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.

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….

Getting Close...rewrite.

Before I start...well, I did start. I wrote this post already. I spent 2 hours writing the most awesome spring catch-up and pre Tour Divide blog post that I could imagine, and somehow between user error and internet connection issues, it is not lost somewhere in cyberspace...just not on my blog. OK, enough bitching, round two is never the same as first draft, but I'll try.

Living in Vermont has been awesome for training for Tour Divide. I can get on my bike, right out my back door, ride a short trail through the woods, and connect to endless dirt roads, snowmobile trails, logging roads, hiking trails, and singletrack, with minimal pavement and traffic. Throughout the past winter the VAST trails made for incredible safe winter riding options (aside from the occasional gun-toting-lead-for-brains, who clearly doesn't support winter training.) As the snow melted out I was able to add Killington and Pico back onto the repertoire as steep, long climbs with a good variety of terrain to ride.

Chasing race series' and point has never really been my thing, so not racing much is nothing new, but I did hope to race a bit more this spring. Trying to rack up high mileage, it hasn't seemed worth it to drive several hours to pay to race for just 20-30 miles. That said, I have made the trip to a few events this year. Returning to the slightly overrated yet still fun SingleSpeed-A-Palooza in Montgomery, NY, I did not do as well as I was hoping (19/110? in Pro/Open.) I'll use the excuses of a poor start position and light gearing choice, but the reality is that I haven't been focusing on hammering for less that 2 hours, I've been focused on riding at a quick yet sustainable pace for 6+ hours. I also made it to Hike-A-Bike at Lippman Park in Wawarsing, NY. HAB is hyped as a technical 20+ mile race, with mandatory hike/jump/run features strung along the course, similar to cyclocross features. What began as an uber laid-back race atmosphere proved to be simply disorganized. The race had a 8 and 20+ mile courses with shared start and finishes, and apparently not enough to differentiate who was racing what course, as nobody seemed to be scored in the right class. Awards did not make any mention of what race, or what place they were for. Details aside, the race went well. With a le-mans (running) start, I was first to my bike, first into the woods, and never saw anyone for the rest of the race, often forgetting to ride at race pace. 

I've continued to struggle getting the real high mileage I'd like to be getting in, but with working full time, planning, packing, and general life needs (cooking, food shopping, etc) I've been managing to get about 150-200 miles a week in on primarily off road terrain. I've been logging some super big climbs and weekend ride in about every other weekend. My legs are feeling strong, my bike is feeling dialed, and my shred factor is peaking. Just 3 weeks out from race depart, and even less until my flight, if I'm not ready now, I never will be. At this point it's not a matter of making big changes, just dialing in a few last minute details. I am feeling confident for departure, with navigation being my biggest concern. I am hoping my triple redundant system of GPS with pre-loaded .gpx files, official ACA (Adventure Cycling Association adventurecycling.org) maps, and cyclo computer and custom cues, will keep me on route. With any luck the deep snowpack will dissipate up north, the hail and thunder storms will calm down central, and the wildfires will burn out in the south. Hopefully these last minute route update emails dont keep coming in.

Throughout the long road of planning, I have had a lot of amazing help.

I never would have been able to afford the awesome bike I'll be riding without the help of Jason Hayden from Killington Resort. Dale Plant at Kona was also a great help.
killington.com
konaworld.com

It is easy to obsess about which tires you'll run use, or which color bar tape you want. After 6 hours in the saddle you probably wont care much about those things, but your bike shorts will be a big part of your thought process, especially if they aren't the right ones. Only bring one pair of riding shorts for 3 weeks and 3000 miles, I couldn't be happier to be wearing Verge Primo Bibs. I'll be able to think less about my ass and more about pedaling. Thanks for the kit, my official sponsor Verge Sport. Thanks to Phil Fragale, for connecting me with Verge and being my go-to guy for staying looking and feeling good.
vergesport.com
v-gear.com

I'll be rocking some uber-comfy merino wool socks from Swiftwick, thanks to Eddie Rosenberg.
swiftwick.com

Since I began taking racing seriously Steve and Sam from Revolution Bicycles in Saugerties, NY have helped me out with riding endeavours near and far.
revolutionbicycles.webs.com

Just opening up this spring, JT Look from Rutland City Bikes has been a huge help in pulling together some last minute bike needs. JT brought Rutland what it has needed for a long time, a quailty bike shop with a big smile and rider-run attitude.
rutlandcitybikes.com

I may only be 21, but my body takes a beating. Mike Finnegan, a long time sled dog, and Physical Therapist at Slate Valley PT has been extremely helpful in keeping me moving over the past few years and during TD prep. Thanks Mike!
slatevalleypt.com

As always, my amazing parents have been incredibly supportive and helpful. I love you guys!

Last and far from least, the entire Thompson family. My friendship with Chris began through patrolling. In August I began working for Chris and his company Ace Arborist. It has been hands down the best job I've ever had. My best friend is my boss, and not only does he give me the flexibility to take the time for TD, but he encourages it. November 19th, 2013, the scariest day of my life, probably changed our friendship forever. A work related incident put Chris in the hospital for several weeks to follow. Chris always told me he was invincible, and now I believe it. Making an incredible recovery, skiing just two months later and returning to tree work just a few months after, Chris is living proof that mental will power and physical strength combine can overcome just about anything.  Whenever I start bitching about anything, he is the only person that will tell me what I actually need to here "SUCK IT UP AND GO RIDE."

While I knew his wife and kids before, I didn't know them that well. I got to know Kelly and the rest of the family through interaction in the ICU at Dartmouth. Spending a lot of time with their three amazing children changed my life and perhaps helped mature my ultimate life plans. At least a few times a week Kelly gives me awesome, healthy, warm meals.

Chris, I look forward to future skiing and mountaineering adventures together, and Kelly, it's not that he doesn't care, he just forgot to tell you, I'll try to keep you in the loop on where we are going....don't call the rangers! Thank you all for your support and friendship, it means more than I can express in words.  

It's not really simple, but it's simple, really.

Before leaving on a trip, or beginning an adventure, the most frequent question I get is, "What are you doing to get ready?"

Last year before departing on my cross country trip, I wanted to know what I was going to be doing, where I was going to be, camp, and eat, each and every day. It took all of about 6 hours of riding west to discover that my "plan" was going to need more work. Eventually I realized that all the planning in the world could not possible account for every random situation one will come across on the move. After a few weeks I came to the realization that general preparedness and adaptability was tenfold more important than a solid "plan."

Moving forward to Tour Divide, I have kept this in mind. Being I am racing, not touring, it does change some things in the overall "plan" of the trip. I will be carrying only the bare minimum supplies to survive in the various and potentially horrific conditions I may encounter, and I will be pushing myself harder, farther, and longer each day than I was during my tour. I wont be going "home" after each ride, at best I'll be in a hotel for a few hours, and back on the trail to repeat the next day. As much as I would love to each the idealistic ultra pure and natural diet of a champion, I honestly don't think it is fair to trick my body into being used to a diet that will be unsustainable while living on the move. This doesn't mean I am drinking Coke by the liter and replacing meals with Skittles, but I do try to mimic what will be available during the race.

As far as physical conditioning, I am probably still behind where I should be. I've been riding about 150 miles a week during the last few weeks of spring meltdown. I have been using these conditions to try and prepare for what I will encounter on route, and not simply turning around when the snow is too deep to ride through, or the mud is axle deep. Get off an push, suck it up. By putting myself into ridiculous situations on a regular basis, I hope to be better prepared for what I will come to encounter in the future. Mental preparedness in stressful situations may prove to be life saving.

I am going into Tour Divide 2014 as a rookie divide racer, with minimal back country bike packing experience. I have poured over blogs, gear lists, read pages upon pages of forum posts, and researched to the point where I am no longer worried about what I am getting into. Perhaps my internet inspired confidence sounds immature. I never said I think it is going to be easy. I just said I feel I am ready to face whatever is thrown my way. Bring on the struggle!