By Ben A. Neiburger, Attorney, Generation Law
This post is the second installment in a series. Click here to read Part 1 of my Celtman! adventure, and here to read Part 3.
The Race Start
I set my alarm for 1:30am. I woke at 1:25am. 5 minutes stolen. Levi was up at 1:35am, popping decongestants and chugging coffee, but upright and ready to go. During the hour ride to the race start, I couldn’t stop talking about the car and the tires. That’s when the son comforts the father for the first time. I wasn’t nervous about the race, the cold water, the epic bike, or unknown run. Just the damn car and leaving my wife and other son stranded without a second car. Blah blah blah.
The GPS said we would be in Shieldaig by 3 am. Levi was trying hard to not hit any potholes. And it’s raining. In Scotland, the rain is everything. All the time. As we drove, cars filled with other athletes joined in a little caravan until we had a small convoy in tow. The convoy arrived at the one lane village at 3:15am to a traffic jam. We were supposed to board the buses to Sheep Shit field by 4:00am and time was running short. At 3:30am the race officials directed us and six other cars to some empty spots along the road. We got the parking spot next to the coffee shop, which is opening surprisingly early to get the business while its there.
I take the bike out of the back of the car, forgetting to calibrate the bike’s power meter. I start to get my wetsuit on, squeezing into the warming vest first. I am marginally successful at putting the legs and lower wetsuit torso on. I delay putting on the upper wetsuit torso and long sleeves on until later because the wetsuit becomes excessively warm when not submerged in cold water. Then I try to put a contact lens in my left eye. Lately, I have been doing the swims with one contact in and one out. Since I am near-sighted, that will allow me to see both near and far. The brain is a little wiggy until it gets used to the difference, but I’ve done it in Xtri’s before. Now, I take the contact out after the swim and just use my regular glasses for the bike. Well, that is when you can get your contact in. After 5 minutes of panicky left eye poking, I gave up on seeing anything beyond 12 inches from my face (took my second daily wear left eye contact case with me for a second try later) and asked Levi to find my bike rack number and headed to the check in. I picked up my GPS tracker box (there were only 5 left — how could I be this late? I GOT UP AT 1:30AM!!!!) and a doohickey I had to wear on the arm opposite of my watch arm to register when I cross race timing mats and out the door we go.
Athlete bikes were set up in the middle of the main road in Shieldaig Village.
Instead of laying out my Transition 1 (T1) bike gear on the ground in a nice neat pile, like I would for “normal” races, I put the packing cubes with the equipment I packed a full week ago in a large black garbage bag just under the bike. It should be good enough. Then I caught glistening (because of the drizzle) plastic bins that some other athletes used, neatly organized. Locals. See if you can bring a bin like that on a plane.
After racking my bike and setting up my transition gear garbage bag at 3:55am (the sun rose at 3:30am), the athletes trudged the path up the hill to the top of the village where the three large busses (and biting midge flies) awaited to take us to our date at Sheep Shit (and thistle) Meadow start. Oh, last bathroom sighting: 1:55am and there were none in transition. Should be fun. With one more try at the contact and using Levi’s phone as a mirror, poking my eye with contact number two was successful, and we were off and running to the bus. I sat in the second-to-last open seat on the bus, where I met Thor, the Norwegian. I think he is around my age. We talked about our respective adult children and the challenges of running our respective businesses and then he told me this was his 9th straight Celtman race. And then he was doing Swissman coming up next week, and then Norseman six weeks after that. All in one year. And he said he wasn’t training that hard for this. I asked him how he could get a race entry so often (Celtman is a highly sought after lottery race entry).. He responded, “Well, my name is Thor, what do you expect?” (and Thor finished the day with a mountain climb and finish.) Thor indeed (super nice person despite my sarcasm).
6am means Party Time at the Swim Exit.
The path to the Village hosting Sheep Shit meadow was a snake-like single-track road through the forest. I think the bus barely fit through some of the turns. At the bottom of one dip in the road, just before a large hill, the road was so tight that the ass end of the bus scraped the ground loudly (as Thor exclaimed, “It was me. I’m the one weighing down the bus.”) After a short and pleasant ride, we arrived at the Meadow and three porta potties. I quickly got in line. While waiting, they took the “beginning of the race” picture. So, I missed it. And the midges were biting. I carried a mosquito net for my head, but no time to wear it.
Ready to Go!
The Swim
Athletes began in the water from the rocky beach entry. I put on the top part of my wetsuit, goggles, gloves, and neoprene swim cap and was ready to wade into the water with everyone else.
I wear booties to keep my feet warm during cold swims. That morning, I discovered another reason — Toes vs. rocks protection. If I didn’t have those on, I would have hurt my feet and toes on the hard, round, algae-covered rocks. I noticed my goggles were not fitting well on my face well and they were leaking as we waded towards the kayaks holding the start line. I went back towards the shore to adjust the tightness of the goggles and position the straps higher on the back of my head to prevent leaking. To do that, I needed to take off the pink silicone racing cap, loosen my Velcroed neoprene cap, and adjust. As I tried to put the neoprene cap back on, the Velcro closer stuck to my gloves instead of itself. Ack. I couldn’t take off the gloves to adjust them. I had fastened my watch over one glove while still on shore, and the race was about to start. After attempting three or four times, the only thing I could attach the closer to was my glove. I enlisted the help of some of the other athletes to attach the cap closer, instead it stuck to their gloves. I took a deep breath. Asked yet one more person, and he figured it out. Breathing out, I turned toward the start. The 5 am starting horn went off.
Face in the water, swim towards the left side of visible islands, watch for jellyfish. Since I’d done the pre-race swim the day before, I was no longer surprised by the water temp and acclimated without pain. The water felt pleasant. We swam with no thoughts of rental cars anywhere.
Swim Course – 3400 meters and 53 degrees F.
We needed to swim across Shieldaig loch to reach the other side navigating two islands and the loch’s central current. The swim started very fast because we were swimming with a current. Then everyone else started outpacing me. Dammit. I hate being the slow swimmer in these races. More passed me. Why do I do this? I think I’ve lost the race already.
OK Ben, just swim your race.
You don’t have to compare yourself to any of these people, because you are old. No, that is not a gray bearded guy who just passed by you.
The swim was beautiful. The water, flat. The air, still. No jellyfish in sight. Just wooded islands in the remote Scottish loch. We pass by two islands off of our right shoulder, then sight off the white house. I swam. Kept my pace appropriate for effort. I had a long day ahead. The heads-up display on my goggles told me pace and distance as I swam. I started at a 1:30 minute per 100yds pace and because of the changing currents as we crossed the loch; the speed slowed as the swim went on. I found some people to swim with. There was no kicking or pushing. We drafted off each other. I would look up and around to sight the proper landmark and try to absorb the breathtaking surroundings. Very special.
Several fires and a long rubber runner extending over rocks from the seawall to the water marked the swim exit. It was not easy to walk on any part, particularly after swimming. Nevertheless, after one hour and nine minutes of breathtaking swimming, it was finished. I happily tripped, got help standing from two people, and then ambled into T1.
The Bike (a tour of the countryside and some history)
The first leg of the bike course went up a steep hill to exit the village and then the 17-mile single track road to Kinlochewe. I probably finished the swim in the middle of the pack. The problem is that my cycling ability is not strong.
As I pedaled at a sustainable pace for me, another third of the field passed me. Every couple of minutes, another bike went by. In addition, this first section was up hill. My strength lies in the downhills. In these races, it’s the mental game that gets you. My mental game is dealing with the internal perception that I must be better than everyone else, or it’s not okay. Having people pass you because they are stronger athletes is not okay. Having someone finish the race before you is not okay. Your worth is diminished by not being faster than them. Then I told at least three people I was riding with (before they passed me) about my rental car tire woes. Oh. Come. On. After a few rounds of rumination on this, you need to kick yourself and get a better perspective. First, the scenery. This is one of the most beautiful bike courses I’ve ridden on. I have the fitness and health to do this. Live in the moment. Enjoy being present. Appreciate what you can do. In two weeks, you’ll be sitting in your office, on the phone, answering e-mails and bitching about the summer heat.
124.5 mile Bike Course with 6700 feet of Climbing over more than eight hours.
Get over yourself. Cut it out and be fully present, Ben. Big picture. It’s a once in a lifetime ride.
That first part of the bike was a ride along Loch Torridon, touching, for four miles, the foot of the 3000 foot quartzite scree and sharp ridges of Beinn Eighe. (According to a guidebook in the Airbnb[1], “In 1962 W.H. Murray published his influential book Highland Landscape, a survey of 21 areas of outstanding natural beauty in Scotland. He wrote: ‘Glen Torridon, its loch, and the mountains to either side, exhibit more of mountain beauty than any other district in Scotland.’” And you are bitching about your rental car.)
It took a bit more than an hour to get through that first 1000 feet of climbing through Glen Torridon to reach the Village of Kinlochewe (“Head of Loch Ewe”). The next 18-mile section of the course follows along Loch Maree and the Beinn Eighe National Nature Reserve (the first British National Nature Reserve established in 1951) to Gairloch (where I am trapped right now four days after the race waiting for a service station another 13 miles up the road to get the tires needed to have a working rental car- and that’s why you have a long race report.) According to the Guidebook, Loch Maree is one of the most beautiful Scottish lochs. It lies along a major geological fault line and 2-billion-year-old Amphibolite and Semipelite rock formations scoured clean 11,500 years ago following the last ice age. The dividing line separates “The great wilderness” from the Torridon Hills (in Scottish, “hill” means “mountain”).
The road past Gairloch.
Gairloch is a collection of villages with a population of 1100 people. It got its first roads and wheeled vehicles in 1849. My two-wheeled vehicle passed through it two minutes before my stranded rental car-less nonsupport family came out to cheer me on. I stopped by the Airbnb at a bank parking lot to wait for them, but Levi said he stopped another quarter mile down the road to wait for me. Before I left, I gave my greetings to the other parking lot resident, another athlete support crew dressed in Power Ranger costumes. I met with Levi for my first support stop at the grocery store up the road. I was 2:30 hours on the bike and stopped for a couple minutes with him to re-fill a Gatorade bottle.
The next section of the bike was 13 miles through Poolewe to Aultbea. It became hilly, and that took me another hour to get through. Interestingly, Poolewe contains a famous garden once owned by the Laird of Gairloch as part of his 12,000-acre estate, created in the mid-1800s and given to the National Trust for Scotland in 1952. To the east of Poolewe is The Great Wilderness. There lies the remotest point in Britain, and, of course, its remotest Munro (a Scottish mountain).
Aultbea is just across from the Isle of Ewe in Loch Ewe, an important naval base during World War I and II. In 1939, a U-Boat placed a mine that hit the British flagship HMS Nelson. Aultbea became a major naval base and assembly area during the wars. I did not know this as I rolled by — I still couldn’t let the rental car go.
Amazing views from the bike course (taken two days before the race)
From Aultbea the course crossed a finger of land to Gruinard Bay next to the Wester Ross Marine protected area. A beach exists there. The guidebook says you can see seals on the beach. No wildlife cheered me on. It’s stunning as you look across the blue bay at the island in the middle. Beyond the bay and beach, there is a 200-foot climb into Gneiss hills that originated 3 billion years ago. The course also passes two little settlements, one called First Coast. The other Second Coast. They each contain one hut. Not much nightlife there. The guidebook states that in the early 1800s, a landowner forcibly relocated residents to this area from more fertile land to establish a sheep farm. Despite the rain, the “Coasts” land seemed barren. In 1835, the malevolent landowner sold it to Meyrick Bankes, a wealthier and more tyrannical English landowner. Could that explain why there are no inhabitants even after almost two centuries?
On this stretch of road, my phone rings. Why would I answer a phone in the middle of the race? It appeared to be a UK number, likely associated with the rental car. So, I stopped. I answered the phone. Told the caller where to send the tow truck. Told them to call my wife. They said okay. The needle on my stress scale was pointing lower.
The course then climbs up a two mile, 575 foot hill to a beautiful valley along Little Loch Broom. This was the halfway point of the course, just before six miles of rolling downhill terrain. I let the bike speed up to 40mph. The pavement was straight and free of bumps. Waterfalls cascaded in the distance. The only hazards were feral goats (none appeared for me) and trying to spot whales and dolphins in the Loch. The stretch ended at a salt marsh in Dundonnell.
Dundonnell has one hotel, just off the road.
Five hours of biking complete, and I could still climb the one flight of stairs to the loo. Yes!
Levi happily giving Ben Gatorade on the road after Garve
After Dundonnell, the course climbed up 1000 feet over eight miles of pine forest at an average 3% grade. Beautiful. Three miles in, my phone rings. I stop without falling off the bike and answer.
“Hi,” she says. “We can’t dial your wife. She doesn’t pick up. The tow truck driver found your car. He’s sitting there, waiting.”
“OK, I will text her. Can you ask the driver to go three additional miles down the road and pick her up from the parking lot at the Bank of Scotland?” (That lot was across from the road to our Airbnb.)
I texted Barbara. She answers and leaves the house to go meet the tow truck driver. I hop back on the bike. Three athletes passed me. I start grinding up the hill again, marveling at the waterfalls and overhanging cliffs of ancient stone. The road crosses a geologic formation called the Moine Thrust (this is where my guidebook stopped its commentary — but something big happened 430 million years ago where one tectonic plate crashed into another, causing a rock “bow wave” to the west. This wave created the hills and lochs along the course.)
After the climbs, the course descended for 10 miles into Garve. At mile 100, after 7 hours on the bike, there was a turn in the course. In total, there are only four turns in the entire course. The joke from the race organizers is that if you need the bike route programmed on your bike computer to guide you, you are a moron. This was the second turn. It’s nearly impossible to get lost. Race marshals manned each intersection.
After the Garve turn, Barbara texted me, “They towed the car and will put on new tires Monday”
Lies! All lies!
Well, at least I didn’t need to ruminate about that anymore. Rain drops then poured from the sky.
A forced smile for social media.
How I really felt.
The section after Garve was open highway. Not much climbing, gentle traffic passing you at 60mph, roads with vistas giving you that relaxed open feeling. Only 25 miles to go. Then it rained more. It got cold. I texted Levi to turn around and bring me rain gear. Communicating this took a while because iPhone screens struggle with texting in the rain. Eventually, I dried it enough to communicate with him and he doubled back. At a safe spot to pull off the highway, he gave me my raincoat. I felt warmer and continued the last couple of miles. The rain got worse. I couldn’t see very well. Then the course went downhill, fast. The bike speed hit 30 mph. Thoughts of dying in a wet bike crash replaced thoughts of drivable rental cars.
I tested the bike’s rim brakes. They worked – kinda.
The course ended: 125 miles, 8:16 hours of active riding (and another 30 minutes of stopping), 6700 feet climbing, 5900 feet descending, some of the best scenery in Scotland, longest bike ride of my life, and one hour ahead of the bike cut off.
Epic ride!
(The best riders finished the bike course in under 6 hours.)
Click here to read Part 3 of the 2024 Celtman! Report.
To click here to see absolutely stunning photos from the race by Ariel Wojciechowski.
[1] Guide to Gairoch and District. Loch Torridon to Little Loch Broom: West of the Moine Thrust. Unknow Author. Unknown Date. But the guidebook has a 4 pound price tag.
