LA RUTA
La Ruta de los Conquistadores begins in the Costa Rican surf town of Jaco and for four days follows jungle and paved roads through eight different microclimates and over the volcanic mountain range that defines Costa Rica. After 40,000 feet of climbing and 225 miles, your tires finally stop on the Caribbean beach of Playa Bonita. From the day I sent in my entry, my body and mind were on constant countdown, measuring everything in pre-La Ruta or post-La Ruta. My preparation was simple: put in miles on my bike whenever and wherever I could, work as a mountain bike guide in the summer, commute to work and ride solo 12, 18 and 24-hour endurance races. I live in Ophir, Colo., close to Telluride, so I’m intimately familiar with altitude and intense climbing. When I stepped off the plane in San Jose, the air felt humid and sticky, a stark contrast to the cold and snow I left behind. A wild van ride up twisty mountain roads had me relieved to see Jaco Beach. The day before the race people were nervously riding around, making last minute adjustments. There were pros with impeccable team bikes, regular riders with bikes that had platform pedals and others sporting beautiful boutique bikes. It was fascinating to see the accessories added on for this epic event. To make shouldering a bike easier, some rigged up slings and others wrapped pipe insulation around top tubes. I found out later I couldn’t even lift my bike when it was loaded with jungle mud. My down tube fender would prove priceless though. I tried to separate myself from all the banter about tire pressure, food, chamois cream and chain lube; I knew what worked for me and I wasn’t about to change anything. Race morning had a 3 a.m. wake-up call to eat and get racers and bikes to the staging area. I laid out my pack the night before, making sure my Pepto-Bismol and Tums supply was robust and a variety of food packed. My chain was lubed, tires filled and water bottles mixed. I was ready and surprisingly calm and collected at the start. We lined up en masse in the dark to the tune of Madonna on loudspeakers. The commercial fireworks shooting off 20 feet away from the staging area definitely woke me up. On paper, the first day was the most difficult with 59 miles and 14,501 feet of climbing. If I made it though the first stage, I told myself the following days would only get easier. Convincing, right? The first climb began just a couple miles from the start. A bright blue Morpho butterfly distracted me from the tacky mud and gravel climb, but only momentarily. I was soaked with sweat from the humidity and my lungs felt like wet paper bags. A group of us came upon a racer really struggling and out of water. I didn’t want to give him any electrolyte drink and make him worse, so another racer quickly dumped out his bottle into the ailing man’s bottle. We wished him well and rode on. The route moved from jungle to alpine pastures where cattle grazed on the steep hillsides in the mist. I took advantage of the clear streams we crossed and washed my bike. On a relatively flat, unassuming section I sunk up to my knee in mud while pushing my bike. It felt like moving a loaded oxcart. I looked down and noticed a Chicken Little Pez dispenser; he rode with me the rest of the day. 36
Day 2, somewhere in the jungle, and this push-a-bike section according to the map was “rideable” with a dirt road downhill to follow. An informal La Ruta rule you should make a permanent note of before you go: don’t believe the maps. You can believe there will be some climbing at this race.
The mud led way to a mild gravel road climb, aggravated by the sunny, 98-degree weather. Stopping in the shade, a racer offered me sardines, to me the most disgusting snack ever. Not surprisingly, nobody wanted to share his “perfect energy food.” The climb continued and just when I thought about stopping again, a beautiful woman was cooling off racers with a garden hose. In her driveway, two local men with crescent