Tour Divide. More Than a Silly Bike Race. pt II Ovando, MT to almost ID

Not "Single track" but fun riding!

Moooo

Top of Fleecer Ridge

Beautiful MT.

Elk Horn Hot Springs with Josh

What other race has ranch life delay?

Big Sky

With a new attitude, a new fire burning, and just enough rest time to allow my knees and other aches to recover a bit, I knew what I was going to have to do to get back on track for my 18ish day personal goal. I needed to hammer. Realizing early on that I needed more sleep than I thought I would, I needed to make up time during daylight hours. TD is interesting in the fact that there are no stops, stages, checkpoint, or limits in general really. Rider X may be able to pedal at a slow steady pace from Banff to Mexico without ever sleeping. Rider Y may be able to ride hard for 12-16 hours a day, stop, and sleep well, be passed and then catch and pass Rider X the next, only to be passed again while they’re sleeping the next night. In this simplified explanation I am certainly Rider Y…Ride hard, recover well, repeat.

Going into the race I thought I would be able to push through long nights and cover a lot of extra ground. Due to weight and recharging issues I decided to change up from my normal lights that I ride at home, so I had significantly less light going forward, and after riding all day and then eating dinner, I was tired. With so much less light and energy, I found my pace would drop so far it often was not worth moving. If I got 4-5 hours sleep, I could wake up and cover the same ground in half the time, and do it much safer. I was fine riding by light before sunrise, because I was rested and had that “new-day” drive.

Due to having lost time in Ovando, I knew I was going to have to put in some extra to get back on track. I couldn’t just keep pace with those around me, I had to try to keep pace with those out front and pulling away, if not try to CATCH them. My brake pads were running thin from long descents and wet weather, and not a single shop in Butte, MT had the pads I needed. Thankfully I was carrying spares, and with dryer weather ahead, I should be able to get the race out of them, and I did. On my way out of Butte, I spotted my buddy Josh on the side of the road fixing a flat. I waited up for a few minutes so we could put on some miles together. We did get separated on our way to Fleecer Ridge, which I had heard was holding some more snow, but to my surprise was dried out by the time I got there. I did has a bit of a push up the last bit to the top to save some energy, but conditions allowed for a full ride on the downhill. Fleecer Ridge is STEEP, and given the secluded nature and the fact that I was riding alone, I probably shouldn’t have ridden it, but the adrenaline of riding steep DH course-like trails on a full rigid touring rig was worth the risk. I had an absolute blast bombing down, and regrouped with a few riders below in Wise River for lunch. That evening I made the cruise to Elk Horn Hot Springs in absolutely gorgeous weather, on primarily pavement, which was actually a pleasant change of pace. Josh and I shared a room in Elk Horn Hot Springs. Unfortunately our time schedule was going to allow for lounging in the springs, but the memory foam mattresses, burgers, milkshakes, and sandwiches for the road made for an excellent choice in stopping point.

Enter washboard. Day 8 was a long one, about 190 miles. I had a bit less climbing, sunny skies, and a big smile, the perfect combo to make up some ground. In the morning I started with a FAST road descent, pretty fun cruising at 35mph before down with a small bike light!! Back to dirt roads I found myself held up by some cowboys and cowgirls moving a few hundred head of cattle down the same road I was traveling…. the only road around for miles. Although the time 30-40 time delay was annoying, I was fun to watch. I’ve grown up around farming…east coast style. To watch real ranchers work a heard was a really neat experience, and At one point I actually helped out by just following them down the road while the crew controlled the sides and front of the heard. Soon, the road was clear, and I was on my way to Lima for lunch.

The rest of the day was spent swerving all over the road like a drunken fool just trying to find a line that wouldn’t continue to make my seat pound my ass like hammer and anvil. It’s hard to explain what washboard feels like. “Its just a bunch of small bumps.” THAT DESTROY YOU. As soon as you think you begin to get to a nice cruising speed, you are shut down and shaken out of riding position, and all efficiency is gone, back to the drawing board. Many times, there is no smooth line, so you’ll spend miles on end standing while pedaling, just to be able to absorb the conditions with something other than your butt and wrists (or elbows and shoulders if you happen to drop into aeros.) Trying to stay positive I focused on the classic Montana big sky I was riding through. I was truly beautiful, and I really wanted a lawn chair, and a beer to sit and enjoy where I was, but every time I am in a lawn chair with a beer I’m thinking about riding. To finish the day off, I had some fun “1.5 track” through four wheeler/ xc ski trails to wind up at the Sawtelle Resort. Is it weird that I remember the meal I had in almost every town I stopped in? There comes a point in this race where just to get to the next place, I began imagining the menu and what I was going to order, often just hoping strongly I can get a chocolate milkshake, because what’s a ride without a milkshake recovery??? A huge grilled chicken salad and a burger later I got a good nights sleep after a long days ride.

ID & beyond, soon to follow! 

Tour Divide. More Than a Silly Bike Race. pt I

Beautiful AB, When not raining.

"Road"....right...

Josh Kato

Richmond Pass

KT Tape...keeping me going

In jail in Ovando for the night.

I don’t even know where to begin. I guess I’ll start by saying that I am writing this without reading Jefe’s blog first, so I can portray my most honest opinions of what went on without trying to somehow compromise my own reality with viewpoints of others. Perhaps, we saw things the same, perhaps totally different.

There is no other single event in my life that I could compare to Tour Divide. Neither heaven nor hell on earth, rather both, often within a few minutes of one another. I would’ve needed a constantly running video camera to capture and remember every moment, good and bad, and after a warm meal and a shower, it is quite easy to forget the struggle you have just come through. Most pictures I took were of the good times, the beautiful sights, and the smiles. The few pictures I did take to try and portray the hardship of the weather (28 degrees and snowing, 35 degrees and raining, or 103 degrees in the desert,) the conditions (miles after mile of rotten snow field, 6” washboard side to side, deep sand you struggle to stay upright in, non-the-less maintain your speed, “roads” that look more like riverbeds [or were active flowing river beds], or mud so sticky and deep Chuck Norris couldn’t roundhouse kick to dry out,) will never do justice to what is was actually like out there.

Disclaimers aside, I will try to recollect my story as closely as possible, without going into too much boring detail…..damn, I’m gunna have to make a sandwich and chocolate milk before I type anymore.

My flight was delayed about 12 hours, killing my plan to ride from Calgary to Banff as a warm up. In Chicago I met Jason, who was racing on a fixie….wow, nutty, but huge props! Not having a chance to ride up, I was a shuttle to Banff, and ended up meeting a few other riders. Banff was incredible, beautiful weather for the day and a half before the race. A small touristy town, but loaded with bikers of all kinds and most notably all the TD participants cruising around/ Interacting with so many like-minded people was an amazing experience, especially since I normally ride alone! I had been having knee issues for more than a few weeks leading up to the race, so I had decided to lighten up my training to try and recover, and is it was, I was starting the longest mountain bike race with my knees in pain and supported with KT tape. I was confident that with tape, stretching, and a few “short, easy” sub- 150 miles days to begin, that I could rehab in the first week, and come back strong in the end.

The weather, cold and raining, supported my easy-start plan quite well. Lead out of town by Crazy Larry, at 0800, June 13th,(Did I mention Grand Depart was on my 22nd birthday?) we were off into what a rookie cannot accurately imagine. Mile 0, I went to reset my cyclo-computer to 0 after the prolouge-parade ride, popped the computer off into a field of 110+ adrenaline driven riders, so now I’m off bike, walking against traffic trying to pick up a computer the size of an iPod shuffle before it, or I, get run over. Now, all hyped up, I get everything reset, and take off like I’m heading into a 25 mile sprint race. I came back through much of the pack to about 3rd or 4th, and set into a comfortable pace. Mile 11, I was already riding alone, and it was dumping snow. Could this really be setting the tone for the remaining 2730 miles? The weather began to clear slightly, and I spent much of my day alone until our first re-supply in Bolten (Bolton?) where I met Josh Kato, a rider who I ended up spending a lot of time with early in the race, and someone who I hope I may be able to continue to adventure with in the future, maybe at touring pace (Think 70-100 miles a day, beers, hot tubs, and single track fun ride days!!) Rolling into Sparwood the first night I was cold, wet, and generally drained. I couldn’t imagine having any desire to push beyond in that weather only to sleep for a few hours and wake up colder, and wetter. I could hammer all day, but recovery was very important for me to be able to repeat the next day. The following few days were more or less the same. Whitefish Divide was the first snowy pass I heard warning of. Aside from a few trees and a bit of glacial-like snow Whitefish Divide wasn’t too bad. I had quickly discovered that my rookie over-preparedness and the idea of kids snowshoes were not going to work. Red Meadow Pass had yet more snow, but for a longer section, and harder to walk through, and really took it out of me. I was still carrying the snow shoes so I could mail them home.

Day four I came up to Richmond Pass, and unsuspectingly (rookie move) found more snow…much more, on a steep slope, with trees to cross, and a split path. I took the high road, which ended up being the wrong one, and didn’t catch my mistake until I was about 250 vF about the real trail. I continued to now post-hole my way back to the trail, falling into tree wells, miles and miles into the deep Montana Wilderness (Grizzly country), alone, down a virtual cliff. Keep in mind I have a 50lb bicycle and silly plastic shoes with neoprene covers and wool socks to stay “warm.” While your moving and in the snow, it’s not so much the issue, but after to spending 2 hours in this frozen hell, you find yourself atop a 3000’ rainy steep descent. Ever heard of wet bulb temperature…yeah…wet everything. You try to decide if it is worth it to coast/pedal down fast, freeze and get it over with, or go slow, freeze slightly less and bear the pain that much longer. As I was layering up for the descent, Dave caught up with me and mentioned Seely Lake for a real warm meal. My plan was to keep pushing that night to get to Ovando (about 30 ish miles farther,) but a warm meal sounded like a terrific idea. Eating ribs felt great, and with a hotel across the street I caved in and never made the push to Ovando that night. I was able to send home about 8 pounds of unnecessary equipment though! Positive company, good vibes, good food and laughter got me excited to go again.

Laughing at what we had just come through Dave jokes, “We’re in the middle of grizzly country, up to our knees in snow with a bloody whistle and a jam sandwich.”

I couldn’t think of a better description.

The first 3 days went well, day 4 was a bit of a let down, and day 5 came to be a giant turning point in the race. In the morning I felt good, and headed out early toward Ovando in hopes to make up some lost time from the day before, only to discover it would be my biggest loss of the whole trip. It was about 35 degrees and a driving rain. I was wringing water out of my gloves without taking them off. I could not feel my feet, nothing I was wearing was dry. I was now riding a single speed. No, the bike worked fine, but I couldn’t shift because my hands were too cold. The road was deep, regraded mud. I had never felt more beaten down in my life. Arriving to Ovando, I was excited for a warm meal, but I couldn’t work the latch on the door to the Café because my hands were too cold. It was reported it was actively snowing on the pass into Lincoln (Huckleberry Pass.) I had nothing dry, and finally started feeling human again after a ton of coffee and 3 breakfasts. More cold riders rolled in, some more positive than others. Personally my mind was made, I was staying. I counted the day as a loss at <30 miles. To this day I’m not sure how I feel about that decision. Certain other riders said things that pissed me off, but I had to make my own decisions. I knew I could finish the race, and if Huckleberry was as snowy as rumored, I may have scratched from the race completely with the mental state I was in. It was an all time low. I spent the day with a like minded rider, and by the end, I had a positive spin, and I was feeling recharged, refueled, happy to be on my bike, and just pissed off enough to want to kick some ass in the race. I left Ovando at 330 AM feeling great, and charging hard. An awesome breakfast in Lincoln kept me rolling, and I had a good day with big climbing day to Basin with a total of about 140 miles and just under 14000 vF of climbing. I had caught several riders who pushed beyond Ovando when I stayed, which gave me the feeling there was still hope to place well. Descents like the first out of Helena had me feeling like I was actually mountain biking and not simply surviving in motion. My drive was back, my enthusiasm had returned, a high you can only feel after recovering from an all time low.

To be continued….

Why the Divide?

"What's next?" A simple question we have all asked ourselves countless times. I suppose it is an open enough question not to be considered a waste on daily tasks and lives. On a larger scale, it is a deep question regarding the direction in which we intend to direct our lives. Personally, I either havent figured out the "next" in terms of my ultimate life direction, or I am just too nearsighted to look beyond the next year or so. That being said, once I set my mind in a direction, I am dedicated and cannot focus on much other completing a chosen task.

As I gazed out at the Pacific Ocean on the rocky, seaweedy beach of Cape Alava, Washington, after hiking a few miles through the rainforest, and biking more than just a few miles from the Atlantic Ocean over 45 days, I asked myself that very same question, 'Whats next?' How could I top the feeling of accomplishment of riding solo, unguided and unsupported across the country? I don't need to top the feeling, but I would like to be able to match it, and to do that, my adventures now need to operate on a higher level.  Although it had been a trip I had always thought might be awesome, Tour Divide had seemed out of reach, prior to my trip across the country. After my first big tour, the unrealistic seemed more realistic, so I have chosen to race Tour Divide as my next goal.

By the time I am getting around to writing this, I have had my sights set on this goal for several months. My theory on training had to change a bit for this ride. While I consider myself an avid bicyclist and racer, I have always made sure to keep the focus on fun, and prior to Tour Divide, I tried to avoid the word "training." I don't train for local races, or fun rides, I just ride. Riding my bike is about having fun. 'Training' is an extremely useful term in that it sounds important and therefore is a good, socially accepted excuse for spending countless hours in the woods, on my bike. Winter '13-14 may have started out with lacking snow depths, but right from the beginning cold temps set in.  Last fall I decided to get myself a fat bike, his name is Url, and we spend a lot of time together in the bitter weather this past winter. While I rarely regret the decision to go ride, I must say that much below 20 deg F, it is damn cold on a bike, and hard to find motivation to go ride. This is where Tour Divide transformed riding into training. I have spent many hours in the harsh Vermont winter temps fending off frostbite to log some winter training miles. When I just couldn't bare the cold, and still needed to keep my legs spinning, I would chock up my roadie in the trainer and do intervals to commercial breaks while watching crappy cable TV.

It pretty easy to say that a professional athlete has a dreamlike job, and a piece of cake lifestyle. I used to think this. I wouldn't knock it, given the chance,  but to perform on that level, in any sport, the training hours required are beyond those of a full time job. Trying to balance a physically demanding full time job, attempting to keep some kind of social life, and train to be competitive for professional level ultra-endurance riding, doesn't leave much time lying around. I have made it a point, especially in the last few weeks to get at least one 5+ hour ride in a week. All the 1-3 hour rides I've been entertaining myself with all winter have definitely helped, but there is simple no replacement for long rides, with 8-10 hours in saddle. I hope that warmer weather will get me re-motivated in that direction. I plan to be in the saddle for 12-14+ hours daily along Tour Divide, with a personal goal of 18 days, hopefully no more than 22, weather pending.