Stations of The Kona Pilgrimage
It's been suggested (@Dave Tallo) that I reprise my pre-race posts from Kona 2015, when I covered my view of the essential experiences one should have when coming to the Big Island as a pilgrim - meaning those who is there to see and be seen during Triathlon's annual gathering of the tribe. Here's the first installment:
I first came to Kona during race week in 2004, five years into my triathlon career. By that time, I had absorbed a lot of the Big Island lore, the history of the race, the iconic landmarks, the rumors about the wind and heat. I needed to see for myself places such as the Energy Lab, Hawi, Ali’i Drive, and all the rest. I’ve had the good fortune to make it back here a number of times since then, enough so everything is feeling very … familiar. To help me see the whole spectacle through fresh eyes, I’d like to offer to the Nation a guide to the highlights of Race Week in Kona. The required stops of the Pilgrimage, along with some of my own favorites. A daily update from Triathlon Central, at least during the first two weeks of October.
This year, my wife Cheryl is coming for the whole shebang, so we fly into KOA together. My routine: hit up the Cycle Station for CO2, then cruise Costco for some key food items (berries, salad, muffins, fruits). Get the remaining necessities at Safeway on Henry St, then follow the run start and finish along Kuakini, down Hualalai, to Ali’i Drive. Turn left past Lava Java, down the seaside alley to my steadfast condo next to the Royal Kona, the Hale Kona Kai. It sits on top of a lava tongue jutting into the ocean; wave spray hits my third story window at high tide.
By 4 PM the food is put away, and my meagre clothes are safely in drawers. I change into running gear, and go outside for the shakedown cruise. A run down Ali’i and back for 5 miles, to test my self in the environment. Race day, miles 2-9 of the marathon follow this street. Traffic heads north; we occupy the Southbound lane and shoulder to a turnaround at the Little Blue Church. This far ahead of race day, only a few TT bikers and a scattering of runners are out. But we’ll call this the First Station of the Kona Pilgrimage: running along Ali’l, out away from the honky-tonk central of Kailua-Kona near the pier. It’s all about seeing and being seen, testing oneself in the moist warmth off the Pacific – basically getting your Island Legs under you.
There are green mileage markers every half mile. Several times each mile, the condos open up, revealing pocket beaches. Some are prime surfing spots for the locals, others are for snorkelers, searching for tortoise and dolphin. It’s best to run on the ocean side; there are no side roads to deal with, only the condo driveways, and the folks who park too far out into the shoulder, forcing a risky detour into the traffic lane. But the cars are *supposed* to be going 20-25 mph, and most go more slowly, simply due to the congestion.
Runners are out at all hours of the day, and some of the night. Early on, no clouds hide the sun, which rakes the skin with its radiance. After about 2-3 PM, clouds often migrate down the slopes of the Hualalai volcano, tempering that intensity, but providing a blanket which holds more and more heat and humidity down the surface. Take your pick: bake or broil, it’s all the same to the Island.
Back at my Hale, I jump (sans shoes and socks) into the pool. If I time it right, I can see the beginnings of this evening’s sunset – clouds appear at horizon level, waiting for the orb to drop.
Comments
mmmm its like I'm there. <3
Station # Two: The Pier
Kamehameha I, the king who unified the Hawaiian Islands, could have put his vacation cottage anywhere – he was King, after all. He chose Kailua Bay, as the most pleasant place in the entire volcanic chain. The west side of the islands are relatively protected from the prevailing easterly (“trade”) winds. A smallish (for the Big Island) volcano, Hualalai, gathers those trades and occasionally, but not very often, dispenses rain down its flanks. More often, the afternoon sun is obscured by those clouds. Coupled with the constant sea breeze, and the date palms, fed by those occasional rains, swaying overhead, a more idyllic South Sea idyll is hard to imagine.
Today, the King Kamehameha Hotel occupies most of those royal grounds. The bay itself, where King K surfed, is bisected by an L shaped concrete pier, built first to service the fishing fleet, and later expanded to accommodate the daily cruise ship arrivals. Thirty some years ago, the growing Ironman race began using it as ground zero for its swim, bike and run. Each of those courses has changed a bit over the years, but, except for a brief sojourn to the Old Airport when the pier underwent renovation, that spot has served as the swim start, transition zone, and run finish for the “world’s greatest one-day endurance event.”
There’s even a little sign signifying its status. One of those little Hawaii Visitors and Convention Bureau red and yellow jobs, with King K in his flowing robes, and the words: “OFFICIAL SWIM START AND RUN FINISH IRONMAN TRIATHLON WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP.” I am so taken by this spot, the epicenter of the triathlon universe, that a picture of the sign appears on every page of my blog. This sign sits at the exact spot of the finish line, along the seawall protecting Ali’i Drive from the occasional breaker seeking higher ground. About a hundred yards on either side stand several Banyan trees, huge things cantilevered over the roadway, with endless shooters dropping ground-ward for stability and new growth.
That seawall looks out onto Dig Me Beach. I’m not sure of the origin of that name; I think it comes from the parade of athletes crowding its postage stamp-sized rectangle of sand. People do stand around a lot, showing off their fitness, on that sand patch, or the stairs leading down, or up on the pier near a small set of wooden cubbyholes where they trustingly leave their towels and other belongings. Ironman week, there is an awful lot of covert strutting going on – see and be seen is the watchword. Along with the babel of tongues – German, American, English, Japanese, and others more exotic. And today, joined by the tour guides hawking their services to the cruise ship arrivals, wandering pale and blinking into the morning sun off their floating hotel.
This morning, a man has chained himself to the sign. Reading his pasteboards, and listening to his intense lecture, it seems he’s upset at the World Triathlon Corporation being sold to a Chinese … well, in this country we would call him a developer. He owns shopping centers and other real estate projects in the orient, along with a smattering of sporting related businesses. Maybe most analogous to Donald Trump, with his office towers and golf courses? Anyway, he thinks the Hawaii state government is somehow complicit in this sale, and it should be disallowed, in the interests of national, or maybe state, security.
That ship sailed a long time ago. At its start, the Ironman on Hawaii was indeed a not-for-profit local community endeavor. Kept alive in its lean years by the perseverance of Valerie Silk, it was eventually re-structured as the World Triathlon Corporation. Even then, it was mainly a licensing company, which did not even own the main thing it was selling, its name. Ironman as a trademark is owned by Marvel Comics, and WTC has a sweet deal with them for use of the name. As interest in Ironman grew, WTC started selling to other race promoters the opportunity to use the Ironman name, with the right to send athletes from those races to the Original out here in Hawaii. New Zealand, Canada, Vineman, and a few others took that up. Races started popping up in Europe: Roth, Austria, Switzerland. When Graham Fraser perfected the Ironman Experience first in Canada, and then throughout North America, the folks at WTC finally decided they should get in on some of that action, where the real money seemed to be. They put their toe in the water with a race in Louisville. They bought Fraser’s entire operation. They began to market, through original races and the purchase of others, the half distance, or 70.3. They started making a lot of money.
But the WTC of a decade ago was basically just riding on its incredible luck at having sole control of an iconic brand known world wide, whose marketing was done for it though NBC TV broadcasts and word of mouth within the growing triathlon community. Venture capitalists saw a lot of untapped potential, snapped up the WTC, and installed Andy Messick as CEO. He doubled down on the Graham Fraser model, and embarked on a whirlwind of expansion. After 6 or 7 years, the purchase price of $150,000,000 became $890,000,000 which Mr. Wang laid down a few months ago.
Back to the man chained to the sign…yes, there are restrictions on foreign ownership of US corporations engaged in sensitive areas of national security. Think defense, computers, and the like. It’s hard to see the national security interest in a corporation whose customers are more often then not from outside the US, whose services are provided mainly outside the US, and whose main activity is promoting a mass market sporting activity. What, the Chinese are going to enlist all the Ironmen into an army bringing down the US government? We’ll literally run the politicians out of town? The time to stop this process was at the moment when WTC was created as a for-profit entity. Now, he just seems like a ranting fool, akin to those objecting to the creation of the Federal Reserve. Yes, there might be an argument against it, but do you really want to bring crashing down the whole pyramid scheme that is modern day capitalism?
I’m here to race, and part of racing is getting ready. Today, I swam in the bay. It’s a wonderful place to practice keeping your head down – there are so many fish to look at. Visibility is crystalline all the way down 75-100 feet below the surface. The water is “perfect”. 79F, not too hot, not too cold, perfect for swimming an hour or more, even at a leisurely pace. I only go a mile, 35 minutes, then get out to preen myself along with all the others on the pier.
In the afternoon, I take my bike out for some initiation in the wind and heat. I drive out past the airport, to Kahaka Kai State park entrance, MP 91. My goal: ride down to Waikoloa, MP 75, and back. I expect to have a brisk tail wind on the mainly downhill outbound run, then back into the same brutal wind on the uphill return trudge. I do find a tail wind as I roll past the Veteran’s Cemetery, the “Donkey Crossing” sign, and the “Scenic View” pullout. The scenic view is a grand place to look at …black lava. That’s all there is, for miles in front, behind, and to the east, and a mile down the hill into the ocean. No houses, no trees, no donkeys. What I do notice is the green edge of grass tufts lining each side of the road. Over the years, rain and dust rolling off the Queen K highway have allowed seedlings to sprout, and the highway now sports a neat row of grass, about 5-10 feet wide, on either side. It’s most useful for telling the wind direction. Decidedly in my favor on the outbound leg.
I hit bottom at Waikoloa – a resort complex devoted to golf and fine living – and run smack into a headwind. Boom, no warning, the wind abruptly shifts direction about 150 degrees. I assume it has something to so with the change in elevation, coupled with leaving the wind shadow cast by 13,600′ Mauna Kea to my right. I turn around, and expect to find a tailwind for about a mile or so. But the wind shift holds true for another ten miles, as I climb back up to Scenic View and beyond. Overall on the ride, I average 19 mph – a good bit faster than I would normally go on race day – this despite my IF of 0.62. My outbound speed: 20.6. Return trip: 18 MPH. Going out, there is a good 300′ drop; the return trip climbs the same amount. I feel strong, even when the wind turns against me about half way back. I’m feeling pretty fit, and a rising chorus in me chants, “Honor thy training self.’ At this point in the training cycle, half the battle is 90% mental. Gotta keep my head in the game, keep reminding myself I’m here to have fun with my fitness, and nothing more. Thanks, Yogi.
Station #3: The Little Blue Church [Ed. note: these were all written originally in Oct 2015, when was last racing @ Kona]
The Hawaii Ironman run starts at the pier, @ mile 0 of Ali’i Drive, just past the corner with Palani. Since the finish comes down Ali’i to same spot, the run rises up Palani one block, turning right onto Kuikini which parallels Ali’i. This particular section, about a half mile long, includes both the first mile and the last mile of the race, so if you time things right, you can be starting out your run at the same time your favorite pro might be finishing. Those going about 12-12:30 for the day have this opportunity for reflected fame, as the photo motos following the leaders catch a fleeting image of the slower mortals. The route continues down Hualalai back towards the ocean and Ali’i. There, finishers turn right, those just starting out turn left. The next 9 miles follows the sea-hugging Ali’i, which offers at least the possibility of shade, as the afternoon sun gets filtered by trees and condos lining the Drive. A rolling route, small ups and downs the whole way, despite the level sea just meters away.
The Little Blue Church heralds the turn around back into town. St. Peter’s Church, part of the St. Michael Parish, was built in 1882, just a mile north of its present location. A hundred years ago, it was moved, stick by stick, to a level foundation of lava rocks at one of the gnarliest surfing spots along the Kona coast. That foundation once held the Ku’emanu Heiau, the only known Hawaiian shrine devoted exclusively to surfing. While the grass shack no longer exists (the Little Blue Church is there now), people still treat the remaining altar as sacred, a spot for offerings to the surfing gods. A microcosm of the melange which is modern Hawaii, new cultural artifacts and traditions existing with some harmony and a bit of dissonance side-by-side with the old.
The church does not play a part in any Ironman legends, coming as it does so early in the run. But many a bike leader has struggled along here while a more patient, sleeker runner passes for the lead. For the rest of us, it serves as the marker that the first, and easiest, segment of the run is over. The return trip takes us to the other side of Ali’i, away from the shade, and just that much farther from the occasional respite of ocean breezes squeezing through the cracks between dwellings.
Today, I ran most of that route, up and back, turning around just past the church. It was a typically oppressive day, and I was smothered by moisture and soul-sapping heat. The best way through that soup, for me, is to run within myself. Not only going slow enough to drink and eat, but also to keep my gaze inward, not focus on the external at all. This almost bit me last year. A lady who regularly swims with my wife and I at the Y on Sundays, annually goes to Kona for a week, along with her husband, who stays a month or more, around the time of the Ironman. Last year, she told us she would be at the aid station just before that church. It’s kind of a funny one, near the turn around, giving us a chance for fluids twice in a half mile. I skipped the outbound aid, and almost forgot to fuel up when I came back around. Just as I remembered I needed to get some water, I looked up, saw a cup in my face, and there was Debbie, silent but with a smile on her face, holding one out for me.
It’s on the Ali’i out and back that I begin wrapping my head around the pace I need to go to stay in the game. Often, it’s 20-25% slower than usual. Meaning, if I’m doing an *easy* marathon, I’m running at about 8:30-40 minutes per mile. Today, I averaged 9:37. And on race day, if I go 10:30 miles, I will count it a success. It’s really hard to go that slow, for that long, in those conditions. But it’s the only way to the finish. The Little Blue Church, with seating for twelve inside, is used mostly for weddings. As I pass, I should think about getting married to that pace, and draw strength from the twin altars, to the Catholic Jesus and the surfing royals.
**********
Correction: yesterday, I reported on a man who had chained himself to the Ironman sign at the pier. I stated he was protesting the purchase of WTC by Wang Jianlin’s one of the richest men in China. I misstated his reason. While he points out the large sums of money accruing to many involved in the sale, he is upset not with the sale itself, nor its association with a foreign buyer, but with the request by the new owners that the fee paid by WTC for use of the pier race week be dropped from $60,000 to $30,000. Today, the chains, locks and posters detailing the protester’s concerns were still there; he was not.
Station #4: The Road to Hawi
The Big Island of Hawaii provides a twist on the old saw heard around the Midwest: “Don’t like the weather? Wait a minute, it’ll change.” Here, it’s “Don’t like the weather? Drive a few miles.” Or in our case, bike a little farther on. At any given moment along the 50-odd miles of the Ironman bike course, the wind may be blowing anywhere from 0 to 30 mph, from any direction of the compass. Clouds form randomly off the volcanos, and the temperature varies with elevation, usually in the range of 80 to the low 90s.
When the Ironman moved from Oahu to Hawaii in the early 80s, fewer than 100,000 people lived here. Now, that figure is nearly 200,000. Back then, there was basically Hilo, an old port in the southeast, and a scattering of old line plantation and ranch towns, like Waimea, Hawi, Kailua. These featured wooden homes and storefronts with rusting metal roofs, and a local population dependent primarily on the land (cattle, sugar, other agriculture) or the sea (fishing). Once Oahu became an urban metropolis, and Maui saw a tourist boom, more daring sun seekers found the Big Island. Retirees, ex-hippies, escapees from the “outer islands”, and visitors from the world over discovered the raw and open environment. Now, modern resorts have grown around the prime beaches, and permanent residents are starting to crowd the upcountry, basically between 1500 and 3000 foot elevation, where the air is a bit more temperate. Almost ideal, some would say. But a few pockets of the old Hawaii still exist, and Hawi is one of them.
Part of the reason is geography. The Northeast tip of the island sees a LOT of rain, falling on the slopes of the Kohala volcano, running back to the sea in a series of cavernous gulches, hundreds if not thousands of feet deep. It’s pretty much impossible to build any kind of road across this terrain, so Hawi is the hub for the End of the Road. The road continues a deteriorating 8 miles past the clapboard businesses lining the two blocks of the main road through town. Niuli’i sits out near the end of the road, but beyond that, it’s trails and wilderness.
So it’s kind of hard to get to Hawi, and harder to stay there. Situated at the Northern tip of the Island, this spot is rawly exposed to whatever winds are coming from the East. Filled with moisture from the ocean, the air slams into the mountain and is forced upward into cooler climes, where the water precipitates, often as fog, sometimes as drizzle or outright rain. Most days, Hawi sees sun and a breeze; others, it can be grey and wet. The wind is so reliably strong that the local airport boasts a modern windmill to generate power for the community.
In Ironman lore, the road to Hawi is noted as the only substantial climb on the course. In reality, the steady climb rises gently over 6 miles from 180 feet to a about 600, which works out to less than a 2% grade, never more than 4%. A piece of cake, in cycling terms; a big-ring climb. But: that road keeps turning right, angling through the wind. For the first 6-7 miles, there is almost always a powerful gusting side wind amidst rolling terrain, constantly up and down between 150 and 300 feet. Then, as the road shifts from a northwest to a northeast orientation, it starts aiming directly into a headwind, which can range from 10 to 30 mph on most days, sometimes associated with stinging fog. Then, the route makes a 180 in the middle of town, and riders get a free push back down the hill, first a pure tailwind, then a slamming sidewind as they head back down into the crucible of heat near the shore.
There are four environmental challenges which Ironman cyclists face on race day: Wind, sun, heat, and hills. The latter two are constant; you always know they will be there, where they will be, and how hot or steep the road will be. It is the sun and the wind which may vary. And both seem to reach their maximum on that climb to and descent from Hawi. For one thing, most middle of the pack riders are somewhere on that road at noon, when the sun in Hawaii is at its zenith. For another, the road is cut into the side of a hill, such that its rays are reflected back from the lava directly at the cyclist. Finally, at least until the final mile or two, there are NO clouds, and NO shade, just the relentless, beating sun.
And the wind. The best thing that can be said for it is the slight comfort it provides from the radiance of the sun. But it buffets and exhausts the riders who struggle against the gusts, fighting the direction changes as they move from gully to road cut and back again. Going back down, while not fighting a grade or headwind, can still be a tough slog to control a machine which wants to dance with the wind, while its rider wants to plough a steady row.
So, it’s not the climb to Hawi that makes it an epic station on the Hawaii Ironman pilgrimage. It is the sun and wind through which it traverses. Today was a fairly good day for me out there; I went 41 miles in 2 hours and 30 minutes, and only felt I was going to get blown over about 2 or three times. I could even keep myself (mostly) straight on (almost all of) the downhill.
Station #5 - The Energy Lab:
Just about 42 years ago (October 6, 1973), Syria and Egypt launched a surprise attack on Israel, beginning what became known, variously, as the Yom Kippur, Ramadan, or Arab-Israeli War of 1973. Although it took a bit longer than the Six Day War 6 years earlier, Israel successfully repulsed the attackers by October 25, ending the fighting, but not the conflict. Regional oil producers, led by Saudi Arabia, began economic warfare, with an oil seller’s boycott. This led to a quadrupling of oil prices practically overnight. Hard to imagine, but over the next six months, gasoline in the US went from about 32¢ a gallon to over a dollar. Long lines formed at gas stations, which began firing many employees, the ones who had previously pumped our gas and cleaned our windshields (for free!)
The US responded, again economically, in a number of ways. In addition to instituting federal gas price controls, we began to look seriously into developing alternative energy sources, to prevent worsening dependence on foreign oil. All sorts of things were brought up. In western Colorado, a nuclear device was set off underground in an attempt to release “shale oil” – the stuff we’re now pumping out with the help of ‘fracking. Solar cells received their first major federal subsidies. Farmers were encouraged to grow corn for ethanol to be added to fuel at the pump.
And in Hawaii, in 1974, the Natural Energy Laboratory was founded a few miles north of Kailua Bay. The original idea was to develop Ocean Thermal Energy Conversion – take advantage of temperature differentials in ocean water at various levels to drive turbines which could produce electricity. To the tune of nearly $250,000,000, pipes and pumps were built to bring cold ocean water from 3,000 feet down to the surface on shore. In 1979, a small amount of electricity was actually produced at the lab, but the original project was abandoned in 1991.
However, like most government programs, it developed a life and constituency of its own. Large slabs of solar cells now rise at the entrance to the lab. A burgeoning complex has sprung up at water’s edge, which (in the words of the lab’s promotional material) “serves as a business incubator, research facility, and economic development agency. It offers the opportunity for organizations using sea water, sunshine, and ingenuity to perform research, engage in conservation and education activities, and produce sustainable commercial products.”
And on the second Saturday in October, the Energy Lab is the penultimate crucible in which Ironman Athletes are tested. The marathon is run as two out-and-back loops, the first down Ali’i Drive, and the second out along the Queen Ka’hamanu Highway, turning left into the Lab just past mile 16, with the turn around about 1.4 miles farther on, down at the ocean’s edge.
More often than not, the race leaders find themselves close to each other at this point, usually with some gaining and others losing ground. It’s easy for them to see which group they are in, as the out and back run provides a chance to gauge position relative to each other.
In addition to its strategic location, the topography of the lab’s road provides some unique challenges. The elevation drops from about 100′ to about 10′ over 3/4 of a mile, a 3-4% grade – kind of fun going down, but coming back out, at mile 19 of a marathon, not so much. Worse, as the road drops down from the lava to the sand, the Queen K winds disappear, and runners are left in a dripping stew of sweat, with no evaporative breeze.
Half way through, the road turns right, paralleling the shore. A park popular with locals lines the route; families hold parties all day and into the evening to cheer on the racers. Even though it’s less than a mile from there to the turnaround, it seems never ending, especially for those who have placed something special in their special needs bags. For me, it will be a head lamp, as the sun will surely have set by the time I hit the lab.
The pros themselves recognize the unique quality of this section of the run. In 2006, a year after 3 time winner Peter Reid retired from racing, he decided to volunteer at an aid station, to “give back” to the island and the competition for all it had given him. He could have chosen anywhere and any job. He picked the aid station at the top of the lab, the one racers hit just before they turn right back onto the Queen K for the final 10k slog to the finish.
That was my first race at Kona. I was doing fairly well. The sun was just setting behind my back, and I was feeling as if I might actually meet my primary goal of “not blowing up on the run”. But the trek up the Energy Lab hill was sapping me. What little breeze there is comes up from the ocean, at just about the same speed I was running – so I felt nothing to help cool the grinding heat. I was dogging my steps, eager to make the top; but, eyes downcast, I was unable to produce any real power. As I approached the aid station, I heard someone saying, with fervant intensity, “You NEED this water.” I could sense someone looking right at me, so I reached out and looked up at the same time – and saw Peter Reid locking eyes with me, his eyebrows imploring me to take his cup of plain, warm water. I’ve never gotten such a boost from one drink before or since.
Kona Pilgrimmage: Station 6, The Queen K
Posted on October 5, 2015 by Al
Tonight at the IronGents and ladies dinner, an annual affair for Kona competitors 60 and over, Mike Reilly allowed as how “Kona is my favorite race, because after all it is the Mecca of our sport.” Many people come from all around the world the second week of October, just to do the Hajj here in our Mecca. I’m not really familiar with the various activities on the Hajj, such as stoning the devil, or crossing a certain bridge. Nor do I know about the Stations of the Cross in Jerusalem.
But I do know that one of the absolute stations of the Kona Pilgrimage is riding on the Queen K, preferably under a searing sun into a roaring side or head wind. The Queen Ka’ahumanu Highway proper traverses 32.5 miles from Palani Road in Kona to a T intersection where the Akoni Pule Highway to Hawi begins. This road was completed in 1975, as an alternative to the Mamalahoa Highway, which parallels it at an elevation of around 2500′.
The Queen K was created from the lava which it traverses. We can currently see that process in action. Hawaii is gradually expanding the Highway to the Airport, 7 miles north of Kona, from a two-lane to a divided four-lane, with left and right turn lanes at a major intersections. This is desperately needed. Just in the ten years I have been coming here, the number of cars and trucks on the highway appears to have doubled, and is reaching the saturation point. While that used to be true mainly out to the airport, now the heavy traffic flows all the ways to the resorts of South Kohala, 20 miles farther on.
So those pilgrims who ride anticipating a quiet desolate experience on the sterile lava are in for a bit of a surprise. Trucks and cars are constant companions. Luckily, the road has 12-foot wide shoulders, so safety is not a concern. But it is certainly not a religious experience. The highway construction process is a mechanized version of “breaking rocks in the hot sun.” Cat and Hitachi jack-hammer/tractors constantly pulverize the lava surface into smaller and smaller chunks. Then, bulldozers move the chunks around, creating a flat underbed. Finally. the most finely crushed lava is mixed with tar for the blackest asphalt you can imagine. All this while cyclists are rolling down the shoulder not more than five feet away.
The Queen K is not only the main route from Kona to the airport and the thriving resort complexes of Waikoloa, Mauna Lani and Mauna Kea. But it also connects the Kailua-Kona metropolis to the world of commerce. Nearly everything used or sold on the Island must come in by ship While the Kona Pier provides the semblance of a deep water port, what is needed are acres of asphalt for truck parking, and pier after pier for unloading. Kawaihae is where all that noisy work takes place, Then everything must be trucked, often still in the shipping containers, 30 miles or so down the road to where the people are.
Despite this reality, over the past two decades, the “Queen K” has come to symbolize to triathletes the world over the magic of the island, a place where the mysteries of Pele are shrouded. Bikers contend with a stark landscape of black, heat radiating lava. Runners, who follow the QK from Kona for five miles to the Energy Lab and back, have to fight not only the heat, but also the forbidding darkness. That all may have been true 20 years ago, but as the island’s population has mushroomed, so have the lights. Each intersection boasts a cluster of sodium vapor lamps. Homes on the hillside twinkle above the runners. A large commercial area sits just above the highway, featuring a Costco, and, further on, a newer center with Target, Sports Authority, and the like.
And yet … the magic remains. Come race day, the Highway is deserted. Traffic is re-routed to the Mamalahoa. Once again, athletes can find themselves all alone with the heat, the wind, the darkness, and their suffering. The Queen K once again becomes the testing ground for self-reliance.
Kona Pilgrimmage: The Tribe Vibe
Posted on October 6, 2015 by Al
A key attraction for the true Kona Pilgrim is the opportunity to see and be a part of the evolving legend of triathlon. Our sport is young enough that the founders, early adherents, and initial superstars are still with us, repeating the creation stories. It’s as if George Washington and Abe Lincoln were still alive, to tell us best how the US came to be what it is today.
Everyone wants to see a pro, or former champion, to come into contact with those who epitomize the best of our sport. This morning, I was lucky enough to attend a new (second year) event, the AWA (All World Athlete) Gold breakfast. Held right across the street from the Pier, this gathering featured former champion Greg Welch interviewing 4 ex-racers who among them have won this race 23 times: Paula Newby-Fraser (8), Mark Allen (6), Dave Scott (6), and Craig Alexander (3). Over the years I have been in close contact with several other multi-time champs. In 06, when the Royal Kona Hotel was temporarily evacuated following the earthquake the Monday before the race, Normann Stadler (2) nervously occupied the lava rock next to mine while we awaited the all clear to return to our rooms. We chatted a bit about how scary earthquakes are, since you don’t know when the shaking will end.
The next time I came, I kept running into Chrissie Wellington (4). During registration, she restlessly waited in line not far from me Tuesday before the race – the pros had to wait just like the rest of us, even the returning champ! She was all smiles and graciousness, as lanky as a race-horse, with a curly mane to match. Next morning, while riding back into town near the harbor, she rolled by me, and I tried to follow. I guess she must have been cooling down, as I was able to keep up with her all the way into town and down Ali’l, where she weaved in an out of traffic as if the bike were just another part of her anatomy.
And it’s not just the pros who play the celebrity role. This year, at my condo, Mike Reilly (“The Voice of Ironman”) is staying once again. He’s easy to spot on the mo-ped he rents to whiz back and forth to his various engagements. This evening, at dinner near the condo, he comes walking past our table, having chosen just like us the ocean-side restaurant closest to our digs.
The other morning, I had opened the door to cool off the condo just before sunrise. This shaven headed well-built man with a friendly smile knocks on the door jamb, and says, “Hi. I’m Barry Siff. Do you have a pump? I need one.” Well, all I have is a travel pump, 100 pumps to get to 100 psi, and he says he needs more (must be old school), so off he went, while I buzzed through my brain for than familiar name. Oh, yeah, the guy who put on all those races out of Boulder, sold them to WTC, and now is back in the business again. And, he’s the President of the Board of USA Triathlon.
Three years ago, at the Expo, I ran into a lady named Karen, who in 2000 had fitted me for the tri bike I still use. I reminded her of that, and she told me to bring the bike in so she could see it and reminisce. The next day, I went back, and started talking to her about my desire to get a new aerobar set up. She interrupted me, and said, “You should probably talk to that guy over there” – pointed to a bald headed fellow slouching off to the side – “he knows way more about it than me.” This guy listens patiently to my spiel about getting the bike from Quintana Roo, having Merlin cut it for S&S couplers, how I had to have the front end repaired, and now it was too high and I wanted to get it a bit lower. He starts talking about stack and reach, analyzing the meaning of my angled elbow pads, and generally going on about various front units from Zipp and Profile Design. He seemed very knowledgeable even if I could’t understand 80% of what he was saying. When he mentioned that, “Back when we designed your bike…” I realised I was talking to Dan Empfield, an early innovator in the sport who basically invented the racing wet suit and the geometry which still rules our tri bikes. Oh, and he also founded and runs Slowtwitch.com and its forum, a gathering place for all things triathlon – the insiders’ journal, so to speak.
Random encounters like these are part of the expectation of any triathlete touring Kona during race week; it’s a big part of what makes the week so special. The entire Tribe has gathered here: the best athletes, the industry heavies, the media celebrities, and all the rest of us walk side-by-side up and down Ali’l to the various events. We are all running the same routes down Ali’i, riding the same roads out of town, and swimming the same waters in Kailua Bay. Anywhere you go, you seem to bump into them, providing little vignettes with which to impress yourself and your less fortunate buddies back home come winter.
Top on the list of places to do this shoulder rubbing is Island Lava Java, a coffee house which has somehow found itself as THE place to grab a drink, sit down under an umbrella in front of the Bay, and people watch. The lines here mid-morning stretch out the door and nearly down to the street. Recently added to the list of must-go places, is the coffee boat which sets up shop race week about 200 meters out in the bay. It is such a unique-to-Kona-race-week thing that it has become part of the Vibe as well, one of the things you must do in order to say you have done it. Me, I don’t drink coffee, so I’ve never stopped there, but those who have, well, let’s just say it’s not the coffee which attracts them.
Usually on Thursday before the race...
Kona Pilgrimmage 8: The Underpants Run
Posted on October 7, 2015 by Al
Fashions ebb and flow among the triathlete tribe. With a world-wide membership, there are always new perspectives and opportunities for cross-fertilization. In the ’80s, the dominant Americans favored bright neon outfits and oversized, wrap-around sunglasses. In the ’90s, Europeans brought their Speedo banana-hammoock look to the sport. The ’00s featured the advent of compression clothing. And now we are in an era of cycling speed-suits, skin tight hip-huggers which show off every bulge and bump. And of course there is always something new appearing on the technology front: aerobars, heart-monitors, power meters, space-age nutrition solutions.
Every year, people gather in Kailua Kona from all over the world to race, to be among the racers, to market to the racers, and generally just to celebrate the joy and camaraderie of our sport. As the race became internationalized in the ’90s, Europeans brought their style into the mix. Women wore bikinis and men wore tiny speedo type bottoms with cut-off tops. While preparing for the race, they would nonchalantly saunter all over this little resort town in outfits which might get you arrested for indecency in parts of the US. And some guys just had to show off their heart-rate monitors, leaving the straps around their chests after running or cycling, shopping in an outfit which might be normal backstage at a fashion show, but a little odd out in public.
In 1998, three Kona athletes were going stir crazy a couple of days before the race. Juicy with energy and a strong sense of irony, they concocted a training activity to express their attitude towards all the excessive Speedo wearing they saw going on. Wearing only bright white briefs, with wide trucker hats, they showed up at the pier early Thursday morning and trotted down to Lava Java, where they posed for photos and attempted to explain themselves. Here is the list of rules they had prepared for that day:
1. Any version of white “mommy underwear” (also known as tighty whities, y-fronts, briefs, etc.) is permitted. Good sources include Duofold’s performance briefs made with Coolmax Alta or any variety of cotton three-packs available at Wal-Mart and other fine stores.
2. No boxers, long underwear, or stylish Euro-bikini briefs permitted.
3. Route must be completed by running, walking, or crawling. Heart rate monitors, black or argyle socks, bad hats, and earrings are optional.
4. While this event is considered a “moderately paced parade” rather than a “race”, pacing strategies are up to the participant.
5. No awards will be presented.
6. No aid stations will be provided.
7. Other rules to be decided as issues arise.
8. Rules committee (Tim Morris, Slice, Huddle, and Roch Frey) reserve the right to make things up as they go along.
9. All are welcome regardless of age, species (dog’s welcome), gender, race, religious beliefs and/or nationality.
“Huddle” is Paul Huddle, an accomplished age-group triathlete, coach (MultiSports), raucous wit, and husband of 8-time Kona winner Paula Newby-Fraser. Roch Frey is his coaching partner. Tim Morris is one of the original three runners, along with Huddle and
“Slice”, aka Chris Morris, a Richmand, Va. resident who now owns a tavern and sponsors local tris. With the MulitSports connection, they quickly spread their satire to other venues: Penticton, BC for Ironman Canada, Lake Placid for Ironman Canada, and beyond. By the turn of the century, the UPR had become an insider’s joke, something hip triathletes went out of their way to be a part of. If you did Ironman, you earned points by knowing about the UPR, and even more cred by actually running along.
Now, it has morphed into an institution. Huddle still leads the parade, running next to a fedora topped Frey. They have a website, sponsors, entry fees, tee-shirts, and a set of local Kona charities to give all the money to. After all, part of the reason for starting the thing was to apologize in some way for bringing the Ironman to town, particularly the (in their minds) insensitive effetes who foisted their (nearly) naked bodies onto the community. Last year, they attempted to make the Guinness Book of World Records with the most people in one place wearing underwear. Nearly 3,000 folks showed up, but they still didn’t make it. Nonetheless, they had, as usual, lots of fun.
The run leaders were chanting “Hup! HUP! Hup!” as they SLOWLY trotted down Ali’i. To the tourists photographing the spectacle, they shouted out, “You idiots! Put down your cameras and JOIN us!” Little kids, moms with strollers, young ladies with body suits (the kind that make your look naked), old guys with hairy pot bellies, along with more six-packs then you’d see in a Budweiser warehouse, filled the entire 1.2 mile out and back route. Literally; the lead “runners” finished the race before the final stragglers had started out.
I’m not a UPR kind of guy. I don’t really do Halloween and other costume events. I have a hard enough time just being myself, much less pretending to be someone else. But the UPRunners all enjoy the celebration, and love being silly. It’s happening right now, as I write. I guess I’m an idiot for not joining them?
Very entertaining reads @Al Truscott ! Thanks for posting.