Note: this post is about my first-ever Dirty Kanza 200 experience on June 4, 2016.
Part VIII – Checkpoint Three
We were late pulling out of Eureka – almost 4pm and knew our odds of finishing before the 3am cutoff…
After a few miles a voice.
“Well hello there Arkansan! And no, I’m not stalking you… I read it on your jersey,” she offered politely.
This is Kristin. Remember I mentioned something about my GPS being messed up earlier? It wasn’t long after meeting her that I had to turn it off. I’ll not dive into the details. Why am I mentioning a broken GPS and Kristin in the same paragraph?
A few miles later I watched Kristin turn in the “wrong” direction but stifled the urge to call out because I knew my Garmin was in the process of fubaring. When another rider made the same mistake I knew it was me and not them. I took off after them.
Gregg was not far behind. He has the same kind of GPS as me. Guess who set it up? I was mad and then remembered Rebecca’s (Rusch) words the day before.
“Things will go wrong. Don’t worry about it. Just deal with it.” (shit happens)
I’m paraphrasing but you get the point. I have cue sheets in frame bag, bike computer (odometer), map, three compasses. Three Compasses.
A man next to the road was holding a water hose and I stopped. Over the next two minutes we talked and topped off the water tanks. He provided intel about weather and the next water crossing.
I can’t recall his name but would like to thank him sometime. Ran his own aid station. Wants to do it again next year.
Over the next forty miles, I raced (chased?) whoever in front of me. There were hills. There were roads. Some shouldn’t be called roads.
As expected, with the sun setting the temps became comfortable. The winds turned into a nice summer breeze.
As the evening turned to night we rolled (back) into Madison.
Thirty minutes under the cutoff.
Our team was +1. Brian, another DK200 participant, had dropped out at 100 miles and was now in our pit. Cheri’s worried. Gregg’s not far behind I assured her and that’s about when he popped into view.
Kelly was shoveling pizzas and cokes my way. I was back. Emporia is 44 miles away and time is running out.
Next Post – Part IX – Finish Line