools, restaurants, and a slew of ocean view and fronting rooms provide a totally packaged upscale experience. However, it’s a bit dated, and on either side, places like the Fairmont and the Westin have outclassed it. But it’s peaceful, and I remember many idle sunsets and mornings lounging at the water’s edge, reading and listening to the surf crunching against the rocky lava outcrops that define the shore.
There was always a wedding to watch most evenings, usually a few folks lined up beside a small cloth gazebo, just at sunset, with the poor minister looking away from the light show behind him, while the bride, groom, and lucky guests ogling the flamboyant triumph of the evening’s herald, totally wrapped up in nature’s show. Brides usually took off their shoes as soon as possible, and insisted on photos with the palms and clouds and surf and setting orb behind them.
But the place was costing too much, and the hotel had little to no provision for eating in the room, so this year, I searched for something a bit more reasonable. Wailea, where the race has been held nine years straight, is a planned community, all of a piece, each plot of land meeting exacting standards so it all fits together as seamlessly as Disney World. This was in reaction, I think, to the Wild West land rush that befell Kihei, just to the north, during the first explosion of Maui tourism. There, the old California/Florida model ruled: you buy the land, you build what you want. A beach front two lane road runs for miles north from Kihei almost to Maalea, all along an endless strip mall, Hawaii-style, with condos interspersed either on the shore, or just across the road. Not as cocooning an atmosphere, but a bit more alive, and a lot cheaper.
I chose a 2-3 story condo complex at the south end, right on the border with Wailea, for quick access to the race activities. For $95 a night, I got a 1 bedroom condo about 3 times the size of my previous hotel room, with a small, but full kitchen, a living room and balcony, from which the evening sunset was fully visible. Right across the street was King Kamaole beach, a sward of lawn ending in sand and lava stumps, to which I could repair for morning swims, snorkel expeditions, or evening sunset meditation. Sure, I didn’t feel quite so pampered, but neither did I feel swindled, or falsely luxurious.
Arriving five days in advance, and now fully acclimated from nearly two weeks on the Big Island, I tried out my new found sweat resistance on the Practice Course, a feeble attempt to re-create the actual conditions of the real race course, which is only open to bike travel on the day of the race. I seemed tuned, and ready to roll. My run training for my upcoming attempt at qualifying for the Boston Marathon in Sacramento 5 weeks later had me peaked perfectly for a short (less than 10K) finish to the grueling Maui course.
The swim was its usual self. Clear, warm and placid waters offer a soothing way to start the day. But the loss of our beach-side transition area to new construction resulted in a little mini-transition zone, about a foot square for each of us, where we could put shoes and whatever for the 1200 meter run up hill (gaining 300 feet) to the new, unified T1 and T2. I paced it easy, keeping my heart rate under control, and gradually gained ground on several more eager, younger racers, hitting T1 about mid-pack.
Immediately we’re into the outback up the desert-like lower slopes of Maui’s volcano. My new, dual suspension Specialized Epic, though heavier than my old carbon fiber Trek, goes up hill very briskly, and I walk in all the usual places, “Heartbreak Hill” chief among them.
I’ve got a few places on the race course I want to handle better this year, after three previous efforts left me beaten down by the terrain, heat, and searing sun. I want to ride all the way up “Ned’s Climb”, named for mountain biking’s elder statesman Ned Overend, who used this last sustained uphill to put away his rivals for two straight Xterra titles in the late 90’s. I want to be more aggressive on the downhills, and I want to put some more strength into the rolling middle section of the course. I succeed in all efforts, but I still fall 2 or 3 times on the clunky double fall line jeep roads, filled with instant potholes from disrupted melon sized jagged boulders. On my first fall, on a sharp left hand turn at the top of a steep climb heading down an equally steep descent, where I’ve run aground several previous times, I jiggle out of control trying to avoid a woman who’s having even more trouble than I am. I’m still in a pack of riders at this point, most of whom highly prize their downhill speed more than their legs and shoulders, and come careening around the corner yelling at me to get out of the way. I’m entangled with my bike, one foot still clipped in, writhing on my side feeling like my calf has been wrenched worse than any fall I’ve taken on a ski slope. I shout back, “You know, I could be lying here with a broken leg!” I get up, hobble back on the Epic, and slam my way down from rock to pit to dust bowl until I reach a flatter section. There, a race marshal on an ATV roars up, asking if I’m OK. Apparently, someone took my crack about a broken leg seriously.
Later, in the new section near the end, most riders have slowed down, but I’m still pumped. So pumped I arrive at a little squiggly section filled with baseball-sized rocks, that I had noted previously while doing practice runs. I felt confident I could scream through here. Taking it at a higher speed than the day before, my front wheel is twisted right out from under me, upending me once more. I grumble, “Aw shit”, feel a lump and blood start to rise from the front of my right calf, and leave it behind as I get on for the final 800 yards. The first 700 go just fine. The dirt road ends about 50 yards before the transition area, bouncing across a curb, then a paved road, and onto the grassy slope where we park our bikes. People are skidding to stops after about 25 yards on the grass, and I prepare for my exit. Just as I drop over the curb, a really loud bang comes from the rear wheel. I know my tire is instantly flat, so I hop off, planning to run my bike the last little bit. If you gotta blow, what better place to do it?
But the force of the tube’s explosion has ripped the tire completely off the rim, and as I start to roll down the hill, the tube and tire immediately become entangled with the chain and derailleur. Won’t move. So I hoist the bike on my shoulder, at the perfect place to be seen by the crowd, who cheer madly for this grey haired guy CARRYING his bike down the hill to the finish. I laugh, realising they think I’ve been running with it for some time. It’s actually a relief to do the last 100 yards this way.
T2 goes very quickly, despite being harassed by a camera crew who are fascinated by the tire destruction. I get out on the run, which I know starts with a couple of serious challenges. First, we go through a five foot diameter drainage pipe – who wants to bend over while trying to run at this point? Next, a series of 20% up hill grades, followed by a scramble down a slickrock gully onto the flats. Throughout this first 2.5 miles of the “run”, there is a helicopter circling over the desert scrub, high enough so there’s no backwash, but low enough to be really noisy. I love doing races where there are helicopters; usually I only see them at the start, and then they go way ahead to follow the leaders, and leave us mortals unseen. I feel like a pro as the thing dives in now and then to get some background shots for the Super Bowl Saturday CBS Sports Spectacular they air every year (but not the the Seattle market – KIRO there has an INFOMERCIAL in place of the race. Grrrr!) I’ve planned to run, no matter how slow, up each of the grades, knowing that all the uphill work comes early on, and there are no real beaches to drain me later. Out of the flats, I’m feeling good, and ready for the downhill – it follows a paved road to the beach, and everyone is running down the asphalt, relieved I guess to be out of the dust and Kiawe bushes. I notice that the side of the road is a thick grass strip. I hop the curb, and turn on the jets. This may be the fastest 3/4 mile I’ve ever run. I pass quite a few who are hobbling down the road, while I’m running as if I’m skiing a powder slope – soft like a down pillow it seems.
We go through the trees to a black and white pebbly beach, then a short bit along a tourist beach – which I actually RUN – and onto the seaside walking path in front of the resorts. Next, the final injustice of a cruelly sharp lava outcrop at water’s edge, then onto the grass of the Outrigger’s luau grounds, and into the finishing chute. I have achieved all my goals for this race: biked up Ned’s, pushed the rollers, fought my fear on the downhills, run the whole run, and beat my previous bike time by fifteen minutes. I check the clock as I enter the wall of cheers: 3:50! Nineteen minutes under my previous best, super even allowing for the easier run. I finally gave this course the race effort it deserves. I give a side saddle leap for the photo at the finish, accept my flower lei, and gratefully seek the shaded tent for water and food.
I sit in humble happiness for a few minutes, then go after my time card: 2nd place! Double wow! Of course, the guy who comes in third seeks me out, only to complain how he blew a tire and lost at least fifteen minutes trying to fix it. Welcome to the club, I think as I commiserate with him, feeding his belief that, but for the flat, he would have my second place medal today. Tough luck buddy, part of the race is being ready for all that comes your way. Avoiding flats and other mechanical difficulties is a big part of how you succeed.
I stumble across my buddy Chris from Vancouver, WA, who’s in the age group below me. He had caught me at the bottom of the downhill after Ned’s, then I passed him on the short uphills after that, but he went by for good and got about five minutes on me in the big final downhill. Geez, I wish I had the courage to go downhill faster! He has somehow come in first, and is feeling quite chipper as a result.
That night at the awards dinner, he and I sit at a front table along with a couple of other winners. I’m starting to warm up to the idea of getting in front of a national or international race and accepting an award for a job well down. This marks the third time I’ve been there (twice at this race), and each time feels like such a gift. I hope I don’t ever think I’m ENTITLED to a high placing. Getting here is such a complex effort of mind, muscle, emotion, hope and dreams. So many ways to stumble, so few times to feel self-fulfilled. Somehow, I’ve mastered Maui, at least this one time. I’ll take it with a big smile, I decide.