reading

Christoph Strasser: Der Weg ist weiter als das Ziel, egoth Verlag GmbH (Austria), August 2018

North American Distribution: Octane Press, 815A Brazos Street, Austin, Texas, 78701.

Infographics and statistics: Michael Fetz | fetzdesign.com, Michael Pletz | vonnebenan.at

Content pages: Alexander Karelly (all pictures, unless otherwise stated) · Pete Penseyres archive: page 6 · Dave Nelson: page 9, right side · Vic Armijo | RAAM Media: pages 9 (left side), 154-157, 273 · Manuel Hausdorfer | lime-art.at: pages 10, 19, 21, 26-29, 61, 64, 68-69, 110, 117, 124-128, 130, 146, 169-179, 186, 188, 243-244, 247-249, 257-269, 272, 283, 305, 317, 324-326 · Harald Tauderer | haraldtauderer.com: pages 55, 59, 75-79, 98, 217, 239 · Jürgen Gruber | groox.com: pages 54, 103 · Lorenz Masser | lorenzmasser.com: pages 119, 120 · Marion Luttenberger: page 145 · Race Around Austria: pages 129, 133 · Race Around Slovenia: page 48 · private archive Christoph Strasser: pages 33-47, 150, 196-209, 224-235, 284, 290

…but it's more important to be nice! · Social critic, sports fan, Veloblitz

Every top athlete learns the finer points of their sport by observing those who came before. It’s a safe bet that current leading tennis star Roger Federer knows much about the career, training, and techniques of Andre Agassi, the top star of 20 years ago. And so it is with 5-time Race Across America winner Christoph Strasser, who has admired and learned from the careers of 5-time RAAM winner Jure Robic (Slovenia), 3-time winner Wolfgang Fasching, and 2-time winner and long-time average speed record-holder Pete Penseyres (USA), among others.

At the finish of RAAM 2013, fans caught a glimpse of Strasser’s admiration for the American, Penseyres. Strasser had just broken the RAAM average speed record of 15.40 miles per hour (24.8 kph) that Penseyres had set 27 years prior. Strasser’s 2013 average overall speed was 15.58 miles per hour (25.07 kph), and as Strasser was being interviewed on the finish stage, RAAM president Fred Boethling handed Strasser a cell phone and said, "There’s someone on the line who’d like to congratulate you. It’s Pete Penseyres.” Strasser’s emotion overflowed and he beamed with pride, jubilance, and admiration at his accomplishment and at having it recognized so graciously by the man whose record he’d broken.

Penseyres was equally honored when Strasser asked him to pen the foreword to this book. His thoughts and feelings on the young man currently on the top of the ultra-cycling world appear below.

"If That admiration was absolutely mutual. I was so happy for him. After reading this, I now understand how he has turned this race into a profession. He is so focused on every facet of the physical, mental, and nutritional needs during training and in the actual race, but also recognizes the absolute necessity for an experienced and devoted crew. He has taken every component of preparation for and execution of RAAM to a level far beyond what anyone has done before. And he has created a roadmap for others to follow if they want to be competitive with him. Very few, if any, will be able to keep up, and even if they do, they will have to adjust to his next advances. He never stops trying to improve each year. This requires those who would challenge him to go beyond his previous year’s performance.”

"Yet he’s always been really open about the things he’s done. When I was doing the race, I never tried to keep any of the things I was doing secret, and he doesn’t either. He took a lot of the ideas that I had and took them to a whole new level in pretty much every aspect of the race.”

"I loved the book’s introduction where he had to rely on his crew to explain what he needed to do when he had temporary amnesia. It was so similar to my experience in 1984, and probably many other RAAM racers. They will be able to identify with his story, but the majority of readers will be shocked and enthralled by his ability to press on without even understanding what he is doing and why.”

"He’s pretty amazing, but on top of all of his accomplishments, he’s also a really nice guy. I’m always the RAAM escort rider that goes out with the previous year’s winner, so I’ve gotten to do that and ride with him a few times and have had some really good chats.”

"I wanted to live long enough to see someone break my record. It was set at a time when the course was easier, I think, in a lot of respects.¹ That’s one of the reasons that it took so long. I knew that Christoph had an amazing ride and I was really happy to congratulate him right there at the finish. And of course when he managed to break the average speed record again, he put that record out of reach.”²

¹ RAAM 1986 finished in Atlantic City and the final few hundred miles didn’t have as much climbing as the current route to the Annapolis finish. The 1986 course also bypassed all of the Colorado passes and used much flatter Interstates for much of California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.

² In 2014 Strasser broke his own record with an average speed of 16.42 mph (26.42 kph).

"Now you have recovered, now you have slept well. Come on, get on the bike," says a man who seems so familiar, and yet so strange to me.

And, because I do not know why I'm here even where this "here" is, or what I should do—I stare at him, and the other people around me, this night in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains, just dead tired.

"We're in the middle of a bicycle race and you're in the lead. We are on record pace!" another tells me.

"Bike race? Do you want to scare me? I have not seen another cyclist for five, six days. What kind of a shit race is this?!"

Clearly, something is wrong. With me? With the others? If only I knew what exactly is expected of me. What is right or wrong in this moment? I vaguely remember riding through the USA, through the Appalachians, up and down. I know it's important to put pressure on the pedals, uphill and downhill, to ride quickly. But, why? What is the goal? It's as if my mind had taken its leave, and my memory with it. It's like being trapped in a bad dream, one that you want to wake up from as quickly as possible.

The men around me are friendly but determined. They push the bike away from me and onto the road, supporting me on both sides as I totter to the bike. "Once you start pedaling, everything will be easier again," they say, or words to that effect. I hear the words in my ears, but I do not understand the context. Deep inside, subconsciously, I know that I've worked on this thing all my life, but in the moment I could not explain what that "thing" is. It is incredibly important to me; I do not want to lose everything that I have built up over the years—even if it seems I have to go through hell. Physically, I am spent, mentally already at the end. "A bicycle race? Are you kidding me?!"

How I would like to simply not get on the bike now, to not continue. I imagine myself pouting on the ground, demanding explanations like a small child. I do not do it because the men's faces are familiar. I think, no, I'm sure, we have a common past. And apparently, everything has always gone well.

So I force myself onto the bike and begin to pedal. "There's a red traffic light in front," I hear from the loudspeaker of the car that follows behind me. "We turn right there." The words shake me up; I have heard that voice many times. It gives me security and motivates me. Without the support of this group, I would be lost, and I vaguely remember going through thick and thin with them, helping me, because I do not stop fighting for our common cause—my cause. You will already know what it is all about. I trust them and would do so even if my life was at stake. They will not let me down.

"Sabi, I love you" is written on a piece of paper that one of the men wrote at my request. I hold the piece of paper toward a camera, and I’m sure that my life partner Sabine will see it and cry with emotion. No one will know, just as no one sees how I am suffering on my long journey through America.

I keep fighting—fighting for whatever. We all want the same thing, to continue in the same direction. I could question where we are, because I myself, do not know in these hours. I do what I'm told because I know it's the right thing to do. Downhill, I fall down the roads, uphill, I kick my soul out of my body. "What's this crap?" I think over and over. The tiredness lies like a veil before my eyes. The sweat blurs the next curves. I am crying and suffering, but for some reason, it must be so. It goes on, and on, and on, and on. But hopefully, it will be over soon. I know this, my companions deserve it.

And finally, the fog in my head lifts, and it is all crystal clear in front of me. I know why I do all this, and accept the pain and chaos in my head: Because cycling is my life and because these moments are the price I pay for my dream.

This book is about me, an ultra-cyclist who has achieved quite a bit in life. And it's about all those who stand by my side, who made my successes possible, and supported me through the worst crises. Friends inspire. Without them, I would have nothing to tell.

And so, even before the first chapter: Thank you to all of you who exist, and who are about to learn my story.

RAAM 2014, we have dinner together on the last evening before the start: steaks for the crew, liquid food for me.

It was one of those sunny days that I love so much. I walked with my crew to the beach at Oceanside, a drink in hand, and goosebumps running down my spine. It was RAAM time again—time to implement what I had been training for months.

I'm known and recognized in the ultra-cycling scene, but in Southern California, where the Race Across America begins, only a few people know me or my accomplishments. We went to a bicycle shop, "I don't know who you are," the salesman said when one of my crew suggested, against my will, that a special cyclist was standing before him.

I had to grin and was a bit embarrassed. "I'm racing RAAM this year," I replied. "That's this long bike race across the US. Actually, I've done it before and have even won a few times," I understated, in hopes that no one engaged me in a typical American "Yeah, good job!" kind of conversation. So close to the start, I wanted to spend the short remaining preparation time in peace with my team.

No, I'm not famous, and I like to stay away from situations outside of my professional life where I could be recognized. And yes, I admit that I feel very comfortable in Oceanside. My homes are in the little village of Kraubath and Graz, Styria in Austria. But Oceanside, California and Annapolis, Maryland sound familiar. I don't think of myself as a star. I'm just following my passion: to go as far as possible and as fast as possible by bike. I am glad that I have become a role model and a "star" for many people, but my attitude to myself hasn't changed as a result.

At RAAM, I am one who continues and strengthens the Austrian tradition. In 1988 Franz Spilauer became the first winner from outside of The USA. He inspired Wolfgang Fasching, who won in 1997, 2000 and 2002. Fasching was my first big role model. Later, Jure Robic ushered in a new era of ultra-cycling. Since Robic's first RAAM success in 2004, all other winners have come only from Slovenia, Switzerland, Germany or Austria. No American has won since 2003.

The Race Across America receives the attention it deserves in Central Europe due to its top performers. While almost every sports enthusiast in Austria knows of this race, in America it leads a shadowy existence. Once a year for two maybe three weeks, it is on the minds of its fans and of the public in those regions where the participants come from. But that too is peripheral. In the USA, RAAM is light-years away from major sports such as American football, tennis or NASCAR. So it goes without saying that in the US, ultra-cyclists who race RAAM do not get the attention they deserve.

RAAM is not a therapeutic US vacation, where you get to know the country and its people, riding through the most beautiful places in America. On the contrary, to successfully compete in RAAM means to spend the whole year with it. I think and act, I sleep and dream, I train and eat for RAAM. I live RAAM.

This race is so much more than a few words can say. The facts are clear: The Race Across America is some 3,089 miles (4,900 kilometers) long, with up to 110,000 feet (50,000 meters) of altitude gain, and it goes from the Pacific Ocean in Oceanside, California, to the Atlantic Ocean in Annapolis, Maryland. Its organizers rightly refer to it as the "World's Toughest Bicycle Race." Nonstop participants ride across the continent, taking breaks or power naps when they want to—or when they need to—all in less than two weeks. Racers who finish after twelve days are not listed in the official results. A rider who does not make it in less than ten days usually has no chance for a top finish position. Only one racer has ever made the journey under eight days. That was me in 2013 and 2014. There is no prize money in RAAM, and that's a good thing because it raises the opportunity to experience a fair and doping-free race. I consciously choose the word "possibility" because you can never be sure, except about yourself.

Every time the competition brings me to my physical and mental limits. I lose between 4 to 8 pounds (2 to 4 kilograms) during RAAM. This fact can be traced back to a simple mathematical calculation: one kilogram of body fat equals about 8,000 calories. During RAAM there is a deficit of 4,000 calories per day in food intake. Ideally, I lose half a kilogram of weight every 24 hours. But if it does not go well, you can even gain weight through water retention—something that I have experienced. Despite the calorie deficit, which is offset by the burning of fat reserves, my body gets enough food to function. The 15,000 calories I need daily are equivalent to thirty plates of spaghetti. Conventional food intake is, therefore, a physiological impossibility, and would also cost valuable time—the clock is always running during RAAM. My physical strength is therefore kept alive by liquid food, while my sports doctor keeps records of what I have taken. The amount and timing of food intake isn't my choice—my crew chief decides. My participation in my calorie intake is limited to choosing the flavor of the thick drink: chocolate or vanilla.

RAAM is a mentally challenging and gruelingly monotonous affair. It's all about turning the cranks steadily and forcefully, day after day, night after night. After 48 hours the body begins to feel the lack of sleep and efficiency decreases. The mind rebels, then I experience phases of disorientation and hallucinations begin to form in the convolutions of the brain.

This is the amount of food and liquids you would theoretically need for a day on RAAM.

Once, in an interview, I said that the key to success in Race Across America was in the noiseless two-way radios and that I have the utmost respect for the winners in the 1980s and 1990s who did not have these valuable tools.

The radio is my connection to the outside world. My outside world in RAAM is my crew, which I trust unconditionally and whose instructions I follow without discussion. From the outside, I'm the focus around which everything revolves. From the inside, I'm part of a team, like the racing driver in Formula One, who needs his mechanics to plan and execute the pit stops, develop the strategy, and keep an eye on the entire race to make important decisions for the driver.

All year long, I live RAAM; I train hard following a precise plan. Regardless of whom my toughest opponents might be, I want to be in top form, I want to arrive at the RAAM start with certainty that I will be able to finish the race quickly. What good would come from sitting in the saddle for hours or days longer than necessary? Why would I waste time at the time stations shooting photos and signing autographs? Yes, I live RAAM, but still, I want to get out of this bubble as soon as possible.

I am constantly connected to the crew through the Terrano ™ radio communication system.

Different bikes help me with the task: I have an aerodynamic bike for the long flat sections in Kansas that go on for hundreds of kilometers. A time trial bike can really be an advantage there. I have the right equipment for the passes in the Rocky and Appalachian Mountains, which is a much lighter road bike, that I change to depending on the route. Watt is the unit of measure of energy expenditure per period of time. At RAAM, I achieved an average of 164 watts during my record run of 2014 over 183 hours, which corresponds to 16.4 miles (26.4 kilometers) per hour.

My team usually consists of two mechanics, a sports doctor, a physiotherapist, three drivers for two cars and an RV, a photographer, a cook, a cameraman, and a media officer. But everyone is much more than what their job description says. We are all "Team Strasser," and we all have the same goal—namely to get from west to east as fast as possible—with individual and team tasks. My only duty is to pedal. Everything else is taken care of by my team. Not only do they feed and inform me, but they also light up the road and look for the next resting place at night. The team keeps me awake and amused by asking me questions or giving me arithmetic tasks. When they need to, they yell, "Stay awake!" through the speaker, followed by honking the car's horn if they see that I'm about to fall into instant sleep. My team reads me email or Facebook posts from friends and fans from the homeland, they tell jokes, play the music I like, or they drive ahead, stand by the roadside and do the "wave" when I pass.

But many of us know the challenge of putting together a working team, be it in a sports club or in another professional environment. This beautiful quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is valuable, inspired, and yet, does not go far enough:

"If you want to build a ship, do not drum up men to get wood, assign tasks, and divide up the work, but teach the men to long for the vast, endless sea."

Mere longing is not enough to ride across America as fast as possible. It takes knowledge and experience, communication, and crisis management to succeed. It takes an overwhelming faith and will to achieve the goals set. The first priority each year is to reach Annapolis. When I won in 2014, I relied on a team with a combined total of 42 RAAM appearances—a priceless level of experience. A year later, with a partially new crew, the subconscious played a trick on us: some probably thought a bit arrogantly, that "Team Strasser" would only have to compete to get the victory. But, it turned out differently: I fell short. We all fell short.

Teams are not thrown together in the US, but found and shaped during the months prior to the race. There are team meetings where everyone gets to know each other better in preparation of what is to come later: eight or nine days under extreme conditions and in confined spaces. The race is not only a challenge for me but also for each of the crew members. The day/night barrier is lifted and sleep schedules change to go with a crew member's assigned shift. Their food intake may be more diverse than mine, but certainly not healthier. The follow cars must be cleaned every day or they will turn into moving garbage dumps. As if all these challenges are not enough, factor in everyone's own character and personal quirks. Welcome to RAAM!

The fact that I have no women on the team has nothing to do with sexism; it's purely practical. It's about sleeping situations and toilets, but it's also about cockfights between the boys and flirting with the others. There is also another aspect: women, I feel, tend to be more empathetic and compassionate, especially when someone is feeling bad. In these moments, I especially do not need coddling or sympathy, but instructions and support, because everything else distracts me from the actual mission, namely, to guide me across the USA as fast as possible.

One day in the spring of 2014, I sat with my team in the garden house of my parents in Kraubath and we all discussed the upcoming task: the Race Across America 2014. Our team leader, Rainer Hochgatterer, who had mentored me since 2011, questioned me about my motivation. As usual, I practiced understatement, talked about a possible victory, about the importance of staying humble and of doing my best.

Rainer grinned. He knew that his questions irritated and provoked me. And then he cracked me hard, "If I were you, I'd want to become a legend in my sport."

Rainer is the person I owe the most to during my ultra-sport career. As my sports doctor and team leader for years, he combined the two most important functions of my crew, which meant that possible conflicts could not occur. There would not be an instance in which the doctor pleaded to not finish the race for health reasons, only to have the team leader disagree, as had actually happened in my first RAAM.

Having someone like Rainer by my side gave me confidence, motivation, and perseverance. After my record race in 2014, which I finished in 7 days, 15 hours, 53 minutes, he wrote me a humorous message: "Didn't we agree to shoot for 7 days, 12 hours? I think you should try a little bit harder next time." There is a grain of truth in every joke, and I understood what he meant. He was saying," Do not rest on your laurels, you have not achieved everything. "

At RAAM 2014, he led me and all of us to success, but I sensed that his thoughts were not always one hundred percent focused on the race. So it did not surprise me when he announced to me, with a heavy heart, that he was no longer available in the future.

Seven RAAM races—once with Fasching, twice with Gerhard Gulewicz, four times with me—was enough for him. He set new goals in life and wanted to spend more time with his family. As much as his departure hurt, it was still crucial for my future career. Rainer Hochgatterer had become a kind of father figure in my athletic life. Having to part from him was an important step in my personal development.

My entire team and I realized just how significant he was when he sent us all an e-mail three weeks after RAAM 2012. We'd finished second behind Swiss racer Reto Schoch, in an emotionally charged and frustrating race. And Rainer asked the question whether we felt ourselves lessened by our defeat, whether we had feelings of lost value. To "undervalue" in sports is a very daring statement. The results list is fact. One can still cite so many explanations, excuses, reflections, but still, it is unchangeable.

But he brought our emotional status to the point: "The victory at the RAAM belongs to Austria, to Styria. The victory at RAAM belongs to Christoph Strasser," Rainer wrote, and in my mind, I saw all my teammates nodding at these lines, just as I did.

A mere three weeks after a Race Across America, which had led us all to our physical, mental, emotional limits, Rainer began to motivate us for an event that would take place in about 340 days:

"In 2013, he should again take back the victory. And in a manner that has never happened before, so that the opponents do not even come up with the idea to attack him."

"With our help, Christoph can ride a time of well under eight days at RAAM."

"And I mean well under eight days."

"If you add up the best stage times in 2011 and 2012 and still include the usual sleep breaks, he could complete it less than seven days and twelve hours!"

"I believe in it, I'm sure, I promise he can do it; with our help. I think we should immortalize him, we should make Christoph immortal."

"So what do you say?"

There are so many motivational speeches that can produce an impact, but yet miss the hoped-for result. The words of Rainer Hochgatterer went directly into my heart. And I sat on the bike for a training session 340 days before the next RAAM.

"What would it mean to you in the big picture to complete RAAM?" a cycling friend asked me, as I first toyed with the idea. He wasn't sure what would motivate me to take on something so hard, so monumental.

That was at a time when I was torn between my humble approach to being satisfied with what I had and what I was, and my ambition to become a really good cyclist. When I met Wolfgang Fasching at a training seminar in 2004, he talked about RAAM and about mental strength; I presented myself in the introductory round as one who "maybe one day will attempt the Race Across America." Three years later we sat together at an interview for an Austrian sports magazine. Fasching was about to end his career and I was about to follow in his footsteps. It was the first time we could talk at length, and it was the beginning of a friendship that continues today.

I am often asked what it takes to participate in RAAM again and again, and what I still want to achieve there—if I am out for records. The reality is somewhere in the middle, but above all, I love this sport, the "Weitradlfoan," or "far-biking" as I call it in my Styrian dialect. I love cycling and adventure. But the answer is also simple when I'm asked about victories and records: it feels good to be the most successful or the best athlete in a discipline. No athlete will ever deny this fact, not even me.

Personally, it's not primarily about records. To be honest, they are not really important to me. Of course, I would like to win the races, but in the preparation time, this prospect as motivation would not be enough for me. Achievements are ultimately the result of doing that which fulfills you every day—because only then are they even possible.

The Race Across America still kindles a fire in me, along with the will to work even harder, to keep improving myself and to learn from my past mistakes. If this will and the hard work are then rewarded with a victory, then, of course, it's all for the better. But the joy of a victory disappears quite quickly. What remains is the joy, the zeal and the hard work that led me to victory. Nowhere else but RAAM does the sentence apply better, that the journey is the goal. It's a damned long journey, twelve months earlier, under the finish arch in Annapolis, it all starts over again. Because one thing is clear: the harder I train in advance and the more meticulous I prepare myself, the easier it will be for me later in the USA. However, if I am inconsistent in the preparation time, shorten training and make myself more comfortable and take things easier, I will lose it in the race because I will be all the more challenged by the difficulties of competition: the wind, the weather, the physical issues.

"You have it easy as a professional, you can train all day and you do not have to work," I sometimes hear from cycling colleagues struggling to bring their family life, work and training under one roof. I do not agree with this perception. Yes, it is easier to organize your day flexibly around the training. But somehow, it is too often overlooked that I am in a sports discipline where there is no prize money. Sponsors cover expenses. I need lectures at institutions and companies to generate sales and a well-running online shop for cyclists. All this means a lot of organization and work along with the training. The assumption that I'm just sitting on the bike and will be royally rewarded is wrong.

Cycling is my life and I make my living with it. My dedication and fire for the Race Across America is compounded by the fact that it is part of my livelihood at this stage of life. If my livelihood or career depends on it, giving it up is simply unthinkable. If the sense of achievement remains, to which the professional life also depends, the drama of a defeat is greater. If it's just a costly hobby, life goes on as normal. When it comes down to it, who wants it more, the one for who ultra-cycling is a hobby, or as in my case, the one who depends on ultra-cycling success to make a living?

At Oceanside, nobody questions my motive to do the Race Across America. Even if not everyone recognized me, I was pretty sure that all 170,000 inhabitants knew what RAAM was. After all, it starts on the Oceanside Pier, built in 1888; at 1,942 feet (592 meters), this is the longest wooden pier on the US West Coast and thus a monument in itself.

In the Race Across America, each participant receives a start number that lasts a lifetime. These number designations are assigned in succession: the original "founding fathers" were John Marino, #1; Michael Shermer, #2; Lon Haldeman, #3; and John Howard, #4. Pete Penseyres, whose record stood for 27 years before I broke it in 2013, is and will always be #11.

Were he still racing, Franz Spilauer, Austria's first winner, would now be wearing #66. The great Seana Hogan was assigned #161 back in 1992, and still proudly wears that number today (yes, she's still racing!). The great Jure Robic raced with #273. The American, David Haase is #288. And me, I was assigned #377 at my RAAM debut in 2009. Ten years later, the numbers given to the 2019 rookies are in the 600's. The days before the RAAM start are characterized by hectic pace and activity. The organizers finalize the Route Book, which in great detail shows the nearly 55 Time Stations and the route the participants have to follow meticulously.

My team organizes all the materials that might be needed for our long trip: cables, tape, tools, bike parts, water, food and so on. At our rented house in Oceanside, the necessary radio and communications components are installed in the rental cars. The cars also get speakers and auxiliary lights, and roof racks for the bicycles and the RV are readied for use. In the evening we sit together for dinner and discuss the last tactical details. Incidentally, there is no dinner for me, I change my diet to liquid food three days before the start, so that my digestive tract is already used to the race menu.

Of course, the 14-day acclimatization includes light training rides. It's not so much about getting the finishing touches or increasing my fitness even more—I spent a year preparing, and if I did not make it in that span, the last two weeks would not be able to improve anything—but rather, acquainting myself with first sections of the route and with the prevailing weather conditions.

Like every top athlete, I also take a break from my annual training schedule in the fall. In November, the first kilometers of training begins, and over the winter, the eight-month-long build-up becomes really hard and intense. Winter in Austria means that it is storming and snowing, or that it is raining and slippery. That's why I sit on my ergometer six days, and usually well over thirty hours, a week.

Since I have set up my training room so that I can also telephone and work while doing my physical activity, sometimes I find that these long periods of endurance work are not so bad. I'll pass the time watching skiing, tennis at the Australian Open, or watching music videos. But the training plans also include many high-intensity tempo or force intervals that push me to the limit. Often, I am completely exhausted in the evening and not of much use anymore. Besides the race, I pedal about a thousand hours a year on the bike—which equates to just over thirty thousand training kilometers.

Heat acclimation training before RAAM is very important in enduring the desert heat of the first days of the race.

It may sound paradoxical, but if I had to describe the hardest moments of RAAM, then it is these weeks in winter. It's snowing outside, in the morning my legs hurt from the work of the past few days, and I'm alone with myself, knowing the plan today is once again seven hours on the stationary trainer. Only when it's dark outside again will I get off the bike. For that, I need all my motivation. Sometimes I have to fight with myself to endure this life every day. But I know that I will only do the best at RAAM if I go through this training. In the spring, the training shifts more and more outdoors. I meet up with my training colleagues again and the fun factor increases enormously. The weeks go by insan ely fast as the RAAM start moves closer and closer.

From the moment I start RAAM, there are finally no more questions, no thinking, no brooding, no decision making. Everything has already happened by that moment. A year full of meaningful questions, full of self-motivation, full of Aufbäumen (picking myself up)—and sometimes laziness full of a guilty conscience—is already behind me. All questions have long since been answered: Is the team prepared well enough? Am I technically well organized? Is the bike alright? Did I do everything for the sponsors and start the media work? Is everything thought of and are all the thousand puzzle pieces in the right place?

When the starting signal comes, it is all about riding, kicking, fighting and digging deep. The question of meaning is clarified, the team is there. There will be phases in which, because of exhaustion, I almost fall off the bicycle, knees buckling, my butt burning like fire, my toes falling asleep, my fingers becoming numb, my tiredness clouding my mind. It may happen that my head is buzzing, my skin is burning from the sun, my stomach is rebelling, my gut is crazy and I get diarrhea. But there is no more discussion. The task is as clear as nothing else in life: no matter what comes, continue until the finish line is crossed.

As a reward, there are periods when I get intensely into the flow, where endorphins flood my body and I almost cry with happiness when with my team, we overcome all the difficulties. Before every RAAM, I know that I will experience sunrises like something from a picture book, get motivating messages, and serve as a role model for other people.

Winter training & multi-tasking: During these indoor rides I do some of my organisational tasks by working on the computer while also preparing myself for RAAM.

This race has its ups and downs, but in the end, the positive always prevails. That's the appeal of this mix of adventure and competition. In my mind's eye, I see myself entering Annapolis, visualizing the last kilometers and meters, and feeling the emotion of standing under the RAAM finish arch. I look forward to it. My team is ready to go.

#longdistancecycling #trainhard #roadtoraam #raamfever #raceacrossamerica #jawui

"But …" I was not sure what to do, and my team just gave me strict instructions. To some extent, I was too shy to shake off Marko Baloh.

I pedaled on as instructed. I did not wait any longer, though I thought I was breaking a deal: my competitor and I had agreed on a common approach and I no longer stood by it. The Glocknerman 2007 became a triumph for me, and a success I did not really want to happen the way that it did.

I had done everything in advance of the competition to be in contention for the Glocknerman, the ultra-cycling marathon world championship. In the previous years, I had made a name for myself in the scene with my results in smaller races. I had worked according to my own training plans (meaning "many miles"). I also worked with mental coach Thomas Jaklitsch on important personal issues, like whether I want to make my living from cycling or how I could positively shape my life and my sport. I had already qualified for the Race Across America, and all doors seemed open to me.

Not only was I psychologically and physically prepared, but I also presented myself coolly, almost casual, at the starting line. In past years perhaps, I stood out from the others with my deliberately chaotic and unprofessional appearance that I played up. But now I put emphasis on projecting a more coherent overall image. I had designed my cycling jersey myself and placed the logos of my sponsors Wiesbauer, Specialized, Panaceo and the local bank from my home town of Kraubath. My motivation was fueled by the presence of a camera crew from groox, a small Austrian video production company, who wanted to make a movie about my Glocknerman. While we were not sure if a DVD was going to be released, or even who would be interested in the story, I said with a hint of skepticism, "Let's work on it first, then we'll see."

The Glocknerman is a cycle race over 627 miles (1,010 kilometers) long, with 52,493 feet (16,000 meters) of climbing. It leads from Graz through Southern Austria and back. The most difficult section of that race is the loop over the Iselsberg Pass, the Felbertauern Pass, and the highest mountain pass in Austria, the 8,218 feet (2,505 meter) high Grossglockner High Alpine Road, which has to be ridden two times, before heading back to Graz, the capital of the Austrian state Styria. It is one of the toughest events extreme cycling has to offer. The event, which takes place every year in early June, is one of Europe's oldest ultra-cycling events. Even though there are lots of other competitions that are longer, more demanding, have more entrants, and are more prestigious than "Graz-Glockner-Glockner-Graz," it is referred to by the organizers as a "World Championship," (which is kind of a strange declaration, but nice for marketing).

The race started in Graz around noon, with the Slovenian, Marko Baloh, as the declared favorite. Another Slovenian, who would have been an even bigger favorite, was absent: Jure Robic had just done the Race Across America (and won it for the third time in that year). But there were other prominent faces on the scene, for example, Thomas Ratschob from Switzerland, the Turnowsky twin brothers, and Franz Preihs from Austria.

The pace of the competitors was extremely high from the start, and it felt like a criterium race. The number of riders in the leading group melted quickly. When we climbed the Glockner High Alpine Road for the first time, Baloh pulled away, but he could not defend his lead over me and I rejoined him. "Marko is just human too," I thought to myself as I watched him fight. Still, before the start he had been the one I had thought was likely to win. Over a 24-hour period, The Slovenian had a lot of experience and world records, and for that duration of racing was probably the best in the world after Jure Robic.

"We're being chased by four pursuers," Baloh told me, "I think it would be better if we worked together and continued together."

I was surprised and honored. I thought it was crazy that he suggested this tactic to me! I gladly agreed. I was sure that it would be an advantage for both of us.

We rode the beautiful, high-alpine Felbertauern section together, but on the second Glockner round, I pulled out a lead of three minutes on Baloh. Thinking of our agreement, I waited for him—just as he also slowed his pace when I had to take short breaks twice for gastrointestinal problems. Although we were not consistently at our performance limits, we'd calculated that our chances were good to break the course record set by Swiss ultra-cyclist Daniel Wyss.

Glocknerman 2007: Marko Baloh and I on the climb to the Grossglockner High Alpine road

But we did not reach the destination together. On the ten percent steep climb to the Soboth, the Slovenian's strength seemed to have left him, and this time maybe for good. I felt tied to the deal with Baloh, but at the same time, my supervisors spurred me on, "Keep going. Go on!"

As an ultra-cyclist, you are committed to yourself and your team. I let myself be infected by my crew's will to win and despite my bad conscience over Marko, I pressed harder and harder on the pedals, hid my fatigue and pain, and again gave it my all. I almost escalated into an ecstatic state that resulted from a combination of euphoria on the one hand, and the fight with my bad conscience on the other. For the last 62 miles (100 kilometers), I put a hundred minutes on Marko Baloh. My winning time of 36 hours and 19 minutes, was four minutes faster than the course record and made me the most recent ultra-cycling marathon world champion to date. In the Glocknerman, drafting is allowed, unlike almost any other endurance race, and because I had been riding together with a competitor for much of the route, I still felt relatively strong after all my efforts to reach the finish—just past midnight on the second day of racing.

"Don't worry, you were better today," he answered. Baloh was, and is, a great and fair sportsman. Unfortunately, he has never managed to win the Race Across America, even though he's deserved to win it.

Wow, I can hardly believe it. What has happened in the past few hours has been incredible. I had been working very hard right from the start, always keeping up with the pace of the lead group, although I knew that my pulse was at redline on the first three mountains. But I knew that the others were also on the limit and were about to break. The fact that I was doing so well, in the end, was a matter of mental ability and a firm belief that I could race to victory.

By the way, the DVD, the one that we were not sure should be produced at all, sold hundreds of copies and the groox company became an integral part of my crew.

Three years later I was back at the start of the Glocknerman. The Race Across America was not on my calendar for the season, mainly due to economic reasons, so I had looked for other challenges. The Ultra-WM not only delivered a prestigious title in this case but also took place on my doorstep. Even though the race distance and altitude were the same, it's hard to compare the 2007 race with that of 2010. From the beginning, we racers had to fight bad weather; on the high alpine road not only were there high snow walls to our left and right, but we also had to suffer through sleet.

My tactic was clear: I did not want to waste energy or attack unnecessarily—I'd wait until the really difficult climbs. So I stayed in the front group during the descent from the Felbertauern. But, on the first ascent to the Hochtor, the highest point of the Grossglockner High Alpine Road, there was no stopping me. From that moment, I only looked forward; what happened behind me was no longer in my focus. My crew could tell me if anything important was happening behind me. And their news pleased me: within one climb I had put ten minutes between me and my first pursuers.

Obviously, my comrades had to fight not only with my pace, but also with the cold, and their fatigue in the night hours.

As important as it is to set realistic goals and plans for your own actions, it is also important to anticipate what else can happen. When my three-man crew and I stopped for a while at the Grossglockner summit and I put on an extra thermal jacket for the downhill, we discussed our options regarding the speed we needed. I could wait, conserve my energy and then catch up with the others to attack again in the second round. Or, I could do the remainder of the race, some 550 kilometers, solo, risking wearing myself down in the wind and being caught by a cohesive chase group later. My supervisors, Christian "Scheb" Schebath, Jürgen Gruber, and Roland Stuhlpfarrer, thought as I did; the second option was better. I'd take short breaks, or better still, no breaks, and keep my highest concentration for the remaining 20 or so hours. We agreed that we wanted to do it this way. My condition was strong enough to gamble on me riding the remaining miles solo.

The trio, with whom I wanted to win the second world title, was as well-rehearsed and as ambitious as me. When I noticed at the end of the race that I was always handed the bottle by Jürgen, I also realized that the three colleagues had never had a driver change and Scheb was behind the wheel the entire time.

They laughed from the car. "That's why we did not tell you. We knew you'd just get excited."

Teamwork works when everyone knows what he has to do and can do. My job was to push as hard as possible on the pedals. I didn't I draw up a timetable before the Glocknerman and distribute precise tasks to the three supervisors, nor could I. I knew that I had people with me who were always up to the challenge. While on a descent from the Grossglockner in the middle of the night, a marmot ran across the road and I had to suddenly slow down from 44 miles (70 kilometers) per hour to half that speed, they reacted perfectly and avoided a collision. A descent from a high alpine road is challenging enough in daylight—at night it becomes a dangerous balancing act.

STRASSER’S ROAD

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOREWORD

INTRODUCTION

I

"I WOULD WANT TO BECOME A LEGEND!"

RACE ACROSS AMERICA, PREPARATION

II

"WELL, JUST TRY IT."

BREAKING THROUGH, 2002 TO 2007