Pain and Inspiration in the Backcountry: Racing the Ultra Quest

Race report by Josh Jacquot, member of The Path Race Team

“This all seemed like a good idea back in January.”

That’s all I could think as the eternity of push climbing and small-ring suffering on Los Pinos trail conspired to wholly crush my spirit for racing in such brutal and unforgiving terrain. But what else should I have expected from our friends at the Laguna Rads?

This had all started more than four hours earlier at the National Forest parking area at the Upper San Juan Loop trailhead. Race Director DW began the day by offering the route (Upper San Juan Loop, Chiquito, Blue Jay, The Wall, Bell Ridge, Yeager Mesa, Trabuco, Los Pinos, San Juan, Chiquito). His speech included the notion that we couldn’t cheat by riding down the easy way to hit Chiquito. Instead, he said, we would drop out of the back side of the lot “into the steep, rocky shit and that after that all the shortcuts were fair game.” And with those gloriously sincere and informal words he began to pedal. Apparently, it was on.

Moments later, we found out just how much so. As more than 50 riders funneled into said “steep, rocky shit” the racing began in earnest. And so did the crashing. As far as I know no one got hurt, but it didn’t sound good behind my third-in-the-train position.

Climbing Chiquito in a race scenario is an exercise in caustic futility. Each step forward is met with half a step back. And pedaling? Well, maybe 50 percent of the distance is spent pedaling. That leaves 30 percent to cursing and 20 percent to walking. Your mileage may vary.

After Chiquito there’s the first shortcut which isn’t really a shortcut at all when everyone knows about it. So with Jesse Beck leading, the first four riders (Beck, Joe Lawwill, myself and Goleta’s Mike Kent) hit “The Wall” with little separation. At this point, while watching Beck’s unorthodox bobbing-head pedaling style, it occurred to me that this is the sign of a man who’s either so strong he can do this all day or so close to blowing that I’d soon witness physical failure of epic proportions.

Looking back on it now, I don’t think he even feels pain.

This order remained to the top of Bell Ridge. Then, as I’d learn, it pays to be willing to ride down terrain so steep there’s no way to control one’s speed. On Yeager Mesa trail the incline becomes so precipitous that one can, while dragging his bike behind during an epic ass-slide, knock large boulders down on himself. This I’d never experienced before. Walking Ass sliding here did nothing to enhance my now solidly entrenched third position. Nor did my sissy small-ring push up Trabuco.

There was no positional improvement on Los Pinos either where Goleta Mike and I stuck together. He pushed the pace on the descents and my uphill speed helped us on the climbs. This was all going fine until, near the bottom where the trail turns chunky, my balls and saddle found themselves in a nasty territorial dispute. The immediate pain was intense enough that it occurred to me that this event might just ruin any future family plans. A painfully slow visual inspection at the San Juan restroom proved that, despite stoic numbness, things were still intact. So much for my XC-inspired refusal to lower my saddle.

A few switchbacks up San Juan had us realizing that we were still only 23 miles into an extraordinarily difficult 40-mile race. Then I realized that thanks to my ball-crushing distraction I’d left my flask of energy gel – and only food source -- at the aid station below. Fortunately, Goleta Mike shared a Larabar. I figured between that and the 200 calories of Heed in my bottle I’d make it. Maybe.

But the insane pain of intense endurance racing was setting in. And so was the sporadic cramping. It didn’t help that we’d seen fifth place – race organized DW – roll in just as we were rolling out after a much too-long pit stop. It helped even less that he seemed happy.

The San Juan climb went better than expected. Goleta Mike stopped once to sort out his mental yardsale and handed two positions to DW and Old Man Wayne. After cresting San Juan, it was almost all downhill to the finish. Periodic spectator reports ranged between five and seven minutes to second place Joe Lawwill, but I knew that his superior downhill speed would give him the position after I failed to catch him on San Juan. And so, when I finally crossed the line after 40 miles and 10,500 vertical feet, third place never felt so good. Beck won, Lawwill was second. DW and Old Man Wayne were fourth and fifth and Goleta Mike toughed it out for sixth.

It was stunning. A race that’s truly different and truly difficult. And an incredible day on incredible terrain. Race organizer DW said it best:

“There were epics, crashes, broken bikes, start line beatings to eliminate the competition, missing bike parts on the start line, borrowed bikes, last minute arrivals, poor race management, cramps, psychological meltdowns, friendly rivalries, common-cause partnerships, bonking, suffering, pinning it, dropping in, complaining, good decisions, bad decisions, flat tires and plenty of other drama unknown and untold.”