Trans Am 2017 Day 21 FINISH: Mt. Olivet Baptist Church, VA to Yorktown, VA — 114 Miles, +2,442 ft

21 min readDec 31, 2017

I woke up super groggy but not too tired on the picnic table as my alarm vibrated against the wooden planks, the only noise in an otherwise foggy, dark, and quiet Virginia morning. I gingerly rolled off the hard surface onto my still-cleated feet. I hadn’t unpacked anything for my 25 minute nap, so all I had to do was pull out a couple chunks of the face paint and smear them on my face. I couldn’t see what color they were, but one went on my forehead and the other color under my eyes. I took a selfie, expecting a legendary pic of savagery that would live on for years, but I just looked wrecked. Oh well, it was time to battle!

My lights had charged and I could see again, so I tucked the paint away, got on my bike, and OH MY GOD was my butt sore. I felt a sharp, sharp chafing all over my rear end and could hardly sit down. I pedaled and the pain nearly brought me to tears. My rear end was on fire. Holy shit, what had happened??

What had happened was that washing my shorts the night before and riding hard for hours in wet shorts had caught up to me. I wonder how much it would actually hurt if I felt the same pain now, but at the moment it seemed unbearable. No way could I make it to Yorktown like that, I thought. 100 miles!! Impossible. Totally impossible.

I resolved quickly to go to a truck stop a few miles down the road in Ashland to get a shower and wash my shorts, since I felt like dirty, sweaty, sticky shorts had to be part of the problem. Virginia was just as hot and sticky as everything east of Colorado, and I welcomed a chance to clean off the past days grit and sweat. I wasn’t going to make it before 9 AM, the cutoff for under 20 days, so may as well not rip my ass open on the way. I was also an hour behind Sofiane and half a day ahead of Pim, the next racer behind me, so had nothing pushing me forward and no one to chase down.

The sun came up on my way into town and I was disappointed that I hadn’t ridden into Ashland the night before. Sleeping had allowed the butt pain to creep up on me and had taken the sting out of any sense of urgency I had before. I was in a bad headspace and could only think of shower and wash.

I went a mile off route in Ashland to get to a TA Travel Center and bought a bunch of good breakfast food before heading upstairs to shower and wash my shorts. I had zero sense of urgency at this point, and was having a hard time picturing biking 100 miles. I showered and washed my shorts with the soap, thinking a lot about how ridiculous this whole mission to clean myself and shorts was. At that moment it seemed impossible not to do what I was doing, but I also knew that when I was less tired I would realize how stupid I was being. I went to the laundry room and threw my shorts in the dryer and passed out in the chair for 20 minutes while it ran. I woke up and grabbed my shorts, feeling increasingly foolish, and eventually made it back to my bike.

Whoops, my butt was still crushed. It seemed that the warm, dry shorts rubbed even more than the slightly moist, sticky ones! I felt horrible and totally hopeless leaving town. I called my mom almost in tears. What the fuck should I do?? I had to take care of this before I thought about covering the final stretch.

We talked about strategies to combat chaffing and she looked up a couple solutions. It was also rush hour, so, while we spoke, a line of cars was passing me on a very suburban road, adding to my misery. After some deliberation, we determined the two best options for cream and I looked forward to a Walmart ahead where I could get it.

I wasted an insane amount of time in Walmart looking for diaper rash cream and more food. While I was wondering, one of the employees walked passed and asked me, “Who won?” I was confused. “Huh?” He pointed at my shoes and feet and said, “You have cleats on, a sleeveless shirt, and facepaint. You look like you just came from some sporting event. So, who won?” I laughed and remembered that this was all true. I told him I was just biking and no, it certainly was not me who had won. I was a loser.

I squeezed a glob of Desitin onto my fingers (remembering that this diaper rash cream had been Janie’s solution in 2016) and went for it right in front of the Walmart. Ahh, this was what I needed to get to Yorktown! Snacked up, food in the bag, and cream on the butt, I’d pedal straight to the monument!

I was back on the bike in a flash and AHHHH MY GOD! It was worse! It hurt the same but now had this awful, sticky ointment on it to increase the friction. Holy shit!

I whined and whined, and told myself I was an idiot for getting Desitin. Diaper rash ointment only numbs the problem and is better for bloody gashes on your butt. What I had was a matter of lubrication, and I needed Vasoline. I got a call from my sister Hannah and spent most of the time screaming and whining into my phone. I still didn’t have headphones after losing them the night before, so I rode with one hand, cringing at the added pressure that put on my bottom. She could have told me to stop complaining and just pedal, but she kindly took pity and agreed: go get Vasoline! So I googled a drug store and saw there was a Walgreens a couple miles ahead.

I repeated the slow process of searching in Walgreens — this time avoiding any prodding from employees — but finally emerged with a small tub of the good stuff. I dug in again and, in ample quantities, applied the Vasoline right outside the Walgreens front door.

All the while, I was getting texts from friends and people who had supported my race congratulating me and telling me to finish strong. Their messages were so welcome and appreciated and kind, but I felt like such a massive loser that they just reminded me of how far I’d fallen that day. I hoped that they weren’t watching my dot, and, if they were, I hoped that they couldn’t tell how slow I was going.

I hit the road again. As one might imagine, the Vasoline did nothing to help. Of course, I couldn’t just put Vasoline on top of the sticky cream that I’d just applied. It was like spraying perfume on garbage. I had to thoroughly clean myself first before I reapplied Vasoline to a clean bum, then it could do its job. So, a couple more miles down the road, I pulled into a gas station and went into the bathroom to clean.

There was white Desitin and translucent Vasoline all over my shorts, and it took me a while to feel like I had cleaned enough of it up, but eventually I was ready to reapply. I did so, and hit the road.

I was very aware of how slow I was moving, and wondered if I could set a record for the slowest final 100 miles. What an idiot I was. I felt decent pedaling away from that gas station but still in pain. At least I felt like I had reached the best solution I could, and gradually stopped second guessing my butt pain solution. I rode for a little bit and had no idea what was ahead or how far I had gone. Where was Richmond? Where was Yorktown? Where was I?? I determined that I needed to stop for some real food, gather myself, and hit the reset button (again).

I picked a gas station a few miles ahead and worked my way towards it. My butt pain eased and I felt stupid, knowing that it would have receded after sustained time in the saddle regardless of whether I treated it or not. I’d dealt with brutal saddle sores early on in the race and powered through without even thinking about it. Such was my change of mindset when the finish was near.

I hit the gas station, sat down at the lone chair in the corner, and ate some chicken fingers and other greasy food underneath flickering fluorescent lights. I was no longer in rural America, where gas stations are often hubs of the town. No, here the gas station was a place you came in and out as fast as possible on your way onto the interstate. It was an incredibly sad gas station — the perfect place for me at that moment.

I looked at what I had ahead and made a plan. No stops for 40 miles to Charles City. Refuel there, then push to Yorktown. I felt better having a goal and some amount of focus for the first time that day. There was still no sense of urgency. I wouldn’t make it in under 20 days, Sofiane was now a couple hours ahead, and Pim was still half a day behind, so what mattered? It was like the day in Illinois where I realized I wouldn’t make it to the ferry, but worse.

The rainy morning had put my phone charger out of commission, so my phone was running low and I’d been listening to music on airplane mode while following my backup Garmin for directions. I bought a new charger, hoping that would fix the issue, and headphones, and I rolled out of that sad gas station.

I bitched and moaned to myself but did my best to ignore it. For the first time in a while I had music, so I played some jams but for a while all it did was make me acutely aware of time. Ok I just finished one song, that song was probably 3 minutes long, so 3 minutes have passed… Another song, another 3 minutes… I just counted the songs, it sucked.

Eventually I lost count and started to get some flow. I saw I was making progress and getting out of the Richmond suburbs, so was boosted by that. I took a hard left turn that I recognized from studying the route and knew I was on the peninsula heading to Yorktown. I saw the bike path next to the road and hopped on it after a mile. As far as I understood, this was the proper route (instead of the road), so I would take it! I rode well for a while and started to get close to Charles City.

All I thought about was the glory of finishing and having my parents there and, quite frankly, how pumped and proud I was about the whole thing. I just wanted to go run and hug my parents and cry with gratitude. I was playing some good music and all the sudden I was balling. I think I’d finally realized that Yorktown was within reach, the butt situation was over, and I would soon be done. Obviously, I had a ton of emotion built up, particularly through the last two days. It felt great to cry and I did for a while, just thinking about my family and excited to be almost done. This was the glorious, emotional finish I’d looked forward to sharing with my parents at the finish, and I hoped that I wasn’t spoiling it now. But I was.

After my crying simmered down, I got pretty tired again and tried to go out on the road to move faster. I got honked at and a station wagon with a Washington & Lee sticker brushed close by me, so I decided that the bike path would be safer and help me stay awake. It’s much more winding and covered in crap, so requires a lot more focus.

I got back on it and slogged to Charles City. My head was gone, no longer panicking about this butt pain or that. I felt a jittery anticipation for the finish which wouldn’t help me get there any faster, so I tried to just distract myself by replaying the past 20 days. I started in Oregon, and went day by day through the trip. Whenever my mind started to wander and get frustrated in these last miles, I would just return to this reflection and force myself to keep thinking through as much as I could remember of everything that had happened. This “meditation” reminded me of my mindset going through up Lolo Pass and helped a lot, and I could have benefited from it at other times in the race.

I was pretty wrecked when I got to Charles City and surprised to learn that, in spite of “City” being in the town name, there isn’t much else aside from a courthouse. I filled up my bottles inside some county building and sat down outside under a tree, still feeling emotional and very hungry. I sat there a bit in the dirt, moping and eating, then managed to drag myself back on my bike.

I pedaled really slowly for a while and was shocked when I passed two guys on road bikes, though they were not exactly pushing hard. I felt low, unfocused, tired, all of the bad things. I just told myself to stay on the bike whatever happens and keep spinning, I was almost there. Keep moving.

A super kitted up guy passed me going the other way, and it was clear that this was a popular bike route. I said hey but the dude said nothing and I thought he was a dick. Ah, east coast riders. No camaraderie. Then, a couple minutes later, the same guy passed me, this time going towards Yorktown. Ah! You laugh you weekend warrior! Hit a guy while he’s down! I can’t catch you now, but on a better day I would fly past you! I wondered how slow I was really going, and it was probably in the low teens, if that high. My mind was gone. My legs just spun. I fumed at the punk who’d had the audacity to pass me and watched as he cruised down the bike path far ahead.

But wait? I should catch this fool and make him feel like an idiot. I could see the headlines: “Touring Cyclist on His Last Legs Passes Snobby Club Rider.” Yes! Yes! That’s what I’ll do. I hopped out the saddle and was surprised to pick up speed quickly. I’m coming for you, club rider! I started singing to myself, changing the words of some classic song I can’t remember now. Something like, “La la la I’m gonna catch you mother fucker!” I told the whole story of my chase through song, belting as I went. I started panting and I was all the suddenly feeling good. I’m coming for you, club rider!

Minutes and miles ripped by and I started making up ground and closing in on this goon, singing the whole way. I sang louder and louder as I got close, and I was sure I’d get him and be able to give a smug smile when I passed. I pushed hard over the bridge after Rustic where the road kicks up very briefly. The hill took some wind out of my sails, and I started to sing softer, until I realized my short burst of watts were gone and I slowed back to my original pace. You live another day, club rider!

My chase had actually helped a good chunk of miles fly by, and I was now getting pretty close to Williamsburg. I was way more than halfway to Williamsburg from Charles City and thought it was pretty funny that this club rider has infused my afternoon with energy.

All of the sudden I was off route by a few hundred feet, and I saw that I was supposed to take a right turn to Jamestown. WTF, Jamestown is totally out of the way! Shit. I corrected myself and headed south, and eventually was in Jamestown. I knew the route went through Jamestown, but didn’t realize that it was a complete diversion from the road to Williamsburg. Near the settlement, I saw a bunch of bikers in matching Union Jack jerseys sitting at a bike fixing station (there were a couple along the bike path) and I went over to get water. Despite being fed up with biking, I was in pretty good spirits and made some jokes and chatted. They were all pretty English and uncool and gave me blank stares. I also didn’t find water there, so I moved off quickly. Two minutes that I’ll never get back. I went into the Jamestown Settlement building and filled up on water, then was out.

Oh, the Colonial Parkway. This, again, was one of those thing on the Trans Am where you think shit, how did no one tell me about this?? Well, people had told me about this, but they had vastly undersold it. Luke had called it cobblestone, but in reality it is just a cemented, rocky, gravel road. It vibrates through your body and bum and you just can’t go fast without worrying that something on your bike will break. The road is almost as bad as rumble strips, and there is 20 miles of it. There are also no lanes, and cars are all over the place. I knew I had this for about 20 miles to Yorktown, and I tried to gauge from the map how far I had. Not close enough. I was devastated. Wow, how had I just bike across the country?

I broke it down into three sections. There was the section along the water, then the section between the water and Williamsburg — these two were about equal — then a much longer distance between Williamsburg and Yorktown. I wallowed in my slowness and vibration, hoping that nothing in my bike would break, and focused on section one.

After some ambling along the water, I finally turned inland and into section two. Section one hadn’t been too long, so I had high hopes for reaching Williamsburg quickly. It wasn’t quick, but eventually I made it to the exit for Williamsburg. For whatever reason, the route has you exit the parkway and go through town, then get right back on the Parkway. I was happy to get a break from the Parkway, though brief and out of the way. I struggled to navigate since my phone was still running low and I was using my less precise Garmin. Finally, I made it back to the Parkway for section three.

13 miles to Yorktown! Oh my god it was so close, but so far! I pedaled hard and had finally hit the finishing stretch stride. I was so close. The parkway was insanely busy and totally unsafe to bike on, and I spent most of my time looking backwards at cars. There are some rollers and it’s really quite beautiful in the thick, green forest, but its hard to focus on that. All of the sudden we reached the water and the road turned to run alongside it. I was almost there! I looked ahead to see if I could spot the monument, but no. I knew I still had a couple miles to go, don’t get ahead of myself. A car pulled up next to me to cheer me on and take pics, and they told me they were Ken’s parents and that I was so, so close. They were super kind, it gave me a boost.

I was in full finishing mindset and anxious to get there. My mom had texted me two hours before saying that a bunch of people were hanging out waiting, so I felt bad making them all wait so long (Sofiane finished four hours before me) and wanted to get there ASAP.

The road started to turn in away from the water, and I could just feel that I was close. I started to relax and, not that I hadn’t been for the last 12 hours, reflect. I remembered thinking on day one about what it would feel like to pedal into Yorktown whenever (if ever) I arrived. Thinking about that seemed so far off on day 1 and I’d known that a lot would happen before I got there. It all seemed so long ago and it was — 20 days is a big chunk of time, and a lot of things had happened in my world as well as everyone elses.

I looked through some texts that I’d gotten in the previous few hours while I took the exit and left turn into Yorktown, and I saw a message from Luke that said “In all seriousness Max. Soak in these last miles. Reflect and think about the journey you are about to close out! This is something amazing that you will never forget and will be a part of you forever man.” That text from Luke, the dude who’d helped inspire, push, and then support this adventure, hit home, and I was happy that I’d been able to enjoy the last stretch since Williamsburg and get myself into a reflective state for at least some of the day. Luke was right, I should take these moments by myself, while I’m still in the race, to take stock.

In theory rolling up to the Yorktown monument is one of the best, most monumental parts of the race, but if you’ve just slept 6 hours over 3 nights in Virginia, you really just want to finish and be done. And if you know your parents and a bunch of racers are just sitting around there waiting for you, you REALLY want to finish. So, trying to figure out where the monument was and following the GPS down the boardwalk got old quickly.

Finally the GPS indicated a right turn up the hill, except it was one way the wrong way. So I turned around to go back to the previous street up the hill when I heard someone above yell my name. “MAX!!” Ok, I’ll go up the wrong way. I gathered up all the watts in my legs and tried to look cool huffing my way up. There is always one more climb.

Again, if you’ve seen Inspired to Ride or know anything about bikepacking races, you’re a massive fan of Mike Hall and you want to do everything like him. He rides with chill, he rides fast, and he rides with style. So, if you watch his finish in Inspired to Ride, you’ll see that he avoids the ramp up the curb to the monument, instead doing a smooth bunny hop to perfection, just like he did to get to the Newton Bike Shop. In the hundred times Amy and I watched the movie, we were always impressed by this swaggy move. So much so that Amy and I had practiced our bunny hops for months and I’d sworn that if/when I got to the monument, I would do the same. I’d pulled it off in Newton, but had a different level of success in Yorktown.

Youtube video: me, Original video: Sally Lester

If you watch the video you can hear me yell something like “Mike did it so I have to!” before limply sending my front wheel over the tiny curb and then ramming my back wheel into the hard corner. You can hear the sizzle of air escaping the damaged tire while my back end rises straight over my head. Sleep deprived and pretty lacking in energy, I’d forgotten to take my hand off the breaks and not pulled up the back hard enough, so I squeezed the front brake while the back bounced off the curb and I went over the top. You can hear Janie Hayes laughing hysterically.

My sister Hannah was kind enough to put these screenshots together on Instagram.

I sprawled on the pavement, the 20 people at the monument a bit stunned, and all I could think was oh my god did I just break my bike after all this?? Everyone hustled over to me in worried murmurs, but let out their laughs when they saw I was smiling. Jimmy, Janie Hayes’ husband, was the first to pull the bike off me and help me up, and they cheered and laughed when I finally got up. It was really quite funny and a great finish. I’d do it again every time. Honestly, I can’t imagine the level of regret I would feel if I hadn’t attempted that tiny little nod in honor of Mike’s panache.

Sally Lester’s post of the whole arrival:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/524758520982933/permalink/1298669986925112/

Finishers no. 1–8 were there to greet me and offer their congratulations. It reminded me, once again, of Inspired to Ride, when Mike greets many of the riders after him. He was the first finisher and set the example for everyone who would come next — crush it, be humble, and stick around to celebrate those who follow. It’s a lonely fucking ride and it’s so rad to have someone there at the end who’s been through what you’ve been through.

I didn’t cry like I’d imagined. The last 12 hours had been so slow that I’d already relaxed and my cry 30 miles out had sort of been the big culmination of emotion. Getting to the monument wasn’t the fast paced, racing climax that I’d imagined; instead, it was a mellow resolution. My mom handed me a delicious milkshake, someone else gave me a beer, and I sat down on the monument to shoot the shit with a bunch of racers for a while. We chatted about how things had been in the last day, checked out pitbull bites, and I caught up with racers I hadn’t seen in days.

It was really cool, because I’d had a previous interaction with every racer who finished in front of me. I hadn’t seen Jon since Tillamook on the coast of Oregon when we rode with Luke and Bo, Janie since the coastal hills before we turned away from the Pacific Ocean, Jose since Colter Bay in Wyoming. Evan went to inspect my bike and see if I still had a good salty mix like I’d had on day one, but I told him that it was a “day one mix.” Donncha had pulled out of the race after walking the Ozarks in Missouri but had still come to Yorktown to meet finishers, and I gave him a big bear hug. I certainly hadn’t imagined when we rode together in Oregon that things would turn out as they did, and I could see that he was really excited for me. It meant a lot from Donncha, and it meant a lot that people would share in that moment on the monument.

I rolled into Yorktown somewhere around 20 days and 8 hours after leaving Astoria. I’d lost 4 hours to Sofiane in the last 12 hours of my race, and 12 hours on Ken in the last 40 or so hours. I’d felt so good on my first night in Virginia and had tried to take advantage of it. But, that ended up being my last gasp, and I didn’t get a chance to recover from it in the final few days to Yorktown. It was not a fast finish, and I’m annoyed that it ended up that way after working so hard for 3 weeks, but I know it is a result of going as hard as I possibly could so it’s OK.

Oh yeah, I still had on a sleeveless, bright red, American flag shirt.

Notice the flat back tire. Candles for Eric Fishbein.

After

I spent a couple of days in Yorktown after the race with my parents waiting for Amy, hanging with other racers, and generally just soaking it in. It was all very, very awesome, as you could image.

I don’t normally look like such a hippy.

Lukas didn’t make it far after his late night arrival.

I have a collection of photos of Amy napping.

In the end, you’re alone. If you’re lucky, there is someone at the finish to take your photo. And maybe even a rainbow.

I wasn’t going to write an epilogue, but I started one, then it got too long for this post, then I combined it with something else I’d written, so here is the link: Ice Cream or Ass Cream: The Trans Am “Epilogue”

Trans Am 2017 Intro

Trans Am Day 1: Astoria, OR to McKenzie Bridge, OR

Trans Am Day 2: McKenzie Bridge, OR to Prairie City, OR

Trans Am Day 3: Prairie City, OR to Council, ID

Trans Am Day 4: Council, ID to Lochsa Lodge, ID

Trans Am Day 5: Lochsa Lodge, ID to Bannack State Park, MT

Trans Am Day 6: Bannack State Park, MT to Cameron, MT

Trans Am Day 7: Cameron, MT to Lander, WY

Trans Am Day 8: Lander, WY to Cowdrey, CO

Trans Am Day 9: Cowdrey, CO to Alma, CO

Trans Am Day 10: Alma, CO to Haswell, CO

Trans Am Day 11: Haswell, CO to Ness City, KS