The Church of the Blue Dome » Grizzly Adam

Finished.

Grizzly Adam — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 14:00:57 +0000

I sat lifelessly in a chair. The commotion of the aid station surrounded me. It was vexing. All the encouragement and cheerleading. And the thick positivity. I wanted everyone to be quiet. To go away. To let me suffer in my own cocoon of self pity and forlorn disappointment. Somebody stuck an orange in my face.

“Eat.”

“No.”

“You’ve got to eat.”

“I’m not eating. I’m not finishing. I’m staying right here.”

“Eat. And then go finish the race.”

“You go finish the race.”

After a few minutes of pouting I found myself watching the riders coming and going from the aid station. It was 60 miles into the race, and at the conclusion of a long, demanding and remote—by race standards—section of technical, twisted, rooted, dusty, singeltrack. It’s the section of the Point 2 Point course that I have always called the crux of the entire route. Two climbs to 9,000 feet. 2 white-knucled descents. And almost 30 miles without resupply or any sort of mental reprieve. It’s a gauntlet of difficult riding, and emotional implosion.

But while I idled in the darkness, others—equally as blinkered and worn and distraught as I was—muscled through the black pain. They pointed their wheels upward and disappeared into the thick hillside and switchbacks of the Spiro trail. I resented them, but only momentarily.

“What do they know. I should have been here an hour ago. Why should I bother finishing, if I can’t finish as fast as I wanted?”

In an instant of realization and revelation, the absurdity of such thoughts dawned on me. I felt stupid. Embarrassed. And though I never voiced those thoughts at the time, having even thought them shamed me into a submission and acceptance of what was actually happening, rather than what I believed should have been taking place.

“Grow up. Man up. Pedal. Pedal dammit!”

And so begrudgingly, I got back on my bike. The darkness that had engulfed me somewhere up above, near Shadow Lake had been eclipsed—if only somewhat—by a shadowy optimism and determination to fight through the blackness and the overwrought sense of self-ordained importance. Nobody else cared about my expectations. Not when they were fighting off their own devils and demons and dark chasms of despair. And yet, none of them were pouting petulantly, or looking for pity and sympathy. And so up the switchbacks, and the point of no return I—we—went.

I knew there was significant risk in anchoring my entire summer on one, rather difficult event. And I knew that that risk increased exponentially with every hyperbolic ambition of heroic and jaw-dropping achievement. But I also knew that I needed those delusions of grandeur. I needed the extra motivation and determination to fuel my preparation and my training. In the end, I used every bit I had. I dug deep—deeper than ever—though not in the context or toward the result I had hoped for. Just finishing became the victory. The end. The delusion. And indeed, there were hours of black contemplation wherein I saw no possible means to that end. I wanted nothing to do with finishing. I wanted nothing to do with anything.

But, and not surprisingly, the means to that end became my fellow riders. Hard men and women that I had seen suffer and struggle and dig in the past. But never like this. Never had so much pride been stripped from so many accomplished and stubborn bike riders. Myself included. And never had I seen so many of them ignore the cold stare of the devil with such brash impunity. One after the other huffed and puffed and pedaled by me as I stood trailside again and again—hoping in vain to somehow pull out of the nosedive I found myself in. Defiant, yet visibly teetering on the edge, they rattled by. And each of them offered words of reinforcment and encouragment.

“Come on Grizzly.”

“Get back on the bike.”

“Jump on my wheel, let’s get this done.”

Damn the shattered “what ifs” or “should have beens” that slipped away suddenly and abruptly. Damn the golden windows or the “race of my life.” None of that mattered. Although, admittedly, those things still persisted in the back of my mind. And still are. But they were never more than possibilities to begin with. And only remained so for a few hours on race day. In the end, crossing the finish line was the only possibility that carried any sort of meaning or tangible understanding.

And when that became an inevitability, especially after the ferocious argument I had with myself—an argument that lasted for hours—the thoughts of what might have been gave way to different, darker thoughts of what might have been had I stayed in that chair at mile 60. In other words, I’m proud of my result. I’m proud I was able to dig my way out of the blackness and fear and angry, bitter hostility that so quickly engulfed me during the race. And I am inspired that so many others were able to to do the same. That so many others found themselves conquering themselves. Going above and beyond what was thought possible.

So, yeah. I finished.*

In spite of myself.

*And just so Mark isn’t confused—I’m not whining. I’m bragging about how tough I am. And I’ll STFU when I damn well please.

Golden Windows

Grizzly Adam — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 14:00:59 +0000

In January of this year I wrote:

Like everyone else in the cycling world, I want to be faster in 2010 than I was in 2009. That fact is like unalienable rights – a self evident truth. And one such that motivates otherwise rational adults to pursue ad nauseum an end which can never be obtained. Like golden windows on the horizon, one simply chases after them each and every day, only to discover upon arrival that they have moved on to yet another far and distant sunset. Until at long last the cold realization settles into the heart and mind that a lifetime has come and gone, with countless delusional spring mornings promising, but perhaps never delivering new legs and new fitness and those summer afternoons atop podiums and leader boards.

2010—from a mountain bike racing perspective—is nearly finished. History. Done. But not yet. No, the culmination of those spring mornings and summer afternoons, which have been largely successful, arrives on Saturday. And while I have spent countless hours and written an equal number of words about this day, I can’t help but feel that regardless of what happens, I will—in the end—look back with pride and satisfaction. In fact, I am beyond excited. As I mentally ride the course while drifting off to sleep each night, I see myself climbing Deer Crest in the light of a bright mountain morning, or scraping 10,000 feet in the shadow of Jupiter Hill. I am floating lightly across the Mid Mountain Trail, through aspens and the shade, all the while ignoring the aching legs and the nagging, persistent cry from someplace deep within to stop pedaling. Stop the pain. Stop.

Reality, of course is more cold and cruel. Indifferent to ambitions and daydreams. But then, I’ve never had a firm grasp on it anyway. And a bike race seems a poor time to find that hold. After all, what good is cold stone fact when chasing possibility?

I am determined to turn empyrean visions into corporeal reality this year. Which means ignoring those golden windows (momentarily) and focusing on the bitter, hard work that is required to actually obtain something of substance and merit. Which means engaging in those unpleasantries like…training. Not every day can be a watershed day in the mountains snaking through singletrack or floating through powder. Some days have to be miserable, taxing, and utterly mind numbing – the indoor trainer, painful, contorted calisthenics and of course, laying off those culinary vices that contain taste and flavor.

I’ve ignored the golden windows a lot this year. But now the time is at hand to chase them into the horizon. To outrun—or rather out ride— the setting sun. And to at long last obtain that which I have been so adamantly pursuing. Or, probably more accurately, not to obtain, but to pursue with the utmost focus and determination. There is no more building or tapering or “saving my legs for the Point 2 Point.” There is only the Point 2 Point. There is only pedaling.

Lots of pedaling.

2010 Mount Ogden 50k

Grizzly Adam — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 14:00:05 +0000

Apples and Oranges.

I lined up for the 2010 Mount Ogden 50k with one primary purpose in mind—to find out where I stand in comparison to last year. I wanted to go into the final days before the Point 2 Point with some sort of barometric reading of my fitness. A way to zero in on a few race-day expectations and goals. And hopefully, a green light signaling me onward in that Quixotic pursuit of “the race of my life.”

But then something unexpected, and admittedly disappointing happened. I finished 8 minutes slower than I did in 2009.

“$*&#@”

Eight minutes is an eternity. Days. Eons. A lifetime.

All sorts of thoughts streaked through my brain in a panic laden effort to explain and understand.

“The mud. It had to be the mud.”

I looked over the results.

“Times are slower than last year. A lot slower.”

I relaxed, a little.

“The mud. It must have been the mud.”

But then, what if it wasn’t? I poured over my 2009 and 2010 race files. Why was I faster last year? Higher heart rates. A negative split. I climbed quicker. Descended better.

But I felt very good on Saturday. When I stepped on the gas, the engine responded. But the course was sloppy and soft. And I did have to take a few moments to dig mud out of the crown of my fork so the tire would spin. But still, eight minutes is a long time. And so, I know nothing today. And that leaves me feeling rather unsatisfied. And perhaps a little discouraged. Which frankly, might be a good thing given the lofty—and probably self destructive—ambitions that have been steeping slowly and gloriously in my addled brain.

However, any lingering doubt or over-analytical anxiety can quickly and easily be abolished. How?

Pedal dammit.

And in fact, that phrase stood at the fore of my effort on Saturday. At some point I had to dismiss the 2009 comparison, and the upcoming 80 mile odyssey, and focus purely on the here and the now. And once I did that, I found myself riding back into the fringes of the fastest finishing times of the day. Today is not tomorrow. And a 32 mile cross country race with 4,000 vertical is not the Park City Point 2 Point. Apples and Oranges.

And yet, lingering and festering is the nagging reality that eight minutes is a long, long time.

Exit Question: It was the mud, right?

Alls I Got

Grizzly Adam — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 14:00:44 +0000

It all comes down to these next 2 weeks.

Well, maybe it all doesn’t, but much of it does. For the last six months I have planned and schemed and daydreamed about the Park City Point 2 Point. I’ve ridden the Park City trails week after week—I know, I know, but somebody has to do it—with the sole purpose of knowing exactly what lies around each bend, and over every horizon. And always with September 4th on the brain. Always monologuing and prognosticating on what might occur. What ought to occur. Hope and reality. Strange bedfellows, indeed.

And while I realize that with such ambition comes the distinct possibility for spectacular and fantastic failure, I embrace that risk, and will—on race day—roll with the punches.

But before then I get to test the waters of possibility and aggrandized strategic scheming at the Mount Ogden 50k. A race that last year proved to be a perfect primer for the P2P. I’m hoping for the same, if not a much better, result this year. That is, I have questions that need answering. And what better way to find those answers than to race 50 klicks of fast, twisty, fantastic singletrack? In fact, it might be that the grand and delusional ambitions I have long been harboring and fostering for the P2P will be tempered—somewhat—by the harsh tangibility of whatever may happen this week. But then… perhaps not.

And why not dream big?

To race at all requires us each to be wildly delusional. We each bring our own set of expectations, goals, ambitions and circumstances to the start line. All of which seem to be entirely discarded the moment we roll across the chalk and into—we hope—the lore of mountain bike history and canonical, sacred legend.

Tempered and moderate aspirations be damned.

So we dig. And dig. And what do we find? Deep dark places. Sometimes. But also an innate and unexpected ability to completely and wholly surprise and delight ourselves. In one shining moment all those intervals and early mornings and GPS files are forgotten. The 6 hour training rides and the distracted, unproductive days at work are irrelevant and meaningless. The world shrinks into the palm of your hand. It is you, the dirt, and the feathery lightness of mountain bike nirvana.

Just don’t hit a tree.

And now the months of riding and training and pouring over maps are over.

What I’ve got, is alls I’ve got.

And alls I’ve got, I fully intend to leave out on the trails of Park City, Utah.

Suffer. Well.

Grizzly Adam — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 14:00:22 +0000

I need to suffer better.

Long-suffering.

I finish too many races and rides with a smile on my face. I need to finish barely knowing my own name.

Or referring to Levi Leipheimer, as Jeremy Horgan-Kobelski did after the Leadville 100 as “Tour de France Podium Guy”.*

Sunday afternoon, riders in the Tour of Utah had far-off gazes in their eyes. A week of hard racing in the Wasatch had completely ruined many of them. Scorching paces at the front of the peleton, day after day, did not exactly help matters. The suffering was tangible. And I envied it. Afterward, many of the riders looked just exactly like this poor soul from the Trek/Livestrong team. Not even two wristbands could hold back the pain of finishing the day—and the Tour— on Utah’s version of L’Alpe d’Huez.

Overall winner Levi Leipheimer suffered—although, very quickly—up the hill. And if you have ever wondered why you are not as fast as he is… take a look at those legs.**

*Take a look at Todd Wells in that video. Cooked.
**You know you’re a cyclist when you check out the legs of other guys.

Rider after rider crossed the finish line, depleted and cross-eyed. I felt no pity. No sympathy. Only admiration and envy. I want to suffer like that on a bike. Or, to put it in other words—the words of Jonathan Vaughters, in fact—”It just doesn’t matter how your legs feel, you have to stop caring how your legs feel.” Words to live, and to race, by. Words I will be taking with me to Park City on September 4th.

In the end the suffering is always worth the effort. Nothing is better than looking back and saying, with unsubtle pride, ‘I did it.’

How To: Load Tracks Into Your Garmin

Grizzly Adam — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 14:00:11 +0000

Bike computers that use GPs technology to calculate speed and distance are commonplace. Especially int he mountain bike world, where mapping and tracking routes is an important aspect of endurance riding. Events like the Dixie Lite, the Arizona Trail Race, and even the Great Divide Race are all largely made possible by GPS computers. And while those types of events can be done with out a GPS—indeed Fred Wilkinson rode the Dixie Lite with paper maps—they are easier to promote, navigate and finish with electronic maps.

But even an everyday ride, standard 100 miler, or weekend exploration session can benefit from the use of a GPS bike computer. It was my Garmin 705, and the loaded track, that saved me from going catastrophically off-route on several occasions during the 2009 Point 2 Point. Which was no fault of the way the course was marked. But rather a side effect of my inability to see certain colors when matched with other certain colors. In this case: Orange on Brown or Green. I simply could not see the bright orange paint on the trail. But that is another story altogether.

With the 2010 Point 2 Point quickly approaching, and several anxious riders spending day after day riding sections of the course, the question has come up several times of how to best utilize the GPS files that have been posted at the P2P website. It’s a good question, that really does not have just one answer. The unit you are using, the base maps you have installed, and the type of file you’ve decided to utilize will all play a significant role in how your race-day navigation will work. I’ve outlined below what I like to do with my Garmin 705. What follows will only work on a Garmin 605/705. If you are using a 205/305/500 you are best using a course file—which I have very little experience with.

Disclaimer: This is not fool-proof. GPS files are still rather sensitive things, but I’ve had the most consistent success following these steps:

But First: Why I like track files.

Track files are exactly what they sound like: tracks. In other words, they are simply a line drawn onto your map. If you have topographic maps installed into your Edge, then that is all the better. But a track file will load just as well on your factory basemap. And your location carrot—that small triangle that represents you—will sit on top of that track, so long as you are on course. If you deviate from that track, it becomes fairly obvious. Mostly. There is some level of “float” the further zoomed into the track you are. This is especially apparent on a tight, winding course like the P2P. But even that is usually corrected as you continue on course. Track files are relatively easy to install, and don’t require any navigation, that is, there is no need to set up your unit to prompt you on turns or upcoming intersections. While that can be a useful feature, it can also be extremely annoying. Remarkably so after 5, or 9 hours in the saddle.

Trust me.

In the case of the Point 2 Point, a GPS file will be a supplement to the course markings. When in doubt, use the marking on the ground. Unless you can’t see them. In that case… pray to heaven you have a good track. The point being… don’t be Michael Scott.

Allright, at last, here is how it all happens. And by all means, if you have suggestions (or questions), or better ideas, leave them in the comments section.

1. Download your desired files. Files for the P2P can be found right here. Save the files to your hard drive (you may want to rename them) where you can easily find them. I made a new folder on my desktop called “2010 P2P”.
1A. At the Garmin Connect page, choose “Export –>GPX.*

*If you are using a 205/305/500, or prefer to use a course file, simply use the “Send to Device” option (see below for more).

2. Plug your 605/705 into your computer with the mini-usb cable.

3. Mount the unit as a removable device. On a Mac, this happens by default. In your finder window a hard drive called “Garmin” will appear. If you have an additional data card (highly recommended), that will also appear as “untitled”. On a Windows machine you will probably have to detect the new hardware in order for it mount.

4. Copy the downloaded files to the “GPX” folder on your Garmin unit. If you have a data card installed, copy them to that GPX folder instead.

5. Once the files are all copied, unmount the GPS and go to “Where To?” in the menu of your unit.

6. Choose “Saved Rides.” The files should be listed here.

7. Choose the first one listed, you should now see a window that reads: Navigate, Map Setup, Copy to Card/Device, Delete. Choose Map Setup.

8. The Map Setup screen will display some basic information about that track. It will also allow you to change the color of the track. But the most important option is the “Show on Map” checkbox. Make sure it is checked. After that, you can choose “Map” to see a preview of the track on your map. Select “OK” to go back to your list of tracks.

9. Repeat steps 7 and 8 for all of the tracks, which in the case of the Point 2 Point, will be a total of 6—unless a master file is released.

10. Once you have chosen them all to “Show on Map” they will… all show up on your map. But note that only the one you have selected will show up when you choose the “Map” preview. In other words, the default map that cycles through your screens when you push “Mode” will have the entire route as a nicely drawn line leading you through the labryth of forests and big, big climbs, and eventually to triumphant victory** at the finish line.

**I can’t guarantee your victory.

It’s that easy. Which is, not exactly easy, is it? But it is the best way that I know of. However, there is another method that you can try:

Plug in your device and turn it on.***

***That’s what she said.

At the Garmin Connect page choose “Send to Device”.

This option sends a course file to your GPS, and is probably the best way to load the route onto the 205/305/500 series, but will work with the 605/705 series as well. In this case, go to the Courses file on your GPS, and navigate the route from that.

Any questions?

Guest Post: Get Out!

Grizzly Adam — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 14:00:56 +0000

The following is a guest post from Kyle Simpson, who writes for Medical Coding, where you can find information on a career in medical billing and coding industry.

Get Out! Realize a Visceral Connection to the Outdoors.

Have you ever wondered what it is that makes you enjoy curling your toes in the cool grass of a shady park or the surf of a sandy beach? Why are people so fascinated by watching the clouds drift by, or the leaves rustle in a breeze, or wild animals leaping through the springy undergrowth of a forest? And what is it about a thunderstorm, a desert sunrise, or a distant twister that makes us shiver in awe? Haven’t you ever noticed that despite your best efforts to blend into the bustle of a city, you constantly long for an escape from the concrete jungle? Whether we like it or not, humans have a visceral connection to the natural world around them. We fear the beasts that are stronger and faster than we are, we thrill at the sharp tang in the air that precedes an imminent storm, and the crash of waves is enough to lull us to sleep. The question is not why do we have these feelings, but rather, why do we deny them?

For many people, the struggle to simply survive in modern society is a weight that they are trained to carry. We may complain about the burden of working long hours to support the American dream of owning a house and having 2.5 kids, and we might rail against the many commodities we are expected to purchase as good little consumers, but for some reason, we continue to trudge along even as our backs bend, our spirits fade, and our role as herd beasts becomes an all-consuming reality. Of course, we relish the moments of freedom (a yearly vacation or weekend camping trips) that allow us to escape from the monotony of our everyday lives and breathe a little fresh air for a change, but these moments are sadly few and far between for most nine to five-ers.

Somehow we have gotten it into our minds that this is normal, that we are meant to live at odds with our surroundings. We have been trained to see the natural world as something to be conquered, owned, and manipulated. And yet, deep down, we know that our connection to nature and the almost spiritual reverence we feel at the sight of some uninhabited corner of the Earth is not something we are spoon-fed like every other bit of information we funnel in our fast-paced lives. No, our desire to experience something natural and pure, to be a part of the world around us, is deeply ingrained within our psyche from the moment we are born. And if we are wise enough to recognize it for what it is, a birthright that we all share, a promise that we all enjoy, and a responsibility that we can all embrace, then perhaps we can return to a time when joy in its purest form came not from the things we produce, but rather from the thing that produced us.

That is what waits for each of us outside the little boxes of our sheltered lives.

Guest Post: Anatomy of an Endo

Grizzly Adam — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 15:31:38 +0000

The following is a guest post from Greg Heil.

Greg Heil is currently located in North Georgia and spends his free time riding mountain bikes and blogging about the sport. He is also a member of the Airborne Flight Crew. You can read more from him at his blog: GregRidesTrails.com. Thanks Greg!

Anatomy of an Endo

en-do

-noun

1. Short for “end-over-end.”

“Make sure you don’t pull an endo!”

2. A pretty cool t-shirt company.

“I wear Endo.”

-verb

1. In mountain biking, the act of going straight over the handle bars.

“He hit that rock wrong and totally endoed!’

1. Cause

There are 3 main causes that crop up time after time causing countless, painful endos.

Grabbing too much front brake in a hurry without grabbing enough rear brake or leaning far enough back can easily cause an endo. I have seen this happen multiple times. It feels horrible to bring that much pain on yourself.

Having a rock bring your front wheel to a dead stop when you thought it would roll over it can easily cause an endo. One time this happened to me and I landed smack on my helmet, on a big rock. Then it happened again less than a tenth of a mile later. That trail (Pile Driver) was my long-time nemesis. (I’ve since conquered it!)

As I discovered just yesterday, a big stick in the spokes can cause a very nasty endo. This stick-induced endo is especially nasty because it can catch you by complete surprise. While grabbing too much front brake is your own doing and getting stopped by a rock is something you see coming, I don’t tend to think about sticks getting stuck in my wheels very often. However, as I was bombing down a singletrack hill yesterday, a big stick got picked up in my spokes. It hit my fork in a nanosecond bringing my vision-blurring descent to a nasty halt. I didn’t realize what had happened until after the fact… the surprise factor was vicious.

2. Effect

Yesterday I got vaulted over the handle bars and pile drived into the ground on my forearms. Upon impact my cleats released, slingshotting my bicycle over my head and down the trail another 7 feet. In the short second or two during which the crash took place, I distinctly remember seeing my bike hurtling through the air above me.

3. Damage Assessment

Body: After crashing, I picked myself off the ground, caught my breath, and went “Holy crap, that HURT!” Then the typical course of action is to figure out what, exactly, is hurting. Yesterday I quickly determined that my left forearm had lost a lot of skin and was already bleeding, and that my right elbow had been scraped up and there was already an egg-sized lump forming on it…. I hurt just about everywhere else too.

Bike: Personally, this is usually the most worrying part of a crash. I always jump up off the ground, thinking “I so hope I didn’t break anything on my bike! Because if I did, I probably can’t afford to fix it.” I always check my rear derailleur first, as I am infamous for ripping them off and destroying hangers and cages. Luckily, it was still in true and shifting well for me yesterday, and the rest of the bike checked out as well.

4. Reassessment of the Ride

“Do I still want to continue riding?” is usually the main question. Yesterday, I was out specifically looking to set up the camera on a stand and film myself on certain sections of the trail. I crashed literally about 15 feet before the first section I wanted to film. I had to decide: “Should I still rail through these gnarly sections and try to get the video I came for?” I was already there, so I decided to hit it hard and take the footage, despite being a little bloody and shaken. Falling is just a part of mountain biking, after all.

5. Reassessment of Sanity

Normally after a very bad crash, I’ll pull myself up and continue riding. Typically, thoughts similar to these come into my head:

“Isn’t it pretty much insane to love a sport that can dish up so much pain in such a little amount of time?”
“Why can’t I have a gentler hobby like golf, or stamp collecting?”
“I just tore up both of my arms in a crash I wasn’t expecting, and despite that I’m now going to film myself tearing through some of the gnarliest sections of trail as fast as I possibly can. Is that normal? Should I admit myself to some sort of mental asylum?”

Wow, on second thought… maybe I am insane. One thing I know for sure: I definitely have the disease! Despite charging a price paid only in blood, I can never get my singletrack fill!

5 Years: In Pictures

Grizzly Adam — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 14:00:03 +0000

It was 5 years ago that this blog came into existence. Which is an eternity in virtual years. A lot has changed since August 2005. And yet, much as remained the same. But rather than try and recap the history of this blog in text, I thought that pictures would tell the tale with more detail—and less reading. And speaking of reading: Thanks. I hope I can continue—assuming I ever have— to provide something of value for you. I enjoy writing in this space, showing off a few photos and videos, and generally bragging about the adventures that I embark upon. But it’s all for naught if nobody else is around to share in the experience.

So, again, thank you.

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

Guest Post: A First Hand Look at the CTR

Grizzly Adam — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 14:00:22 +0000

The following is a guest post from Jeff Higham, who woke up early on Monday August 2nd to watch the start of the Colorado Trail Race—a 470+ mile unsupported race from Denver to Durango. Jeff lives in Highlands Ranch, Colorado with his wife and 4 kids. He currently rides for the Natural Grocers / Vitamin Cottage Cycling Team competing in regional XC and endurance mountain bike events. For more from Jeff—and I highly recommend adding him to your regular reading schedule—visit his blog.

—————

I woke up early today to join some hard bodies for the start of the Colorado Trail Race, a self-supported mountain bike race that starts just west of Sedalia, Colorado and ends near Durango, Colorado some 470 miles later. Those that complete the race will have climbed over 65,000 vertical feet (how many feet are in a mile? 5,280?). The race is 100% self-supported with no entrance fee, outside help, aide stations, food drops, course markers, first aide stations, team cars, etc. Just the riders and what they can cary.

Unlike the rest of those lining up at the starting line—a parking lot at the intersection of Colorado Highway 67 and Rampart Range Road in the Pike National Forrest—I was planning to sleep in my own bed tonight. I was just there for a small sample of the whole experience, a meager 5 miles of the course. Everyone else will be sleeping under the stars, clouds, lightning, snow, hail, or whatever nature throws at them tonight. As I write this at 9:30PM it looks like the leaders will be sleeping the first night just west of Breckenridge or possibly near Copper Mountain. Follow the race in real-time.

My “pretend racer” plan was simple and took all of 5 minutes to dream up this morning on my drive to the trailhead. I was going to snap a few photos at the start and then strap a POV camera to my helmet and ride the first 5 miles of the race and then venture back up the trail to my car. Then I would drive home, take a quick shower, and head into the office to spend the rest of the day dreaming what it would be like to have kept riding. Much like my pretend CTR race plan my bike pack was extremely simple and took about as much time to get ready. Cycling clothing, helmet, glasses, shoes, gloves, 2 tubes, 2 water bottles, 3 gel shots, a Flip Ultra, and a POV cam attached to my helmet. This is my usual setup for 1-2 hours of riding which is all I ended up doing (excluding the camera equipment). At the starting line I had some comments by real racers on how light I was packing for such a demanding race. Jokingly I asked them what they needed all of that stuff for. I got a few puzzled looks but mostly a lot of smiles.

Many of these racers have been planning, training, testing equipment, and doing weekend bikepacking trips to prepare for the demands of the race. Just browse the 2010 posts of Topeak-Ergon pro Jeff Kerkove to get an idea of the kind of commitment and preparation required to RACE the CTR.

Perhaps someday my pretend dreams will turn into reality and I can ride on past Lenny’s Rest and into the 465 miles of singletrack heaven. Maybe next year, or the year after that, or even the year after that I’ll be among those lining up with a 40lb bike and a huge smile.