Voices

In honor of the 2013 CTR beginning this week, I decided to finally post my story from last year's race...

Voices

Endless legs, relax your shoulders, pedal circles, EAT, momentum, read the trail.

For me, the 2012 CTR was about voices. The advice of five years of riding in the Gunnison Valley rolling around in my head. Mike's voice telling me to relax my shoulders, Garrett's voice telling me to read the trail, Bryan's voice reminding me to use momentum, to pick the best line. Tim's voice encouraging me through countless workouts. Jarral's voice telling me not to carry too much. Dan's voice encouraging me to have endless legs, Eszter's voice telling me to EAT.

What a different experience than 2011 when a sour stomach and an inability to fuel myself forced me out in Silverton, 6 days in, 8lbs lighter, and unable to continue. This year I had FUN! I rode my bike!

Day 1- Leading the CTR.

Julie drove me to Waterton Canyon for the 6am start. I got packed and listened to the pre-race talk by Stefan. “Alright, you can go whenever you want” he ended. Others must have been waiting for a countdown or a shotgun blast, regardless, they didn't seem to interpret it as “GO”. And so I lead out the race. For approximately 30 seconds I led the CTR ;). Before I knew it we were descending to the S. Platte. I did a bit of leap frogging through the Hayman burn, where I was passed definitively by the eventual women's winner, Cat Morrison. She put the hammer down and made up for her delayed start. I watched her green compression socks disappear and was shocked to find myself leaving the burn. Not near as hot or long as I remembered.

After a brief stop at the Bailey gas station I was off into the rain. It was hot enough that I decided not to put on rain gear. Hail eventually forced me into a jacket and under a tree. I was not excited to be on 285 in this storm, but it lifted just as I reached the pavement. Hwy 285 is sketchy. Trucks, Winnebagos, tourists. Forget my mother's fears; beasts, cliffs and dehydration. This is what I fear; highways, and lightning.

I was approaching Georgia Pass and there were still clouds aloft, looking menacing. I hate this. I do not want to stop, but I also don't want to get hit by lightning. The decision must be made. I try to figure out which way the storm is going, and try to calculate how fast and how quickly my tired legs are willing to outrun the storm. Clouds seem to be heading south as I head west, so I go for it. I sneak over the pass, literally running scared, going faster than I think I can. I make it down to tree line and throw on my rain gear with only moments to spare. I descend a muddy trail and pass the camfires along Tiger road with just a touch of jealously. The climb up Gold Hill sees me taking off my rain gear and turning on my lights. I climb in the dark and around 11pm bivy on the side of the trail. Just shy of highway 9 with 97 miles on the day.

A hasty bivy site is not rewarded. Every passing headlight rouses me enough to mumble a greeting to passing riders. Between the lights of God and the lights of man I sleep very poorly. As I drift in and out of sleep, I hope that others are making good decisions going over Ten Mile in these storms.

Day 2- A bed and a shower.

I'm up and out at dawn. I begin passing bivy after bivy. Looks like everyone who passed me in the dark has slept in. I chat with another “BS” for a while, amused that we have the same initials and are in the same place in the race. Laughing at what the “spot-stalkers” must think.

The pitch up the Ten Mile range increases, but the trail is going faster than I remember from last year. Maybe there is something to eating, and not puking, that makes riding bikes easier. I make it my goal not to be passed crossing the range. Three guys keep me from achieving that goal, but it did keep me motivated on the climb.

The descent to Copper Mtn. is fun! I skip the gas station and head straight for the resort where I order a burger, stock up on the snacks I need to get to Leadville, and call my Dad to wish him a happy birthday. I eat so much I'm not sure I'll be able to ride again. The section to Kokomo pass is outstanding. Breathtaking views, wildflowers, active creeks. Les Handy passed me, and I couldn't follow. I tried to rest at the top of the pass but was accosted by a hungry marmot. He was not afraid of me or the rocks I threw at him and so I carried on.

The traverse to Searle seemed long and I could tell the day's climbing had taken its toll. But again the descent was fun! I filtered water at Cataract Falls, rode past the 10^th Mtn. bunkers and into a thinned out shell of a forest. I hit the road to Leadville around dusk and raced a storm into town. It won, and by the time I made it to the hostel I was wet and tired, but extremely happy at the prospect of a bed and a shower. I was surprised to find a whole crew of guys training for the Leadville 100 inhabiting the hostel rather than the CTR racers I expected. They were super helpful at getting me settled. A quick phone check-in alerted me to the fact that my SPOT tracker was sending a distress signal and apparently doing strange things on the Trackleaders board. Warmed by the hostel shower I collapsed into a bed in the very pink girls dormitory room.

Day 3- A rabbit.

I was up and on the road out of Leadville at 5am. I missed the turn from the road detour back onto the Colorado Trail. I figured it out pretty quickly, and probably only lost about 20 minutes. I didn't miss the trail on the way back as another racer was getting situated for the singletrack.

“Well, I'll see you in BV!”, he good-naturedly commented as he left.

I spent the rest of the morning showing him that this girl could keep up! :) It was good to have a rabbit. This same thinking backfired on the final descent before the road into BV. I passed another racer at the top of the last climb, and tried to maintain my lead on the descent. While on my brakes going into a swithcback I must have hit a rock, which subsequently propelled me over the handlebars and onto my back. The impact knocked the wind out of me, caused me to lose a bit of downhill mojo, and crushed the bag of Chex-mix in my backpack. Ever been saved by a salty snack?

I made a quick stop at the bike shop in BV to have my gears looked at (I'd been fighting my rear derailleur since Kenosha Pass). After lunch and a post office run I was back on the trail looking to make it to HWY 50 by bedtime.

My plans for the whole race really revolved around making it to the base of any major climb at night so that I could attack the climb first thing to warm myself up and to avoid afternoon thunderstorms.

Despite my best efforts, I was slowing down and not riding well in the dark. So when I came across a campsite just off the trail among towering Aspens along a creek, I called it a night. It wasn't as flat as it first appeared and I found myself sliding out from under my tarp many times that night. Ian, Anthony and Kurt passed me not long after I laid down and I regretted that I wasn't going with them as they had similar sights on Hwy 50 and an early attack on Marshall Pass. Sleep soon erased these thoughts.

Day 4- A new friend.

The next morning I awoke from the most vivid mountain lion nightmare I have ever had. When my alarm went off I ignored it, refusing to leave my sleeping bag until there was daylight. There was still a surprising amount of climbing before the power lines came into sight and I knew I was at HWY 50. That's where I caught Ian and Anthony. Apparently, they hadn't made it as far as they had planned last night either. It was nice to have them to chat with and to help me keep a solid pace. They stopped to filter water as I continued the climb up Fooses Creek. This is a downhill trail and a silly thing to push one's bike up, but alas, it was the course, and the access to the legendary Monarch Crest Trail. I good-naturedly taunted the guys from the top, sat with them for lunch amongst the mountain tops and then decided to boogie before afternoon weather moved in.

My timing was perfect. I dropped off of Marshall Pass just as the rain and lightning moved in. As I rode into the woods I hoped that the guys behind me were making good choices. Just down the trail I found Kurt huddled like a gnome, next to a tree, trying to stay dry. I encouraged him to come with me and descend as much as possible before the roots and rocks got really wet. Besides, I knew what lurked ahead, the haunted forest of Sergeants Mesa. Sergeants is the crux if the whole trail, breaking more than one racer. I had hopped to be through it before dark, but the sun set as we began an endless series of climbs. The trees groaned, our headlights darted around looking for the cause of spooky sounds. Surprisingly, traversing it with Kurt made it almost fun. We talked, joked, and encouraged each other. We made it to Apple's tent around 11pm, exhausted and friends. Several other guys were there and already bivyed, clearly not aware that Apple's tent was open for all to use. Kurt and I made ourselves at home, excited to have real shelter on what would be the coldest of nights. Ian and Anthony rolled in just as we were falling asleep.

Day 5- The worst bivy.

Kurt and I left Apple's camp before the sun rose, riding a bit of road and hitting the singletrack at dawn's first light. We found Chris in the Cochetopa plains. He had been riding without sleep for 24 hours and passed us sometime in the night. He and Kurt rode together and I took off ahead wanting to get to Spring Creek pass before storms built for the day. Indeed, when I reached the pass I examined the overcast sky warily. I knew I had a couple more miles of protected trail before reaching the exposed alpine so I carried on. However, I worried that I would be forced to bivy, and worried whether I had enough food to last if I was forced to stop. But, the clouds lifted and at each hilltop my prospects looked brighter. I somehow missed a critical water resupply off Spring Creek Pass, but not wanting to backtrack to find it, I decided I could make it to Pole Creek.

I climbed across the sky and became repeatedly frustrated that I wasn't where I thought I was. There are so many more climbs here than the data book leads you to believe. It was getting dark and my mind was racing. “Where would I camp? Where is that water source? Why didn't I buy batteries in BV? Should I filter from this puddle or is Pole Creek around the corner? Why am I not eating?” With a dim light I wasn't moving fast and was dehydrated with a sour stomach. I finally found the creek, filtered water, and then looked for a place to lay my nauseous self down. But I was in a steep valley and couldn't see ahead in the dark to know if it would get better. So I lay down in a rock field that was flatish. It was too rocky for my thermarest so I laid out my ground cloth, crawled into my sleeping bag, and wrapped up like a burrito. I got my hips and shoulders properly situated around the rocks and actually slept decently, waking up only to be sick and then to eat and drink what I could. Kurt and Chris passed me in the middle of the night and I laughed when Chris declared, “that is the worst *&^#ing bivy site I've ever seen!”. They were pushing all night for Silverton.

Day 6- Postoffice and Poweroutage.

I got up when the moon was above the second mountain on the right. I have know clue how I determined this was close to dawn, but I was actually pretty accurate. I climbed to the end of the valley in the dark and was descending with dawn. Up and down, up and down, up and down. I remembered there were more climbs here than one could imagine. I kept trying to remember what stoney pass would look like, but was fooled over and over. Finally I was on the road and then dropping the craziest dirt road you could imagine. I had to stop once to let my hands relax after all the braking.

I rolled into Silverton dreaming of spaghetti and meatballs (I have no clue why...) only to find the power out. This was discovered when after collecting my resupply box at the post office (clean shorts!!) (which is only open 11-1 on Saturday's by the way) I repacked it with dirty clothes and some extra food and returned to the counter to mail it home. “The power is out, I can't do anything with this” was the postmasters response. “I'm on my bike, I can't take it,” I replied. We looked at each other, and then got creative- Payable on delivery.

I had a cold lunch at a restaurant trying to make the best of the situation. They were great, taking my credit card, even though they were refusing everyone else's. The search for lithium batteries went on for a while and I eventually found one set for my SPOT tracker and had to settle for standard batteries for my headlamp. Kurt left Silverton just before me and I had a rabbit for Molas pass. The climb up Molas was scary. Again, trucks, Winnebago and tourists. A Silverton/Durango Railroad bus was close enough I could have touched it. I yelled furiously and then had smoke blown in my face by the pickup truck following it. I pulled over and let the line pass me while I fumed on the side of the road. Soon Jim joined me. And just in time too. I wasn't catching my rabbit and I was looking for a place to pull over and rest my tired legs and butt. The roads just aren't inspiring. Jim had dropped out in Lake City and then decided to ride home to Ophir, but felt so good that he jumped back on course in Silverton. So he wasn't in a hurry and was happy to ride with me and talk- yea! The trail was fairly ridable and Jim was cleaning everything and inspiring me to at least try. We gained Kurt who was talking of riding through the night because he wanted to get home to his wife. He already hadn't slept the night before and as it grew dark I was able to sell him on my plan. Camp at the base of Blackhawk Pass, attack it first thing to make sure that we got over Indian Ridge before the afternoon storms. The three of us camped barely off the trail and slept so well that Kurt and I both missed our 4am alarms and didn't wake until 5:30 as the sky grew light.

Day 7- Racing for the finish.

We were bummed that we missed our early wake up, but we had gotten good rest and were ready for the day. Kurt had been so tired that he fell asleep with food in his mouth. We “brushed” our teeth with a Coca-Cola that Kurt had carried from Silverton and got underway. Kurt and I marveled at Jim's climbing and did our best to imitate. We knew it was our last day and that made us more willing to wreck our legs. It actually mentally felt good to be riding some hard climbs instead of pushing our bikes.

We found Tim, a guy from South Africa, who had apparently ridden through the night and passed us in our unconscious state. We passed groups of day-tripping bikers and were ecstatic when we were finally over Indian Ridge. I had been pinned down on the wrong side of this exposure several years earlier while backpacking, and had crossed it scarred in this year's DDC while a storm raged in the next valley. Kurt and I both knew this was the last thing that could possibly keep us from completing the CTR. Jim stopped to fix a flat, and then Kurt flatted. Part of me felt bad going on without him. We hadn't really ridden together that much, but it was at just the right times. The other part of me really wanted to catch Tim who was already out of sight. And so assured that Kurt had everything he needed I carried on. Just that morning I was thinking about how little suffering I had actually undergone, and how strange that was after the awful time I had last year. I was strangely disappointed. We come out here to suffer and to learn that we can overcome. How weird to finish a 500 mile race reflecting on fun... And so I decided to race Tim.

He was a faster descender, but I knew we had 1200ft of climbing out of Junction Creek. So I opened it up and tried to be a downhiller and then began to pin it on the climb. I was middle ringing it and trying to find my breath. Tim clearly didn't know I was racing him. I passed him while he was brushing his teeth at a stream crossing halfway up the climb. It was like catching him with his pants down. I put it in overdrive, I was pushing my limits, I was suffering. It was getting hot and I had to stop for water. I filtered a liter as quickly as possible. I figured he'd be gaining on me on the downhill and so I forced myself to focus, pick good lines, and descend as fast as possible. The traffic on the trail picked up and I balanced speed with looking out for other users. It was mind boggling, to be racing and yet yielding to uphill traffic and hikers. I somehow pulled off friendly and considerate and then sprinted between groups.

I hit the parking lot, spent, to find Dan putting away his fishing pole. I burst into tears. He came to pick me up. Relief. Rest. Rootbeer. A cold stream to sit my swollen legs in. Tim rolled in followed by Kurt and Jim. We congratulated each other. And it was over.

It is possible. I did it. I beat it. It did not beat me.

I ate, I drank, I biked. I found the right people at the right times. The weather held.

Darkness may last for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 7: 

This is it.  I don't hurry out in the morning. What's the point?  My stomach is still a mess. Keeping the TP close I pack up camp and get a granola bar down. And here I go up and over.  The trail is smoother here. The pushing not quite so steep and the downhills actually fun.  I smile as I descend- this is why I'm out here- to ride my bike.  I stop and talk to a hunter spotting Elk for the upcoming season.  He's impressed- he can't believe a girl would be out here alone.  He offers me a ride out, but I carry on. But only after asking where Stoney Pass is.  "let's see this is Maggie gulch, so you go up and over to Minnie gulch and then up and over to Stoney Pass.  See that big mountain way over there, that's where you are headed". "oh, I thought it was just around the corner..."  I carry on.  I"m feeling a bit better and my mind starts to play with me about continuing on. I wonder how far the last segment is.  Could I do it in a day and a half? I tell myself if I can't make it to Silverton by noon then I have no business going on, reminding myself that my legs are not actually going to help pedal up Molas Pass (or Bolam, or Blackhawk, or Kennibek).  But this noon deadline does nothing to increase my pace up these last few mountains. I see a truck struggling up the road- this is it!  I push my bike up half the road and then manage to pedal over the top to save face in front of some ATVers.  I snap a picture- this is it. Downhill to Silverton, the end of my road. I glance at my watch.  Noon. There. Done.  The road down is the craziest road I have ever seen.  The pass is at 12,650 and within several miles I'll be at 9,000 ft.  It's steep, gravel, windy.  I am on the brakes.  Seeking the best line, using the road liberally, looking for oncoming traffic. I actually have to take breaks on the way down to let my hands recover.  The flowers are amazing. Water, mine ruins, more downhill.  I pass a jeep. And then four miles of flat road into a headwind into Silverton.  The town is overflowing as the train just let out.  The circus stands in stark contrast to where I have been. I stop and ask for a payphone.  The restauranteur doesn't think there is one in town anymore, but if there is, it is around the corner by the post office.  In front of the postoffice I see a Superfly atop a car at the end of the block.  It looks like Jarrals.  I pass the parked cars to investigate.  It's on a green subaru like Jarral's. The car has a Western State bumper sticker.  I stop in the street and cry, "Jarral!?!?!" like you would in a movie.  I leave my bike in front of the car where they will see it if they try to leave.  Where would they be?  I shuffle back to the main road and look in windows of ice cream shops. Nothing.  My excitement abates.  I have no way to call them.  There is no pay phone.  I need food.  So I leave a note and head off to find a burger. And find them on a bench in front of the restaurant I meant to eat at!  Hugs, tears (hey, I haven't eaten much) and an assurance that I can be squished in between the carseats and taken home.  We discuss it- the way to Durango is difficult and I would be hard pressed to do it in a day.  Jarral took 20 hours and well, he finished 4th, so I stick with my original (I contend non-emotional) decision to go home.  I call Dan and Mom.  Eat. Begin packing the car. and then I spot the Brits.  I ride the two blocks to them- indecision strikes me momentarily as Andy assures me, "we'll grab food, ride until 9pm and then finish tomorrow"  I don't fall for it.  I hug them, wish them well and return to the Ryters.  I change into a set of Anne's clothes and climb inbetween the kiddos. I'm in a car. That's it. Done. Over.

Prologue:

It's Tuesday morning and I'm still watching for the Brits to finish. Which makes me feel a little better about my decision, though my stomach is basically back, my mouth is less sore, and my legs feel pretty good, which makes me wonder.  And while around Sargent's Mesa I declared, "you'd have to give me a frontal lobotomy to get me to do this again", I think I can. Maybe I will. After all, only four women have ever completed it.

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 6:

We awake at 5am with frost on our gear. Andy has slept in his clothes and I struggle into mine in my sleeping bag, not wanting to meet the inevitable cold. Spinning down the road in the early morning light, with light just beginning to frost the hill tops is amazing. 

 We pass Jill still asleep in her bivy, and then Forest who is awake, but not wanting to get out of his bag.  Apparently we inspire him, as he quickly gains us. We pick up Jonathan as well who broke the wheel on his derailer and somehow has fixed it with a ziptie.  Forest moves ahead leaving Andy, Jonathan and I to tackle the highway together.  I'm disappointed when I don't find an icecream truck waiting for me.  I won't mention any names, but someone led me to believe there would be one :) It's apparently a British thing, which I wish we Americans would adopt. We begin the climb from Spring creek together but the Brits stop for afternoon tea.  I continue on and find Forest in the tundra sitting on a rock. 

 I snap a picture of him smiling, but he then informs me that he is out and feels the full emotion of it.  I stumble for what to say to encourage him on, meanwhile having an internal freakout.  If this strong man, who has done the Tour Divide, who just this morning was talking about being finished in seven days, is finished, what the heck am I thinking?  I don't say enough, shake his hand, and leave him on his rock. The tundra is almost impossible to ride on.  It's rocky and my knee refuses to do more than spin a bike, I can't really apply pressure to get the bike moving and rolling over the rocks, so I bounce along until I fall off and push the bike for a while and then try again.  The climbs go over 13,000 ft. multiple times. The pushes are hard, but I am thankful that I live at altitude.  I pass through a flock of sheep.  I climb again and again.  I can see a huge stretch of trail behind me, but no Brits.  My heart sinks convinced that they have rejected this lunacy and have joined Forest for beers in Lake City.  Suddenly I feel very alone.  At each hilltop I look for them, nothing.  I climb on, into the biggest landscape you can imagine, mountains stretching as far as you can see, with no signs of humanity save the occasional old mine road and some tire tread in front of me. I am small and alone. Somehow I lift myself and my bike over a 4 ft cliff band in the middle of a climb.  I fall coming down towards the pole creek drainage.  It's not a bad fall, but a slow motion one with spinning and flipping, kind of like dancing underwater with your bike.  We come out whole, but I am shaken realizing with no one behind me I better be more careful.  And then two bikers are coming up the road and one declares, "it's Becky!".  Mark and Joellen Fonken, a couple I know from Gunnison, are out for a day ride. I burst into tears (hmmmm- when's the last I've eaten?) we chat for a while, they suggest campsites (oh did I mention I didn't bring the data book, so I have no clue how many passes I have to overcome before descending to Silverton? BIG Mistake). Fortunately, it doesn't really occur to me until after we had said goodbye, that they could have taken me home :) I use the last of the light to climb out of the pole creek drainage (moose below & and I can hear elk buggleing) and regain sunshine on the western slope.  I push up Cuba gulch and then set up a hasty camp at 12,500 clearing the ground of rocks between some willows.  I manage to eat a little, but my stomach as been doing flipflops for a while now.  I try to fall asleep, but my stomach is creating a rukus and soon I stumble out of my bag to be sick. Climbing back in my bag shivering I am soon rack with uncontrollable convulsions.  I don't really feel that cold, but my body won't stop shaking.  I guess it's trying to warm itself and I've given it no food to use.  This is when I decide I need to be done.  I didn't make it to Silverton tonight, which I calculate pushes off my finish at least 2 more days.  I feel sick. How will I keep going if I can't eat again?  I miss my friends.  I only have one more week in Gunnison before I leave them all for Steamboat and a new job.  I have things to do.  Who's watering my garden while I'm away? I forgot to ask anyone... My legs have been like lead for days as I push my bike up things I should be able to ride.  Why would I do the Silverton-Durango section which should actually be good riding as a masochistic downhiller pushing up each incline and hoping not to die on each descent? I should come back later when I can enjoy it.  I consider going back and taking Pole Creek into Lake City, but Silverton seems like a nice round goal, and Stoney Pass must be just around the corner anyway....

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 5:

In the early morning the push up Fooses Creek seemed humorous.  This is a trail that people shuttle and ride downhill and here I am trying to drag myself and a fully loaded bike up the narrow trail. At one point I even put my pack on my front and heaved my bike onto my back.  That didn't last real long either.  Then bliss! Monarch Crest Trail is one of my favorites and I found my legs working, climbing and chasing day tripping tourists.  After lunch at the Silver Creek trailhead I left the trails that anyone would want to ride on a bike.  Marshall pass is clearly favored by dirt bikers and there were huge ruts and rocks to contend with. And then the bad got worse. Sargents Mesa- it starts with these open fields cows that look at you distrustfully and refuse to move daring you to get between them and their calf.  And then it becomes the "summit trail" a series of endless ridges with trails to the top of each for some treed, unrealized view. It doesn't help when someone coming the other way "kindly" tells you that it is still 4 days until Silverton and your mind starts to calculate and freak out. But he also offered that it was unlikely that I would reach the end of this trail until after dark which lit a fire under me and I rolled in at dusk.  And to my surprise at the trail angel tent there was Andy! He is feeling bad- food not sitting well with him. I want to use the dark to tackle some of the upcoming road detours. So we set off. Through the next section of good trail (though scary forest that I never would have attempted alone) and we are on the dirt roads of the Cochetopa flying.  We are wearing all of our clothes and still fighting off the cold (note to self bring shoe covers next time!) We fly by a car parked on the side of the road and it isn't until after we pass that I realize it is Dan's car. It's midnight, I'm tired and can't make sense of the situation.  I hoot, ring my bell and call his name.  I keep looking back for headlights, but he is fast asleep in the back waiting for me to come by at some reasonable hour of the morning.  I'm kicking myself for not going back but road has continued to slip away and I don't want to loose my companion or his GPS.  But my spirits are bolstered. We collapse into our sleeping bags just off the road and are not disturbed by any passing cars that night.

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 4:

Trying not to waste good beds we slept until 6am and then had breakfast at a little cafe next door.  I swung by the post office on the way out but it was too early to pick up my resupply and I watched Andy disappear up the road to Cottonwood ahead of me.  I wouldn't find him again for two days. The effort of yesterday was heavy in my legs but the trail was fairly friendly.  I made it to Mt. Princton for lunch.  I resupplied at the store and got a sandwich at the restaurant. Dark skies had me procrastinating, but it kept threatening and not storming so I set off for Hwy 50. Now I was pushing a lot of the hills. Trails I have ridden before fresh and unladen.  Up and over, up and over, up and over, the valleys kept coming.  Finally I descended, crossed 50 and set up camp at the Fooses creek trailhead.  I knew I didn't have much more in me and the forest looked wet and creepy. So for once I braved people rather than wildlife.  

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 3:

Morning dawns bright and dry (well everything is soaked, but at least its not raining) We climb Searle Pass.  Lots of hike-a-bike, but some nice riding too. Scott and I stop for a snack on the big rocks at the summit. To get to Kokomo Pass you stay high in the alpine amongst beautiful flowers (and sing some beach boys). Scott is having mechanical trouble- his crank is trying to fall off and I stop to help him a couple of times. Then he realizes he lost his sunscreen, then his camelback explodes in his pack.  He is having his day. I assure him these things come in threes. The crank is still trying to fall off so he sends me off to Leadville and he follows stopping every so often to retighten it.  I eat at Safeway, call in, dry my gear, talk to lots of curious people and then finally get a new tire at Cycles of Life (my Racing Ralph was showing some wear and a couple partial thickness sidewall slices.) Scott made it in and was getting help too.  Now BuenaVista and the Eddyline brewpub are on my mind. Andy and I reach the singletrack at the same time and he compliments some technical climbing I did. This somehow translates into me not wanting to let him down and proceeding to clean almost every hill between here and BV (and there were some big ones!) I'm feeling good and riding well after actually eating!  Somehow I thought BV was right on the other side of Twin Lakes.  I'm pretty sure this delusion was due to the fact that the only map/trail description that I carried were the detour maps that Jarral made for me. I know this sounds like lunacy, but I had backpacked the trail last year so I felt like I knew my way around. So the two maps between Leadville and BV abutted nicely, merely leaving out 15 miles of single-track and hills. :)  (Mistake 6- no databook- which sometimes played to my favor) A thunderstorm coming down the valley had me hustling and I bombed the downhill as the rain started hitting the road just as it became a deluge. I threw on rain gear.  I was now racing down the dirt road in hopes of outrunning the storm tailing me in the West.  I lost. I glanced wistfully at abandoned buildings and outhouses but the Eddyline remained the driving force in my mind, as well as granting myself permission to get a hotel room. So down the road I raced cold, wet and dark approaching.  I rigged up my lights and continued in the rain down the highway (don't worry Mom there was a really wide shoulder and little traffic!) The lightning had me scared though I was not on a ridge, and I found myself counting between the thunder claps and lightening bolts.  I feared I had missed the road detour but figured I'd come back and do it in the morning if I had to. But there it was!  The dirt railroad grade. Now cold, wet, dark and MUDDY.  I questioned my sanity as I passed the flash flood warning signs and then the falling rock signs. And as I headed through the tunnels I came across my first oncoming traffic.  I made it.  The Eddyline was open and willing to take a muddy, wet biker.  I had soup and ordered the burger I had been racing for, only to find myself unable to eat it :(.  I turned off my tracker (prompted by a fellow dinner assuring me that I was being followed by a tan suburban) as  I went to find a hotel but balked at the $135 price tag.  I was dejectedly heading back to find the baseball dugouts when Andy intercepted me and kindly offered a bed in his hotel room. Shower and a bed! We laughed at the nick-nackery cluttering the room and tried not to loose our bike gear in it as we spread it to dry.  

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 2:

The first rider passes me at 6am which gets me going.(he had apparently gotten up at 2am!). I am pleasantly surprised to find that Goldhill is closed for tree removal.  I know just where the detour is thanks to some preriding (okay that counts as one thing right!) so now the day consists mostly of conquering of the 10-mile range.  A bit of rain and that fact that the mountain blocks the view to the west makes this a bit intimidating but the skies clear as we ascend.  Serious hike-a-bike and still having trouble eating means this takes a long time. The string of guys behind me not moving any faster provides a little encouragement. The descent is fun, with a couple pitches too steep for me to ride. We (Forest and I) roll into Copper, hit the highway to Quiznos and find dinner.  Chicken noodle soup is the first food to sit well in two days and I follow it with a sandwich.  Andy joins us and we all let our food settle for a while and watch the sky darken in the West. It looks suspicious but the gas station attendant shows us the Doppler weather which shows clear skies to the west.  I love this portion of the trail ascending out of Copper towards Searle Pass.  The rain starts and I find Scott hunkered down in a dry campsite deciding what to do.  7:30pm is earlier than we want to stop, but the sky continues to look ominous and the rain gets harder.  So we camp. My tarp survives it's first rain, probably because Scott offers me the most sheltered spot.

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 1: August 1, 2011

Mistake 1: Going on 5 hours of sleep Dan drives me to the starting line. Why so little sleep? We were up late trying to figure out how to work my tarp, headlamp, and how to pack it all.

Mistake 2: Two Donuts for breakfast.

Mistake 3: No electrolyte replacement drink.

  Starting line jitters disappear into singletrack.   It's a solid line of riders and bit of polite stop and go- everyone knows it's going to be a long trip. I find the unmarked road detour with a bit of help from Sonya Looney (who I'm terrified to be riding with at this point). I race the rain into Bailey and manage to wait most of it out in the "knotty pine" over a hot dog and coke (don't ask- it sounded good at the time). The climb up 285 is scary due to traffic and a group of us relax at the trailhead. Food is still not sitting well. Kenosha pass and Georgia pass mostly rideable and fun. I summit Georgia pass just as it gets dark, layer up and turn on my light. Time for the first night ride of my life (that would be Mistake 4).  I descend just far enough to find a flat spot. A piece of trail cut off by a fallen tree will do.  I quickly set up camp in the dark and hang my bags on tree branches 100 ft. down the trail.  Not exactly what they mean by "hanging your food" but I'm nauseous and just want to sleep.  This way I figure at least if a bear decides to get into my food, it won't be right in my face.  I lay down only to wake up 30 minutes later to scramble out of my bag and vomit. Auspicious start.

"Made my day"

       Today was a good day.  It got even better when I went for a ride at Hartman's with good friend Bryan Miller.  But, the moment that made my day was when Bryan, riding ahead of me, pulled over and commented, "man you'd have to be gutsy to ride that".  The line on Gateway, which I've worked multiple times, was not an obvious one and to make it worse it had a slight uphill so that you can't even see the huge rock to be descended.  "Here's the line" I called as I rode past and cleaned it.  Bryan of course turned around and had no problem.  No before you go thinking I'm all cocky and live to emasculate men, let me explain why this was such a moment.
        Bryan is an amazing biker, and I've been lucky to have him as a bike mentor.  A pro for 20 years, it doesn't seem to matter that he's been retired for 10 and is old enough to be my father.  His skills, efficiency, and huge lungs have me constantly on the chase.  But he doesn't seem to mind this.  He rode with me 5 years ago when I first moved to Gunnison, when I had a hard tail with flat pedals, caliper brakes, and sea level lungs.  I remember rides where I would finally catch up to find Bryan LITERALLY taking a nap on the side of the trail.  I don't know what gave him the patience to ride with me, and encourage me, and teach me.  And that's what why clearing that rock and showing Bryan the line meant so much to me today.  It was a concrete example of how much I've learned from him.  And a really good reminder of why I need to take every opportunity possible to ride with him in the future.

A tire is not a wheel

I'm searching for the perfect bike tire.  I've yet to find it, and I've been told by some that it is a lifelong journey :). So far I've learned 3 things:
 1) A tire is not a wheel.
 2) Don't race on tires you've never ridden.
 3) Bike tires and car tires cost the same amount.

The search continues...

Why do you race?

My good friend Janelle Smiley and I managed to grab a quick bite to eat last week before her an her husband headed off on a climbing trip in AK. Over teocolli tamale burritos we had a great conversation about why we race.  Janelle, even as reigning US National Ski Mountaineering champion might have the best perspective of anyone I know.
So as I headed into my first mountain bike race of the season in Rabbit Valley(Fruita) this past weekend the question was fresh in my mind.  Why do I race? Is it the challenge? My ego? to win?  I spent a considerable amount of time in the race pondering this question, but with no clear answer. 
So, I'm curious, why do YOU race?

Bike Season

It's officially bike season in Gunnison, CO. Hartman rocks has opened after months under a blanket of snow and then a brief seasonal mud closure. Conversations around town follow this general pattern. "Hey, you been out to Hartman's yet?" "Oh, yeah, 4 times (or some number approximating the number of days it has been open. That's how people know you are a serious biker...)

It's a great time to live in Gunni. We complain about the rain and wind, but really we know that 1/2 hour up the road in Crested Butte it's full-on winter. We know it's winter because while the CB folk our flocking to our beloved Hartman's on the weekends we drive north and go skiing. And not spring corn, full on powder face shots. Because the riding is phenomenal (just enough rain to make it tacky), but well, we can ride it every day after work now. And if you ski early enough, you can get back in time for an afternoon ride :).

All winter we may be jealous of the Crested Buttians, going in to work late after catching a few laps of powder while we slave away, sneaking in ski days on the weekends, but this is OUR season. They have to come to our end of the valley to get the goods. And the goods are good.

Makin' Bacon

5lbs to be exact. Injury (ITBand) prevented me from doing a lot of things I wanted to this summer, not to mention putting me in a bad mood (sorry if you had to witness it). But now that I'm getting back on my bike I have enough perspective to see the upside to this injury.
I learned a lot of things! Some lessons were kind of a bummer. Like knowing their are friends that I only see when I can ride or ski with them. But most of the lessons were great, some life changing. I learned I can swim across the reservoir. I learned how to roller ski. I learned how to make pasta from scratch. I learned how important it is to be there for my active friends when they are hurt (which I have failed at in the past). I learned I need to make more time for my non-active friends. I learned that its okay, even fun, to be on the supporting side of things. Sure, I would rather have been racing, but if it weren't for this injury I would never have sat on a rock in the middle of nowhere cooking bacon in the middle of the night (1-5am) to feed and cheer on racers at 24hours of sage. And while I'm usually the one snarfing down as much food as I can find after a race, I got to feed bacon to a lot of hungry people afterwards. And while it was completely unnecessary, I felt useful and appreciated. And that might not be quite as nice as the endorphin rush of riding, but it was pretty close.
So we'll check "makin' bacon out on a race course" off my life list, take the lessons learned, and hopefully be riding big rides, climbing mountains, and running again soon!