May 2006

I’d become fascinated with endurance cycling after completing the Tour du Canada and the Tour d’Afrique. Those trips had spawned two books, 66 Days With Satan and The E-F-I Club, respectively. I was looking for the next challenge, from a riding and a writing perspective, and began to investigate a race I’d been hearing about for some time: the Race Across America. I spoke with two friends, Jeff Rushton and Kevin Wallace, who had set the RAAM 2-man team record in 2005. But what really intrigued me was the solo race. The idea that a lone rider could motivate himself to ride 3000 miles across the country, despite all the physical and mental obstacles, was staggering. And fascinating. I began to consider competing, but before I committed, I wanted to research the race.

I printed out every word on the RAAM website. I bought the few books that exist about the race, including The RAAM Book, Michael Shermer’s Sport Cycling and D.C. Born’s Release The Pace Giraffe. The more I researched, the more I got drawn in, because I found incredible facts not only about the race but about America and its relationship with bicycles.

I found that paved roads were first created by and for cyclists. I learned that the first automobile accident involved a driver hitting a cyclist, in 1903. I learned that the first man to cycle across the United States was an obscure rider by the name of Thomas Stevens, who’d only just learned to ride a bicycle. I felt there was an incredible story to be told, not just about the Race Across America, but about America itself.

June 2006

I emailed German endurance athlete Stefan Schlett, the only person I knew who had competed in the race. His achievements are impressive: with over 400 ultramarathons under his belt, including double, triple, quadruple and quintuple Ironmans, I figured if anyone knew a thing or two about the race, it was Stefan.

He emailed me back: “I did RAAM in 1995 and had to stop after 2110 miles because I was too far behind the time limit and my 9-person crew was no longer behind me. RAAM is a bloody expensive race and a logistical nightmare. And for preparation you have to survive 7,500 to 10,000 miles training on the road. Don’t underestimate it - RAAM is the toughest endurance event in the world. And bloody dangerous too! You ride in the night, under sleep deprivation, over mountain passes, because you are under constant pressure of the time limit. You can expect to work at least one year, to prepare, train and find sponsorship for participation in RAAM.” Stefan’s words were sobering, and I resolutely set RAAM aside.

December 2006

Six months before RAAM was scheduled to start, my friend Dave emailed me. Dave is a mountain biker and adventure racer with an appetite for pushing his own limits. “Do you have the energy for 2-man RAAM this year? I think I do. It kinda scares the hell out of me but that’s the appeal I guess. For this kind of craziness, you just commit, then you figure it out.” We committed, then we figured it out. Our experience completing RAAM in the 2-man category was every bit as rewarding as it was difficult.

It’s been said that completing the solo Race Across America isn’t twice as hard as competing in a 2-person team - it’s five times as hard. I absolutely believe that. To have no relief from the physical and mental demands of the race is almost unimaginable. I gained an appreciation for what solo riders endure during eight days and nights crossing the country.

March 2007

I spoke to photographer Lorne Bridgman about joining our crew to document the trip. Lorne and I had worked together professionally and I knew he was an avid mountain biker, so I was certain he understood the cycling mentality. He loved the idea, and was eager to join us for the Race Across America. But as we got closer to the race and took a realistic look at how little space was available for Lorne and his camera gear, and how little time he’d have to stop the support vehicle to get out and take pictures, we scrubbed the idea. The story was unfolding, but the pictures would have to wait.

Dave and I trained throughout the winter. He was in Vancouver and I was in Toronto, but our training schedule was online so we both hammered at the same daily training regimen, three time zones apart. I learned what a huge logistical challenge it was to prepare for RAAM. The crew, the flights, the hotels, the vehicles, the spare bike parts, the nutrition and hydration. It was a colossal effort, made easier by the commitment of our crew.

Dave and I competed in the two-man category in Race Across America in June. I met as many of the soloists as I could, and spoke with some during the race. The brief fifteen minutes I spent riding beside Tom Seabourne in Kansas was a story in itself. Tom shared his physical pains, his challenges, his absolute resolve to finish the race.

August 2007

After the race, I felt I had a much better understanding of what the solo racers put themselves through. I contacted dozens of cyclists who had participated in Race Across America over the previous twenty-seven years. I had emails and phone conversations with many of them, including unique individuals like the beautifully descriptive Kerry White and the hilariously irreverent Shanna Armstrong.

September 2007

I realized I needed a thread that would run through the book and connect one chapter to the next. I had written about everything that had happened during the past years of RAAM, but I lacked was a dramatic story set in the present. In writing terms, I needed a protagonist. In everyday terms, I needed a rider who would be the focus of the book.

I considered the options. Jure Robic was a champion who had won the race three times, but he had retired the previous year. Wolfgang Fasching, another legendary rider, had also retired from the race. I felt a U.S. rider would underline the American aspects of the race. A hometown boy who makes good. And it seemed to me there was no better choice than Dave Haase of Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.

I’d watched videos of Dave’s epic performances on during the 2004, 2005 and 2006 races. He’d dragged himself along the road despite horrendous physical pain and showed he had the will of a champion. From a photographic point of view, Dave’s face displays his suffering, perhaps more than any rider. When Dave is hurting, he will never admit it, but his face tells you everything you need to know.

I contacted Dave Haase and asked him if he’d agree to being featured in the book. In a fashion typical of the Dave I would come to know, he was funny, curious, engaging and self-effacing. He immediately agreed. I knew that, no matter what happened, Dave was going to provide a great story. Jure Robic, who had retired from the race, decided to return. Right then and there, the story got even better.

February 2008

I called Lorne and asked him if he’d like to go on a road trip. An 8000-mile road trip across the United States and back again. I’m thankful he’s impulsive, because he said yes, and we started planning. We would drive from Toronto to Indianapolis to join the RAAM route, then head west and start taking photos. Along the way, we’d stop at a few landmarks, like Bob Breedlove’s memorial in Trinidad, Colorado, making our way to Oceanside two days before the race start. Once the race began, we would follow the solo riders right across the country to Annapolis.

I contacted Perry Stone, RAAM’s VP of Marketing. He provided me with media credentials that would allow me to interview the racers, and allow Lorne to photograph them. In return for posting updates to the RAAM website during the race, Perry gave me access to all the riders, very up close and very personal.

June 2008

Lorne and I set out on our odyssey. I brought a small bag of clothes and my laptop. Lorne brought what appeared to be a moderately large photographic studio. I watched in amazement as another and another and another box of photographic gear went into the back of the Jeep.

Lorne shot images all the way across America, capturing the bizarre contradictions that define the country. We took our time, stopping whenever Lorne saw something picture-worthy. “There!” he’d shout, and I’d slam on the brakes so we could capture another slice of Americana. We even took time to do a little cycling in Sedona, Arizona and Joshua Tree National Park. We visited the Grand Canyon. We looked just like two goofy tourists, except for the eleven thousand pounds of photographic gear in the back of our vehicle.

On Sunday, June 8th, we set out from Oceanside with twenty-seven solo riders. Lorne had rigged a crazy flash system to the roof of the Jeep and he hung out the passenger window with his Canon. Along the way, all the riders seemed happy to see us when we pulled up beside them to take some photos. After spending long, lonely hours on the bike, they were eager to have someone to talk to. Riders told us how they were feeling, what physical ailments they were fighting, the quality of their short sleep the night before. We had incredible first-hand updates every mile of the race.

We got up at dawn, followed the riders until the last of the sun’s light was gone, around 9 PM, then sped on down the road to find a place to sleep for a few hours before starting all over again. Lorne shot from the roof of the Jeep, from rocky ledges, from hills and ditches. Lorne shot in the rain, in the blazing sun, and in the dead of night.

In covering the race, we soon realized we had a problem. The longer the race went on, the greater the distance between the riders at the front of the pack and the riders at the back. We were able to photograph Robic in California and Arizona, but once he accelerated away from Gulewicz and the rest of the field, he was gone. It would have taken us hours to catch him, then hours to drive back along the course to reconnect with the rest of the field. So we let Robic go.

No matter. The real story was happening behind Robic. The real story of the 2008 RAAM, for me, was Arvid Loewen’s crew building him a device to support his neck in Eureka, Kansas. The real story was Janet Christiansen’s painful battle with her digestive system. The real story was Dave Haase feeling Mark Pattinson breathing down his neck for a thousand miles. The real story was Franz Preihs’ heroic ride with his broken collarbone in a sling.

We arrived in Annapolis with Dave Haase. We watched Dave step up to the podium and talk about his experiences over the previous 9 days, 23 hours and 19 minutes. We said goodbye to Dave and his crew and then, after driving 6,528 miles across America, we got into the Jeep and drove 655 miles straight back home to Toronto.

Along the way, Lorne and I had stood on nuclear waste, survived a 65 kilometer an hour dust storm and stood at the south rim of the Grand Canyon as wet snow began to fall. We’d hit two sparrows, rescued a turtle and swerved to avoid coyotes, deer, elk and an owl. We had photographed dead armadillos, tornado sirens, skid marks, windmills, abandoned motels and ocotillo cactus. To top it off, we’d drank the worst coffee on the continent (the Budget Host Inn, Dodge City, Kansas - avoid it at all costs).

August 2008

After the race, I conducted extensive interviews with Mark Pattinson and Dave Haase. They shared with me their feelings during every day of the race. I also dug into the details of Robic’s domination, Gulewicz’s crash, and Preih’s unforgettable performance. I contacted Michael Shermer and Lon Haldeman, two of the fathers of the race. They made invaluable suggestions and corrections, and Lon shared his encyclopedic knowledge of the race.

March 2009

Many people have asked me if I’d like to compete in solo RAAM. Of course I would. But since writing this book, I’ve learned every detail about the pain, delirium, sleep deprivation and anxiety that the race involves. I’ve seen what riders look like up close after nine days of exertion. And I’m not sure I would want the world to see me looking like that.

David Houghton