As he pedals up the Snake River Canyon with three other riders after eight hours and 150 miles of cycling, Dave Bergart’s legs are burning and his face is caked with dried sweat.

Bergart’s friend, Brian Schilling, pulls up alongside Bergart and two other riders in his support vehicle and leans his head out the window to offer encouragement and information.

“Two riders, three minutes ahead,” Schilling yells, optimistic that the trio might be able to reel in a pair of solo riders ahead of them and move up in the standings at this late stage of the 206-mile race.

Bergart acknowledges the information with a nod but he appears to be in a daze, lowering his head as he continues pedaling.

The 25-year-old Logan, Utah, to Jackson bicycle race (LOTOJA) is one of the longest and most grueling single-day road races in the country.

For many valley cyclists, including Bergart, 28, and Schilling, 37, the LOTOJA is a rite of passage and an annual measure of their cycling fitness. Both men spent nearly every free moment in the saddle, before and after work and on weekends, to prepare for the challenge. Sharing the unique cocktail of pain and pleasure with 1,000 other riders is what brings them back to the race year after year.

“It kind of rules your life for three months beforehand,” Bergart says. “It’s an emotional day, from feeling great to horrible through happy to depressed. To do this crazy thing with so many people is an emotional roller coaster, but one cool thing is knowing the whole time that you’re cycling home.”

A race as long as LOTOJA is wildly unpredictable, and success is dependent on a number of variables. In 2005, frigid temperatures, snow and rain forced Schilling, Bergart and more than half the field to abandon the race before the finish line. In 2006, Bergart fell behind the leaders in his group before the third climb of the course and finished back in the pack, a memory that motivated his training regimen this summer with a goal of a top-five finish in his category.

“You’re on your bike for 9 or 10 hours, but 1 minute of hard work can make the difference between winning and finishing far back,” Bergart said before the race. “You need to be alert all the time, and that’s really draining.”

As a 20-year veteran of bicycle racing, Schilling’s 2006 LOTOJA was one for the ages. Riding without teammates in the most competitive division, Schilling stayed with the leaders for most of the race before being left behind in the final 12 miles and finishing fourth overall, the best finish ever for a valley cyclist.

“The killer instinct just didn’t kick in,” Schilling says. “I think at that point I’d achieved my goal coming into the race – to hang with those guys and be the top Jackson finisher – and I contented myself with that.”

Schilling was preparing to challenge for a victory again this summer but his hopes faded when he got sick in early July, eventually discovering he’d contracted pneumonia.

“At that point I knew I was done and that’s when I shifted my focus to helping Dave,” Schilling said.

Bergart welcomed Schilling’s experience and knowledge in the critical role as a support person. In LOTOJA, race crews drive the course and assist the rider at each of four feed zones, responding to any physical or mechanical problems that might occur during the race. The night before the race, Schilling helped Bergart prepare his fuel supply in their Logan hotel room, assembling feed bags and mixing electrolyte drinks while coaching him on race strategy.

“Having Brian as my support is a huge motivator for me,” Bergart said before the race. “It’s an added incentive for me to give back to him for helping me in some way.”

Bergart and Schilling rise at 4:30 a.m. on race day, two hours before Bergart’s 6:34 a.m. start time. While Bergart goes for a short walk to awaken his stomach, Schilling prepares a smoothie and begins toasting waffles. Bergart manages to force down five waffles smeared with baby food and hits the bathroom three times before his long day in the saddle.

At 8:05 a.m., Bergart reaches the first feed zone in Preston, Idaho, 35 miles into the race accompanied by a massive group of more than 100 riders. Schilling stands among hundreds of other support people in a designated area 200 yards long, holding out a musette (feed bag) that Bergart grabs as he rides by without stopping. Schilling notices that Bergart’s group, Category III, is not riding particularly fast, as several other groups that started later have caught them (competitive LOTOJA riders are placed in categories from I to V, depending on their race experience).

“Having a big group like that can work to a rider’s advantage if they don’t have a strong team,” Schilling says as he hops into his car and begins driving to the next feed zone in Montpelier, Idaho.

With support vehicles routed 50 miles out of the way to keep them off a narrow pass, Schilling reaches the feed zone in Montpelier, Idaho, at 10:20 a.m., just minutes before Bergart arrives with 50 other riders. This time, Bergart removes only an ice cream sandwich, an energy bar and some jelly beans from his feed bag, less food than Schilling expected him to take. Bergart has now completed the first of three significant climbs in the race.

“He didn’t take much out of the bag, that means he’s working really hard,” says Schilling. “He didn’t look bad, but he looks like he’s working.”

At 11:15 am., Bergart is still in the back of the pack when he reaches a construction zone just before the second climb up Geneva Pass, where the group breaks apart and several strong riders attack. Bergart finds himself on the wrong side of the split and falls 90 seconds behind the lead group, which includes his Fitzgeralds Bicycles teammate Ian Tuttle.

At the Afton feed zone a little over an hour later, Schilling curses after realizing he didn’t hand Bergart a recovery drink, but instead gave him two electrolyte drinks. Bergart is about three minutes behind Tuttle and the leaders and still near the front of the entire 1,000 rider field.

“In road racing you have to be strong, smart and lucky,” Schilling says.

“In Thayne last year, I was starting to feel pretty good and was psyched about the position I was in, Bergie’s doing great right now. He’s three minutes behind Ian’s group with a big group of guys.”

On the 34-mile stretch between Afton and Alpine, 140 miles into the race, Bergart makes his move, battling a crosswind in an attempt to bridge the gap and join a group ahead of him. Riding alone is draining, but Bergart manages to join a group of other riders in his category who are sitting in sixth through ninth place in his 29-rider division.

Bergart arrives at the final feed zone in Alpine a little over three minutes behind the leaders, but seven hours into the race. The attack has taken a toll, and his legs are beginning to tire. While Schilling is still optimistic his friend can make a move and reach his goal of a top-five finish, Bergart is actually trying in vain to hold onto the group.

“Being a crew member and having a rider in it like this is exciting, but it’s a different kind of excitement,” Schilling says as he drives past Bergart after informing him of his position.

Moments later, Bergart realizes that he’s unable to continue taking his turn leading the other two riders in his group. He informs the pair of his condition, and they offer him a deal.

“Halfway through the canyon I couldn’t pull anymore, and they said if I’d concede the sprint I could hang on their wheel,” Bergart said later. ”I thought about it for 10 seconds and then said OK.”

Knowing his competitive race is over, Bergart pedals behind the other two riders for the final 25 miles of the race through Teton County, with the group passing one more rider. At the finish line, he honors his promise and sits back while the pair battle for fifth place. Bergart winds up seventh in Category III, with a time of 9 hours, 27 minutes, 55 seconds, more than 30 minutes faster than his 2006 time.

“I should have been closer to the front after the dirt section,” an exhausted Bergart says at the finish line after hugging Schilling and congratulating Tuttle, who finished second in the division. His head droops and he’s nauseated, but there’s a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, one that Schilling is familiar with.

“I don’t want to eat ever again,” Bergart says. “Well, maybe in an hour.”