Chupacabra 100km, Juarez, Mexico, 2007
Posted on January 8, 2008 by Andrew
By: Andrew
This is one of my favorite marathon races. I’ve done it twice, had great results, and just a good time in general. But, the race is held in Juarez, Mexico. Tell that to most people and the usual response is “Dude, are you crazy?”. For those who don’t know, Juarez is considered to be one of the most dangerous cities in North America: High crime, gangs, drug trafficking, kidnapping. You want violent crime? Juarez is your destination of choice.
Nothing, however, could appear to be further from the truth when you attend this event. The organisation is superb, the people friendly, the landscape spectacular and the race site is enormous, with a huge carnival-like atmosphere. There is live music, free massage, good food and even the Tecate girls show up. Did I mention that there are usually over 2000 entrants in the race? That’s a lot of riders. As is common in races in Mexico, the government puts up a lot of money for the event as an attempt to get people into a healthier lifestyle. This means that there are cops all over the pavement sections directing traffic, great support and - best of all - outrageously cheap entry fees. When I raced it two years ago the fee was maybe ten dollars. This year it was $25, but that included a bag o’ swag and even a race jersey - a real one - for the top 100 finishers. That, my friends, is a deal.
So, we make the drive to El Paso. Scott Henry (who finished third here in 2006), B+P teammates Joey Machado and John Baxendale and myself, loaded up in Scott’s scary-as-shit looking van: A massive black thing that makes the Silence Of The Lambs van look like Mother Teresa’s ride. This thing is matte black with subtle blue flames running along the sides. Suh-weeet! Total chick-magnet. We check into our hotel mid-afternoon, drive to the international bridge, park, get on our bikes and ride across into Mexico to register - passports in jersey pockets. After registering we saddle up and go for a warm-up ride along the levee on the Rio Grande. Nice afternoon, with a little breeze. Scott is hoping for more wind on race day because he knows that he will destroy the lighter riders with his power riding in a cross-wind.
At this stage it’s worth pointing out the - ahem - unusual race course: The first hour of racing is pretty much a balls-out road race along the levees of the Rio Grande. There are no climbs, just the flat wide top surface of the levee. It’s more like road racing than mountain biking: knowledge of drafting and pack strategy is a huge bonus. It can get very sketchy, given that it’s on dirt and we’re racing elbow-to-elbow. Also, there are a couple of railway culverts that require a dismount. And there are more than 2000 of us… After the levee, there is a section through town, and then you’re climbing, for a long time, on double track jeep roads. Then a combo of singletrack and double-track. Did I mention that there are also two nasty hike-a-bike sections, lovingly named Escalones de King Kong (King Kong’s stairs) and Asphyxia (enough said). The latter is a real mo’fo’. It takes about 40 minutes to hike it, and the descent down the other side is very steep and sketchy with numerous switchbacks that are very difficult to negotiate. After that there is some nice flowy singletrack, then you’re back on the doubletrack heading home - onto the levee section again and you’re done.
At the start, we line up on the grid, that is rapidly growing to over 2000 riders deep. By virtue of our finishes in years past, Scott and I are allowed into the front area of the grid with the pros. Scott is front row given his 3rd place finish the year before. I’m about 3 rows deep. I expect our teammates to be buried way back in the crowd, but I turn around and see that they have somehow bullshitted their way to the front area as well. Nice one, team Beef and Pie! I look around to see what kind of competition we can expect. There is Tinker Juarez, the recently crowned world 24-hour champion. Next to him are two guys in Italian National uniforms. One of them is Mario Deho who is one of the top-five marathon racers in the world. And some other fast-looking lean bastards…
And, we’re off. The jockeying for position starts immediately, but the tempo is not as crazy as previous years. We ride in a very tight group for about a half-hour. There are a couple of attacks off the front, but none from the major players, and they are easily brought back. Then, we are suddenly turned around and routed back in the opposite direction, but now we are riding on skinny, twisty, sketchy doubletrack. Immediately the tempo gets crazy-fast and we are trying to hang on. A couple of guys get tangled up in front of me and go down, I manage to get around them and get on the wheels of the end of the lead group. We are really on the rivet now, balls-out, as fast as we can go, barely keeping it upright through the turns. I sneak a glance backwards and see that we have dropped absolutely everybody and opened a good gap. The furious tempo continues - I’m very close to popping at this point - and then we suddenly come back out on top of the levee. Our lead group is about 15 strong, Tinker, Scott and the two Italians are in there. The tempo eases a little and I chat to Tinker. We are about the same age, easily the oldest riders in the breakaway (probably by at least ten years, yikes!). The easier tempo allows a chase group to catch us and suddenly we’re about thirty strong.
Then, just as soon as we relax a little, we hit the railway culverts and all hell breaks loose. Rampant attacking, bad dismounts, and a lot of bike aggression ensue, and once again , the pack disintegrates. Luckily, I find myself still in the front group - down to about fifteen riders again - and definitely back on the rivet. I’m feeling pretty smug at this point, due to the fact that I’m still hanging on in this elite company. Then, we turn out of town, and reality bites me in the ass as we hit the first climb and I get dropped like the sad, tired old rider that I am. Damn…
I find myself riding with Alejandro, a guy I met racing in Creel, Mexico a couple of years ago. He is a strong rider and lives in Juarez, so he knows the course well. We take turns at the front up the climbs. He is great to ride with - good to chat to/suffer with, and very fair about taking his turn into the wind. After about an hour we pass a rider from the lead group who is fixing a flat, then minutes later we catch his buddy who jumps on with us. Then we come upon Scott, who has had two flats and is out of tubes. I stop and give him my entire tool kit and get back on it, trying to catch Alejandro and the other guy. I do after a few minutes, and we ride together for a while, dropping the other rider in the process. 
We reach a steep, technical short climb and are gutting it out when we come upon a tiny church at the top. There’s a priest in white vestments splashing holy water (?) on us as we ride by. A quite surreal scene of the kind you only encounter in a race in Mexico.
Then Alejandro and I catch and drop another guy and continue on our own up the first hike-abike. After that, it’s a good ride, singletrack, doubletrack, river beds, a lot of climbing. Then we come to the ascent to Asphyxia and I can’t stay with Alejandro any more. The hike up is nasty and long, but nothing to do but suck it up and get it over with. I figure that I’m in the top ten by now, so I don’t want to lose any time. The descent is sketchy and dangerous - so much so that some of the switchbacks even have stop signs! I make it down without incident and now I know it’s all downhill from here, so I give it everything I’ve got left. 
Some nice singletrack, then doubletrack. I haven’t seen another rider in about twenty minutes, and I think I’ve got to be about 8th or 9th overall now, so I keep pressing it. Top ten would be awesome! I glance over my shoulder and I see a tiny red speck in the far distance. No problem, I think, I can hold this rider off until the finish. Two minutes later, the tiny speck has grown into the form of a rider and, by the looks of it, it’s Scott Henry. I can’t freakin’ believe it. Two flats, and he’s still got the legs to make up all this time! He catches me and I try to get on his wheel, but there’s no way. He absolutely shreds me and I’m left to ride the last levee section solo, then finally, very happily, finishing in 10th place.
Joey and John roll in a little later and we consume massive amounts of food and Tecate. We go for the free massage, listen to the terrible rock band, get our picture taken with the Tecate girls, and then stumble back across the border. A damn fine day!
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