Quitting, I tried it, it wasn't for me.

Honestly, society has gone soft. About a week ago, I quit. I gave up on a dream. I wasn't strong enough or prepared enough to complete the goal I set out for, the Arizona Trail 750. Granted, the decision may have been an act of self preservation, but I still quit. All I keep hearing is "But you raced the 300 so well," "you rode so fast," "you did good."

STOP. I don't need a sugar coat. We don't all get the glory just for showing up. Had I signed up for the 300 I would be ok with how I did, but that wasn't my race. It was an easy place to quit, with a ride out, and a car to food when I was hungry and weakly making poor decisions. My training regimen led to quitting being the easiest thing to do at the time. I set out for a goal, and I failed. I hate living with that looming over me, but it is a decision I must live with until I get a chance at redemption. Our society is used to quitters still wanting trophies, praising a job "well done" just for an attempt. A man I shared a few miles and many emails with, Neil Beltchenko, is the man who deserves a "good job" and a beer and a bowl of ice cream, not me. He smashed a long standing record by a long shot. Also everyone else who completed the course they set out for. Congratulations!

Not everyone gets a prize, or pride. That's okay. I'm pissed and disappointed with myself and my performance. I stand by my decision and I know it was right at the time, but it doesn't make me successful. It makes me motivated to work harder and be more dedicated, to whatever it is I set out for next. Maybe it won't even be a bike oriented adventure next, but whatever it is, this feeling, of being a quitter, will be on my mind.

Smarter, I'll get stronger, and go forward.

Ride report and pictures soon. (I really enjoyed about 270 miles of the ~300 I rode)

AZTR 750. A Dream Deferred, Craisins in the sun.

It's easy to feel like a failure, because, yes, I failed to complete the goal I set, the Arizona Trail Race 750. That said, these words are not intended as excuses, or justifications.

There is a long list of things that I could pass as reasons for my early termination. My knees hurt. My wrists ached, my hands were going numb. I underestimated the pace of the next mileage at my last resupply and tried to ride all day on 3 chicken nuggets, a couple potato chips and a few handfuls of craisins. Even with a high water capacity, I was unbelievably lucky to have found surprise water caches. It was hot. It was dry. At the top of one of the climbs the Trix rabbit tried to sell me cold yogurt, but he just laughed, and said "Silly Calvin, Trix are for kids" and scampered away as a regular rabbit to it's hole.

My training was sub par. My research was insufficient.

I had all the moral support one could ask for.

All my equipment was the best. While I will always be making changes, the important stuff was spot on. The bike was amazing, my lighting was perfect. My shoes were the most comfortable I've ever owned. My bags kicked ass.

I ride my bike for fun. The first 2 days were rad, and I know there's always rough days on longer trips.

It all boils down to:
I just didn't want it enough

Trails Closed, Opportunity Open!

Dear Mountain bike, hike, and outdoor friends,

Recently I’ve been hearing a lot of talk about how “none of the trails are open.” While I share the current  disappointment in missing out of beautifully crafted singletrack, Ive been riding all year, and know one has a right to complain about where I’ve been. So, yeah, most of the typical, easy to find, singletrack is closed, but this is Vermont! There are a bazillion times more trails (double track, logging roads, dirt roads, and a bit of single if you’re crafty) that never “open” or “close.” Most of these were built with a bulldozer, skidder, or other power equipment. Now, I’m not saying as long as there is no “closed” sign, you’re good to go, but a small mix of common sense to not leave giant ruts, and an open mind of Vermont’s extensive dirt road system, and the riding options are far from limited.

Locally, there are a few places where bikes are asked not to go, AT, LT, and official side trails. These are technically off limits, and for just cause. In, general, they are not bike friendly, and see a high volume of hiker traffic in prime season. These trails are steep, have many bridges with narrower than handlebar handrails, derailleur eating rock squeezes, and have next to no flow as they cut through our wonderful landscape. From mud season until frozen ground, leave them for the hikers, everyone will be happier.

I don’t want to promote poor activity, and just a little common sense goes a long way here. On frozen ground, you will have little chance damaging any trail with a mountain bike. If you leave a rut, that trail is not for today, find a VAST with four wheeler ruts already. Mid winter, the more popular trails may provide exciting fatbike single track.

Chances are, if you’re complaining, you aren’t the one spending tireless hours (see what I did there) all summer, benching, raking, scouting, digging, and crafting the great trails we have. I must admit, I’m not either. I wish I built more great trails, but I’m more likely to be in the middle of the woods, lost, with a stick in my derailleur, and a pricker bush stuck on my face. But for crying out loud, give our fantastic trail builders a break! They’ve built the trail once, don’t make it so they need to again. Trails with “closed” signs drain better than anything else, so once the ground water/ freeze thaw cycles are finished, they’ll have them open. I know you’re mad at the weather, but don’t take it out on the McCloud swinging, chainsaw carrying, work boot wearing trail angels who keep our awesome sport alive!

Respect gets respect! If you can’t wait, don’t, just go somewhere else! you might just be amazed at what you find!

Happy trails!

Arizona Trail Race LOI

The Arizona Trail Race is a 750 mile singletrack race from Mexico to Utah. The route will test my mental and physical limits, as will the preparation. I will being too ramp into training as fall progresses, and once again attempt to find the fine line between maximum gain and burnout.  It is my intent to complete the route as fast as possible in compliance with the unofficial rules.

This blog is not dead!

I realize my blog has been looking a bit bleak. I'm still writing and riding, I've just been publishing elsewhere.

Here's a few big rides from this year:

Trans North Georgia

Monaro Cloudride

XVT Bikepacking Route

Green Patagonia Jacket

If there is one piece of gear,
On every adventure Ill pack it,
It’s got to be my Green Patagonia Jacket.


Twice across my nation
East to  the West, Canada to Mexico
I bring it everywhere I go.

To the top of Mt Washington
Skiing Tuckerman’s Ravine
The places its been are quite obscene.
 
 I brought it to Australia,
 For the Monaro Cloudride,
Together through the rain, we won with pride.


I even wore it.
When I fixed an old lady’s roof.
Here’s a picture for the proof.

There’s not much to it
Its just a simple shell
But it fits and moves so well!

The pit zips vent
The cuffs fit just right
Hood over helmet, nice and tight.

Its waterproof,
Its breathable,
Its really unbelievable.

I’ve worn it so much,
It was time for another
I hope this one works, just like it’s brother.

Just don't mess with perfection.

Spandex Sandwich Shop Stop

"What do you think about when you ride?"
Poetry, I'm constantly rhyming and scheming. Sometimes I write it down, other times it withers away before the ride is over, never to be remembered again. Enjoy my partially delusional state of mind...

Spandex Sandwich Shop Stop

As I stand in line to order,

I chug a chocolate milk

I know you're not from here, wearing tie-dye silk.

I stand there all sweaty,

In skin tight clothes,

I don't like the vibe your hippie yuppie boyfriend throws.

It's only just noon,

But I've already ridden farther today,

Than you've in your lifetime I'd say.

You chat while you stare.

Your look of disgust at my choice,

As strong as my opposition to your voice.

My jersey is smelly, and far from new

Unlike your state,

Please let me get my plate

I eat in a hurry

I'm out in a dash

Unlike your large pile of cash.

Yuppies go home.

Home is where you cook your own bacon.

They say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. While I understand this feeling, after just coming home from the other side of the world, I must say, the grass is pretty damn green where I'm standing now. I love to travel and will continue to chase my dreams to all corners of the globe, but there is something nice about coming HOME!

On the "road" you meet incredible people who you may or may not stay in touch with, but you will probably always remember. At home, there are the people you interact with everyday, from the people you avoid constantly, to those amazing friends who have your back through thick and thin. Even the best friendships can become dull and unexciting, time away between good friends may be the change of pace needed to recognize the importance of this certain interaction in your life. Its the people we love that really make the difference.

It is exciting to be somewhere new everyday, seeing new sights, terrain and architecture. There is also a great feeling coming home and noticing the small changes since you left. The trees are budding and the grass is greening up, the rivers are up from the melted snow, or the last of falls leaves have dropped, or.... The sense of normality is comforting when returning from someone else's "normal."

Long trips are a great way to break up the mundane, but also a great way to realize what mundane things in life you really enjoy. Bacon and eggs in MY cast iron frying pan at 430am, fueling for my sunrise pre-work ride. It's not boring, it's ritual.

There are so many great places, people, and cultures in the world, that I urge everyone to try and go see, meet and experience. While you plan or wait for the next big adventure, take a half step back from your daily life and reconsider throwing on a frown at normal and boring. Instead think of it as comfortable and secure, two important aspects of life commonly swept under the rug.

As mentioned, I have no intention on slowing down, or stopping traveling, riding, or racing. HOME may even change sometime in the future but for now, as I return from a large trip and get resettled, it is nice to be home, to the amazing places I know, and the great people who I am so thankful to have in my life.

It's not about the adventure of a lifetime, its about a lifetime of adventure. Seek happiness everywhere, always. 

*I may or may not publish more writing on my Australia trip, later, non chronologically.
My ticket and underlying reason for the trip was the Monaro Cloudride 1000, my account is documented here:
http://bikepackersmagazine.com/monaro-cloudride-winners-perspective-2/

Pre-Cloudride Thoughts.

As the moments tick by in the dwindling days before Cloudride, I find myself with a senioritislike laziness toward training. At this point I have no more time to really gain strength, simply existing in a constant debate between resting up, but not softening up. On top of riding, I have a few more days of work, and I will also be moving out of my apartment prior to departure, and I've yet to pack anything to either move, or go to Oz. Above all else, I have entered a relationship with the most amazing woman! Attempting to stay focused, my head is still in the game, but knowing I won't be seeing her for a month drives me to want to spend as much time as possible with her.

 

The pre race jitters have been surpassed by other pressures. There is no point in worrying. I could lay up all night concerned about what will happen, but this worry will not solve anything, and rest will ultimately make me stronger. With the near sleepless nights and long days in the saddle that I will be attempting next week, sleep and relaxing will be a mere figment of my imagination.

 

I know it's going to hurt. If it doesn't, I won't be pushing hard enough. At some point in this race, I will tell myself I'm quitting ultra racing. This is probably the point where I will kick it up a notch and push harder, just to be finished. If history repeats,  my laziness will last for a few days after the race.

 

Then I'll have a resurgence of motivation, where I want to do a triple crown season (AZT 750, CTR, and TD) PLUS Tour Aeotero(3000k), Kiwi Bravet(1100k), TNGA(350mi), and more, all in a year. (The idea being 10000 miles of racing in a year.) I don't know if it's possible, physically, socially, mentally, or financially, but it falls somewhere into finding the limit. I'm young in ultra racing, both in my career and in age, by comparison to the average competitor. The advantage of this being I have lots of time to fulfill my goals, but also leads to a decision of how serious I want to take racing, vs. the decision of slowing down in a few years to live an "average" life.

 

In the past, I've thought of taking a step back from competition to refocus on the love of riding, simply to ride, but the drive to push myself keeps coming back up. Non race pace bikepacking trips seem like they'd be awesome, yet I've only ever done a few weekend trips at casual pace. While mountain biking will remain my primary focus for at least a few years to come, it is exciting to think of other long endurance related adventures, both competitve and non. Long canoe trips, backpacking, etc. It's all fun to think about, and I'm sure new ideas will pop into my mind during the long hours chugging through the hills of Australia. After all, I'm not looking for the adventure of a lifetime, I'm looking for a lifetime of adventure!

Yeti With A Flashlight

At the end of a dead end street,

a small path weaves into the trees.

It's a place that keeps me sane,

A world of both pain and gain.

Escaping the drone of car tires on tarmac,

I descend into a snow filled sanctuary.

They say there's a yeti out there,

I'm not sure exactly where.

A marginally plowed dirt road to myself,

An occasional car, you'll hear from afar.

Two eyes watching, blinking intermittently.

I'm pretty sure that's the yeti.

The eyes are trail markers

Bobbing behind maple stems,

Here's my turn,

Time to feel the burn.

I look forward to what some may call a frozen hell.

A climb I know well,

The hill continues into the night

Never completed without a fight.

Mentally I'm in the zone.

Is this what the yeti calls home?

Off to my left hear a tussle,

Just the wind, causing some beech leaves to rustle.

As legs begin to ache.

I convince myself pain is fake.

Sprint for the peak,

Anything else would be weak.

The pitch has begun to mellow.

Excited I may meet this yeti,

He should be a nice fellow,

Shouldn't he?

Still sweating from the ascent.

I layer up with high speed intent.

Hood pulled up, and pit zips zipped

Double wheel drift corners will be ripped.

Face goes numb, and my muscles twitch.

A glittering glow shines through the forest.

It must be a yeti with a flashlight.

Or simply cold nerves, affecting my sight.

I see his light from behind me,

He's going to catch me soon,

As I turn to check,

It's only the bright full moon.

The sweat, the descent, and now rolling hills,

My body is filled with chills.

I find myself alone

On my ride back home.

I know he's out here,

Perhaps hidden with fear.

Wish he'd come out to play.

No yeti today.

Trans North Georgia.

I am splitting where I post original pieces, my Trans North Georgia write up is on Northatlanticdirt.com.

Winter Update, a Cloudride count down.

I haven't died, I still ride, and I still write. My computer did die, my tablet is on its last leg, and I don't have any internet other than on my phone, which is new.

 

So where has the winter gone? It feels like yesterday that I began training again in preparation for the Monaro Cloudride. The truth is, I've been in this training swing for nearly 3 months already. This winter has been very cold, very snowy, and far less than optimal for bike riding, especially for long hours. The snowmobile trails have been pretty well groomed, allowing for decent riding, but these temps have had me limited to 4-5 hours on most days. I've been getting a lot of 2-4 hour rides in after work under artificial light. Several times I've consideredgoing for over night winter bikepacking trips, but after long days in the cold on ski patrol, sleeping outside is amongst the last things that sound like fun. When the weather truly pins me inside, I spend as much time as I can tolerate on the trainer. Typically not much more than 2 hours before I go stir crazy. I've been pretty good about getting out to ride in the mornings as well, although lately most mornings have been spent on the trainer. I definitely have a few mornings each week where I just can't manage to get our of bed at 4 am to get a ride of any sort in before work.

 

"Winter training is finding the fine line between improvement and not killing yourself before the race season. It's like roasting a marshmallow. Light golden brown and delicious, or bursting into flame. Once you see the flames., there is no going back..."

-Seamus Powell

 

The snow has been great, for skiing. The soft layers have been kind to my knees, although the combination of riding and skiing constantly keeps me on the edge of painful tendinitis. If I didn't have a race planned I think I would put the bike away for a while and spend more time hiking for fresh turns on skis. I'm not saying I wouldn't ride, but I would change my priority.  Vermont hasn't seen temperature above freezing for already a month now, and I am certainly ready for spring.

 

The anticipation is rising, time is counting down quickly. For a shake down ride I have chosen to ride the Trans North Georgia Route. 350 miles, with considerable climbing. At this point I am only planning on riding it one direction, and getting a shuttle back, but a down and back is not out of the question if everything goes extremely well. After the TNGA, I come back to work for two weeks, and then move out of my apartment, and fly out to the land down under on March 30th, starting Cloudride on April 4th.

 

I wouldn't say I feel as good as I could, but I've stayed pedaling and fighting, against the will of old man winter. As Greg LeMan said, "It never gets easier, you just go faster." I'm not looking for easy, I just hope it's fast enough.

A search for the limit.

Mostly just questions I ask myself, and some numbers:

How far can you push yourself before you break? When you think you break, did you really just brake? As I struggle to motivate myself to push harder in training, I cannot help but imagine how far I can actually push myself. Im pretty sure that at this point in my life, it is clear I will never be a true 'world class' athlete, or someone who makes a living off of a sport. That may sound grim and like I'm giving up, but I'm just trying to keep it real, I have every intent to continue to push myself and improve my own strength, pace, and skill.

My longest single day ride to date is 210 miles, about 140 paved and flatish, and 170+ mile days before and after (Pie Town day in TD.) Just 2 years ago I had never ridden a century. Bikepack racing has so many more factors than mileage, and time in the saddle for that matter. Terrain, climbing, sustainability, fuel and water supply, etc. I must sadly admit I have never raced a 24 hour race, but it is certainly on my list. Lets take it a step farther; do 48 hour races exist? What length of race must riders start to plan to sleep or camp? I haven't looked at specific names, mileages and times, but bikepack racers everywhere are pushing the envelope with sleep deprivation and impressive durability. With so many ultras* having nothing but bragging rights for prizes, what is motivating riders to push so hard?

Let's throw The Munga into the discussion. 1000k, $1,000,000, yes, One MILLION Dollar purse. I'm not saying I can win it, I may never have the opportunity to try with a $10,000 entry, but I am pretty sure that given another year of training with motivation, I could ride 1000k without sleeping. It is exciting to think about pedaling essentially continuous for that long, but I'm not convinced that would be the fastest tactic. Does the turtle or the rabbit win this race? Safety aside (yes riding 620+ miles non-stop could potentially cause some bodily harm) a few hours rest in between two triple+ centuries may be the solution, or maybe take two brief naps and split the race into double century segments.

With Cloudride 1000 as my current goal, I am trying to train as though it has a 6 figure podium payout, but I can't even wrap my head around that kind of money. My motivation is purely unfounded. I got into this stuff for the same reason we all did: we love to ride our bikes for a really long time, and we like to find our limits, and see how our limits stack up against those of others. My mind has just shifted from chasing double century weekends to double century days, back to back, (to back?) What about the triple century? On a road bike I can honestly say I think I could do one without too much struggle. Its not hard, all you need to do is pedal farther, right?

*Ultra: My definition: Multiple day, single stage race

Training plan, in a nutshell.

It's a great day to stay alive!

November 19th, 2013. That's a day I'll never forget. Life changing to say the least.

I watched my best friend, co-worker, and employer fall 89 feet in tree work accident. Chris doesn't remember it, but hey, against all odds he is alive, and recovered, virtually 100%.

I could write about the saga; the sadness, the scariness, and the hardships endured by those close to the incident, but I'd rather stay positive. A mere 2 months after flirting with death, the invincible man was skiing. I have never met anyone with as much passion and drive. He did ski a few more times throughout the season, but due to both physical and cognitive limitations, for a guy who skis well over 100 days a year, it was basically a lost season.

By the time April rolled around, I was back to doing tree work, something I thought I would never do again. (Climbing is a labor of love, and if you don't love it, you won't do it for long.) I was over snow, ready for dirt. I was training hard for Tour Divide, and stoked on MTB season in general. Chris played along, but you could tell, he just wanted ski season again. All year we've talked about the count down to snow, often ending a sweaty 90 degree work day with, "I'm pretty sure it's gunna snow tomorrow." He's not bitching about the heat or summer, he's just genuinely psyched for snow and winter.

Before the accident he was no different. Aside from the drive for skiing, Chris's positive outlook on life is second to none. He posseses the rare ability to remain calm in situations where I would snap. We could be sideways to a gate in a nice yard, stuck with the truck and chipper, every wheel burried to the axle, you can tell he's not happy, but he won't lose his cool, it's not gunna help us get out anyway! Those positive vibes are usually contagious, and make for a lot of great times, on and off the job.

Instead of dwelling on the scariest thing I've ever seen, I am going to take the Treeman approach, and just  be thankful to be alive, and still have one of my best friends still here, to spend the day with. Life's too short to be mad, and sad, live everyday to the fullest. Getting so close to the edge is a reminder of how great life is.

If you've taken the time to read this, make today a positive one (make them all positive). Spread the word, November 19th is "A Great Day to Be Alive"

"Don't fall in the brook, eh!"

These days, a bowl of cereal could be considered "epic."

The word "epic" was reborn in the language bro-brah just a few years ago. A word once used to describe things that would last for a very long time, or the great journey or quest of a lifetime. Upon the rebirth of the word, it's definition has rapidly degraded from, say, the best day or storm of the year ("We just skied Tuck's in 3 feet of blower pow,") to anything that may be, but probably isn't, worth of a Facebook status, ("I just had some epic coffee!") Yuppies ruin everything....

A couple of months ago I was invited to the "5th Annual Oneonta Epic Mountain Bike Ride," by my friend Sam who recently moved to California. I had been invited previous years, but never made it. I am not a big fan of group rides, as they are typically slow, disorganized, and generally more frustrating than enjoyable. The stats from previous years were impressive, and I knew a few other riders going to the event, all of who were strong riders, so I figured I'd give group rides another try. Also, Sam had planned his vacation to NY to coincide with this ride, so it must be a good time!

I decided to split up the 3 hours drive a bit, and visit my good friend Allan in Albany area on Saturday on my way to Oneonta. We decided to go the AIR (Albany Indoor Rock climbing center.) I had been there a few years ago, and enjoyed it, but I wasn't much of a climber at the time. In the past few years I have been climbing more, and working out a bunch, in Rutland's Green Mountain Rock Climbing Center. AIR's walls are short, and have very few routes that actually need a rope. The gym had a few 5.8's and 9's, two 5.11's and a 5.13. When I flashed the 5.11a near the entrance, the employee's were amazed. I began to realize that this was more of a rock climbing family fun center than a rock gym. Before leaving the gym, I usually get in a good burn out with various body weight exercise. The looks I received while doing push ups pull ups, sit ups, etc, confirmed it was not a "gym."

The drive to Oneonta on Sunday was, well, wet. I got to town over an hour early, and I couldn't find any decent looking restaurants open, so Dunkin Dounuts it was, "America Runs on Dunkin." GPS brought me to Wilbur Park...not the right part. I sat in my truck, eating processed non-nutritive egg like product. The rain continued and it was about 40*. I had driven 3 hours, and had not seen a trace of another rider. Thankfully a few more people used GPS to find the park as well and pulled in at about 8:45, as I was putting on my bike shoes and stocking my pack. Well, at least I'll have SOMEONE to ride with. A minute later Sam came by on his extremely bright new Specialized. Que local knowledge. We pedaled to the other side of the park, where the pavilion was overflowing with ambitious riders, still 40 and raining, misery loves company, right? The ride was split into an A, B, and C group with the standard "A and B groups will be FAST paced, slackers will be dropped," speech. The goal was 40 miles, lots of climbing, and be done in about 6 hours. The "A" group started with 14 riders, three who dropped on the first climb, we hadn't even made it into the trails yet!

We had a diverse group with everything from aggressive trail bikes to a steel rigid single speed with drop bars, full lyrca kits to no-brand baggies. Regardless of style, bike, or age, once we were in the trails, one thing was obvious, these guys were real riders. The rain didn't matter anymore, vibes were awesome, and everyone was smiling. A few mechanicals, and flats split our group up, but all involved were locals, and regrouped a few miles later. It's always fun to ride with the people who built, and maintain the trails your riding. The Oneonta crew created a trail system that flowed well, with a great mix of fast and technical sections and features, with a great variety of old school root and rock and new school bench-cut, with berms and jumps.

With the continuous rain, it didn't take long for gloves and shoes....errrrr....everything to be completely soaked. Staying moving kept my core warm, but my toes were pretty chilly. The rain turned to snow. It was actually a welcomed change, because at least snow flakes kinda bounce off rather than waterlog you farther. The snow started dumping! Between the mud from my tires, the tires of the rider in front of me, and the snow, I could barely see without squinting my eyes. When snow began to accumulate, I was wondering if I should have brought my fat bike! The leaves, mud, and abundant moisture kept all the rocks, roots, and bridges extremely slick. It isn't often I get a chance to ride with high-caliber riders outside of races, so descending amongst rippers on new trails, in these conditions, was keeping me on my toes. We came across a feed table in what seemed like a random field. After a short break, the breeze began to cut through my wet base layers, and I was happy to get riding before a chill set in any farther.

We cycled (double meaning there) back through the park. There were some snacks and coffee in the pavilion. That coffee really hit the spot! I had packed dry socks and gloves, and took the opportunity to change them. I have a few pairs of riding gloves that are exactly the same, unfortunately the "pair" I got, was EXACTLY the same...two left gloves. Putting wet gloves on was depressing when I even thought ahead enough to pack a dry pair. After lunch our group began to disperse more than before. Other commitments, exhaustion, desire to ride in the rain, and more flat tires eventually left five riders. Sam's proposed route was designed to crush us, and it did a good job. The last 10 miles had just as much climbing as the first 30. The last climb split the last five into three and two. I rode back into the park with Seth and Jud. 39.5 miles. Seth, who had done an awesome job of keeping everyone moving all day, was not about to stop short of 40. With a short section of flat single track in the park, we hit 40 miles. "Yeah, this is our best 1/4 mile of trail," Seth claimed. "It's pretty awesome, I'm gunna write about it in my blog," I replied. I am not a liar.

The after party was hosted by local rider Todd, in his beautiful home a bit outside of Oneonta. Cold beer, tasty food, warm home, great people, and riding stories. I would've liked to have stayed longer, but the drive home took priority. I can't think of better way to end a ride that earned the name "Epic."

Thank you to everyone who made this event happen. Extra thanks to Sam Brown-Shaklee for the invite, Seth for keeping the "A" group moving and motivated, and Todd for a great after party. I hope to see you all next year, or hopefully sooner.

Cloudride, I like the sound of that.

"So Napoleon, What are you gonna do next?"
"Whatever I feel like I wanna do, GOSH!"
-Napoleon Dynamite
"Bam Margera, what's he gonna do next?"
"Whatever the f^(k I want."
-Viva La Bam

So, what is next? For me, all focus is on The Monaro Cloudride 1000. (Cloudride1000.com). 1000k, or 621 miles, and about 24000m of climbing, from Canberra to Victoria, Australia, the Cloudride was modeled after the Tour Divide.  I had the honor to meet this race's mastermind, Steve Watson, when we met online, both in search of a roommate for the days prior to TD, in Banff, AB. Steve, a strong 67 year old, was the oldest starter of this years TD,  and while turning 22 on Grand Depart, I was not THE youngest, but one of. Since leaving the hotel on the morning of June 13th, I have not seen Steve in person, but following the race, he invited me to the Cloudride next April. Realizing this was the opportunity of a lifetime, I was quick to commit to the start list. 

Since my decision to call an early end to my 2014 race season to completely recover from TD, I have still been riding a lot. I have not done any intervals, or hill repeats, or century+ rides, and it has been nice not to be mad at myself for skipping a ride or work out. More important than a few weeks of strength, the downtime has been boring enough to get the urge to race again. In an attempt to avoid burn out, I will hold off "training" until early November. Honestly, the line between training and not is a pretty thin one for me. The difference is mostly in the duration, intensity, and focus of my rides. Unlike preparing for TD, this year I plan to actually hit the gym, put more time into off the bike strength and cardio training.

1000k certainly not a sprint, and not short by ultra-biking standards, but long term sustainability is less of a concern than TD. The bar has been set at 4 1/2 days by previous TD winner, Ollie Whalley, a New Zealand ultra rider. Whalley's rookie, winning, TD time was some 2 days faster than mine. By the math, the Cloudride route will be tougher than the TD route. Shorter, yet steeper and more frequent climbs, will lead to more climbing each day, by comparison. Thankfully, the elevations will be similar to VT, so my East coast lungs will have a fighting chance. The 2015 start list isn't complete yet, but it won't change anything anyway. I plan to race my own race, ride as hard as possible for the duration. The first few days I plan to stick with my tried and true "ride hard, recover well" technique, and push harder in the last few hundred miles.

I was incredibly happy with my equipment set up for TD. I would like to lighten up my camping gear a bit. With all the poisonous critters that call Australia home, I am hesitant to trade in my tent for a bivy. While it would be nice to leave a bunch of gear behind, I would rather carry a few extra ounces than be caught unprepared. I will attempt to carry less water, and refill more frequently, perhaps utilizing iodine purification tablets more frequently. The bike couldn't have been better, with the one exception of my dynamo hub oversight. The ability to charge a good light, or any other USB device with nearly no added weight will mitigate reliance on AA's, and ride longer into the night with decent lighting. I also plan to change up my packing system a bit, and make things more modular to reduce packing time each morning, ie, if I don't need it, it doesn't need to be unpacked.

As the northern hemisphere heads towards winter, some extra challenges are presented. Rumor, and the long patches of brown on wooley bears, say it its going to be a cold and snowy winter. The skier in me is stoked, and so long as the VAST snowmobile trails get packed and groomed, I will be able to keep riding. Chances are I will spend a lot of time on the trainer, just to get in my hours, and I may even break down and join a spin class. Thankfully, if the biking is bad, the skiing should be good, and I plan to say goodbye to the chairlift, and hello to the skin track, which is good cardio cross training. I may even have some ridiculous ideas to bring skis along an fat bike rides to access long approach terrain that would be otherwise tough to access.

TD PTSD, Hampshire 100

Back to real life. I'm sitting inside, on a rainy Friday, I'm pretty damn bored, feeling kinda fat, lazy, and lethargic. I haven't ridden my bike since Sunday, when I raced the Hampshire 100. I could come up  with a million excuses to try and justify my laziness, but I've kinda come to conclusion that maybe I've earned a bit of lazy. A few weeks ago I was thinking that all Tour Divide aches, pains, and exhaustion had worn off, but the truth is, between the tour, and going back to climbing trees for a living, I only rested for a couple of days, and then shortly after continued training for more races. I began lining up races for the rest of the season, and jumped at the Hampshire 100 first to lock in a reduced price entry.

The closer it got, the less psyched I was to be going to the race. My chain rings were destroyed from TD, and I had my race bike built single speed when I signed up, and I normally race SS, so I didn't hesitate entering SS Open. Lately, I have really been enjoying riding my squishy full suspension all mountain bike, but I knew I needed time on the race bike. It felt like a chore every time I went out to ride it, because I mentally had myself in this place where I "need to train," so I would do hill repeats, intervals, and just generally try to beat myself up. At the end of the ride I wasn't coming back thinking "yeah, this is awesome," I was thinking, "man, I'm exhausted, and just want to nap." I also made the idiotic decision to put a rigid fork back on the bike. "It'll mostly be fire roads," I thought, how wrong I was.

I hesitated as long as possible to leave on Saturday. Waking up later the normal, I made a good breakfast and went for an awesome ride on my squshy bike with my best friend, and his sweet new bike. We didn't set any speed records, but that wasn't the point of the ride. It was a blast! When I got back to the house I started packing things up to load the truck and head to NH. I got pulled over and ticketed for speeding in one of the B.S. Rt 100 speed traps where they sit at the 35mph sign, and take your speed in the 50mph zone. The fat cop was probably just mad that he was over the weight limit for most carbon race components (or just an asshole). Now angry, I continue the bumpy drive as my GPS takes me on a NH back roads tour. I finally arrive at the race venue, but I cant park where I'm supposed to camp, because the 100 mile camping is behind the race course they have set up for short course XC and cyclocross, which is currently racing. I park in 100K parking, and for some reason felt compelled to carry my camping equipment across the field to camp, rather than just setting up in the 100K camping. While registering, I'm given a map, and cues or turns, feed stations, etc. I didn't bring a GPS or cyclocomputer because I don't ride with that stuff. All I can think is "Am I responsible for navigation?!? I never got a .gpx file! I lost my computer on Fleecer Ridge, and never got another one!" I ask about navigation, and course markings and the only response I seem to get is, "It won't be bad, you'll find your way, just keep the map in case you get lost." Thankfully all of this was just wasted energy as the course was marked extremely well.

Sunday, I rode like poo. I should be used to this by now, but when they say "Line up by the banner," when racing open/pro/elite/anyclasspeopleshowuptowithintentofwinning it means that, if you want to be in the back of the pack, line up by the banner, if you want to be near the front, ignore what the race officials say, and barge another 200 feet forward. In similar fashion to SingleSpeed-A-Palooza, I pushed my way forward, until the pushing back got to strong to fight. I was still about 60 riders back, and quickly lost sight of the leaders, and mentally settled for setting pace with others around me. I was completely spun out on the flats, and waiting for climbs to start taking back positions. The fast start quickly became single track, and my rigid fork decision came to haunt my wrists and elbows quickly. Clearly laziness had overcome training in the past few weeks, as I began cramping WAY to early. It wasn't just my legs, My shoulders and back spazzed regularly. I tried to chug as much water and HEED as I could, with the frequent feed stations. The length of the race I never stopped more than 30 seconds, the longest stop being a pee break in the woods, because everywhere it was smooth enough to pee off the bike, I felt like I would be put on a sex offender list for trying to pee off a bike through a semi-residential neighborhood. I crossed the line in 9h50m30SOMEs. 6th in SingleSpeed, 18th Overall for 100 mile. I wasn't happy. Between the expensive entry, the drive, and now the speeding ticket, financially, I was really hoping to podium, to try and help reduce the cost at least a little. I don't race expecting to make money, but this was certainly the most expensive single day race events I have ever done. The worst part was after the race, I couldn't stop cramping. I hung out for about 2 hours or so, trying to relax, stretch, and replenish some electrolytes, but the 3 hour drive home was still brutal. Overall, the race was very well organized, and a great event, I just wasn't in the right place mentally to enjoy it, or the right place physically to do well.

My plan was to race every weekend until October. This race changed that plan. I'm burned out on racing. I hate the word training, I ride my bikes for fun, yet somehow, most rides have become "training." I was looking forward to racing enduro this season, but I think for now I'll stick to just riding. Making the drive each weekend is a gamble of meeting a bunch of great friends at the race, or driving, camping, and riding alone for the whole weekend. The remainder of this summer, and this fall, my goal with riding is to get it back to fun, just for fun. I want to be excited to go for my after work ride, and be stoked on my weekend riding plans again. Yes, I still have a competitive drive, and I am still extremely driven to race Cloudride 1000 in Australia in April. I have all winter to prep for that, and there will be plenty of cold, bitter days to put my roadie on a trainer and "train."

Going "pro" has been a thought in my mind for a while now. Sure, I can race "pro" at local races and finish mid pack or so. The truth of the matter is that I will never be a paid athlete. I will continue to strive to race the big boy class, and race for a few hundred bucks rather than another trophy to fill with dust, or medal to fill that desk drawer, but only when it feel like the right thing to do. Riding means too much to me to become a chore, like resort skiing has through Patrolling. I plan to spend more time with my camera and less time pounding hills. Hopefully this TD PTSD will wear off in the coming months, and I will be able to focus on regaining strength, and speed.

Post Tour Divide 2014.

The Tour Divide. I guess it really is just a silly bike race, but, for me, and I would assume for anyone else who has either completed or attempted the race or even just the route, it is so much more. If you have never ridden the Tour Divide, and you are planning on doing it, know this: your expectations are probably wrong.

If you're like me, you think you're gunna ride all day without getting out of the saddle, and it'll be awesome. You trained to put on your sunscreen while you're riding, urinate while coasting, so you don't need to stop. Your snacks are in reach from the saddle, so is your water, your navigation, and your music. You'll be on that schedule for the first few days. You will be bored and lonely, you will be exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. The hills are bigger and longer than you think they are, the washboard roads will kick your ass (literally) like its never been kicked before. There will be a point when you do not want to ride your bicycle anymore. Your butt will hurt, no, your body will hurt.  You'll think of any excuse possible to get off your bike for 30 seconds, and then another. You'll want to go to sleep and never wake up again. You'll want to go home, quit endurance cycling, because it is stupid, and it hurts. You may start to cry when it begins to rain again, or you see another climb, or the road turns back into sand. You will be completely miserable and hit rock bottom. There will come a time when you simply cannot ride your bicycle anymore.

You'll have a good night sleep (I didn't say long) in a bivy, tent, or maybe even hotel, and you will do it all over again, day after day.

I honestly did not set out on Tour Divide with the intention of winning, making the podium, or anything of the like. I did enter with a competitive drive, but mostly with myself. I wanted to finish faster than "average," and since the first time I checked how mileage would add up, I was aiming for about 18 days to finish. Upon parading out of Banff, I found myself way towards the front, which scared me, a lot. I didn't want to be "that guy" who blew up after the first half day. I knew my knees where bad, and didn't want to push too hard. As with gear recommendations, training routines, etc, I decided to ignore what was happening around me, and just stick to what worked for me, ride my own race and block out the external pressure. I dropped back a bit in the first few days, and even further when I took a down day for weather. I regrouped and came back with only the intent to finish strong, not win the race, but BEAT the TOUR DIVIDE. Finishing second did not come as a "surprise," because once I found my zone, I picked up momentum and started working my way up the leader board. My daily goal became, "Catch the next person." Eventually, I was in second, and it became, "Set the safety zone," so if anything went wrong, I could keep my position. As my fitness increased, so did my competitiveness, and I'm sure the drive to just be finished had something to do with it as well. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't extremely proud of how I finished on the leaderboard, but I didn't win. "If you're not first, you're last." Well, I am the first loser. My personal goal was always 18 days, I posted 21 publicly, for a disappointment buffer zone, and I finished within 5.5 hours of my personal goal, maybe a loss in the big books, but it was a win in mine.

I gained a pretty big following throughout the race. I would be sitting eating breakfast, and have race followers come in and inform me that they were "tracking me" and cheer me on. Northbound riders, both racing and touring were expecting to cross paths with me on certain days...I had no idea that I would see them, not to mention when, where, and what their names were. Back home, people I have never met before still come up to me, on the trails, in the bike shop, or even the gas station or grocery store, and congratulate me on my finish in the race, its a weird feeling, but kinda cool. How do these people even know me?!

So often,  the first question is "Was it fun?" or, "Would you do it again?" It was fun, but not the kind of fun where I am riding all day with a smile on my face thinking "weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!" Usually, the idea of finishing, the thought of my next meal, and anticipation of the chance to NOT ride for longer than a pee break or to dig out food, were the only things that could motivate me in the moment. I would promise myself snack at the the top of a hill, and watch mileages, and pick a number to get to before I could eat or pee again.  I can remember a hill in New Mexico where I just chanted "I get a fruit cup at the top, I get a fruit cup at the top!" for 15+ miles of climbing, and that fruit cup was a huge personal win. Most of each day was spent pushing myself as hard as I could bear, and still be able to do it again the next day. My hands were going numb, my feet had hot spots, and were incredibly painful on the descents, while walking, and while doing anything other than spinning easy. The tongues of my shoes had made gouges in my ankles, which felt fine only after the scab broke and the wound moistened each morning. Even the best saddle and shorts in the world weren't enough to combat the pain of saddle soars amplified by the combination of carrying a backpack (HUGE mistake) and endless washboard and rough roads. I still cant explain it, but for some reason, I am addicted to the push, and I find the drive to keep going, and thrive on the struggle. The harder it gets, sure, the more miserable I may feel in the moment, but I will dig even deeper, and push even harder. At this point, I do not plan on racing TD again. I plan on racing other ultras, and I would love to do more "just for fun" bike packing IF I do go back to TD, it will be in a few years. I will train longer, and harder, I will pack lighter, and I will go to the race with the intent of setting a course record. I know that sounds ambitious, but short of shooting for records, I cannot imagine subjecting myself to the same roads, places and pains, just to do it again.

Returning to normal life after the race has been tougher than I expected. Although I experienced some similar feelings after my tour across the US the year before, they were not as severe, and the physical recovery was a world easier. When I woke up in Silver City, NM the first day after I finished, it was light outside. I freaked out, jumped out of bed and started putting on my lycras, and only then did I remember, I was done, I could go back to sleep for another few hours. To the airport I went, only to be limited to fast food and uncomfortable chairs for hours on end. By the time I landed back home, my feet had swollen so that they looked more like a 4 year olds drawing of feet than actual human feet. For the next several days the swelling remained, and the only foot ware I could even get on was flip flops. I spent nearly a week staring blankly at a computer screen wondering what was so exciting about the internet. Most conversations felt like interviews, and while my mind was stuck on what I had just accomplished, I didn't feel like it was worth celebrating as so many people implied it was. The events experienced on TD are so remote that people just really don't get it. After spending so much time alone in the race, readjusting to socializing can be overwhelming.

If you're like me, during the Tour Divide, you will have the most amazing time of your life to date. You will see things very few people see, in some incredible remote areas. You will become stronger, tougher, and more self aware and secure. You will probably learn things about yourself you didn't previously know. You'll think about thinking about things, that you never thought you'd think about. You will meet new people, many of who will always feel like close friends, even if you never meet them again.  Each filling meal will taste like the best food ever created, even though it's probably just another gas-station microwave beef, bean, chili, and cheese burrito, and a Coke. You will no longer think twice about walking into any sort of establishment in dirty, smelly lycra tights. The sense of accomplishment after each climb, section, day, and ultimately completion, will be a feeling hard to surpass, and no one can take that away from you. Short of the small population of fellow tour dividers, no one will actually understand this incredible feeling. When you get home, you will start looking for the next race, the next ride. You'll forget about the pain, or at least think it was worth it, and make new plans to submit yourself to the same type of thing all over again, except this time you plan to train harder, ride faster, and longer, and spend even less time off the bike.  A silly bike race to everyone else, you will "get it," and Tour Divide will forever be more than just a silly bike race to you. There is no prize, no trophy, but there is an amazing life experience that you will never forget, and one more chapter to make your life a story worth telling.

Tour Divide. More Than A Silly Bike Race. Part V. The final days.

My apologies on taking so long to finish this.

After turning my alarm off, and sleeping later than planned, I still managed to wake up at about 4AM, pack up my tent, etc, and be moving by about 430. I was now in second, and there was no one realistically left to catch, but I didn't want to be caught either. I suppose it didn't really matter, as the pace I was riding at was pretty much the only pace I could ride at. If I intentionally dropped my pace, I would soon find myself back at my normal cruising speed, and if I tried to push harder, I would burn out and end up back at 'my' pace. Each mile I rode that morning I kept thinking "I could have ridden this last night," so I constantly tried to remind myself how terrible I was feeling, and justify why I had stopped so soon. There were some beautiful views with the early morning sun as I made my way through Canon Plaza. Not much of a town per say, but just before the descent was an amazing gorge, and the sun glistened off the pines and sandstone. Soon after, I had to go through the small locality of Vallecitos. Nothing more than a post office in a trailer, and a few homes which looked more like shacks. It was certainly a bit of culture shock.

Vallecitos was my first experience with New Mexico dogs. I had read about dog issues down south, and having been chased countless times, and even bitten a few on road rides back home, I have a fear of dogs while riding. Barking was the town sound, and the chain link and scrap wood fences 'containing' these junkyard dogs did not increase confidence. Sure enough I was soon surrounded by about 8 or so haggard looking mutts. I was now off my bike trying to keep it between myself and the dogs, but the were too many, and they started coming behind me as well. An equally haggard man came out of a nearby shack, and I felt relieved, "Maybe they are his dogs," I hoped. He was clearly high/stoned/drunk or some other sort of messed up and who-knows-what? Instead of calling the dogs off, he simply muttered, "Sorry about the dogs....man," and wandered back into his shack.  I had carried my bear spray the entire length of the race, and was feeling pretty silly about that while riding through the Basin and other desert like areas, where the only form of visible life was cattle and sage.  I was now in a sticky situation. The can of spray states "Do not use on domestic animals." This didn't bother me, as these dogs were far from domesticated. I had used HALT, a dog specific pepper spray, before, with poor results. (Imagine trying to pee on a viscous animal while being attacked on a moving bicycle.) I took the safety off the bear can, timid of similar, less-than-impressive results. Thankfully, as I made a fanning spray of the 5 or so dogs now behind me, they quickly backed off, stumbled away, and began licking their butts trying to get the taste out of their mouth. Free enough to move, I began to pedal on, and was chased by another dog and puppy, which I was able to fend off with foot to face tactics. I have never been happier to cross a cattle guard and get out of a small "town."

I had some leftovers for breakfast, but was really getting quite hungry. The map showed a restaurant in El Rito, just a few miles away, so I began imagining what wonderful breakfast I was going to order. Turns out, El Rito is also not much of a town, and the restaurant didn't open 'till 11AM and it was only 9 or so. Thankfully there was a very small convenience store, where I got a microwave burrito, some canned fruit and a few beverages. On my way into El Rito, I ended up off the road, and nearly crashed twice as the road was so sandy in sections. Just as I would pick up speed, I would crest a knoll, with seemingly bottomless sugar sand and washboard bumps. There was no way to react other than try and keep the front wheel light, and not touch the brakes. The 15 or so miles from El Rito to Abiquiu were slightly downhill and paved, a welcomed ride, although there were some headwinds which hindered progress, but nothing intolerable. A wonderful pleasant surprise after the few towns I had just come through was the Abiquiu Inn. Clearly a touristy destination, the upscale yuppies were actually a pleasant sight after the run down towns I had come through within the last 50 miles. I ordered way too much food to eat within reasonable time. I didn't want to leave. They even had fruit! I spent nearly an hour in this spoiled paradise, eating as much as I could, before I ventured back into the desert.

The remainder of the day was fairly unremarkable. I was nearly hit buy a woman in a Civic ready for the demolishion derby about 3 miles out of Abiquiu. There was a 4000+ foot climb right after my excellent 3rd breakfast, which put my back to over 10000feet, and I stayed between 9000 and 10000 for most of the remained of the day. The roads were terrible, a mix of sand and cracked slab rock, which appeared as it someone emptied a concrete truck, and walked away without doing anything else. There were brutal headwinds scattered throughout the day, which just added to the pain, and reminded me of how much I just wanted to finish this race. I just wanted to not ride for a few waking hours. The day continued in a very lonesome manner, and I was so thankful to have brought my iPod and have some music to zone out to. Just before the final descent into Cuba, I passed through a campground in the San Pedro Wilderness. I could hear families laughing, as I smelled what they were grilling, and tried not to look too closely into their camps as I passed through. The laughter and happiness really hit me hard, and I was once again reminded of how lonely I felt, and how far from home I was. Did I mention I was now ready for this to be over? The descent to Cuba was paved, and steep. I maintained about 35mph most of the way into town, making the last 5 miles fly by. Excited to find more than McDonalds, I got a decent meal in BBQ joint, and stocked up for the next day in the convenience store, while catching more than usual snied looks and remarks regarding my now quite disgusting lyrca attire.

I got an early start the next day, with a decent nights sleep. The race route leaving Cuba follows an all paved alternated all the way to grants, and another paved route about half way to Pie Town from Grants. I rode for almost two hours the next morning before I had enough natural light to turn off my bike lights. The paved roads were, again, a welcome treat, and I was making good time. The elevation plot on the maps were a bit deceptive, and seemed to show the route being much flatter than it felt. Even though we were on a paved road, this section was still fairly remote, and there wasn't much going on roadside. I did have another dog encounter, this time at speed, and my quick draw on the bear spray brought the beast to the pavement at about 25mph. The woman on the porch of the house the dog ran from did not look impressed. My adrenaline skyrocketed and I began riding faster as if I could outrun a car if she decided she didn't like what had happened to her mutt, thankfully this never happened, but the imagination does crazy things when your bored, lonely, and exhausted. When I reached Grants, I was, surprise...., very hungry. Most of the restaurants where closed. I stopped to ask a biker, like motorcycle biker, if there was any food farther east, and he said there was a Denny's. It ended up being early a mile off route, but my heart was set on Denny's once I heard the name. A few breakfasts for here, and a couple lunches to go please! With pavement I was making excellent time for the day, and I had a bit more to go. I saw a natural stone arch along the El Malpais Alternate, but otherwise that section of the ride had no other excitement.  Soon, the route way back on dirt. Loose sandy gravel, washboard side to side kinda dirt. The road to Pie Town was terrible. At one point I gave up on the road, and rode on the 4 wheeler path near the fence for a few miles. It wasn't fast, but it was smoother, firmer, and faster than the road. I was happy to see Jefe's CrossMark track on this path as well. I felt less alone in the struggle, even though we were hundreds of miles apart. I just kept thinking PIE TOWN. I had a hankering for some chocolate pudding pie, or apple, or peach, or...., or..... Upon entry into town, I found one person, taking a picture of a Restaurant. I was shattered to see it was now closed, but she was the owner! All sold out of pie, but she got me a few root beers, left over quiche, chili, and cantaloupe. Sure, a random meal, but it made my night. I ate it on the porch, before riding out of town during sunset. I was planning for another 30+ miles, but as soon as it was dark, my bike light began a strobe effect, and I couldn't see at all. I put on my camp headlamp, and rode a bit longer. The rode was lined with fence and posted signs. This continued for 10 miles or so, and eventually I found a spot where I could get far enough off the road to get my tent behind a juniper tree and be out of sight. Note to self: I really need to get the reflective tent strings off for more incognito camping abilities.

Leaving camp in the morning I smelled smoke. When I rounded a corner, the sky was filled. For a few miles the air was so thick, I could feel it in my lungs. I turned on my phone and called home to see if there were reports of local wildfires, or re-routes I hadn't heard about. Reports were clear, and after a few more miles things seemed to clear up a bit, and I never saw any active fire. I will admit, I underestimated the remoteness of the Pie Town section. Between Pie Town and rt 35 leading into Pinos Altos and Silver City, there is next-to-nothing. I really don't know how the guys with 3 liter water capacity made it through. I was carrying about 6-7 liters, and I began filling reserve bottles from fecal lined puddles in the desert. Thankfully, I came to the Beaverhead Work Center and was able to get clean water before I needed to use the extremely questionable water I began collecting just-in-case. I sound like a broken record, but my broken butt certainly remembers, the washboard was endless. I felt like I was being beaten to a pulp. After a few big climbs, the route eventually came to paved Rt 35. The race route dictated that we follow a single track alternate which followed the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) for a few miles, and then connected with Jeep trails. This section of trail was the same as every other single track section in that I would have loved to ride it, just not at that point in the day, with feet as painful as mine were. I should have taken more pictures of the CDT alt, but it was basically 12" benchcut on steep grade, with a loose gravely base, and tons of baby-heads scattered amongst. I kept myself going by promising myself the last jello-fruit cup in my pack, once I got back to the main route. Back on pavement, there was a good descent, and another small climb into Pinos Altos. It was getting dark, and I had my lights on more so I could be seen, than to see. I kept my sunglasses on simply because there were large swarms of bugs, and I didn't want them in my eyes. From Pins Altos to Silver City was mostly downhill, and now quite dark. I had to watch for deer, which seemed to be everywhere, and could cause a catastrophic collision with a bicycle. My original plan was not to stop in Silver City, and deplete myself in a Pie Town to Border push. If i had a chance of catching anyone, I would have made the push. Same thing from behind, I had built a large enough buffer zone, that I was confident no one would catch me if I stopped and slept for a few hours. The Golden Arches of McD's were the first thing I saw coming into town, and only having resorted to McD's once before during the race, I decided not to search any farther for other food. I got a hotel across the street, so I was back just a few hours later for breakfast.

Waking up....never got easier. The last day!! As I rode out of Silver City, the sky was scary. Storms on all sides of me, I got a sprinkle or two, but thankfully dodged the rest of the inclement weather. These storm clouds made for an epic sunrise to my left as I rode south on the Separ road. I was making good time that morning, undoubtedly adrenaline driven, making the push to be finished. A quick stop at the Continental Divide Store for a few more calories and to call the guy who would pick my up at the border. "Silver Stage Lines, this is Michael." The remaining 70 miles where, well, boring. 5 miles of dirt frontage road paralleled Interstate 10 east, until I hooked South and followed the paved, flat, and straight road for 65 miles to the border. I never left my saddle from the store to the border. Just 4+ hours of head down, cranking. Most of the time I had a ridiculous smile of accomplishment. Of course this cam as soon as I hit that road, thinking 65 mies was nothing. 4 hours later I was still waiting to ACTUALLY be done. From the "5 miles to US/Mexico" border sign I sprinted. I'm not sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do. I was recording video as I rolled into the US border Patrol building area, and one guard felt the need to go through my photos and hassle me about a picture with my watch and the side of a building with no identifying nature. Apparently I had stopped about 100 yards before the border, hence adding about 2 minutes to my total time...I won't cry about it. I took pictures at the border line, and got my passport stamped in Mexico, just because I could. I walked back to the US building, and was stoked to see the vending machine. I cannot remember his name, but a very friendly Border Patrolman brought me an Ice Cream. I rode a bicycle from Banff, AB to the Mexican border in 18d5h29min, finishing second in what is claimed to be the toughest, longest, mountain bike race on the planet. I won an ice cream, and it was awesome. Finishing TD was quite emotionless. I was happy, but I was alone. I had some small talk conversation with the border patrol guys until my ride was there. We stuffed my bike in the back of a Cadillac, and made the drive back to Silver City, boy, that was way quicker than on the bike.

I made it to Gila Hike and Bike in downtown Silver City, just a bit before they closed. I was happy to buy some flip-flops and a new shirt. They even let me take a rental bike across town to buy some casual shorts and underwear. After spending 18+ days on a bike seat that fits well, riding on a rental saddle was extremely painful, not to mention riding in flip-flops, for a guy who has never owned flip-flops before! I headed back to a hotel downtown, where my options where a 3 room suite with AC, bathroom, shower, and TV for $75/night or a dorm-style room, with a box fan for $60/night, I was rollin' in style, in the creaky old building with no light in the shower. I showered with the curtain open so I could see, and went out on the town, feeling super fly in baggy shorts and a T-shirt. I met some of the guys from the bike shop and had a great meal and a beer. I hadn't yet adjusted back into a social life, but it felt like a good beginning back to normal life. The next morning I woke up, and jumped out of bed and started searching for my lyrca when I saw it was light out. "I'm losing time," I thought, before I dawned on me, I'm done, it's OK to sleep past 4AM. If only I knew what the next 2 weeks of transition back to life had in store.

There it is folks. That's my story. There's more to come on returning home, recovering, re-adjusting to life, etc. I will also be writing with some generalized insight, and mid flight oversight about the race. What I thought before the race, what I was thinking during the race, and what I think now. I will also review my gear, what I used, what I loved, what I hated, things I'll keep the same, things I'll change, and maybe some rookie now veteran advice for those looking into TD. But seriously, I've been typing to long, I've got a 6" travel All Mountain bike calling my name! Braaapp.