Ride for Life
Renewal and redemption at the Butte 100 bike race.
Some years ago, my father lost his battle with lung cancer. He and I were very close, so after he died, I was dealing with quite a bit of depression. My days were filled with the stress of running my company while wanting to eat and sleep all afternoon. Evenings involved glasses of scotch and anxiety. I neglected my wonderful family. I was in a hole and digging myself deeper.
One day during my lunch break, instead of a nap, I decided to dig my mountain bike out of the garage and go for a ride. It was awful. My weight gain and limited fitness made me work to exhaustion. After I finished, I felt a complete emptiness—and then, a sort of re-set. I followed that ride with a lunch ride daily. Each day, each ride, my spirits lifted—and a new journey began.
My company has been a sponsor and supporter of the Butte 100 since its inception. I always enjoyed the outdoors, and supporting a local event was a great opportunity for us. I was also good friends with Bob Waggoner, the local endurance racer who founded the race.
Bob had always urged me to take mountain biking more seriously. And so, invigorated, inspired—and admittedly, somewhat deluded—by my daily lunch rides, I signed up for the race. I chose the shorter 50-mile version, and still had no idea what I was in for.
On race day, lined up with the other riders, I was a little nervous, but also kind of cocky. I rode almost every day, and I felt my fitness was on point. Most of my rides were six or eight miles, for about an hour. I was naïve to what lay ahead.
Although I was a compete rookie, the crowd made me feel as if I were the best racer on the course. I felt a rush of adrenaline in my legs as the onlookers cheered and banged their cowbells. I was flying and loving it!
I knocked out 20 miles effortlessly. And that’s when the course bared its teeth. I began the Basin Creek climb, a stretch with 3,500 feet of elevation gain. In 11 miles. As the sun bore down upon my back, my body started cramping. I moved at a snail’s pace. I kept telling myself to keep going forward. I was also having equipment issues and temper tantrums. I knew that at the next aid station, I had to make a decision: whether to either end the pain and frustration or continue it.
Arriving at the aid station, seeing the volunteers and the fans cheering for me—it put something back into my legs and lungs. I decided to keep going.
The next section can only be described as eight miles of hell: similar elevation gain as Basin Creek, but more technical. Loose rocks, steeper climbs. With my legs cramping, it became full hike-a-bike, cursing the relentless uphills and endless obstacles. But I kept moving forward.
It helped that this section of the course was breathtaking. Open fields with wildflowers, mountain ranges framing the multicolored flowers and blue sky. Gasping for air at 9,000 feet, I soaked in views that most people never see in a lifetime. A white-rock section led into a fast downhill, then into the last aid station, where again, they glorified my efforts and kept me fueled and positive for the final push.
The last section was mostly just walking the bike uphill and trying to keep moving. By this time, I was utterly exhausted—I honestly thought I might not make it. As the sun began to set, I felt a small surge in my legs. I’m not sure if it was my dad helping me out or if I was completely delusional. But I pushed through the last four miles and finished the final climb. I could hear the highway and finish line. Tears ran down my face as I thought of seeing my family. My time was just over 11 hours and I vowed to never do it again.
Well, the story does not end with that race. After the physical pain subsided and my memory of it faded, I began training properly. I have since competed in the Butte race ten times, along with numerous other endurance races. I’m even somewhat competitive within the field. I have also been blessed to race with my wife, brother-in-law, friends, and daughter. That first bike race was more than just an event in my life. It forced me to live my life. For this I am forever grateful.
Chad Godbout, owner of the Coca-Cola Bottling Co. of Butte, has been a title sponsor of the Butte 100 for the past 26 years. He and his team worked closely with OGs Bob Waggoner, Gina Evans, Ryan Munson, and John Wick, and now with the current owner, Stephanie Sorini. For more information, visit butte100.com.
