Rim Ride Moab '08

This year we didn't even have miles of sticking green clay! Easy, no sweat at all, right?

Oh baby. Other than my failed attempt at the '07 Vapor Trail, I'm not sure I've ever had a more intense ride, or conquered a bigger challenge. Wow, is that course big.

I bailed last year at about mile 65, and still got in around 80 miles when I counted in getting back to town. This year I was determined to make the grade. What just another 25 miles over what I did last year? Big deal.

The ride started out a bit more gracefully than last year, when I forgot my water bottles and had to swing into camp; which allowed the pack to put a quarter mile gap on me right from the start. This time I rolled with the group north out of Moab as the dawn twilight developed. It was a beautiful morning, and warm enough to start before dawn with just a wool jersey and arm/leg warmers. Luxury.

The first job was tackling some rowdy slickrock on the Rockin' A trail. It was a real suspension workout--but of course as I rolled off it onto the slightly less rowdy Circle O I noticed that I had my fork locked out since the climb out of down. Dingbat! The fox blow-off works really nice though. I'm sure the fork was soaking some of it, and I know I saw near full travel at least once.

Sovereign really is beautiful, and what a great bunch of singletrack! I probably expended too much precious energy hammering the climbs, but it was too fun. The final descent to the crossing underneath 191 was so technical, my hands, arms, and shoulders were stressing. Too fun.

I did stop for pictures a few times. Couldn't be helped.


Matt from GJ rolls by with Manti-La Sal in the background


Climbing rim riders on the Sovereign Trail

After crossing 191 it was on to the Cottermine Road, then 7 Mile Rim Trail, then Wipeout Hill. Very climby, temperatures beginning to be noticed. I peeled off the leg and arm warmers, slugged water and electrolytes, and mixed up a fresh bottle of food. Another beautiful, rugged chunk of terrain. Got to hwy 313 at about mile 42 starting to feel a little bit mortal.

Then it was 5 miles of grinding into the wind up the pavement. This was some of the worst of the day actually. Seemed much longer than 5 miles, and I was tired of the flat pavement almost immediately. I was really happy to see the Gemini Bridges Road heading back down toward Moab.

As I left 313, I pulled out my queue sheet for the first time. I just hadn't needed it yet, between other riders being around and copious blue flagging. But I needed to know just how far it was down this road to the start of Metal Masher. I pulled out the queue sheet and it came apart in my hands. I had sweated on a seam of the folded paper and it tore easily as I pulled it from my jersey pocket. Luckily it tore right down the center, so I needed to look at two different pieces of paper to get the complete queue description for the rest of the day.

But it was easy to tell that I needed to go 4 miles to the left turn that starts Seven Mile Rim/Metal Masher. Off I went, with a crowd of junior high kids swerving down the road on crappy bikes that had been shuttled up to descend the Gemini Bridges Road. Shortly my turn came and it was time to suffer climbing up to Seven Mile Rim.

I ran into Matt and Cat sitting in the shade drinking water and swallowing electrolytes. It was really pretty hot by that time, or at least the sun was shining hard. It was around 2 or 3 pm, and as I told them, I was feeling pretty mortal. I passed them sitting, and then 2 minutes later they caught me and passed me. I was really crawling right then.

Seemed like it took much longer than I remembered to get through that bit and back to the Gemini Bridges Road. I was trying to make it to the beginning of the Gold Bar Rim Trail before 4 PM, and it looked like I had pretty good slack on that, but I kept not getting to the end of Metal Masher.

Eventually I made it to Gemini, and shortly after that descended to the turn-off for Bull Canyon Road. Around this time I started crossing paths with a dude that I later learned was Josh Tostado. He's a majorly fast pro rider who apparently had started the race late. Both of us were confused about the route. I took a wrong turn after referring to my (ripped) queue sheet several times. As I concluded that I was going the wrong way and was riding back out, I met Josh who was on his way into where I had just gone. I explained to him that I'd seen bike tracks that circled back and headed out, he agreed that we must have missed a turn. He turned back and I followed him, and after a minute I saw him point right at an intersection and then go that way. When I got there I saw the blue flagging and went that way as well.

That was the last I saw of Josh Tostado.

But soon I did catch up to Adam Lisonbee. Adam and I have known each other for a year or so. During last year's Vapor Trail we found that we pace together pretty naturally. Adam climbs better than I do and I descend a little faster, but it usually washes out to where we leapfrog all day. That had been happening all day yesterday. We had ridden together and talked several times.

Adam was riding with a GPS with the course loaded. And he had pre-ridden almost all of it. He explained things to me that I did not know. And he warned me about a trail up ahead called the Golden Spike-blue dot trail, how it was hard to follow. He also explained that we had not yet reached the final bailout point, one marked on the queue sheet with a warning not to continue the course if you reach it after 4 PM. It was about 3:45 at this point, and we were not yet to that intersection. I remember thinking that Adam might be a good dude to keep nearby. I also had assumed we'd already passed the bailout I thought that I'd been there with half an hour of slack. Nope. Hmmm.

We got to the intersection with the Gold Bar Rim trail. It was by my watch 3:53. I was tired, but feeling OK. Adam and I talked, and both of us were a little concerned about the time, but neither was willing to just give up and DNF. As Adam said, "there's no reason I can't do this." Off we went past the point of no return.

Adam fell back right away, and I decided that I just had to move at my pace. Adam was free to turn back just as I was. But I really wanted to finish this thing. Soon I got to the bottom of an endless slab of canted sandstone. I started to granny gear up it, but quickly found that it was too steep. I got off and started marching next to my bike. Turns out that I marched for about an hour. I looked back several times to see if Adam was close behind. I couldn't see him, and it felt like I could see pretty darned far. I felt pretty sure that he was not back there, and that I was on my own. Fair enough. That's the game we're playing here.

I couldn't believe how high I marched up before I found the right turn to the Golden Spike Trail, another 4wd route. Right away I crossed a ledge and gap where a kid who looked less than 17 seemed hopelessly stuck trying to get his Jeep Cherokee up onto the ledge. His rear tires were just turning with a chattering screech. Seemed like getting up on that ledge was pretty much required for getting out of there. Good luck kid.

Golden Spike was a mix of traversing and climbs that made me walk. It was supposed to be 3 miles to the beginning of the blue dot singletrack. I was having a hard time judging distance by time, because I was moving incredibly slow. I wished I had brought my GPS just to help me with distance. I left it behind because the battery is only good for about 7 hours. Live and learn.

After what seemed like an incredibly long time on Golden Spike, the road lead right up to the rim, and I found myself looking down off a shear cliff to Moab, thousands of feet below. I had never seen the turn onto the singletrack, which was supposed to be a left even though that made little sense to me. It was 6 o'clock. Less than 2 hours of daylight left.

I started to freak. There was a faint singletrack going to the right from this rim, but it was supposed to be a left. And there was no blue ribbon. And it did not show at all on my Latitude 40 map. And I was burning daylight. Not much time to flail, I needed to figure this out!

I desperately fought the urge to panic. But I was really loosing my cool. Going back seemed like a huge undertaking, and it would have been! There should have been only 20 or so miles of course ahead of me, and obviously most of it would be down, since the finish was Moab and I could clearly see that Moab was down! If I had had a parachute I might have seriously considered using it.

Even though I hated to go back down something I had already bothered to climb, I felt that I had no choice but to find a blue ribbon marker and then search for the one that lead to the intersection. I must have missed something!

As I headed down, what do you think I saw? Adam Lisonbee! I almost hugged him. I don't think I've ever been as happy to see anyone. I was babbling incoherently about how the queue sheet made no sense and there weren't any blue flags...

Adam took it all in, but he seemed very calm. The reality is that he was calm, because he was too tired and worked to be anything but calm. We climbed the quarter mile back to the rim and he calmly explained to me that the faint trail to the right was our trail. We started riding it, and lo and behold! There were blue dots!

I didn't find the blue dot trail all that hard to follow. It reminded me of do-it-yourself trails from around Salida. It was full of crazy double drops from boulder to boulder, super tight switchbacks, gaps between rocks that were too tight for my big handlebars to pass through--but we were on the route! Adam saved my butt!

Here's a picture of him on the blue dot trail:


This is the man who saved my bacon

Shortly Adam and I made it to the Poison Spider jeep road. All we had to do was follow that out to the Potash Road, then it was pavement all the way back to Moab. I knew then that I was not going to spend the night lost in the desert. This made me very happy. I decided that Adam and I would finish together (unless he dropped me).

Poison Spider was much farther, much more work, and much more technical than I remembered. But it had been probably 15 years since I last rode up here. It took a really long time. It got dark on us. Eventually Craig Tuttle and another Matt (not my friend last seen on Seven Mile Rim) caught us. Craig is a local, so he knew some short cuts for getting back to Potash Road with a little less beach sand. We all turned on lights and started down the last half hour of Poison Spider in increasingly dark darkness.

At about 8:30 Craig, Matt, and I made it to Potash. Adam was still up there, so I told Craig and Matt to go on to Moab and let people know that Adam and I would be in shortly. Maybe 10 minutes after Matt and Craig left Adam showed, and he and I spun up the Potash Road to Moab. It was about 9:15 when we got there. That was just fine. Down. Done.

We don't do these things because they are routine. This one was not routine. It was friggin' hard. Mentally, physically. But what memories.

For the record, I'm kind of tired of sandstone.

tPOD II

Without further ado, allow me to introduce tPOD II:



I know that everybody out there in TV Land has been anxious for a look at the new vagabond rig. Here she is.

Here's a shot of her all puffed up and ready for inhabitants:



But now it's time to get ready for tomorrow's Rim Ride Moab! Wish me luck.

San Ysidro Dirty Century

Cool event. Really cool people. Really interesting country. Really gusty wind.

Kind of a misnomer though, it was 123 miles.

This is the first New Mexico Endurance Series event I've done, but not the first I've wanted to do. As expected, it was really a cool ride.

We started from the Turtle Mountain Brewery parking lot a few minutes after 7 AM before the sun came up, with the thermometer sitting at around 35° fahrenheit. Yep, chilly. Still and clear, but chilly for sure.

We rolled west out of Rio Rancho on pavement for 30 or 40 minutes, then turned north on one of those good old fashioned western gas-line/ranch roads. You know the kind--straight as a line, horizon to horizon. The kind we love to suffer on. This one is known as the Encino Road. As the riders strung out, we made for the NGCS (Natural Gas Compressor Station) roughtly 20 miles out there in the high desert north of ABQ.

At the NGCS there were the stems of two cherry-stem loops. To the east was the White Mesa trails loop. The start of the singletrack was about 8 miles east on dirt road (this one has curves!)

The White Mesa singletrack was quite a treat. It's really unusual and beautiful. I did not have my camera, since I'd packed my pack with every bit of food, water, clothing, and et cetera that I would need for the whole day. The organizers set up a drop bag support system, and there was plenty of cached water I could have poached, but I'm getting ready for the Rim Ride Moab, so I was kit testing. The camera did not make the cut.

Anyhoo, here's a picture of White Mesa I poached from my co-worker, Jennie:


Photo courtesy of John Evaskovich

It was a blast. Or at least I think it was. So much more riding happened after I left White Mesa, it seems kind of like a distant memory.

On the way back to NGCS I happened to notice that a little breeze had come up. You know the kind, where you're shifting down as you go downhill to keep from being blown backwards? It was rockin', and by the time I got back to the Junction I was thinking maybe I should just bag the other loop and head back to town. For the life of me I could not think of what I would do with the rest of my afternoon. It was only 1 o'clock, so I said WTF, and headed north on the Encino Road to circle Cabezon Peak.

Farther out onto the horizon on straight-line gas road. Much of this was passing through the stark, khaki-colored, peaceful-in-it's-simplicity desert terrain so typical of this part of the world. The high desert. The llano. Nothing to obscure the horizon, where there are mesas or more llano to be seen. And nothing to block the wind.

Oh baby was she blowin' now. At 11 o'clock when I was working my way back west from White Mesa, it was windy. But by early afternoon it was windy.
About 7 miles north of the NGCS I turned west onto the Ridge Road and started a mild, winding climb into the wind. A few miles up and I met with the junction that was the start of the loop.

Cabezon Peak looked really far away. Really far to the north. Hmmm, I guess this is a big loop? I looked at my watch. About 2 PM. Well, you never know 'til you know. No better time to find out how far it is than right now. Heck, I have lights.

So off I went, with a song in my heart and a taste of wind howling in my ears. The Ridge Road went north and west, and it was fun with lots of downhill bits and swerves. And the wind, which by now was coming out of the southwest, was more or less at my back. Of course, good cyclists know that having a tailwind on the way out doesn't necessarily mean you'll have one on the way back.

Then it was down and down and down off the ridge, until I crossed the Rio Puerco. After that it was time to turn south. That was when I came to be at one with the wind. We fought each other bravely, but I think the wind had a bit of an advantage.

Oddly, that bit of grinding into the wind found me in a strangely good mood. I'm at a loss to explain it. Perhaps it was the Red Bull I chugged as I started the loop? It took some time, and it took its toll; and I'd be lying if I didn't say I was thrilled to turn east at 2 thirds of the loop and start heading back to the junction with Ridge Road, but it was OK. I shook my fist at Cabezon Peak a few times, but not in a bad, mean way.

Then, as if I was waking from a dream, I found myself back at the straight, straight Encino Road. Time to go back. Back to the Turtle Mountain Brewery, where I will order a hamburger. Back to where my truck and it's cargo, tPOD II are parked. "How far is it?", I think to myself. Far, I'm guessing. I have a queue sheet somewhere, buried in my pack, but I don't really want to know the specifics, actually. Really no choice but to ride it. Doesn't really matter how far, just matters that I get started and keep going until I'm there.

So off I go. Feeling pretty good to the NGCS, which I remember was a bit over 7 miles. The wind is now crossing, which is a friggin' blessing. Seems like it's shifted from southwest to west. Which is very good for my tired bones. If it had been a full-on headwind, I might still be out there; with ravens plucking my eyeballs and tongue out of my head.

As I'm riding past the NGCS I recall the long, long stretch on the way out from town where I was in the big ring for like half an hour. Hmmm. Maybe that's not so good. Turns out it's not. The climbing was not very steep, but I had so little fire left in my belly--I started to really suffer. My food strategy had been working great so far. But now, 10 hours out, I started feeling crappy.

I broke the cardinal rule, trying something new on a big ride day. But I had brought lots of backup stuff, so I figured it would be safe. The new thing was mixing Rice Protein in with my HEED. It had been great, really, but now I was starting to feel dehydrated, and I was having trouble continuing to eat. After a couple years of doing this crap, I've finally learned to pay close attention when my nourishment starts to suffer when there are still hours of riding before I'm done and home.

I slowed down but didn't stop, drank sips of water every few minutes, gradually slipped in some Hammer Gel, and eventually started feeling better. About the time I staggered up to the top of the climb, I was able to start drinking my protein solution again. Then as I got some glimpses of Rio Rancho below me. I finally started feeling a little happy again.

When I was able to start using my big ring--then I got quite a bit happier. Before I knew it, I was back at the pavement of Southern Boulevard. Then I was big-ringing it, downhill and downwind on pavement, only stopping for stoplights. Just before 7 PM I walked into Turtle Mountain Brewery, found event honcho Lenny sitting behind a tasty-looking pizza with a clipboard next to him. I watched him check off my name and write down the time, then I went back to tPOD II, put on clothing with zero rubber content, and returned to order my hamburger.

Another one for the record books.

what is it with me leaving Colorado?

Man, every time I decide to go somewhere warmer lately I have to fight my way out! It was snowing so hard mid-day on Friday when I left, I swept off my windshield, went inside to grab one more thing, came out 2 minutes later and there was too much snow accumulated for the wipers to deal with. Once I got over Poncha Pass things got better, but then I came into monster wind when I crossed the New Mexico border.



I was carrying my new (to me) camper on the back of the T100. We got rocked all the way down to Albuquerque.

Pictures of tPOD II will be forthcoming.

Oh so ready to go

For the last couple weeks I've been giving the Lev some lovin'. During the 24 in the Old Pueblo she developed a brain-numbing creak that kept other riders from wanting to be around me. It was a nice constant drumbeat that kept me alert and aware, but by the time I finished up it was pretty much the first thing I wanted to address when I got back to the shop in Salida.



Über-wrench Scot and I tore her down when time became available (mountain town bike shop in winter--didn't take long for that to happen). Among other things we discovered that the sealed bearings in the main pivot were toast. She's seen some miles since we got together early last summer. By the end of October I had put in 700 miles just during races. I can add up another 700 just thinking of special long recreational and training rides. Then throw in another 200 at Old Pueblo, after dousing her with rain and snow twice in the weeks leading up... None of that counts normal ride rides. Creek crossings. And lots of wet days. Look at what our monsoon season was like in '07!

Every pivot got attention, new bushings and reducers from Fox, new chain, shift cables and housing... Now she's like buttah.

Anyhoo, I'm getting amped up for the San Ysidro Dirty Century next weekend! Weather is looking dry down there, and in the 70s. Sweet Fancy Moses! It's almost too good to be true. Cannot wait.

Heading down Friday. Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy.

I have been training. The snow race was a durned good workout, then I've done probably 5 road rides per week (most of them utterly bundled up to deal with temps in the 30s with wind).

Could it be that I could actually have perspiration? I can only hope.

Leadville Snow Bike Race #3

I was in Arizona when race #2 went down. The Tennessee Pass Night Jam happened at the Tennessee Pass Nordic Center. Sounds like it was really cool.

I did roll up there for #3 yesterday, which was on the Mineral Belt Trail. A good time, of course. Bluebird day, big time.

In contrast to race #1, a guy could actually pedal this one almost the whole way. Sterling had gotten the trail groomed Friday. Temps have been higher and the sun has been shining, so the consistency of the groomed trail was a bit crispy (at first), It rolled like a soft dirt road for the most part, but there were softer spots.

The day was just beautiful. Not a cloud, felt much warmer than it was.

As the race went on, the temperature and strong sunshine started affecting the trail consistency. Just like a spring skiing day--crispy in the morning, softer and softer as the day went on.

In about the last 10% of the course, the snow suddenly became mushy enough to be like beach sand with flat tires. Our tracks did not show that we were sinking, but the rolling resistance got to be really high. I slogged with my singlespeed. I'm not sure that a gear change would have even helped though, it was just hard work. And the sun was shining. I sweated like a pig. I had to walk a few times on flat ground just to avoid cardiac arrest. And then there was the finish!

Dave knows what I'm talking about:


Dave rolls to the finish (looks easier than it was--that snow was soggy).


Dave allows himself to topple over after crossing the line. Nice place to wind down--and breath!

Lunch after the awards at High Mountain Pies, which was excellent.

2008 Old Pueblo

Another one has gone into the past. Great race, and one helluva weekend.

If you've been following my blog you know that a huge weather system that left around 1" of moisture moved through the area down there between Thursday evening and Saturday morning.

Saturday morning dawned foggy. The hope was that the fog would burn off mid-morning and the race would start in sunshine. But it just did not seem to be happening. During the riders' meeting before the race it was chilly and clammy. Not really foggy, but really low overcast cloud cover.

As we lined up, the clouds started to break up, and magically, the sun shone through just as the starting gun went off. Amazing.

The first lap took place on a pretty soggy course. Remarkably, there weren't many patches that were terribly messy, but there were a few. I rode that first lap in heavy traffic. Passing was not really possible, and not practical anyway. Passing one racer would just put you immediately behind another one. So we pretty much rode it in a solid line.

My left knee had been a real source of worry for me prior to the race. It was pretty stiff and gimpy. But once I started riding, it felt fine. Not so good when I got off the bike to do anything, but I was pedaling fine with it.

My camp was just at the base of Wahoo Rock. At the end of that first lap I took the "ride the rock" option and did a little trick for the crowd that always forms to watch riders there. I did a little hop at the top and then landed on the slant and swooped off and right into my camp.


Me dropping down Wahoo during the '07 race (see that compressed fork?) No pictures of it from this year.

Back at the camper I grabbed a fresh bottle of HEED and rolled on down to the start/finish tent for lap 2.

Lap 2 was an actual race lap. I was still fresh, I was trying to stay off the throttle, but I was rolling pretty well. It was a good, tight lap. Then I got to the end and went to ride the rock.

This time I thought it would be a good idea to really show the crowd how Colorado rolls. So this time I went huge. A brought some momentum to the edge, then leaped the biggest bunny hop I could as I headed over the edge. It really was huge too. I landed with a really good head of steam, yanked my bars up to make the transition to the flat. The runout at the bottom of the rock is good. There is just one rock that you need to miss. I did a poor job of missing it.

I crashed nice and big, over the bars. When my front hit the rock I heard the tire get contorted and start leaking immediately. I landed on what seemed to be my left shoulder blade. I lay flat on my back in the dirt, silently cursing myself for the sin of pride. Dumbass. Then I rolled up onto my feet and the crowd cheered. They got a show anyway.

Immediately I could tell that I'd done a little damage to my rib cage some way or other. Breathing caused a little shot of pain. Deep breaths even more so.

My front tire continued to leak noisily as I headed over to my camper. I had been running a pair of Bontrager Dry-X TR, tubeless with the Hutchinson goop. They were quite wonderful for the conditions. But now the front looked like it was done for--probably sidewall pinch cut. So I switched out to my spare wheel which had a WTB Weirwolf LT mounted. It had way too much pressure in it so I bled out a bunch.

During lap three I humbled myself down. I gave myself a serious talking-to about being a dumbass. I slowed down and mentally prepared myself to actually race for another 21 hours. I also wondered about my bike. The steering felt sluggish and felt like it was pulling a bit to the left. I wondered if I had tweaked the fork or something more serious when I piled into that rock.

When I got back to pit, after carefully dropping off the rock. I asked my friend Sean McGuinness to look it over for any cracks or oddities. He checked my tire pressure and the front was way low. I had bled out far too much. He pumped it up to about 30 psi for me and I headed back out. Felt fine from then on.

But baby, did that bike creak! Must have been the getting rained on. I had been riding it a bunch in the weeks before the race and it had been fine. But during the race a squeaky-creaky noise developed until it was totally obnoxious. As Sean said, "isn't that what full-suspension geared bikes are supposed to do?"

At the end of lap 3 the lights went on. I needed them for maybe the last 20 minutes of that 4th lap. I didn't need to put on any warmer clothes until around midnight.

Until dawn, the story was pretty uneventful. I did laps. I listened to coyotes and owls. A jackrabbit with 6" ears ran in front of me. It got colder. Eventually little sparkles of frost formed on cactus, grass, dirt. Then as dawn approached the frost got fatter and whiter.

I rode some really good night laps. Often a solo racer is visited by demons in those wee hours. I was having a blast. I was tired, but not so that I was slowing way down. I just kept rolling, eating, drinking, breathing...

The cold was only a problem just after I left the start/finish tent and headed out onto the course. The first 2 miles or so was fast downhill singletrack. During every night lap I just froze on that bit. I would think that I should have put on more clothes, or that I might have to stop to put my jacket on. Then I would start the harder work part of the course and everything would even out. I finally concluded that dressing to be confortable during those first 10 minutes would mean being overdressed for the rest of the lap, which would mean sweating. So I just planned for the first part of each lap to be uncomfortable.

Usually dawn gives me a boost. This time however dawn coincided with a breakdown in my eathing strategy. Around the middle of the lap, just before the sun actually cleared the horizon, my camp-mate Mark McDaniel came up behind me to wish me good morning. Just about then, my ass started dragging. It was bonk, coming to visit. I had been pretty much surviving on HEED, HammerGel, and Hammer Bars since the excellent bowl of beef stew Mark's wife Amanda and mother-in-law Jane had given me at around 10 the night before. And the hammer diet had been working really well. But suddenly my body was done with it. My jaw was slack and I had that thousand-yard stare.

I slogged through the rest of that 11th lap, got to camp, and Amanda had just finished frying the bacon. She made me three scrambled eggs, three pieces of bacon, and two pancakes. My body was so thankful. It turned the whole thing around for me.

I headed out to bag two more laps and achieve my goal, happy, well-fed, energized.

When I was in the last 20 minutes of that 12th lap, my front tire got soggy. It was one of those 24-hour-racer moments. I got really bummed out and said, "that's it! Now I'm done!" I tried to put some air in it to see if the sealent would just seal it up, but could hardly get the pump to work. I had left my pack with the CO2 behind so all I had was the pump. I pushed my bike for 5 minutes muttering about my poor luck.

Finally it occurred to me that I should actually take the tire off the rim and see if I could see what was making it go flat. Grudgingly I took the wheel off, pulled the tire, and right away I saw a big cactus thorn in there. "Well there you are!" I said to myself. I pulled the thorn, put it all back together and pumped it up. I jumped on and rode for 100 feet before it was flat again.

Damn! Damn my luck!

It took me perhaps another 5 minutes to pull my head out of my butt and actually pull the tire off, find every single thorn in it (maybe 20?) then put it back in and air it up. A good Samaritan showed up offering a CO2 shot, which I accepted. Then with a hard tire I rolled up the climb at the end of the course.

When I got back to camp, I had pretty much figured that I was done. I was tired. What did I really need to do another lap for? What, go get another flat maybe?

Amanda McDaniel is the reason I went out for that last one. I don't remember exactly what she said, but it was something like, "Oh Tom, you have plenty of time to do another lap. Why not just do it?" She was right. I had no answer to that question other than, yeah, you're right.

So that's what I did. Thirteen laps. Met my goal of riding more than 200 miles. That was my goal at Old Pueblo last year, and I missed it by 10 miles. This year I did it.

Feels good.

After Math

Just a quick post before I head down the highway towards home. My Old Pueblo race was excellent. I achieved my goal of 13 laps, just over 200 miles. The results on the web site said that my partner did a lap, but she wasn't here.

I was called up to take the 5th place trophy for co-ed duo, but I forfeited since it was against the rules to compete in duo without having a partner do any laps. It would have been 8th place if I'd been in men's solo as I wanted to.

I'm tired and sore of course, but very content. Talk to y'all soon.

Tom P the tired.

The Big Mushy

Last night around midnight it start to rain cats and dogs. A little unofficial catch basin outside the camper caught at least half and inch of water. The road in here is almost impassable. I've heard some horror stories from those who have arrived this morning.


Friday mid-morning just before the big snow flakes started flying.

The venue is packed, and there are lots of moist tent campers and lots of warm and content RV campers. But the mood around my camp is great. We have new neighbors from Tucson and Phoenix, some from Taos and Santa Fe, and another from Boulder City, NV. Good neighbors all of them.

If the moisture doesn't keep up, there will be a fast packed course. Lots of it will be like a steel rail. If it keeps up, there will be mashed potato consistence.

I probably won't post another report until it's all over. Wish me luck!

Land Rush is On

The 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo is still a couple of days away but already there are hundreds of established camps. Almost all the really good real estate has already been snapped up, and a few boundary disputes have been noted.

Normally Thursday night is when the real land rush gets resolved. From my memory, last night was about the equivalent of last year's Thursday night.


Tuesday afternoon from up on Wahoo.


Thursday morning from the same rock.

Today is pretty durned windy, and there's a system due to move through here sometime in the next 18 hours. It's not too cold, but not shorts weather either.

Yesterday afternoon I had a pleasent surprise when my good friend Sean McGuiness and his friend Lee rolled off Wahoo Rock, saw me standing around look goofy behind the camper and came over to say hey. I don't think I knew Sean was going to be here, Great and Happy Surprise!

Last night I put on lights and did a little shake out night ride. And before I'd ridden 5 minutes I shook myself right off the bike and onto a barrel cactus. DUMBASS! Very lucky to only have gotten two spines in me, but I did tweak my left knee a little. DUMBASS! I think it'll be fine by Saturday. A little tender this morning. DUMBASS! Kind of like driving on ice for the first time of the year--you have to remember that you'll need to slow down a little. DUMBASS!

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

Blogap.

Sorry I haven't posted for a while. Been up to things. Shot over to California to ride the Tour de Palm Springs with my dad and sisters. It's a spectacle, with near 10,000 riders. I did the century, there are also 55 and 25 mile options.



Now I'm back in Willow Springs. The Venue is filling really fast this year! It's Tuesday and already many of the killer spots are spoken for. I know already that Chad Brown will be one of my next-door neighbors.

I had the honor today of doing racecourse trail maintenance with Phil, creator and maintainer of much of this little slice of heaven for over 10 years. We did some very good things. Water control for the most part. Of course my little contribution today adds up to about 4% of what Phil has already done this season.

It's beautiful. About 68, sunny, little breeze, no clouds. One of those days when you sit in the shade with sunglasses on and a cool drink.

Four days until race day! Woo Hoo!

Clear and Calm

Today has dawned sweet, sunny, and cold with white sleet everywhere. It'll warm up soon. Then it'll be time to ride again.

Cold Day in Heaven

OK, I needed a rest. I rode 160 miles in the four days I've been here. Both of the last two mornings, my quads have been pretty creaky. Of course that's the best I think I can do in terms of training for a 24 hour when I only rode a trainer for most of December and January--put the hurt on as far in advance as possible, then just try to keep getting rides in so that at least my body is relatively used to riding again. I know I'm not going to be optimally trained. But even if I start out a little tired on race day, I'm better off having shocked my system than to just get up off the couch and ride it.

So Monday I knew some weather was supposed to be on the way. I headed to town Sunday afternoon to stock up on provisions and then figured I would just lay around reading Monday, maybe take a little walk.

Weather came. Boy howdy. I woke up this morning to gusty wind blowing rain. It came in squalls during most of the morning. Then at about lunchtime it turned to sleet, then big fat snowflakes.



All day, wind, rain, snow and sleet on and off; sometimes really harsh.

Just at sunset blue sky appeared overhead. There's still plenty of weather all around, and I know better than to assume that we're done getting barfed on here at Willow Springs, but it still make for a glamorous ending to a really nasty day. It's going to get REALLY cold tonight.



(Click here for a wide panorama view of the view east at sunset).

I'm nearly all the way through my book.

Out There

Saturday morning the racer boys started pouring in to Willow Springs Ranch to ride the course. I can ride the course during the week when it's deserted, and in fact did ride it for much of Friday. So I decided to take a long adventure. I rolled out of camp on my singlespeed at around 10:45 and headed north on the Willow Springs Road out into the empty desert.

After I left the venue I saw nobody at all for over an hour. When I did see someone it was a cowboy in a pickup truck. I rode about 12 miles to the intersection with the Freeman Road, and east/west dirt thoroughfare that can take you deeper into the desert. I went east to find the place where the Arizona Trail intersects Freeman.

Last year I did this then road the AZ Trail south for hours, all the way to Oracle, then back to camp via highway 77 and the Willow Springs Road. That was something like an 11-hour ride. Today Phil and June urged me to ride the trail north. So that's what I did, and it was a treat!

At first I followed some renegade dirt bike tracks. It was either two-strokes or they were making a point; lots of roto-tilled trail. Not all bad though I guess, since that trail does not see much traffic, and parts of it have grass growing in the tread. Then there was a brief doubletrack section, and from there it just got better and better. I went out and back about 9 miles. About 6 miles from Freeman it got really good; nice rhythmic singlespeed trail.



When my GPS odometer read 25 miles I turned around. I had meant to have a more leisurely ride, a nice aerobic spin. But then the adventure of never seen trail took over. By the time I got back to Freeman I was feeling worked. And I had 15 miles at least of return trip.

I got back to camp with about 5.5 hours of saddle time. The hamburgers tasted REALLY good.

Old Pueblo Race Course Day, Evening Slide Show

Friday I had the pleasure of riding a lap of the OP course with friends, one of whom is a German man named Walter who is 69 years old, has toured on his bike all over the western US, and is signed up to solo the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo.

We rode a sociable lap together, then I grabbed my GPS and carefully rode an official lap so that I could get the new course's distance and map it. There are two sections of singletrack which will be joined to bypass a bit of service road that has traditionally been part of the course.

By my measurements, the course change will add about a mile and a quarter. But more importantly, one of the sections of trail "His" (the other section is called "Hers") is very twisty. I have found myself skidding and blowing out of a few distinct hairpin turns almost every time I've ridden it. And not because I was going terribly fast--these turns are super tight, and they appear suddenly. I need to ride that bit pretty often in the next two weeks to get dialed to how quickly it can be ridden without loss of control. It's much more strenuous to blow out of a turn than it is to corner smoothly through it.



After my 35 or so miles of singletrack riding Friday, I was invited to join a little dinner party with a slide show after. I brought half a dozen bratwursts from my stash, but the dinner went way beyond that. Grilled chicken breasts, salad, tasty corn relish, scalloped potatoes, and then some of the best chocolate cake I've ever had smothered in vanilla ice cream.

Six of us packed into a little box trailer and Walter showed us about a hundred of his photos from bike travels around the west on June and Phil's TV. It was a really fun; lots of laughing.

I flopped at 10 o'clock, amazingly late for desert camping in winter. I usually don't see 9 o'clock. The large dinner and full day laid me out, and I slept until after 8 am. I woke to a beautiful calm morning, the second one in a row.

I scream you scream we all scream for ass cream

I left Salida with a very comprehensive set of stuff. Bikes, tools, lights, warm weather clothing, cold weather clothing, food, etc. But I did not bring a single bike water bottle, nor did I bring a single gel flask. I needed to go to a bike shop, but I didn't want to do any more driving after running winter's gauntlet getting out of Colorado and through raw New Mexico.

So today I jumped on my Lenz and rode 22 miles to Oro Valley Cycles just south of Catalina, AZ. It took me about 90 minutes to get there, and I dropped about 1200 feet of elevation. Sure, most of it was highway shoulder riding, but that's really what I needed. A long-ish day of aerobic riding was just what I needed to loosen up and leave that drive behind me.



When I got back to Willow Springs I rode half the race course for good measure. So it wound up being a nearly 47-mile day, and nearly 4 hours of saddle time. Of course I forgot to bring food on my ride. I had one hammer bar and then just clear water. I bought two clif shots at the bike shop, but for the most part it was a classic long-steady day. No intensity, borderline starvation.

But more important, I forgot to lube up my chamois before I left. Just a little discomfort down there. Ouchies from not having spent much time on a bike for a while. But it's OK, I need to build up my ass callus anyway.

Tomorrow I'll have some fun!

Out of Colorado's Icy Clutches

Wednesday I woke up early and started getting my poop in a group so that I could leave Salida before lunchtime. I loaded up my truck--probably half of everything I own went in there. A friend was very kind to loan me a popup camper, and I was carefully packing stuff into the nooks and crannies. It was clearly going to be a pretty heavy load.

At 8:30 I went to my yoga class. It let out at 10. They day was looking good for travel. The report was for something to roll in later in the day, but I figured I'd be safely down in New Mexico before that happened.

I finally rolled at a little before 11. On my very last trip out of my apartment, I stepped onto the zamboni ice in front of my place; the same ice I had been walking over carrying stuff all morning. This time I slipped and went ass over tea-kettle. Bam, I landed on my right elbow and tweaked that shoulder. Fuggin' winter!

Poncha Pass was snowy, and the road from the Pass to Villa Grove, CO was snowpacked and slick. I took my time. After I got down a little lower the roads became just a little moist with ice on the edges. I could see down into the San Luis Valley and there were some suspicious-looking dark grey clouds down there. Hmmm.



I got to Alamosa and filled up with gas as a gnarly cold wind chilled me to the bone. Yeah, go ahead and blow you stinkin' winter wind! I'm going to Arizona!

The crosswind was ripping as I made my way south. A half hour south of Alamosa I crossed the New Mexico border, and found that the road maintenance had been remarkably different down there. As I passed to the east of San Antonio Mountain, gateway to the rural elk-crossing country of northern NM, a ground blizzard screamed across the slick highway.

As I got closer to Espanola, NM, the snow abated, but a gusty wind continued. As I headed up the climb to Santa Fe there was the snow again; big fat flakes driven by the persistent hard wind. Once I hit I-25 the snow stopped, but the wind doubled! On Tuesday I'd drilled my truck's quarter panels for cleats to hold the tie-downs for the camper. The wind driving into the passenger side rocked the whole rig, and I kept watching the turnbuckle in my rear view. Could something like this straighten the hook out? Could it be enough force to flip a half ton of camper with another 250 pounds worth of cargo in it off the bed?

Dang. Winter really doesn't want to see me get out of here!

All the way down I-25 the wind was on and off. At times it would slack and I would think, ìgreat, I've finally driven out of it.î Then it would come up again, rocking the truck to the left.

I cut over from Hatch to Deming at about 9 PM. I'd been thinking about maybe parking the camper and crashing in the Wal-Mart parking lot in Deming. But I figured that would be not very restful with the wind howling like that. So I downed a Red Bull, put another gob of gas in the tank (I was burning it way too fast), and pointed it right into the shank of the wind roaring out of the west. A stretch of I-10 that should have taken three hours took nearly four, and cost me over a half tank of gas, but finally I pulled into Tucson after midnight and headed up to Willow Springs to try for a few hours of sleep and then set up for some cram training.



16 days to the Old Pueblo race--can I establish a usable endurance base in that amount of time?

Leadville Snow Bike Race

You have to try this to know what it's like.

Racing in the snow is another flavor of kick in the pants. This time of year, bikey people like me often can use this sort of kick.

I rolled up to Pb-town first thing Saturday morning, paid my entry fee, got my number, and started putting on clothing. The dressing took a notable amount of time. Who knew that I was going to be sweating like that? I think I could have worn a t-shirt and shorts.

Well, almost. I did do about half a dozen full catapults into the bottomless snow next to the snow machine tracks we were flailing through.

This racer shows you what it's about--trying to go in a straight line!



I was out on the 11-mile course for a little under 2 hours. A volunteer told me I was in 14th place somewhere in the middle of my suffering, and I wound up passing two riders before the finish, so I'm guessing 12th?

There was some snow-packed road, but the real contest was the snow-machine tracks. Any incline and I was walking, as was anyone else I saw out there. Level ground was sometimes rideable, sometimes just a staggering slog. The downhills were a hoot. The bike won't go straight. It just will not. As you pick up speed the front wheel wiggles all over the place. Arms and shoulders get very tired wrangling with the handlebars, balance muscles get a workout too. Sometimes things go supercritical and you wind up pointing off the track, and that means the whole front of the bike dives deep into the soft snow and you follow it there.

Good fun. Good warmup for the riding I'll be doing when I head to AZ this week (woo hoo!). I intend to put in some good long rides to try to coax a bit of endurance out of my body in advance of the 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo.

See all you happy people who will be there February 16!

Another year.

Just like anyone, as December ends and January starts I get a dose of awareness of time passing. Short days and long nights give us plenty of time for introspection. And of course new year begins, but according to an arbitrary definition. Shouldn't the year begin at the vernal equinox, when there’s renewal of life?

I was born in early January so the feeling of time passing this time of year is doubly acute. It’s birthday time! Oh goody!

I'm into my 5th year of mid-life crisis, and I've become pretty much comfortable with it. Unfortunately I don't have a BMW Z4 or a 19-year-old trophy girlfriend.

Soon I’ll be in my mid-40s(!), but my internal self is somewhere between 28 and 33. The illusion is only shattered when I wind up in front of a mirror. I avoid mirrors. (Any cute 19-year-old girls out there reading this, drop me a line. Let's talk. I might be willing to lease a Z4 if that would make any difference!)

My new normal is defiance against acting my age. For 2008, my immaturity will again manifest itself in a flurry of endurance bike riding. 2007 was by far my most accomplished endurance riding year so far. In 2007 I redefined the boundaries of what I consider possible in terms of endurance cycling. Definitely makes me feel more like I’m 30.

Lots of changes rolled at me in '07. Becoming accustomed to being unmarried is going pretty well. The total freedom that comes with it is exhilarating while also being a little scary. After operating in a partnership for most of my adult life, I now can do whatever I want within the bounds of my financial means without discussion, consensus, compromise, or approval. It's almost like I’m 18!

Beyond my intent to keep riding like a lunatic, I intend to become an inept telemark skier in winter of '08. I think I have what it takes to achieve true mediocrity in that sport.

Salida is having another real winter so far, but this year I intend to ride it out rather than run away. In February I'll be doing at least a road century and a duo 24-hour race (missed my chance to register as solo at the Old Pueblo. Doh!)

Here's the desperate measure I'm taking to stay somewhat fit for those bikey efforts:



Tom P: committed to not taking myself too seriously in 2008.

craigslist giveth, and craigslist taketh away

About a year ago, I was separating from my ex and I needed a place to live. I did not really want a place to live in Salida, since winter's hammer was coming down and I wanted to be getting ready for my first 24 hour solo, not shoveling snow and shivering the long nights away. So I went out onto craigslist, and soon the legend of the tPOD was born.

I lived in that little sucker for 10 months. We were down in Arizona during January and February, then squatting rent-free for the rest of '07 here in the upper Arkansas River Valley.



I hauled her out to Moab for the 24 hours, but then on the first of November I rented an apartment and she was mothballed. Today my craigslist ad brought me a willing buyer. And officially, the era of the tPOD has come to a close.

Once I'd spent a week in a dwelling with no wheels under it, I knew I would never be able to live for a long term in that little box again. And it's quite a chunk of weight for my T100 to haul just for vacations. And then there's the fact that $3/gallon now seems like a good price for gas.

So that's that.

I haven't posted for a little over a month. What's been going on with me? Well, I decided to spend the winter in Salida. And my decision was re-enforced by the sweetest riding November I can remember up here. I rode a ton until about a week ago when Old Man Winter rolled into town to make life chilly.

I'm going to learn how to tele ski if we ever get any actual snow (it's cold, but not snowy at all yet). I'm going to keep plugging at the trails effort I started here, Salida Mountain Trails. And I'm going to have the luxury of staying connected with the close friends I have here in Salida. Right now I'm missing Arizona, but home ain't that bad either.

24 Hours of Moab

The first 24 hour race I witnessed was the 2001 24 Hours of Moab. This is the 24 hour race that I compare all others to. It’s big, it’s brassy, the course is quite a handful and the talent that shows up for it is impressive. It’s late in the season, which makes it feel like a grand finale, but that also means that weather can be a huge factor.

This year I hooked up with Dave Armbruster from Denver, the team captain from my first tour of the 24 Hours of Moab. Dave has been fielding teams since that first year. He had a spot open and he offered it to me. Our team was The Mud Pigs. We entered as a Men’s Veteran 4-man team.

I went out to the venue mid-week to grab a good parcel of real estate. Dave and Jesse showed up early Friday with a travel trailer they had borrowed from one of Dave’s 2006 teammates. We set the trailers up in an L-shaped formation to block the wind, should it become a factor. Our fourth guy, Paul, rolled in Friday afternoon.

Friday was a beautiful, idyllic day, but with the wispy clouds that warn of an approaching front. The rumors were that there could be some harsh weather. Saturday morning was cool, with a sort of moist breeze. There were fairly high clouds moving fast--looked like something was going to happen. But the race start was approaching, and nothing looked likely to stop that.

Jesse was our 1^st rider. He volunteered to do the LeMans start and hit the course in heavy traffic. Paul was #2, Dave was #3, and I was anchor. We agreed Friday night to stick with a simple 1-2-3-4 rotation. So I didn’t have anything to do until some time after 4 PM.

From the start, three or four teams stormed off ahead of all the others in Men’s Veteran. This is the way things go at the 24 Hours of Moab. To be on the podium in any category requires that all riders on your team are elite, and no mistakes are made. Our guys all did just fine, and we were sitting at around 13^th of 25 by the time I headed for the starting line.

I had a decent first lap, an hour and twenty minutes. That's as fast as I've ever turned at Moab, even though the course was remarkably sandy this year. My 2nd lap started at quarter to 11 PM, so it was plenty dark. I was rockin' a really fast night lap, but flatted about 2/3s of the way through and spent nearly 10 minutes fixing it in the dark. That lap was 1:39. My third was a nice frisky 1:33:46, which is decent for a 2nd night lap that started at 5:30 AM.

As I was preparing for that early morning lap, I conferred with Jesse and Paul. We were analyzing our results with Excel on Paul's laptop in a trailer in the desert in the wee hours of Sunday. Jesse was due out after me. He was feeling shelled, and also feeling regret that we were looking iffy to get a 16th lap because his times were suffering. He did a 1:55 lap between midnight and 3 AM. In order for us to have any chance at a 16th lap, we needed to have him do a 1:50 or better when he went out after me. He doubted that he had that in him.

We had been playing around between 11th and 13th place in Men's Vet since the start. The best we were going to do was 11th, and finishing there would definitely require doing 16 laps.

Jesse offered to skip his lap, letting all the faster riders do theirs, and he would take the clean-up lap at the end, which we would almost certainly get to do. In order for that to happen, Paul would have to be ready to go right after me, and he had just come in off the cold, dark course. So that sounded pretty difficult to him.

As I got up to go ride, I told them that it was really up to them. It was Paul's burden, and he should decide if he was willing to do it. Jesse noted that I had a say in it too, since I could lose the chance to do the four laps that they all were doing. I told them that I was OK with whatever.

I went out on course. As I raced, I considered that perhaps I should offer to double up, and go out again when I saw Jesse at the start/finish. But I eliminated it by the time I got there. I felt that it might not be respectful of Jesse's feelings. I should just smile, wish him luck, and let him know that I had faith in him to do his best. It really didn't matter. We were doing this for fun, and Jesse could do his lap or not do it. He could turn a fast lap or he could fall completely apart, and it was his experience that mattered then, not whether we did 15 or 16 laps.

Well, Jesse dug deep and came up with a 1:44. It was fast for him on his tired legs. And he got the dawn boost that I had predicted would help him. He came off the course smiling, happy, and proud of himself. Hot damn! And we were still in it for 16 laps!

Paul went out and turned a nice quick 1:27. Then it was Dave's turn. He hit the course at 10:24:45 AM. He needed to do a 1:35 to get me onto the course for a final lap. His first lap, when he was fresh, was 1:29:19. Clearly, it wasn't going to be easy for him to throw down and finish a lap that fast. I cleaned up my bike, suited up, stretched, and got ready to go if he got back in time.

All three of us were in the start/finish tent as noon approached. Wildly enthusiastic team exchanges were going on. The team that was currently holding 11th place sent out their rider at 11:49. So he had a lead on me, but I'd been smoking this guy through the whole race, so I wasn't worried about catching him if I got to get out there. But would I? The minutes kept clicking by, no Dave. As it got past 11:58 I started to assume that we were done. Oh well, that's how it goes. Then it got to be 11:59. The announcer started to count down to noon, and suddenly I heard Jesse yell "He's here!"

I jumped over to our start/finish volunteer and said "Our guy Dave is coming!" The countdown started and here came Dave, his eyes hollow with exhaustion. He rolled up to the table, handed down the baton, scanned his card, and promptly fell over, bike and all. I laughed out loud, took the baton, scanned my card and jogged out to get my bike and start that last lap. I laughed on and off for about the first 5 minutes, then got down to the business of catching the rider from the 11th place team.

There were lots and lots of exhausted solo riders out there, and other quite a bit slower riders. But of course that's all I saw. There really weren't any riders starting after me. I was probably the 2nd to the last rider to hit the course, if not the last. So nobody was passing me, and I was passing plenty of slower riders.

I kept the hammer down, watching for my competitor. I checked the number of every rider I approached from the back. I covered all the gnarly climbs and technical sections in the tough first half of the course with as much speed and grace as I could muster. It was not the time to crash or flat.

Finally, as I approached one of the last technical rock descents in the middle of the course, I saw my guy. He came to the top of the rocky descent and skidded to a stop. I heard him say, "Not this time." Then I blew past him and dropped it. I heard him say "Nice job", but I just kept after it.

So now I knew that I had 11th as long as I didn't mess anything up. As far as I knew, there was still a chance to move up even more, especially if somebody had a mechanical, so I stayed on it as much as my tired body could.

My final lap was 1:27:30. We were 11th place, and all was at peace in our world.

For mere mortals, this is how the 24 of Moab goes. The podium belongs to the truly fast. The rest of us create our arbitrary measures of success, and we go out there and do the best we can. Real victory for us comes in behaving like a team and making good memories. So we won. We all had the most dramatic, best finish ever at Moab. Everybody on the team threw down big time to get us that 16th lap. We all got what we got by doing our best.

It was a great time. A great way for me to sum up my 2007 race season.

Sandy Course!

Out at the venue, I've done two laps to check out the course. She's deep, bro. Mucho sandy. Gonna make it interesting this year. The big wheel will be an advantage.


This dude powered his way through the whole dune, but it's deep baby!

I'll blog a report when I have it, but don't look for it before Sunday. Woo Hoo! 24 Hours of Moab, baby!

Porcupine Rim

What a classic ride.

After I spent the morning helping out at the venue, I decided it was time for some “me” time. I put on a wool jersey, threw my provisions into the truck, and headed to Moab.

There are lots of stock rides I could do. One of them, the Sovereign Trail, I’ve only ridden once before. That was during the ridiculously rainy Rim Ride Moab. There was some temptation to do that ride, but I haven’t ridden good old Porcupine for a couple years. It’s a wonderful ride. So that was it.

I went straight to Lions Park, at the intersection of Utah state highway 128 (the river road) and highway 191. The ride finished onto 128, a few miles upriver. So I parked there and rode through town and up onto the Sand Flats Road. I had to pay $2 to the BLM to get into the Sand Flats Recreation area.

It took me about 90 minutes from the time I parked to the time I hit the Porcupine Rim Trailhead. I encountered three jeepers right away, then two hikers. From that point, I saw nobody for an hour or so.

I rode the jeep road downhill section with a strong sense of mortality. I’m still a bit sore from the crash I took at Phil’s World on Monday, and of course I broke my hand on that road back in 2000. I remember that day like it was yesterday. No need for broken bones today, especially with me all by myself.

The first other human I saw after the hikers was a Euro chick in full-on pro racing togs. She was walking up the jeep road as I was descending. I stopped to ask her if she was alright and she pointed to her bare wrist and said “I lost the jewelry—you see any jewelry?” I shook my head apologetically and rolled on. A minute later I ran into her Euro racerboy companion. He told me “She lose her jewelry.”

I saw a cluster of shuttle riders (an empty shuttle van had passed me as I climbed the Sand Flats Road) just as I approached the beginning of the singletrack. I rolled past them and hit the brief but fun and technical singletrack. It was just as I remembered it; all ride-able, but with several difficult visual problem-solving puzzles. Only after you give up and put a foot down do you see the easy line. It’s the kind of ride that you could get dialed if you rode it every day for a week.

Ah well, it’s beautiful anyway. You descend to the river in a way that looks impossible. So far down, such a steep canyon wall.

I was back at the truck in almost exactly 4 hours. I drove straight back out to the venue to defend my turf. When I got there, I found that I had neighbors on two sides. But my boundaries had not been breached.

Home at the Venue

I dragged the tPOD into the 24 Hours of Moab venue Tuesday early afternoon. Monday night I stayed at the Moab KOA where I could shower, fill the fresh water tank, and dump my poopy tank. After I checked out of the KOA I went into town to do laundry and some shopping.

Then I rolled out to the venue and pulled the trailer in there using 4wd low. Even though I went in using creeper, the road really wasn’t all that bad. I remember years past when it was really pretty gnarly. Granny Gear has worked it over really well. Perhaps it will get worse after a couple hundred vehicles, trailers, and RVs have rolled in to prepare for race day.

I got a decent spot, then walked over to command central to volunteer to help. I’d like to reduce my camping bill, and it helps to know people anywhere you go. So Tuesday late afternoon I helped Snedly clear tumbleweeds from the beginning of the course, heading east along next to the entry road. Wednesday morning, we filled prairie dog holes in the field used for the lemans start.

People keep trickling in, but as of Thursday morning, it’s still pretty much empty. SRAM and Cannondale are the big vendors who have arrived, and IMBA has sent one advance scout.

Let the games begin.

Phil's World

Damn, but do I like Phil's World.

I rolled over to the entrance to Phil's just about an hour before sundown yesterday. I carefully towed the trailer over some nasty road to a turnaround where I could park for the night without blocking the road. It got danged cold overnight. I hung out in the tPOD until almost 10 AM waiting for the air to warm up a bit.

Then I hit it. I spent a whole day riding Phil's last Spring during the 12 Hours of Mesa Verde. Today was no race, just for fun.



Man is this a fun place to roll! Swoopy, curvy, up and down singletrack weaving through the piñon/juniper and sagebrush. Then there's the ribcage. How much air do you dare?

OK, this is pretty funny. I decided to shoot a little digital camera video of myself stylin' off one of the best whoops in the ribcage. I took two bits with the camera positioned too high, then re-set it and went for the final cut. If you can handle a ~9 MB download and you have a minute or two to burn, check out my crudely edited video here:



So, on that last one, it might look like I landed it fine. But I was too far forward. I could tell while I was in the air, and I stiff-armed the landing. The biff happened off-screen, and you get to listen to me commenting on the after-effect.

I'm OK by the way. Rung my bell just a bit and scratched myself. I'll live to make a fool of myself another day.

Durango - Telegraph Trails II

It did dawn clear. The air was very chilly, but the sky was cloudless. I got up, ate some breakfast, secured the tPOD and hauled her back up to Durango.

It took me longer than it should to find a legal place to park the truck and trailer, but once I found one I was suited up and ready to ride in a few minutes. I had to dress pretty warmly, since it was probably mid-50s in town at around 11 AM when I was getting ready to embark.

I went back to the Horse Gulch-Telegraph trail system on the east side of Durango. I like that place, enjoyed it in May when I was last here, and it's nice and low. I didn't feel the need to ride in cold high-country. I could do that at home.

I made a couple goofs and wound up doing more hard climbing than I wanted to, including climbing up the Anasazi Descent, which is obviously not meant to be climbed. All the walking I did gave me plenty of time to peel off my leg warmers, since I clearly didn't need them by the time I got halfway up.

Once I got to the Telegraph Trail summit, I spotted this little crawly thing crossing the trail. Not a huge tarantula, but bigger than any of the hundreds of black widows that can be found back at the bikey commune.



My lenz is nicely shaken out. The Fox fork is wonderful. Long live Fox Racing Shox!



Good day riding. Nearly 4 hours out there and almost no re-tracing of routes. Now I'm doing a few minutes of library time, and then it's off to Mancos-Cortez. Tomorrow, Phil's World!

Road Apple Rally

I hauled the tPOD to Farmington, New Mexico on October 5th, the day before the 2007 Road Apple Rally. I parked it in the parking lot of the Lions Wilderness Amphitheater, which serves as Road Apple HQ, then got my bike out to do a little shake-out ride. I have a brand-new Fox F-29 fork hanging off the front of the Lenz, and I’d re-cabled the front and rear shifters. That had all happened without even a test ride, other than around the shop--dodging the clothing racks and display cases. Just hadn’t had time to take her for a proper shake-out ride. So just as the sun set on Friday, we did a little 25-minute dance on the Roadapple singletrack.

Afterwards I twisted the barrel adjusters on the shifters a little and let some air out of the fork. Then I locked her to the tongue of the tPOD, made some dinner and hit the rack.

When I woke up, I could hear people talking and RVs being backed around. The parking lot was already filling up as the sun came up. I fried some bacon and ate a little cereal, then I put on my monkey suit and started circling around, warming up like the other bikey geeks that were showing up from all of the four-corner states.

The nervous milling about, egos being compared for where one should line up, the countdown from ten, then the pack starts rolling. An uphill doubletrack start spreads the pack out pretty quickly. I wasn’t in this thing for a win, but any racer knows that once people start racing, people start racing.

I don’t do much cross-country racing. I’m not blazing fast. I prefer setting up a decent pace for a long haul rather than pushing my throttle down to the floorboards for a couple pain-filled hours. But the Road Apple—it’s so steeped in tradition. Ned Overend rolled past while I was warming up. And the course is a blast; long and swoopy, and flat relative to Colorado race courses.

So when the riders started sorting out on the doubletrack at the beginning I put the hammer down. When the doubletrack gave way to the seemingly endless rolling uphill singletrack, I stayed on it to the extent that I could. When the rollers got deeper, I pump-tracked my way to a couple easy passes.

About 30 minutes into a cross-country race, you get to witness what happens to people who really don’t have much fitness, but can hang with faster riders for a while. You’re grinding along behind someone, feeling pain but staying with it. Then their body language and sometimes even an audible queue tell you that it’s all over for them. They give kind of a huff, and either shift down or start pedaling slower. You say “on your left” and they happily slip to the right to let you around.

I don’t think I’m any faster than usual, but I have some pretty deep fitness in my life right now. I went out hard. I kept at it hard. About an hour and a half into it, when I was about two-thirds of the way through my race, I wilted for about 10 minutes. I didn’t drop my pace entirely, but I was feeling it. Then some guy who had been following me on a section of singletrack, about my age, came alongside me when we came out onto a stretch of road. He had an exasperated look on his face, and said “how much did we pay to do this?” I just smiled at him and rode away like he was standing still. I may feel like I’ve been beaten, but this goober is NOT going to cross the line before I am.

He didn’t.

I finished in 2:19. That put me in 7^th for 40-49 Sport. I was 11 minutes behind 3^rd place. Of course I had to look at where I would have been in Expert. I was only 9 minutes behind 3^rd in Expert. Damned sandbaggers. I’m going to declare myself Expert next year. If I’m going to be mid-pack when I race X/C, I’d rather be a mid-pack Expert than a mid-pack Sport.

As my race finished up, the decent weather that we had started to degrade. A chilly wind came up, and the clouds rolled in. I put on some warm clothing and went to the awards and to collect my free plate of Mexican food. It got colder as the awards ceremony went on. I bumped into some friends from Albuquerque and another one from Bakersfield, CA (Sportsman).

After the awards wrapped up, I wandered back out to the parking lot where the tPOD sat. The lot was already more than half empty. The wind was rocking the tPOD. I went inside, took an Advil, turned on some music, and stretched my legs out. Within an hour the parking lot became almost totally empty, and the wind became a force. I started reading a crime novel, and thought about where I should go tomorrow. I’m doing the 24 Hours of Moab on a team next weekend, so I’m just staying out this way for the next week.

Is the weather going to go to shit? Should I just skip Durango and stay somewhere lower? Maybe I should just do a day at Phil’s World then head on up to Moab.

Tom Waits from the speakers, the wind, the empty parking lot—these things combine to make me feel melancholy. But tomorrow is another day. As the wind blows itself out there seem to be fewer clouds in the sky. Tomorrow will probably dawn clear. I’ll pick someplace to ride and get on with my 4-corners tour.

Rosie Dog

About 16 and a half years ago, a dog came into my life. She was adopted from the Denver Dumb Friends League. She changed my life.

This dog was special. She was smart, she was devoted, and she lived life fully. Rosie wanted to be part of my life, and she wanted that life to be fun. Full of adventure, which by her definition meant lots of excursions into the mountains. Camping. Moving across the face of the earth. Finding out what's around the next bend in the trail.

I lost Rosie in April of 2005. She had been stricken with arthritis since the late 90's, and it got much worse toward the end.

But those early 90's--those were some years for Rosie and I. We spent some wonderful days together back then.

For most of her life, Rosie was easier for me to love than for almost anyone else. She had a bit of junkyard dog in her. Actually, quite a bit. She tended to attack dogs that she didn't already know were afraid of her. And she was brave about it. I saw her attack some big dogs without the slightest hesitation. And she prevailed often, but not always. I got her sewed up more than once.

It seems that she felt it was just easier to jump them so that she wouldn't have to worry about being subject to any other dogs. But as she got older and less confident of her toughness, it became clear that she was afraid. Other dogs were a threat. She assumed the worst.

Most often people were greeted with friendliness and enthusiasm, but she wasn't so sure about kids. She snapped at every neice and nephew ever presented to her.

But I defended her. She was my dog. She loved me and cared about me. I know that dog training specialists often claim this is an illusion, that our dogs really only show us this kind of attention because we feed them. But I really felt something different from Rosie. She really cared about me, and all the other people in her inner circle. She remembered her favorite people, and recognized them almost instantly, even if she hadn't seen them for several years.

So why am I waxing on about this dog? Why now?

Today I decided to create some closure, to try to celebrate Rosie's memory for the whole day, to do something she would have really enjoyed doing.

After Rosie died, I had her cremated. Her ashes were in a ziplock bag in my file cabinet for almost 2 and a half years. I knew what I wanted to do with those ashes, but it never seemed to be time. Today I decided that it was time.

I drove over the Kenosha Pass with my bike and Rosie's ashes. I loaded up, put her remains carefully into my hydration pack, and headed for Georgia Pass. This was a place--a bike ride, that we shared many, many times way back when. I haven't ridden there for perhaps a decade. But I couldn't think of a better place for Rosie, for the memory of Rosie.

I left all the gadgets at home. No MP3 player, no camera, no GPS. I wanted to spend the ride reflecting on my life with Rosie rather than filling my head with music. The images that surrounded me were not for capturing digitally, they were for taking me back to those days when Rosie and I passed through together.

I rode all the way up to Georgia Pass. I summited the pass into a brisk autumn wind. I stood looking over South Park, opened the bag, and let half of the ashes be carried in the breeze downslope. The wide basin up there above treeline was a place Rosie used to roam as I followed the singletrack.

On the way back down, I came to a familiar switchback. Rosie used to shortcut that switchback, and would be waiting for me when I got down to where she'd run. Her face would be full of mischief. She had outsmarted me! She knew a shortcut.

I sprinkled some of her ashes there, where I could almost see her waiting, smiling and wagging as she panted from the effort of running down the trail with me.

When I got to Jefferson Creek I sprinkled some of her ashes into the rushing water. She always loved water, and used to flop down into Jefferson Creek on warm days as we passed by.

Then I headed back toward Kenosha Pass through the large sweeping parks between huge stands of yellow aspen. The image of Rosie running through the grass brought me back to those good, sunny days we spent together. The last of the bag found its way into the breeze there.

Goodbye Rosie. Good dog.

Last Day of Summer, 2007

End of summer often brings the Rocky Mountains stellar weather. Today was a perfect example. Crisp, clear air. Almost no wind. Fluffy white clouds contrasting a blue sky. Perfect riding weather.

Maybe the last Monarch Crest day, maybe there will be more. But any more days up above tree line will be a gift. Once the equinox comes the high country can become a wintry place.

Starvation Creek is maybe the prettiest little corner of the Sawatch Range when it's time to ride through a litter of aspen leaves. Today was classic. The leaves still were a mix of green and yellow, even though some stands were completely bare. Just like the day--one foot in summer, one foot in autumn.


My friend Margie on the Starvation Creek singletrack

Banana Belt Loop Race

Every September for the last 10 years, I have lined up on Salida's F Street Bridge over the Arkansas River for a tiny local race. Salida has been known as the Banana Belt for many years for being a town in the Rocky Mountains that has relatively dry, warm weather.

Eighteen years ago, a local mountain bike club started running a race every year at the end of the tourist season. The Banana Belt Loop Race, normally called simply the Banana Belt, became a rite of passage marking the end of Summer.

The Banana Belt was yesterday and there are still 5 days of Summer, but as I write this the tPOD's tiny furnace is running, taking the chill off the morning. I've been chasing mice out of the tPOD's cargo chambers--they're looking for winter quarters. Aspen are beginning to turn, and once the leaves start turning it happens fast. Then the trees are bare and it's time for snow to fly.

I raced the Banana Belt for the 10th time. I lived through the lung-searing climb up Bear Creek, I railed the now-familiar Rainbow Trail remembering the first year I raced when I saw it for the first time. I slid and rattled my way down the jeep road off Methodist Mountain, passing people from out of town like they were standing still. Got the 10th t-shirt.


Banana Belt Course Map


Banana Belt Course Profile

As I made my way around town during my post-race Sunday afternoon, I looked around wistfully. Ten years ago I looked at a town that I wanted to move to. It was love at first site. This would be home, if only I could figure out how to get moved here. That was late-summer 1998. By Spring of 2000 I owned a house here, with plans to get it renovated and ready to be a primary residence. I moved here with my ex during Christmastime, 2000.

Now I look at this place with a striking sense of ambivalence.

I know more people--have more social connections, than any place I've ever lived other than perhaps my hometown, Fremont, Michigan, a town almost the same size as Salida where I was born and lived for my first 18 years. I have some really close, dear friends here.

And then there's the wild country that surrounds Salida. Over the years I've become familiar with the mountains and piñon/juniper hills around Salida. The southern Sawatch Range, where the Vapor Trail runs, the venue of the Monarch Crest Trail, Starvation Creek, Greens Creek, Silver Creek, Blanks Cabin, the Alpine Tunnel. The northern Sangre de Cristo Range which gives Salida it's southern skyline--Simmons Peak, Methodist Mountain, Poncha Mountain. And of course the beautiful but understated Arkansas Hills, the piñon-juniper-ponderosa pine hills that separate the Arkansas River Valley from the South Platte drainage--namely South Park.

There are so many places out there that I love. And yet, given my lack of enthusiasm for winter sport, I rarely visit any of these places other than the local bits of the Arkansas Hills from November through April.

So then the downsides of my life in Salida:

I've come to dread the winters. I just wait them out. Damned wasteful way to use half of one's life.

The hourly-wage-no-benefits reality of work in Salida has been a threat to my savings since I was laid-off from Agilent (Flatulent) Technologies four years ago. I probably haven't been as creative about finding more lucrative work here as I could have been.

There really aren't very many available women here. I'm divorced. I've been on my own for nearly a year. I have hardly even dated here. There just are not that many opportunities.

Now that the Banana Belt is history it's just a matter of time before the really cold weather comes down. The days are already getting short. All summer it was easy to put off really thinking about what comes next in my life. But now it's becoming obvious that I need to leave Salida, at least for long enough to figure out what else is out there for me now that I'm single for the first time in a few decades.

Where'll it be? Someplace warmer, for sure. I've got some connections in Tucson. I spent a couple months there last winter.

I've lived in Grand Junction, CO (Grand Junkyard) and I have some fond memories from that place. Of course there's damned fine biking there, and it's almost year-around.

Then there's the question of what the hell to do, like, for money. So I'm going to a new place, a bigger place. Am I going back to IT? Back to school? Will I become a film and TV star? News anchor? Superhero?

Damned autumn. Why can't summer just keep on keepin' on?

Vapor Trail 125

Hardest thing I've ever done.

This was the sentence that repeated itself over and over in my head as I approached Aid Station 2 near Whitepine, CO. This was around 8 AM Sunday, September 9 after about 50 miles of the nearly 130-mile route. I would be on my bike for 10 more hours after that.

Saturday was busy for me. I was trying to pull together all the loose ends of organization that would hopefully make the event go off smoothly. My friend Trey Beck helped me most of the day getting the registration process lined out, stocking Aid Station kits, and all sorts of other little jobs.

As the evening wore on, riders started massing outside Absolute Bikes like Salmon at the base of a dam. At 9 PM we started having them fill out waivers and lining them up for a medical check. Then I stood up on a chair and talked to them for about 15 minutes about the day that wouuld start in a few hours.

Finally I grabbed a Red Bull and ran out to my truck a bit before 11 PM to drive out to the tPOD and get my own ride gear together. At 10 minutes to midnight I rolled on my Lenz toward the F Street Bridge with the rest of the riders. Shawn counted down from 10, and then we were rolling through Salida and beyond, west toward the Colorado Trail in the darkness.

The rollout went a bit faster than I would have chosen and the pack was strung out pretty well by the time we got to County Road 250 and started climbing on dirt toward the first singletrack section.

The Colorado Trail from Blanks Cabin to Chalk Creek has always been an uncivilized bit of rocky punishment. After this year's monsoons, it has become even more dramatic. Lots of sand and soil has been washed out. In the dark it was a voyage of discovery. Luckily I had only one minor crash, when my front wheel dropped into a deep rain rut. I was able to just step off the bike. But it left me feeling jumpy. Hard to go very fast on the remaining singletrack.

Arriving at the first Aid Station was a real comfort. There were people there, a fire, and Jon handed me a freshly made breakfast burrito. I washed it down with a Red Bull, then mounted back up and headed up the railroad grade toward the Alpine Tunnel. It wasn't quite 4 AM.

As I climbed the easy grade toward our first Continental Divide crossing, I chatted first with Sean McGuiness then with Adam Lisonbee. Adam rode ahead of me from the intersection with the Tincup Pass road, then I caught him just at the Hancock townsite and rode ahead of him to the top of the Alpine Tunnel.

Riding hard, alone in the cold darkness, one’s mind can be visited by many unhelpful thoughts. Endurance sport is a mental as well as a physical challenge. After riding through the night, dawn almost always boost one’s spirits. But as long as there is more ground to cover the task of staying positive and confident is a constant challenge.


Me hiking up toward the Continental Divide above the Alpine Tunnel, photo by Adam Lisonbee

Dawn greeted me as I hiked up to the divide pushing my bike. When I first felt the sunshine on the back of my neck, I turned to see the sun just clearing a mountain behind me to the east. I experienced a sense of elation that is hard to describe. I threw my head back and laughed. My mind was full of joy and I hardly felt tired, even though I was cold and had been riding hard for almost 7 hours.

Less than an hour later, as I started climbing toward Tomichi Pass, all my confidence and energy left me. I thought about quitting, excuses coming quickly to mind.

The course took us south toward Whitepine over Tomichi Pass. The 2nd Aid Station, located just north of Whitepine, was staffed by the legendary mountain bike racer Dave Wiens. I sat in a chair staring at a hot campfire while Dave Wiens oiled my chain. I was thinking that I might quit soon, but I certainly didn't share that with Dave. After I had been sitting there for a while, one of Dave's sons gave me a 4-leaf clover. I still have it.

Getting to Aid Station 2 was a huge challenge, but it was only the start.

Leaving the second aid station we proceeded south through Whitepine and on to the Old Monarch Pass Road. The 2500 foot climb to Old Monarch Pass in a bit over 9 miles took us to the halfway point of the Vapor Trail 125 course. This climb to the Continental Divide was the 4th long climb of the day. I started expecting to quit when I reached the Aid Station at Monarch Pass. Somehow by the time I reached the Old Monarch Pass summit I had talked myself into continuing.

Once more, incredibly supportive, positive, and helpful volunteers at the Monarch Pass Aid Station helped to fuel me up and get me on my way, energized and ready to get back to work finishing the Vapor Trail 125.

I proceeded south on the Monarch Crest Trail, into a chilly wind, watching a storm brewing up ahead. I knew that it was likely that I would ride into the wet storm, but I saw no reason to quit. I felt positive and energized. I rode quickly with purpose, toward the beginning of the Agate Creek Trail, eight miles from the Monarch Pass Aid Station.

Riding downhill is usually so much more fun and so much easier than climbing, it rarely is thought of as hard work. The descent down the Agate Creek Trail toward the intersection with the Lime Creek Trail was difficult. It was steep and very technical, with lots of ruts, rocks, and drop-offs. The effect of the summer’s monsoons on the trail made for some very tired hands and shoulders.

As exhausting as the descent was, the climb up the Lime Creek Trail was far more devastating. For perhaps the forth time since midnight, I found myself feeling utterly exhausted. My thoughts turned negative, and I lost confidence in my ability to finish the ride.

Another difficult descent, this time down the Indian Creek trail, brought me to the 4th Aid Station. Once again, the support and encouragement I received from volunteers turned my experience back toward positive confidence. Restocked with food, water and encouragement, I rolled onto the Marshall Pass Road and made my way east toward the pass.

A headwind sapped my momentum. But I kept turning the pedals. All I needed to do was reach Marshall Pass, then ride south to the top of the Silver Creek Trail. From there I'd have the familiar Silver Creek Trail descent, which would surely be a shot in the arm. The prospect of finishing with a ride down the Rainbow Trail to highway 285 was quite daunting, but I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

As I ground along climbing the Marshall Pass Road my stomach started to be upset. I had trouble keeping food and water going into my body. The full body ache started to work at me. After all those climbs, all that pedaling, I was beginning to bonk. I stopped to answer nature's call, and Sean McGuiness caught me. I rode along with Sean for a while, but there really wasn't any talk. I didn't have anything to say. Sean also seemed occupied.

After we crossed the washout 4 miles west of Marshall Pass, we started talking about the cut-off and how much time remained. I pointed out that we had plenty of time to get to Marshall by the cut-off, but that we better keep a pace up. Then, after 5 minutes or so I said, "of course we're still racing to get to the Silver Creek Aid Station by 6:30 to make that cut-off". Sean had thought it was just easy downhill from Marshall to Silver Creek, but I explained that there was about an hour of climbing from Marshall to the top of Silver Creek. "You don't have to wait for me," I said. Sean said nothing but doubled his cadence and rode away from me.

After Sean left, my mind turned to despair. Just continuing to turn the cranks made me feel ill. My mind wallowed in pity--"I'm not going to make it." Soon Tracy, the sweep moto rider came alongside me and asked me how it was going. I told him I was shelled. He asked if I was going to make it to Marshall and I said I was committed to getting to Marshall under my own power.

When I arrived at Marshall it was 4:30. Tracy took my bike and I slumped to the ground. I sat in the dirt with my head between my knees, trying to keep tears from filling my eyes. It was obvious to me that I would not be able to ride the remaining 20 miles of singletrack on the course. Failure. Failure.

Andrew rode up on Shawn's motorcycle. I couldn't look at him. I stared at the dirt. After a while they asked me what I was going to do. I told them I would ride down the Poncha Creek Road and go back to town. Andrew warned me that it was hammered by the summer rains, as all the routes we had been using were hammered.

Eventually I staggered to my feet. I clumsily swung a leg over my bike and started toward the Poncha Creek Road. I rode the rough jeep road down, descending several thousand feet over about 7 miles, my hands and shoulders aching from the effort. A grimace of shame and failure all over my face.

A light rain started to fall on me. I was still wearing shorts and short-sleeved jersey. I was unwilling to stop and take out my jacket. I just wanted to be down.

I knew I would need to make an appearance at the post-ride barbecue. I didn't want to show up there all bummed out and full of self-pity. I decided to ride through town, get my truck from where I'd left it near the bike shop, and drive home where I could shower and pull myself together. As I rode down the highway, a big tail-wind pushing me to well over 40 mph, I thought about how inappropriate my little pity-party was. I was being terribly self-obsessed.

Then it occurred to me that I was still in the throes of the mind game that get's played out when we do these silly-long endurance efforts. My brain was starved of glucose, and my mind was full of the self-created drama that keeps us on the bike, pedaling long beyond exhaustion.

Yep, it's a bummer that I'm not finishing. It's the first big event I've entered in a year that I didn't successfully finish. But look at the day I just did. Huge Colorado Trail effort. A whole series of huge climbs. Miles and miles of work done well above 10,000 feet elevation.

Will I be the only person at the barbecue who didn't finish? Nope. But I may be the only one who's moping around, whining about it. Grow up. Go home, shower, put on some comfortable clothing, and get myself to the barbecue to celebrate the biggest physical effort of my life. Sure, I didn't "finish". But did I fail? That's for me to decide.

So that's what I did. One of my biggest accomplishments of the weekend, and one I'm fairly proud of--I fixed myself up, slapped myself across the face, and got on with life. It's a good life. Why focus on the dark side? I missed my chance to finish the Vapor Trail. But life is like that. Renewal is part of it. I can face the Vapor Trail next year with renewed resolve if it's that important to me.

So that's my story. Great day. Mixed outcome for me. But goddamn, what a great success the 2007 Vapor Trail 125 was! Largest starting field ever. Eighteen finishers out of 33 who lined up. No injuries. No major mishaps. It happened. It worked. I got through most of it, and I learned a whole new batch of stuff about myself.

Good day.

Pre-Vapor Trail 125 jitters

I haven't posted a blog entry for a while. Ever since the 24 Hours in the Sage, I've been pretty much focused on recovering and organizing the Vapor Trail 125. I've been involved in planning and execution of the VT125 since the first year, 2005. This year I've had the dubious distinction of being the Ride Director (it's not a race). But to make matters more complicated, I'm also riding it this year.

I intentionally kept myself from doing much big riding since I got off the bike at the end of the 24 Hours in the Sage. And I've been focusing on eating and sleeping. Well, I think I've eaten enough, and I think I've slept enough, but I'm worried that I may have let my fitness lapse a bit more than I should have. I don't feel great. Some of that's from the stress of organizing the Vapor, some is from spending lots of time working at Absolute Bikes where I'm on my feet the whole time. But some of it clearly is from not riding much.

I guess we'll see on Sunday. I know my bike is ready. It's a Lenz Leviathan 4.0 that I absolutely love.



The fabulous wheelset I got from Mike Curiak's lacemine29.com shop is mounted up, and the bike feels like a rocket ship with those hoops on there. She's shifting right, shocks are set up perfect, new brake pads nicely bedded from a visit to Crested Butte a few weeks ago.

All ready to go, let's hope the motor turns out to be in anywhere near as good shape.