Wednesday, July 24, 2013

2013 Tour Divide race report: Wyoming

     Wyoming is big. I could stop there and that would sum up the foundation of riding in that state, but then, I wouldn't be able to tell of its incredible geographic diversity.  A Divide racer's first experience with Wyoming is a rather majestic brushing with the Tetons, and I surely wish I would have had the eyes for the scenery during my passing.  As my luck would have it, my saddle sores, achilles tendonitis and knee pain came together in such a savage way that I literally rode through one of the most spectacular sections of the course with my head down, crying my eyes out due to the pain and absolutely sure I was on the brink of failure. As I rode past beautiful Teton vistas, all I could see were my dreams and goals of the past year beginning to fall away from me. The pain I was experiencing was the most severe of my entire life, and I was starting to play out the scenario of quitting. I was heartbroken, and all I could do was weep. Then, I thought of all the people supporting me emotionally during this race: all of my family and friends and my beautiful wife, who had sacrificed so much to help me get to that point. The thought of letting all of those people down became even more unbearable than my pain. The truth is, the Tour Divide had become so important to me that it was worth the risk of permanent bodily injury. Period. End of story. No more crying. No more self pity. It was time to swallow hard and suffer through it, and suffer I did, until I reached a nice motel and restaurant near the base of Union Pass. I decided to call it a day after only 130 miles of riding to try to put my failing body back together. After a bowl of elk stew, a nice round of stretching, a soak in an ice filled bath tub and six hours of sleep, I was raring to go and felt like a new man!
      The Great Divide Basin is one seriously intense place, and I knew that heading into it. The Basin crossing basically entails a long stretch of barren, dry desert, devoid of any water or services between the towns of Atlantic City and Rawlins, which roughly equals about 140 miles. I started my basin assault from a teepee that is located in front of the town bar. Unfortunately, for the teepee's inhabitants that night, which included Markley Anderson, Cjell Money, and me, the bar let out after a loud and debaucherous juke box festival. As it turned out, they forgot to shut off the juke box, so it played random classic country songs all night long! The "crossing" was long and hard. The road was severely washboarded and the wind was absolutely relentless! A fun fact of the Basin is that we had to carry all of our water for the entire trip to Rawlins, which meant I had to make four liters last nearly fourteen hours! Needless to say, I was pretty wrecked by the time Markley and I reached Rawlins, but we were soon revived by massive meals and milkshakes at Penny's Diner.
     The road out of Rawlins is no joke. It starts with casual rollers on a paved road that soon turns to a dirt road so packed down, it's hard to tell it apart from its paved cousin. Soon, however, a climb appears and then a series of rollers that are incredibly steep, which, in my case, pointed me directly into a brutal head wind. There is not much to look at in this part of Wyoming, just endless rollers covered in scrub, but there is a glimpse of hope in the form of distant mountains that hint at the Colorado state line, and the leaving behind of Wyoming, a state that is responsible for a huge percentage of the Tour Divide's attrition rate.
     Wyoming was a diverse state comprised of soaring mountains and windy, burning plains. The people I met were wonderful and the hospitality I experienced was humbling. I was truly touched by the natural beauty, the broad expanses and, of course, the kindness of its inhabitants.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

2013 Tour Divide race report: Idaho

     Idaho represents a relatively small part of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, but what it lacks in distance, it certainly makes up for in brutality! Unfortunately for Idaho, the primary memory I have is  30 miles of rail trail.  When a racer looks at a map of Idaho, the rail trail looks pretty inviting due to the flat profile and multi-use concept. In reality, the rail trail is more like a 30 mile swath of kitty litter moguls that certainly leads straight into the bowels of hell. I had no idea heading into this section that I would face some of my most desperate moments of the entire race. The severity of my saddle sores was becoming evident, but the washboarded texture of the rail trail not only hammered home this reality, it worsened it to a point that would nearly remove me from the race the very next day. There were many moments on the infamous rail trail that I truly believed I would never escape, and at least one emotional break down shared with a fellow racer, Brian Pal, that included full on tears. I did in fact escape its devilish clutches, but in no way un-scathed.
     The best part of southern Montana, leading into Idaho, was that I was finally getting out of grizzly country, or so I mistakenly thought. In Lima, Montana, I handed my bear spray over to a gas station clerk, who was willing to give it to a northbound racer heading into grizzly country, as I no longer needed it. Now, I was bedding down in Idaho for a night's sleep, realizing that I was right on the edge of Yellowstone National Park, and heading right into the west Yellowstone corridor the following day, on my way to Wyoming. Now, I don't know much (apparently), but I do know that area is grizzly central and would be a good place for bear spray. As luck would have it, Brian Pal and I ran into our first grizzly the following morning and I continued to hear it follow us through the woods during our long climb towards Flagg Ranch.  I guess we smelled just a bit too bad to be considered food, even by grizzly standards.
     After a long ride through some wild country in West Yellowstone, the road begins to become more civilized and then becomes pavement. The pavement runs into Flagg Ranch Resort, which is a gateway to Yellowstone Park, but more importantly to a Divide racer, it is a lodge with a bustling restaurant. I was feeling like I was on my last legs due to the extreme pain from my saddle sores and also just pure exhaustion, and the restaurant proved to be a life saver. Let's just say that waffles never tasted so good!
Although technically, Flagg Ranch is in Wyoming, I am including it in my Idaho experience because the transition between states can sometimes be seamless during the race, and this was one of those times.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

2013 Tour Divide race report: Montana

     The United States/ Canada border crossing in Roosville, Montana is a small, un-exciting spectacle much like its Antelope Wells counterpart, as I would later learn. While un-exciting could be a word used to describe its physical impression, emotionally it was quite exciting, especially after battling the wild Flathead Valley!
     The prospect of riding across an entire state seemed quite daunting, and Montana wasn't exactly the smallest state around, so I knew I was in for a challenge! The start of this crossing was easy and un-intimidating due to the paved road I was on, and the relatively populated and civilized nature of this part of Montana. As the ride progressed, so did my realization that this was not going to be an easy undertaking.
    The beginning of the climb up Flathead Pass is quite lovely. It meanders up a small, paved road past idyllic campgrounds and small homesteads. As the climb progresses, the road turns to dirt and the scenery becomes more wild. This wild scenery would take hold of the ride from that point and not relinquish control until after a middle of the night crossing of grizzly and snow-ridden Red Meadow Pass and an arrival in the town of Whitefish the following dawn. In retrospect, I should have stopped right then for a short slumber, but my sleep deprived mind thought otherwise, and I proceeded to push on for what would became a huge ride comprised of 5 passes, roughly 230 miles and 35 hours of solid riding. As it turned out, this was a tactical mistake that essentially found me riding at my slowest pace to Holland Lake, where I collapsed in the campground for some much needed sleep before my assault of Richmond Peak began the following day.
     The climb up Richmond Peak was where I met my two riding companions that would, as it turned out, complete the rest of the journey with me. Their names were Saddle Sores and Achilles Tendonitis. This relationship started out in a very subtle way, but soon grew to an intense and dominating relationship in which, quite frankly, I felt victimized and abused. Needless to say, this development was  concerning and would prove to be the source of the most intense pain that I have lived through to date. Luckily, soon after the discovery of said ailments, I found myself in the wonderful town of Ovando, sitting in the Stray Bullet cafe, basking in the hospitality of the town's blue-dot followers (blue-dots demystified here: trackleaders). While dining in Ovando, I met Forest Baker and Brian Pal, who would later be temporary riding partners of mine and both go on to also finish in the top ten.
     Mostly, the rest of Montana that followed was a bit of a blur due to my increasing exhaustion. As I sit here trying to recount my experiences to create a good story, all I can summon are bits and pieces connected by long stretches of forested service roads. Those bits and pieces would include such memories as my 4 hour motel room rental in Helena due to exhaustion, an incredible bike service experience at The Outdoorsman in Butte (Levi Leipheimer's brother's shop) where I met the famed racer's family, an incredible breakfast and shower at the Tour Divide-friendly Montana High Country Lodge in Polaris, lightning, hail, rain and bike-stopping mud between Polaris and Lima, and, last but not least, mile upon mile of brutal headwinds.
     My experience riding across Montana was trying, but incredibly rewarding. I was deeply moved and motivated by the many local supporters of the Tour Divide, and with the incredible hospitality and kindness of almost everyone I met. Without the kindness and support shown to us during those early days of the race, I am sure the attrition rate would be even higher than it was!

Friday, July 12, 2013

2013 Tour Divide race report: Canada

     There is nothing like waking up in the forest while camping. The cool air, the songs of the birds, the filtered sunlight on your face... Oh shit! There shouldn't be filtered sunlight on my face, it's supposed to be 5 am!
      In my typical fashion, I had overslept and had less than an hour to get up, pack my sleeping gear, adorn myself in cycling kit, locate and devour something for breakfast, and get to the start of this crazy race. Good thing it is only a 2,800 mile venue and not something more important that would require some proper preparation before the start. Half an hour later I found myself riding down Banff Avenue towards the start of the Spray Trail, the start of the Tour Divide, amidst a procession of Divide racers on modified mountain bikes, laden with gear, faces shaped with apprehension, and maybe just a touch of fear. The actual start of the race was about what I expected. There, of course, was a bit of ego puff up between cyclists, but mostly, it was a sober event that saw roughly 140 starters standing in a dirt parking lot, waiting to start a journey that surely would be filled with pain and turmoil, and possibly some enjoyment as well. The start time came, "Go!" was cried out, and a confusing jumble of cyclists began to jockey for position along the first few easy miles of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. Those first few miles seemed the loneliest to me, surrounded by people, but truly separated and isolated by the self supported nature of the race. As the miles ticked by, a groove was found and the same faces seemed to come and go as riders matched paces. I seemed to match pace quite evenly with a racer from Virginia, Markley Andersen. We had no idea at that time, but we would ride through many days together, accomplishing some rather herculean tasks along the way! Soon, after riding through diverse natural landscapes, the town of Elkford appeared and a stop at the gas station mini-mart was in order. Markley and I attacked the shelves, filling our bags and bodies with the shocking cuisine of a gas station venue. The riding from Elkford to Sparwood was relatively easy, albeit wet and a bit windy. It was quite nice to have a riding partner for the moment, as it certainly lightened the mood a bit to have someone to talk with.
     The town of Sparwood seemed, upon first glimpse a rather unimportant town, but as it turned out, it was quite important by Tour Divide standards. Stop here, as many want to and will, and you will probably find yourself out of contention for a top ten standing. Push on into the uncomfortable reaches of the Flathead Valley, perhaps beyond the desolate intersection at Corbin,  and you very well may find yourself a front runner in the race. The latter was what I chose, but not without a very close call with opting for the safety and security of a Sparwood motel. Luckily for me, Markley had a way with words of encouragement to proceed and caution of what a Sparwood stop would entail for me.
      The push into the Flathead was dark, wet, and well outside my comfort zone. After all, the Flathead Valley is home to quite a concentration of one of North Americas largest predators, the brown bear, a.k.a the grizzly bear! Just check out this map of grizzly concentration along the Divide route: Griz map Yep, the Flathead concentration is listed as "very high", which, by the the way, I didn't need a map to point out. If the raw, wild terrain didn't hint to it's inhabitants, the numerous sets of tracks and piles of bear shit certainly did. As it turns out, the ride was very uncomfortable, not only because of the grizzly element, but also because of the rain and what it did to the road conditions. Two hundred miles of riding that concludes with mud and roads that become rivers is true to Tour Divide fashion, and I would say we got an authentic experience. As we pushed on, our drive trains screamed, refusing to stay in gear, and our feet grew increasingly numb with every stream crossing. Our arrival at Butt's cabin in the wee hours of the morning was quite a moment of relief. Getting a warm foam-covered cot inside was a moment of ecstasy!
     Waking after four hours of sleep, following a 200 mile day of riding, and facing an even longer day that would start with a mountain pass, was a daunting task, but I managed to rally and get out of my sleeping bag. Peering out at my filthy, mud-encrusted bike was a stark reminder of the reality I was now living. I had no idea exactly what my race position was, but I knew it had to be pretty good, so I felt a certain urgency to get up and get on the move. Markley, was feeling the same pressure, so we packed quickly and got on the trail. The ride from the cabin to the U.S./ Canada border at Roosville was uneventful, much to my relief!

Thursday, July 11, 2013

2013 Tour Divide Race Report: A journey to the start

     Well, it's been over a week since I finished up the Tour Divide and I have re-gained enough feeling in my hands to do some single finger typing, which means it's story time! I am going to do my best to translate the intense physical pain and emotions of Divide racing to text......we will see how well I do with this task. Bear with me and hold on tight.
   
     Any good Divide story has to begin with the first major accomplishment, which is making it to the start line! Let me just say that this is no small task. To succeed at this goal, one must have an incredibly supportive family and, of course, a job that either allows a month off from worldly duties or is gracious enough to fire said racer days before departure. In my case, supportive employers would be my lot, but not so for other racers that I would come to know during this ordeal. As for a supportive family, I am the luckiest man in the world! My wife and live in sister-in-law not only let me go for a month to race, they listened to me incessantly speak of the Divide for over a year, and of course, they warmly welcomed my fully loaded mountain bike to reside in the living room during that time. Then, of course, there is the logistical nightmare of physically getting oneself to the seemingly mythical start line in the fairytale land of Banff. Well, let's just say there are as many ways to arrive at the start as there are racers, but my chosen experience was a one-way rental car, piloted by none other than myself, accompanied by my highly supportive father and navigated through some rather beautiful country along the way. The story within the story: the one way rental car rate from San Francisco to Banff was $130!

     To say Banff is a beautiful and majestic place would be a gross understatement. For someone who is terrified of natural predators, and who is using the Tour Divide as a fiery furnace to burn out that fear (someone such as myself), a better description of Banff might be one of foreboding opaque rivers bordered by jagged mountains and dense forest filled with all manners of predatorial beast. Needless to say, as I sat in Banff awaiting my start, my nerves seemed to string tighter and tighter with every passing minute. Luckily, I had my father and my dearest friend to help keep my demons at bay. While in Banff, a ride was going to be necessary to keep the cycling system from shutting down and that ride was going to be a solo exploration of the first seven miles of the Spray trail. Not only was this ride my first in Canada, it was my first in grizzly country, and that had me a bit on edge. Starting my ride in downtown Banff was only threatening from a  traffic standpoint, as it is a hub for Rocky Mountain tourism. I soon found myself at the start of the Spray trail, which had a very real air of intensity to it, not due to predators, but to the realization that this defined threshold was the very place my 2,800 mile odyssey full of the unknown would start in only a matter of two days. The ride that followed was beautiful. It rolled through majestic terrain, following a true mountain river. It put me past huge bull elk and it calmed me down. It calmed me down a lot. I suddenly realized that although I was afraid, I could overcome my fear and function as a cyclist. I knew that it would get easier to conquer that fear along the way, I just had no idea how many opportunities I was about to get to practice that laying down of fear.

    The night before the start of the Tour Divide seems a bit hazy in my recollection. I sat quietly and introspectively around a campfire at the Tunnel Mountain campground, relishing in the company of my dearest friend, whose sole purpose at that moment was to prepare me, a warrior, for the epic battle that was about to ensue. I don't think either one of us knew just how important that preparation was to the completion of the upcoming task, but we were fully aware that I was about to embark upon a journey of epic proportions both physically and spiritually. I found myself contemplating the long journey to arrive at this very terminus, remembering when the dream took root and all that followed from that moment: the fears confronted, the countless hours of long, dark and lonely training rides, the ridicule from the naysayers, and all manners of financial sacrifice that surely comes to all that follow the path of a Divide racer. The time had come. No more training, no more doubting, no more waiting. Just a deep breath, a night of sleep and an 8 am start the following day.