Terlingua Race by Beef (Rashomon 2)
Posted on April 9, 2008 by Andrew
By: Mike
I’m up before sunrise. It’s 38 degrees. I’m in the middle of the desert surrounded by hundreds of cyclists. I’ve got a warm Lone Star in my pocket and I’m wondering, “what the hell am I doing here?”
There’s really only one reason I could be in such a situation – Pie.
Here he is. He’s the guy in the center looking at Joey’s nipples
For a long time Andrew has talked about a bunch of us going out to Terlingua for the bike race. “It’ll be fun,” he said. “It’s a big party in the desert,” he said. “They give everyone free shots of Tito’s Vodka after the race,” he said. And after a couple years of this I said, “sure.” What could be more fun than a West Texas road trip?
Well it was a few weeks before we hit the road when Andrew explained to me the concept of “handups.” I think the quote was “you’ll do handups , right Beefy?”
Sure, handups. That probably meant handing the guys (and Ponies) cold beers after the race around some gigantic fire. No problem.
It was mere days before the race when he explained what handups actually meant to me. Turns out I have to be at - designated places - among the yuccas in the desert to hand him EPO filled drink bottles as he rides by. At specific times. Let me repeat – at specific times. If you know Pie you know that punctuality is rather important to him. Sort of like how oxygen is important to breathing. I started to get tense.
When Andrew gets focused on an idea – especially about cycling – he’s a pretty formidable force of nature - and I don’t mean a rainbow. I mean an avalanche. A pitbull with a baby in its mouth. Like trying to contain the Big Bang in a burlap sack. It’s simply unstoppable. I feel the Eye of Sauron upon me.
Working alongside Pie, I realized long ago that you can’t stop the ocean. So I embrace by job. I’ll be the perfect pit crew. I’ll get to that handup station in the desert no matter how many poisonous snakes or personal hardships I have to overcome. I’ll be there for my team!
That’s what led to this chicken scratch.
It’s the night before the big race. After many Lone Stars and this awesome Mexican Tequila called Senor, he explains when and where I need to be to coordinate my handups to him, Ponies and Joey. I started to get so nervous about being late and going out the night before and waiting with a frozen bottle of Gatorade in my hand.
That night I don’t sleep much – I cuddle with fear. I wake with that long forgotten feeling of the first day of school. I brew a French press to fortify me for the dawn. I see Pie and Ponies off and reassure them that I’m ready for my mission. Enter Betty. Thank goodness for Betty. Not only is Betty a close friend she has all the qualifications for the day ahead –she’s a local, she has a truck and she finds and counts Peregrin Falcons for Big Bend. She’s also knows how important it is to pour a little tequila in you coffee for a day like this.
the Beef and Pie team was a sight to behold. I’ll never know what it’s like to ride 100K but that moment I burst with pride as I watch my team rush to the toilets for one last pee.
And then they were off! They leave is different sorties depending on the category. Andrew first. Joey second. And Karen third. And that basically negated the times scratched onto my map that I’ve already worried the ink off of.
Oy.
But the race is on. What can we do but drive out to the first drop point and hope we don’t miss them? This is not as easy at it sounds. There were some cryptic signs to guide us.
We put Betty’s bird watching skills to use as we search for the rendezvous.
Then, in the middle of the Chihuahua Desert we find a table of snacks. Yeah! Free bananas. I eat about a dozen. Mmmmmm.
It’s kind of quiet. It’s pretty cold. We look at each other and wait. I scan the horizon for someone in a Beef and Pie kit to magically come out of the ground. And damn if I don’t see Ponies peddling over the hill. She has a big smile of appreciation as I shout her name and hand up her specially prepared bottle of synthetic adrenocortical (cherry-flavored!). We laugh, take pictures and wish each other luck as she rides off to tackle that mountain in the background.
Imbued with the confidence of nailing my first handup I start to relax. This euphoria lasts for about 15 minutes until Pie comes shooting over the hill shouting run Beefy run! I realize he means “alongside him” and not into the desert. As I jog alongside him the instructions come fast and furious. “Fuck”(translation: hi!) “I dropped my drink bottles!” (translation: I dropped my drink bottles!) “Next stop I need electrolytes! Electrolytes!” (translation: Next stop I need Starbucks! Starbucks!)
And just like that he was gone. I was left with a stomach full of bananas and anxiety. What was I going to do? It’s like a four hour drive to El Paso and there’s no guarantee the Bucks has made it to the Border. I decided to pop open that Lone Star in my pocket and have a think. He probably did mean electrolytes and these coolers are filled with them. They taste pretty good too – we’d been mixing our tequila with them since we arrived.
A few minutes later I nailed the handup to Joey. He was polite and considerate as he accepted the red water bottle I’d found on the ground and refilled for him.
Betty and I consult the map with the misleading times and head back to the starting point. Ponies is supposed to finish first, then Andrew would come through for a second lap and his “double tall mocha” handup and then Joey would finish his race. So we return to base camp and scour up some coffee from the Desert Sports crew who have the sense to bring a portable espresso machine. And then sure enough Ponies comes coasting through the finish line.
She’s euphoric because she finished the race in second place (!) and found that it wasn’t nearly as painful as the training ride she did with Pie and Joey the day before!
But now it’s getting close to handup time and I’m stressing. There are two different coolers with different beverages. I know Pie is going to have a preference, hell he’s got a carb-to-whey-protein preference. So I figure I’ll offer him a buffet of Gatorade. I fill one bottle with the pink and one with the yellow. The time keeps on marching and there’s no sign of him. I realize I’ve got to stay focused. I start practicing my handups to people in the crowd.
The leaders come steaming through and I know Pie will be close on their wheel. I catch him in the binocs and run to the hand off. Without breaking stride I explain his beverage choices. He grabs the pink. And I ask what he’d like at the last stop and he requests good clean water. He looks tired from peddling hard – but focused. I repress the urge to push him over. Without putting a foot down – he heads out for another 50K loop
Moments later Joey comes cruising through to finish his ride. He looks more refreshed than me. We pat him on the back and then head off to the middle of nowhere to give Pie Pie his last handup. Now it’s getting pretty fun. We’ve got a great posse together – Betty, Karen, and Jeff and Jane who have replenished our lost electrolytes with Chelada!
Chelada! is a wonderful new product from Budweiser that combines beer with Clamato – so you get your RDA of Vitamic C&A plus “certified color.” It really says that on the tall boy. I sip my Chilada! and focus on the last handup. I know Pie. I know his needs. I stare out at the desert through Clamato eyes and mind-meld with him. I know exactly what he needs on this last handup. I’ve heard him shout this a hundred times on shoots, “Beefy! Where’s the fuckin’ gaffer tape!”
Well I’m not going to let my buddy down. I’m going to have the biggest roll of gaffer tape ready for him and that’s what is going to bring him to victory! As soon as I have this desert vision he comes over the hill and I spring into action.
“Food! I need food!” he screams with a gasp as he throws his empty water pouch to the ground. We grab bananas and Clif Bars by the fistful. He pulls up and gets as much as he can in his mouth. He takes the last water bottle and locks back into his peddles.
After so much waiting these few seconds are very very tense. You want to give them everything they need – from food and water to support. I find myself running alongside asking if he wants another banana or surprise! gaff tape. He doesn’t seem to comprehend how I’ve seen into his very mind. He shakes his head to both. I figure he’ll see the brilliance of my plan if he has a moment to process this through his oxygen depleted brain so I keep running.
A hundred kilometers later – oops, I mean a hundred steps later – I bonk and have to pull up. Seems like I only had one match to burn.
I return to my pit crew spent and confused.
After that last handup I finally relax. My job is done. We have another Chilada! on the ride back to the finish line. And 45 minutes later he comes coasting through
As soon as he brakes to a stop he pulls me aside and says I did a great job and those were the best handups he’d ever gotten
Okay, actually he said, “Fuck. I think I’m going to die.” But I know what he meant.
That night they built a monster bonfire and handed out free Tito’s Vodka. I don’t know which was more exciting. And I have to say I don’t think I’ve ever seen Pie happier. He had raced hard (came in 8th!), had his Ponies on the same ride (2nd place!) and had his crew performing textbook handups. He was pouring shots of vodka out of beer cups to anyone and everyone. He was high on life (and Titos). And for the first time I felt like I had a connection with these crazy masochistic cyclists.
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