All Things EPIC

Superfly Transport Revamped

2012-03-06T20:05:00.000-08:00

Taking a bit of a different packing approach on the lug-a-bike through the canyon.

The way my pack, gravity, frame shape and my desire for minimal breakdown all mesh, I played around with the idea of putting the front shock down:

Left pedal and both wheels off...the bike is secured well where a normal person would put a snowboard

From the front:

This actually feels pretty good on my back. The pack is a bit large but will work. The shock sticks way out but the seat at its normal height actually provides a pretty good counterbalance of sorts.

If the trail is truly a wide double track as I have been told by a former Flagstaff native, then I am good with the wide load. If not, I have some repacking and probably more (NOOOOO!!!!!) breaking down of the bike to do.

Here are some pics with the wheels on. My concern is bending the rotors so I will mail this thermarest to Tusayan to keep the wheels offset and I secured them so there is no movement. The thermarest keeps the wheels from touching eachother and the frame, but I am still a little sketch about protecting the rotors....

Ideas? Thoughts? Help?

A recipe for a bent rotor at the north rim?

Lots of head clearance

Front view with wheels on

This way feels far more comfortable to me that turning the bike the other way. I am going to hike the Animas Mt Trail with it tomorrow to test it out....

Too wide a load for the canyon? Rotors? Other issues? What am I overlooking/need to consider??

All Dressed Up and No Place to Go

2012-03-03T16:16:00.000-08:00

So I started a blog a few years after I moved to Colorado. It was just before I found a mountain bike. I was busy climbing mountains, running, road biking, hiking, riding my horse, working a couple of jobs, studying biochemistry and navigating through the sea of the first serious relationship after a short-lived mistake of a marriage. I had a road bike that I put zillions of miles on as an escape. I remember so many hours of pedaling on the network of roads that cut through Northern Colorado and the clarity it brought to my overloaded, sometimes stressed-out life.

One afternoon I came back from a long ride and wrote about how I wished I had all the time back that I wasted driving. With the subject of driving and cars taking up a great deal of my recent thoughts over the past two days, I decided to look back though a bunch of old posts and found it:

April 2...Wouldn't it be great to somehow get back all the time one spends driving? I have given this a lot of thought not only on my bike--but ironically--while driving. The monotonous stop and go and stop and go sends me into a sort of demotivated trance. By nature, I am a bit of an impatient person, so maybe this is why I find driving to be so annoying lately. In short, the very thought of fighting traffic on the way to the gym, store, school or work sometimes zaps all my energy and motivation to do what it was I had planned. So, when I finally locate that magic wand, I think that is one of the first things I will give back to myself--all the countless, mind-numbing hours spent in traffic...

A foreshadowing of where I am today? Hmmmm....

I grew up counting down the days until I was 16 and could get my license. It represented freedom to me. Yes, my parents restricted my driving privileges quite a bit at first, but I grew up in a time and place where the "coolest" thing on the highway was a tricked out 4WD pickup truck. Loud, black smoke- billowing, jacked up, big tires and the more mud the better. (It is probably safe to say that not much has changed, but that's another topic).

And so I always had a truck and the new shiny models always turned my head on the road. First, I had a big Dodge to pull my horses around, then a newer Dodge, then an F-150, then a newer F-150. Then I got tired of pouring money on gas, insurance and payments into the money toilet (right about the time I found a new, true freedom on a mountain bike) and downgraded seriously to a gas-sipping, older car that ran and was worth about 1/3 of what my bike was.

Being human (well, more accurately, American) I was a little embarrassed to pull up to the trailhead in a 1999 Mercury Cougar amongst all my friends and their Audis, Elements, VWs and nice trucks with super sweet rack systems.

Most of this video is ridiculously stupid, but the girl stuffing her bike into the car was me. Hilarious if you can relate. Not so if you can't....And I admit, driving somewhat of a clunker was a bit humbling and as I said before, somewhat embarrassing...

For all of about two weeks....

Then I just quit caring or even noticing what others drove and what was shiny, new and fancy. Seriously. I used to be the girl infatuated with the newest truck on the market, but when my notion of real freedom was forever redefined by a set of knobby tires and a mountain trail, I just simply stopped giving a shit. All I cared about was how little gas I had to use to get to the next trailhead.....

So when my car broke down in the middle of nowhere on New Years Day, I said a few choice words to it, wished I had a match and some kerosene as I walked away...(.Ok, I am just joking....well, kind of)...and sold it the next day.

And have not had the desire to replace it....yet.

I have done a ton of (sometimes very tough) adapting. I can no longer make a snap decision and jump in the car to run to the store. I find myself becoming the master of planning and arranging. I borrow a car from my very generous roommate or find a ride when the situation dictates a need for a car. I throw my gas money in and give up my independence of going wherever I want to ride or hike whatever I want. For someone like me, that is the really difficult part of not having a car.

But I can honestly tell you I don't know the price of a gallon of gas, have not scraped a frozen windshield or dropped a dime towards car insurance for a while. I also love to not drive around in a trance of stop and go and stop and go. I love the extra effort I feel in my legs when I am carrying my groceries on my back up the hill to my house. I do not miss the white noise of the radio that I constantly flipped through to find a song I hadn't already heard six times that day. I am glad there is one less car spitting exhaust into the air.....and I do love to see the smile of disbelief and the double-take when I roll up on the Pugsley and lock it to the nearest tree.

The benefits of not having a car are numerous both physically and mentally and each of you who do or have commuted without using a car have your own list I am sure.Somedays, I feel that I am adapting well and could go carless for a long time.

Other days, (specifically yesterday) when I was so stoked, completely packed and ready to head out with my bike and my dog and travel plans completely fell through, I had absolutely zero other options to choose from on such short notice. And I was as bummed as Wheels when she realized we were going nowhere:

Now, I am beginning to forsee a "car-light" existence in my future. I love having all the time back I wished for in my old blog and a lifestyle that involves carpooling and biking everywhere. It is good for me and I genuinely cherish the simplicity of it.

But I will eventually find a good balance and buy something that will get me reliably from Adventure A to Adventure B to avoid being "all dressed up and nowhere to go" again.

I am not thrilled at the idea of car ownership right now, but it sure sucks that I am blogging on a Saturday. One of which I should have not even had my laptop on....

64337 Minutes

2012-02-28T12:21:00.000-08:00

I decided this morning was a good one to catch up on the blog. My Pugs is sitting by the front door and my gear is ready to go for a 2 hour cruise. This is what I am looking at out my window, grinning like a giddy little girl!

The fatbike has evolved into an awesome snow navigator and commuter. I have it geared 36/20. Yep. That's right. Yes, it goes through the snow. Yes, I stand up on the hills and it goes up. Yes, its hard. Yes, I have to push up some hills. Yes, I ride by some geared fatties on hills....yes, I do love the pain. I have taken boatloads of good-spirited crap about this bike, but I love it. I love that it is a frame from a friend, parts from many other bikes and leaves tracks like this:

And just because its kinda cool to compare, I noticed a Larry, an Endo and my two Nates side by side after a ride a few weeks ago:

Who notices and compares tread in the snow and takes a pic? Someone needs a life..

About a month ago, I entered a 24 hour race in West Yellowstone called the Equinox Ski Challenge. It is too close to the AZT 750 to take seriously so I am going to have fun with friends and ride my fatbike. It will be an awesome training race and I absolutely love western Montana. Pretty stoked for this one. And yes, I will regear to 32/20.

The Pugs evokes the urge to just be silly and rage through the snow like a kid. I have the permagrin constantly when I am riding and have NO problem doing this on rides:

And I have learned that if left unattended, random snowboarders will "borrow" it to let their 10 year old out while waiting in the lift line:

I even considered commuting to a nice dinner with some friends a couple nights ago, but the shoes just didn't allow that to happen (believe me I tried)....

It has proved to be a good training tool as well. There are many days that I need to back off and go for a Pugs ride to keep my mind from racing through all the logistics, travel, gear, time off work, workout schedule and nerves I feel for the AZT 750. The mind game, as we all know, is key to my success in Arizona. Last year's 300 taught me so many things that I will take with me this year. I honestly cannot wait for the adventure that is in store.

750 miles. On a bike. In a strange land. I have never seen the Grand Canyon and I am going to break my Superfly 100 down and lug the bastard from the south rim to the north rim on my back with this and some webbing:

The Osprey Switch 40+5...my $20 Craigslist find

I dream about the unknown, the challenge and pushing through the fatigue and pain I know will be a huge part of my days in the desert. But what draws me to races like this is the simple freedom I find on my bike, the different beauty and intrigue of Arizona, the survival skills necessary, and as much as I love solitude, I never forget all the the people I meet on the trail or the unique individuals that take on this challenge as well. I love that something stirs in their heart the same way it does in mine....

So here are a few more pictures of the FrankenPugs I am so damn happy with:

Again, I can't thank Kokopelli Bike and Board enough for making this beast roll!!!

So, as of right now, I am 64337 minutes away from the start of my adventure through AZ. The only huge setback I have experienced is that I lost my GPS while training near Oracle, AZ. It is somewhere past the Tiger Mine Rd Trailhead. I have put the word out if anyone finds it, but I am not holding my breath. It's gone.

Right now, the money is not in my pocket to replace it either. Anyone feeling like helpin' a sista out and lending me theirs for 8-10 days in April? It is an essential piece of gear in my setup that has to go on the trail. Just throwing it out there if anyone feels compelled.....

Til next time.....

Tongue Tied

2012-02-23T00:59:00.001-08:00

Let silence take you to the core of life.

-Rumi

I sat down to finally drop a wordy blog post about all the things I have been doing to prep for the AZT 750 over the last two and a half weeks and absolutely nothing is getting written in this text box. I am simply unmotivated to "report" stats, details and miles right now.

There is a huge, very silent upwelling within me at present that is working to crush the demons of self-doubt as April 13th approaches. This movement within is fostering silence of my outer voice as I work through it.

Pictures from my journeys over the last two and a half weeks and some powerful words from Rumi that are constantly fueling the fire will have to suffice.

Do not be satisfied with the stories that come before you. Unfold your own myth...

Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?

Forget safety. Live where you fear to live...be notorious.

My soul is from elsewhere. I am sure of that and I intend to end up there...

Let yourself be drawn by the stronger pull of that which you truly love...

Move within, but do not move the way fear makes you move

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Do not go back to sleep.

And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?

Kiss Me....It's Snowdown!

2012-02-05T23:05:00.000-08:00

I sit here before work in the middle of the afternoon at the Irish Embassy Pub listening to seven people cranking out "Whiskey in a Jar" (how appropriate)on a fiddle, accordion, banjo, many guitars and some unidentified noise makers and look out the window at the snow lightly falling on the streets of Durango.

No blizzards here, just a few inches. But it IS sticking...and a few inches means a few feet in the mountains that tower above this sleepy little town. Oh yeah!

No epic rides or adventures in extreme conditions lately. Nope. Just a shitload of work while Snowdown is in full force and then I will disappear into the desert for a few days with my neglected Superfly and some bikepacking gear. Looking like a solo trip is in the works as plans, schedules and work take potential riding partners in many different directions.

The fatty is alive and has evolved to its final form. The Superfly is getting a little TLC from the boys at Kokopelli Bike and Board. Many a trip to Cortez have I made and I forsee many more. These guys are hands down the best around. People, mechanics, friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I have been experimenting with the Osprey pack that is going to tote my bike across the canyon (pics coming) and I have been busting my ass at the Rec Center on the spin bike, on the track and in the weight room. A lot of yoga classes and podcasts fill up the rest of the time I am not otherwise occupied. I am not at all motivated to post hours and numbers. Boring.

My personal reward for all the gym time is laps on the awesome water slide at the pool. The harder the workout, the more laps I reward myself with.

And you all thought I was there training for some 750 mile race across the desert?

Merely an afterthought to the water slide.

So I end this boring blog post with a small taste of the local culture:

My knights in beer can armor on the final night of Snowdown.

2:45AM

2012-01-30T02:49:00.000-08:00

Insomnia. A rare visitor in my world. He comes when my soul burns hot for the pursuit of epic.

My thoughts, my focus and my dreams (on normal nights) have been hovering lately around my return to the Arizona Trail Race this April and the weird cactus-filled landscape that is so foreign, yet so newly mystifying to me. Its no secret that I am hopelessly and forever in love with jagged, snowy peaks that kiss the sky above 13K'. But something about this unknown, alluring, somewhat mysterious and strangely beautiful desert has me tossing and turning at 2:45AM this morning.

I begin thinking of my ongoing training here in Durango, my upcoming bikepacking trip in AZ, money, how to best disassemble my bike, about gear choices, when to mail hiking shoes and my pack, how to get back to Durango from the finish and about more emails I need to send to coordinate the carpool to the start...ha. The details of preparation bring insomnia.

On the flip-side, the things that bring perfect, rejuvenating, refreshing, warm sleep include notions of things like:

Inherent challenge.

Solitude in the remote wilderness of a foreign world.

Pedaling through the cool night under the looming moon.

The strength to push on.

A sunrise on Mt. Lemmon.

Summerhaven.

The greater strength and wisdom to rest when needed.

The Grand Canyon.

Freedom.

No entry fees, no prizes, no hype, no support.

Yep, I love the pain of the big climbs and big descents after two days, the hot sun and chaffed skin as much as the way cold water feels on my lips, how sweet the sugar of dried mango tastes on my tongue and the relief my eyes feel from closing to finally sleep on the trail. I can't wait to get lost in my thoughts as I pedal, and to feel the miles go by as I study both the intricate and obvious details of a landscape that will never have my heart, but forever my interest.

I have decided to document my preparation in a series of blog posts from now until the night before I kiss the Mexican border and set out for Utah.

So, if Insomnia hits you some night, check back..my ramblings may put you to sleep faster than the infomercials.

2012: Thumbs up for ROCK and ROLL!!

2012-01-16T11:54:00.000-08:00

The following words are my ultimate words of wisdom and motivation for 2012. They come from a 5 year old. Sometimes we (I) forget that life (on and off the bike) is really:

This Simple

And anything more is, well, just needlessly complicated.

Be happy of myself. Keep practicing. And THUMBS UP EVERYBODY FOR ROCK AND ROLL!!

Love, love, love it.

So what's going to be rockin' and rollin' in 2012? Well, anyone who reads my jibberish knows I live amongst my mountains now. The call got too loud and I ditched the front range for Durango. Originally planning to just winter in paradise, a week here changed my mind. I have found home for a while. These rugged, serene and surreal mountains hold too much adventure to allow me to permanently return north.

I will miss the boys from the Boulder Trek Store Team and Erick, the mechanical wizard that kept my bike rolling. Thank you so much. My respect and gratitude is HUGE for you all. Hardcore. Motivated. Talented. Supportive. Positive. The energy that surrounds the team is incredible!

But I am now seven hours away and other opportunities from three other teams fell into my lap all within two weeks of each other.

So without further adieu, I am stoked to say that I am now a member of

BANDWAGON RACING

"Search the skies brave pilots, there is a new constellation forming, the Bandwagon is shining bright"

There is an energizing light illuminating from the awesomeness that is Bandwagon Racing. Motivated, uplifting and passionate people compose the team that will undoubtedly be a force to reckon with in 2012. Myself and Joey Ernst compose the Durango chapter of the Bandwagon Galaxy, while forces like Doug Johnson, Stephanie Jones, Kristi Olson, Trevor and Pablo von Boeck, Jason Hanson, Eric Cutlip, Jon Csakany, Fred Hankinson and Allen Beauchamp patrol the vast universe of wonder that lies beneath Pikes Peak.

On the Wagon!

2012 Kits from Primal:

So sweet. Super sonic lightning suits that stand up against all weather and wind. Jet engines included. Guaranteed to make us faster. No training needed.

But just in case the jet engine won't start some morning, Doug Johnson has taken on the task of harnessing my insanity and agreed to coach me this season.

My focus has narrowed this year. I am guessing some training races (Durango Dirty Century) will get thrown into the mix somewhere in here, but this should keep me out of trouble:

April 13, 2012, 6:30AM: AZT 750

June 16-17, 2012: 24 Hours in the Enchanted Forest- coed duo w/ Les Handy

July 30, 2012, 6AM: Colorado Trail Race

September 14, 2012: World 24 Hour MTB Championships

I have been ever so lucky to gain support this year. Bandwagon Racing has the greatest sponsors in the galaxy and I have listed them below and added them on the front page of this blog. Take the time to click on them, check them out, really learn about what they have to offer and consider them first among all the choices out there.

Osprey
Schwalbe Tires
Ride Clean
Primal Wear
Pranava Yoga Center
Squirt Lube
Kate's Real Food
Acli-mate
Feedback Sports

Additional support for which I am GREATLY thankful for:

Ergon
Derailed
Back Track Outdoor Video Gear

And, I leave you with a short guidebook when in my neck of the woods:

If you are in the MTB capital of the world, Durango, CO:

Velorution Cycles

Attention all you LUCKY 12 Hours of Mesa Verde racers:

Don't bother going anywhere else when in Cortez.

Kokopelli Bike and Board

Get out there and do something remarkable in 2012. Stop saying "I can't" or "I will when...." The time is now. Your life is now. And you only get one...

Breaking Point

2012-01-12T09:38:00.000-08:00

White Rim, Canyonlands National Park. By bike (of course). 101 miles straight through. No camping.

Dubbed WRIAD by some hardcore badasses, I got the invite to join in on the ride Jan 2.

Full explanation of the route here.

Completely stoked at the challenge and beauty of this undertaking, I rearranged my schedule only to have my car completely crap out on me a long, long way from Canyonlands.

Well, so much for that. Happy New Year to me....Welcome to 2012. Ugh.

After taking care of the entire car fiasco, I decided to just solo the route last Tuesday. My fellow mountain biking addict buddy, Brian, decided to come along and we left Durango Monday morning to ride a short, fun ride and set up camp north of town to get an early start Tuesday morning.

Sovereign Trail was the consensus and we set out around noon. Brian sets a quick, even pace that pushes me to ride faster and smoother. I chased him on his Fuji hardtail through techy rocks, fast turns and a few climbs for about 3 hours.

After trying to rent this bike (with no luck) to roll on the upcoming AZT 750, we set up camp that evening and built a roaring bonfire.

Lucky that thing was roaring because the longer the sun was down the COLDER it got. The sky was perfectly clear and the full moon eliminated really any need for headlamps. My phone alarm was set for 5:30AM and I crashed out in my tent inside a warm 0 degree bag.

Tuesday morning was bitter cold. We started a fire while we quickly broke camp and drove towards Canyonlands on Hwy 313 to Mineral Bottom Rd. Parking at the top of the Horsethief Switchbacks, the temperature was hovering in the single digits. I put on warm layers but had no face mask. I was not anticipating the excruciating cold of the early morning.

We rolled out, lights mounted for a probable post sunset return and started down the switchbacks. Most park at the bottom and camp,.but just for added self-torture, we were going to climb back up in the dark after 100 miles.(Yeah, I know...don't say it).

Starting down the descent that led to my demise

The next 1.5 miles of descending was the most miserable and painful 1.5 miles I have ever encountered. Sub zero temps in the shade and a bone-chilling, joint burning, hypothermic wind hit me straight in the face. I literally froze up and my brain was convinced that my body had quit functioning.

Don't let the sunny spot fool you, it was barely warmer than the shaded switchbacks

I slowed down as much as I could and watched Brian, tucked down tight, gain a switchback on me. I began shaking and my teeth were chattering. The icy, evil wind was searing my exposed skin but I somehow made it to the bottom and into the sunshine.

I broke.

I wanted nothing whatsoever to do with pedaling one more inch. I took some time to try and warm back up and recoil the emotions and hatred of the cold. Once I was able to move my lips to speak, we both realized that the 10 bucks needed for both of us to get into the park was still in the car at the top of the switchbacks of death. We contemplated going on, hoping for a nice park ranger, but that plus the shaded canyons that lie ahead caused me to bag it for the day and go ride something else in the noontime sun.. If it were a race, I would have dug deeeeeeeeeeeep and suffered through for the next 10 hours, but my spirit was lying broken in pieces at the bottom of that canyon.

A hard right turn sent us back up the climb of shame:

Thoughts of riding Amasa Back as a substitute began to creep into my head as I climbed, doing my best to stay right on Brian's back tire. Yeah, I was pissed at myself for turning around. But I got over it.

Amasa Back has a strange way of easing one's mind immediately:

Here is some raw footage (no music or editing yet) of the descent back to the parking lot. Its long and will get boring, so I highly recommend skipping through to minute 15:00 and watching through the end. Gives those who have never been on Amasa Back a look at some good, clean fun in Moab.

http://www.mediafire.com/?wcowe345ac1nrfg

There were about three drops beyond my skill/comfort level at this point but it felt good to clean 95% of the descent Tuesday. Especially since a year and a half ago, I walked 70% of it.

And my mood changed from this:

To this in a matter of a few hours:

Lessons learned:

Bring a facemask
Don't forget your 5 bucks
DRIVE down shaded sub zero switchbacks

But the most important:

“Be master of mind rather than mastered by mind”
-Zen proverb

I wonder...

2012-01-11T00:40:00.000-08:00

Today, two years ago, January 10, 2010, was the first time I rode a mountain bike on a trail. I borrowed a bike and showed up at Three Sisters just outside Evergreen, Colorado. As I unloaded the bike and put my road bike shoes and pedals (because that's what I had) on to ride, I noticed something was up with the rear derailleur. It was a spring, or something. Before I could ride I had to take it to the bike shop. Crap.

It was cold and I wasn't thrilled with the idea of driving into town and getting it fixed and driving back to the trailhead. I was, however, very intrigued with the idea of pedaling a bike up a snowy mountain. I debated for a few minutes and ALMOST bagged the ride and called it a day due to the hassle and the time it would take. But when I am intrigued by something, I must experience it. So I delayed the ride for a couple of hours, got the derailleur fixed and the rest is, well, history. Two years and thousands of miles later, I cannot help but wonder where I would be and what my life would be like had I made a different choice two years ago....

Would I have won my first race (Cat 3) in August 2010 at Keystone?

And then won it again (Cat 1) in August 2011?

Would I have met this guy (and his pack goats) on the Arizona Trail?

Would I have spent hours researching and putting together a bikepacking setup in my little Morrison apartment?

Would I have blown up and cried my eyes out in frustration over slashed sidewalls and hours of lost time repairing/buying new tires in Tucson on the AZT 300?

Would I have gotten the honor to race and stand on the podium with my friend, Erick, at 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo?

Would I have rattled my teeth out for 60 miles on an ugly $400 singlespeed at Pueblo Reservoir?

Or scraped a bunch of junk together to build another $400 bike so I can roll snowy trails again and feel the snow crunch beneath 6 lbs of tire pressure?

Would Gus have become the old love of my life?

And Carl become my new man?

Would I have climbed this?

Or this?

Awoke to this?

Drifted off on the trail to this?

Would I have had the honor to line up at the start line and finish an all girls mountain bike race 10 minutes behind the fastest women (Georgia and Katie) in the sport?

Would I have toured the Colorado Trail with a Black Sheep?

And a goat?

Would I have been at the start of one of the greatest races on the planet?

Carrying a $200 sleeping bag inside a $20 SeaLine Dry Bag for 477 miles?

Would I have stood here?

Or here?

Would I know the meaning of this so clearly?

Would this inner light glow so radiantly?

OR...had the bike shop been closed, would I be still fighting this everyday to make the man a buck and pay for things I don't care about?

Highly unlikely.

Two wheels and high peaks are my passion. What is yours? If you were unable to define yourself by what you do to earn money what would you say? Have you ever thought about that? But, most importantly, are you happy? If so, why? If not, why not?

As I sit here tonight in Durango and I look out the window into my back yard. I see a hammock, a clothesline and a small garden. I hear no horns or motors from steel coffins rushing to get somewhere. Life moves at a slower pace yet a healthy, vibrant and contagious energy constantly flows through.

Conversation is much more than a glance or two up from the smartphone. People smile genuinely. Eye contact is the norm. I miss things about Denver and part of my heart stayed with the people, the trails and the mountains I love.

But my true heart yearns to see what is ahead and cherishes the lessons, people and experiences that have helped build the singletrack that will take me there...

Christmas 2011:Three Elves Search for Santa in Colorado

2011-12-28T12:59:00.000-08:00

Other than rollingdown the narrow gauge tracks on fat tires chasing the Polar Express that runsout of Durango, where else would one want to be on Christmas Eve? This year, I decided it was going to be at N 38.054156, W 107.898071 (aka the San Juan Hut System's North Pole Hut).

So, myself and two friends decided to spend Christmas far removed from civilization. Searching for Santa of course (with a GPS and a few maps).

We set out earlyFriday morning over Molas and Red Mountain Pass to pick up keys for both Last Dollar and North Pole huts.The SJHS office is located in Ridgway, so our route was definitely the long way around. This gave us a good excuse to stop and have hot chocolate and bagels in heaven (aka Ouray, CO):

After getting the keys and a basic route description, we were warned of the eight points of avalanche danger on the Alder Creek trail from Last Dollar Hut (our first night) to the most remote hut on the circuit, North Pole (our second night). No one except the hut owners had been in this season and we were warned of the need for route-finding and alternate slide crossings.

The drive from Ridgway to Last Dollar road near Telluride through the Dallas Divide is always a stunning sight, whether it is the mountains or the frozen trees. Friday morning held true:

The trailhead for the trek into Last Dollar Hut starts off of Last Dollar Road. It is a 3 mile road climb to the top of the pass and then about 1/3 mile slog up onto a ridgeline where the hut sits amongst the trees.

View from the start into Last Dollar

Looking out the door of Last Dollar Hut..makes hanging laundry fun, no?

Last Dollar Hut sitting on the ridgeline back in the trees

We arrived around 2pm on Friday, built a fire, imbibed upon some Christmas cheer, cooked some great food and studied the 9 mile route to the North Pole planned for morning.

With no winter gpx file available after all, we were armed with topo maps, route descriptions and the hope of an old ski track to help us navigate. Worst-case scenario, if we were unable to find the route, the plan was to crash in Last Dollar again--not a bad place, as you can see from the views:

Wood was abundant at the hut and the stove kept us toasty warm inside:

The next morning, we began the traverse to NP hut. I think all of us were a little nervous about the slide crossings and snow conditions at first, but after a mile or two in, my worries were gone. None of the mentioned danger points had enough snow to even notice. We kept a good pace and made it in 5:45 with roughly 1900' of climbing.

The terrain undulated for most of the route which made trail breaking easier. The one big climb out of Leopard Creek inflicted a small bout of the sustained ass kicking I crave, but within a mile, we were back at cruising pace and descended into a gorgeous meadow filled with snow and the hut less than 1/2 mile away. Hayden Peak and North Pole peak towered above, giving us that gauge of how truly far away from anything we were.

We marveled at our surroundings for a moment. The sense of childlike Christmas magic found us all. The simplicity of the time in the hut is what brought true meaning to each of us I think. Warmth. Soft light. A card game. The dogs. A hot cup of cider. A sky full of brilliant, bright stars. The crunch of the snow beneath our feet and the sizzle as it melts for drinking water. Reading a good book by the light of my headlamp. The smell of our little Christmas tree. Nowhere to go and no obligations except chopping some wood and making oatmeal in the morning.

Here is the photo log of the trek into NP hut beginning about mile 3 where the Alder Creek trail finally opens up for some views:

The only "detour" we had to take is in this section of the trail that went through a bit of a dicey area

But we found a deep, but safe crossing about 75 yards below in the trees (both pics actually taken on the return trek back to Last Dollar). What a way to spend Christmas Day!

An old trapper's cabin in a meadow we crossed

The Alder Creek Slide. The trail crosses what is usually a gorge full of snow

Led by an energetic Vizsla, (Buck) we crossed easily

And climbed out the other side

Then came upon three different Aspen-lined clearings

And arrived at the North Pole where Christmas awaited (led all the way by our trusty scout, Buck)

Both dogs assumed the positions in which they would remain most of the day and night...

And I made it my mission to provide a tree for our humble abode

Which was decorated with all available "ornaments"

We hung our stockings out for Santa and woke the next morning to one of the best gifts I have ever received on Christmas:

The return trip took us back to Durango through Rico to check out a hot spring by the Delores River. The temperature was a little cooler than we had hoped, but it will be a good one to hit up in the summer after a long ride.

Total mileage: 21.3 miles
Total mileage for our scout, Buck: most likely 42.6 miles..haha!
Total climbing: 3850'
Time into NP: 5:45
Time back to LD: 4:45

Total midday snoozing by a warm stove (in hours): around 1.5

Perhaps my favorite question to answer over the past couple days is "How was your Christmas?" I smile, my mind goes back to the four days I just spent in the Colorado backcountry and I tell a condensed version using my normal epic descriptions. I then return the question and usually get "ugh, I am so glad its over!" or "Eh, it was ok." or "I spent too much."

I am so thankful that I cannot relate whatsoever to those replies.

A Return

2011-12-20T12:53:00.000-08:00

Durango is a good place to sit and watch the plethora of roadies bundled up early in the morning, the Polar Express Narrow Gauge, the snowflakes that fall in the streetlight outside my attic window and of course the changing light on the surrounding mountains.

Sit and watch.

I did just that again last night. This time from a weight bench inside the rec center. The world of weightlifting, dance classes and treadmills whirled around me and I found myself staring at the basketball court below as I finished my last set of curls. My biceps were screaming, the center was closing in an hour and I just sat, perfectly motionless, and studied the white net hanging underneath the rim. I noticed every ripple of motion as if it were the only thing occurring in the universe.

I began to think about the sound of the ball swishing through the net and the way my right wrist used to hang in the air for a second or two afterwards on the follow through. I remembered the days of Larry Steele Basketball Camps, all-star tournaments, league games, wins, losses, buses, uniforms, coaches, running lines, sweating, crying, bleeding, hurting, free throws, crowds and gyms.

I shut my playlist off and walked down to the front desk and asked for a women's ball. I felt the texture and the seams. I dribbled a couple times, thought I was cool and got all tricky with the between the legs, behind the back crossover. I stopped hard, pulled up from about 15 feet and launched it. BRICK!!!!

I sheepishly looked around and chased my rebound, snickering at my silly self. I hadn't touched a basketball in at least two years and the date of my last pick up game escapes my memory. All my college games are kind of a blur of practicing, traveling, knee ultrasounds and a screaming coach.

I shot around for about 45 minutes, regaining the art of the perfect follow through that procured the symphonic "swish" sound for which I lived and worked my guts out to obtain for the first 20 years of my life. As I moved across the court shooting layups, jumpers, free throws and a few threes, my body fell into a natural rhythm that required no effort, no thinking, no forcing. The movements were natural and my feet were light and quick. I didn't stop until the attendant told me the center was closing in 15 minutes. Time stood still when the ball was in my hands. The exact same way it does when I am on my bike in the mountains...

A neglected part of my soul returned last night.

All because I took the time to sit and watch....

December....really??

2011-12-18T20:59:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning I woke up with the itch to ride. Really nothing different from any morning, but the Sand Canyon trail was especially on my mind. I knew it wasn't going to be anything long or particularly strenuous, so after a good spin workout at Durango Rec Center, my roommate and I loaded the bikes and headed to Cortez. Notorious for writing down and then forgetting to bring directions to the trailhead, I tried to navigate from memory. Turn right on Cty Rd G and go 12 miles. County Rd G looks like this:

The scenery doesn't change much for several miles before and PAST the Canyon of the Ancients, which is where the Sand Canyon Trail begins. I actually was dead on except we forgot to check the odometer after the turnoff and went a bit too far. We finally stopped to ask directions from the first sign of human life we saw.The old Indian man that gave us directions sounded (I kid you not) exactly like this:

Farmer Fran

(Ok, minus the southern accent)

We somehow were able to decipher that we had passed the TH a few miles back. Once we got parked and going on the bikes, the trail turned out to be perfectly dry and fast. It was only about 6.5 miles one way to Sand Canyon and 1300' of elevation gain, but the views were pretty spectacular and I stopped to take more pictures than I probably needed to:

The first half mile was slickrock

Only five other bikers out to play on a beautiful 50 degree day in Dec

Just like a bluebird day in June

Ancient ruins were abundant throughout the ride

Deep canyons and snowy peaks

Little bit o' chunky, techy stuff to keep us honest

uhhhh......yeah.

About 1.5 miles from the Sand Canyon TH is the junction for the East Rock Creek trail. A little over 5 miles in all, this trail is by far the best of the two. Some short, challenging hills, lots of fun technical stuff and about 2 miles of fast downhill looped us back to the parking lot as the sun was beginning to sink in the sky. No pictures except this one about 0.5 miles from the end because the trail was just too good to stop at all for a picture.

Back at the car, the light hung low in the sky:

We stopped for some dinner in Cortez on the way back to Durango and on the wall hung this sign:

What more can I say?

My Holiday Gift Ideas

2011-12-15T14:32:00.001-08:00

Quick! Tell me what you got/gave for Christmas in 2005.

Yeah, me neither….

Hell, I don’t even know what the hottest things to BUY and GET for Christmas are this year. The lists, the millions of product reviews by anybody and everybody, the “must-haves” for 2012: Non des Mus asinum. Truthfully, when I think about all the sheeple out shopping (consuming) this is what comes to my mind:

Don’t get me wrong, I am a weak human. Yes, my head turns at the newest, cool, shiny thing to put on my bike. Advertising is powerful and we live in a world of constant inundation. It cleverly creates a need within that can only be satisfied by the purchase. And the method of creating the need is ever-evolving, constantly seeping into every aspect of daily life. Superficiality abounds. Ugh!

My eyes glaze over in boredom and pity when someone can recite the spec sheet and price list for a certain product but cannot tell me what drives/motivates them. Responses like, “Uhhh, well, I don’t know if I have ever thought about it” bring my heart a lot of sadness. And when someone goes on and on about how much he or she has to do/buy/clean:

Again, Non des Mus asinum. But in reality--what a lifeless, muted and empty existence.

Superficial, surface gab is definitely a part of almost every conversation initially. Of course we do not sit around all day over tea discussing deep issues and solving the world’s problems. I love to joke around and have fun just like anyone. However, when anything beyond the latest/coolest/greatest is approached—the vast majority is unable to maintain the conversation. So many are LOST. Or they distract themselves with their phone. Intelligent, accomplished, educated people make up a big percentage of the aforementioned.

Come on, world. Open your fucking eyes. You will never, ever be content with things. You will always feel you need more. More. More. You will never win the game because the game is designed to take your money by creating a constant need to have the newest thing out there. And your obsession with things dampers what we need the most—human connection. Material possessions and what we will do to have the best of them is rotting our souls.

The scariest of this is seen in those that value their lifeless crap over people, relationships, connection. Crap breaks and wears out and becomes obsolete with each new calendar year, yet some keep on striving to buy it—at the cost of their own happiness. They become hardened, distracted, lonely and generally miserable inside, but very good at keeping up the outward appearance. They want a deep level of connection with a person rather than an item. In their hearts, they want to do, go and experience, but will have a very convincing excuse why it is not the right time.

From a blog I read a few weeks ago on the subject (not my words and I am still searching for the credit):

Things are never a priority. Never.

Your scratched car will not cry out at you, begging you for shelter, food, comfort, love, freedom, truth. Your torn designer clothing will not drop down on its knees and whimper at dreams unlived, hopes disappearing beyond the fading horizon. Your home will never wrap your small and broken body in its warm and tender embrace, soothing your raw emotions, wiping away your salty teardrops from your face.

Damn. Stop and think about that for a moment. Really. Do it. Don't just blissfully ignore it or dismiss it as overly dramatic. The words are powerful and bold.

Not muted and meant to be read and forgotten like a Tweet.

Alright (big exhale). Now that my Thursday afternoon rant is complete, I hereby submit my own Christmas Gift Idea List:

1. Your time.Take the person to a concert, hang out doing nothing, a camping trip, a bike ride to all the coffee shops nearby, make them dinner/lunch, etc.

2. Your thoughtful and kind words of encouragement (do you know how many people need this?)

3. Your genuine interest in what they are doing/dream about doing. Ask them.

4. Human touch. (Why are hugs/embraces so scary now?)

5. Something unique that shows you care enough to find out what that something is.

Shall I continue? No, it would be repetitive. The point is people over things. No matter what.

So....How about we all use the credit card a bit less and the heart a bit more this Christmas?

Try it. Then we all might remember this one a little more.

Dream List

2011-12-11T13:24:00.001-08:00

Dreams. I believe in the beauty of them. I fiercely chasethem.

Durango just went from a dream to a reality. A year of reducing put all of my materialpossessions into this 5x5 storage unit.

Yeah, really!

My new crib right in the middle of town lends to minimaldriving. The energy in Durango is contagious and I can be completely offthe radar and on a rugged, remote trail (not a managed open space area) in under 15 minutes. The slower, morerelaxed pace fits my goal of minimizing the unnecessary. My blog will flourishwith writing instead of “reporting” which I feel like it has become lately.

I am really starting to reflect on one helluva year thatjust came and went. In January, I started a fire inside to do something remarkable with mybike. I learned so much, I laughed, I cried, I bled, I lost teeth, I lost skin,I ruined drive trains, I duct taped tires when there were no more boots, I wentthrough six chains, and I set out on the CTR with 40 bucks in my pocket and aplan to hitchhike back to Denver from Durango. I put notes all over my housethe night before that said “DURANGO OR BUST.” I ran on soley faith,desire to improve and caffeine somedays.

But I did it. I did something remarkable with my bike. What I did was far beyond race results and achievements.

I lived. Reallylived. Not the chaotic, constant stream of distractions and commitments somecall a life.

Nope.

I truly lived to be happy rather than work, produce andconsume.I lived for the first time without regrets. I lived as close to thepoverty line as I ever have. I stopped hanging out with negative people whobore the shit out of me with talk of the newest and greatest.

Yeah. I was free and I was on a bike, smashingconventionality in the face with every mile.

In short, 2011 was the year that I boldly dared to live mydreams. I had no idea what I was doing by the standards of some and many in myown family do not understand me or even show interest in what I am doing. Ithurts inside, but is soothed by the people who had the guts to tell me thatby reading my blog, knowing me, talking to me, I inspired them to do _________.Those emails, calls and conversations were incredible! I saw so many people Iknew get on a bike, start running, start going to the gym, climb 14ers, etc.

So, what is coming from my heart that will be a part of mylife for 2012 and beyond? Hmmm, some call this a bucket list, but I choose tocall it my dream list.

Dreams have to have a plan. Plans have dates. Plans can andwill change, but most of all they provide a structure and direction for peoplelike me who want to do everything under the sun.

Looking within, this is what is going to happen in my lifebefore my 40^th birthday: (Which is a long ways off).

2011

Dream: 3-day snowbikepacking trip in my new backyard (SanJuans)

When: Christmas 2011

Dream (goal maybe a more fitting term): 3 Facebook loginsper week. All less than 30 minutes. Anything more seems like a borderlineaddiction. Time is too valuable. I am not sure how this overuse habit has creptup on me, but I am staring it straight in the face and it is ending midnightDecember 31.

2012

Dream: Break the CTR female record

When: July 31, 2012

Dream: Complete AZT 750

When: April 2012

Dream: Complete all Colorado 14ers (12 left!!)

When: Before December 2012

Dream: Be completely debt free

When: March 2012

Dream: Podium at 24Hour Worlds (IN CANMORE!!)

When: September 2012

2013

Dream: Top 5 Finish in La Ruta

When: 2013 race

Dream: Arrowhead 135 Finish

When: Jan 2013

Dream: Obtain a packraft system for the fatbike

When: Before Dec 2013

Dream: Earn enough through my published writing to coverhousing expenses

When: By Dec 2013

2014

Dream: Denali Summit

When: May 2014

Dream: Fatbike packraft trip (Alaska? South America?)

When: By December 2014

2015

Dream: Thru-bike the CDT

When: Summer 2015

Before my 40^th Birthday

Dream: Live and bike through Europe for a minimum of 8months

Dream: Iron Man Top ten finish

Dream: Complete Masters in Biochemistry (Because bigmountains, bikes and protein structure and function are the most fascinatingthings in the world to me)

Dream: Own a horse again and team rope with my dad

My Enemies

2011-12-07T16:06:00.001-08:00

1. Apathetic acceptance of a muted life lived at half-steam.
2. Bondage to material things.
3. Wasting my life by staying constantly connected and updated.
4. Cacti in my tires!

2012: A Prelude

2011-12-07T03:37:00.001-08:00

Dear Jill,

You have some work to do this winter. Eliminate the unimportant things that distract you. Focus in. Plan. Be brave. Grow. Learn. Embrace simplicity. Narrow and define your goals.

And remember:

Nothing will be given to you.

Focus is harnessed from within by eliminating distraction.

Pour your heart and soul into what YOU want and never let it go.

Ever.

In this moment, release your hold on what does not serve you.

Create opportunities from disappointment.

And finally:

Illegitimi non carborundum.

Let's do some truly epic shit in 2012.

Best regards,

Carl (aka my bike for the non blog followers out there)

Props!

2011-11-28T11:42:00.001-08:00

Mad props goes to my friend, Kevin Lutgen, for all his work on editing through a TON of footage and making a sweet memoir of a cold but epic ride at the beginning of November in Bozeman. Awesome stills, transitions and text make this far better than anything I have attempted to put together or regularly see posted. Thank you, again, Kevin! You rock!

The speeds are the actual speeds. This means nothing has been sped up in the editing process, thus giving an indication of how fast this ride is in places. So check out the final HD version (not on mediafire this time) of my

Bangtail Bonanza

Then compare it to this guy's interpretation of the same ride. Ha, notice the 180 degree separation in music choice?

Intense? Me? Naaaaaah!

The World According to Phil (aka Phil's World Trail)

2011-11-24T20:35:00.001-08:00

I am always thankful for any opportunity to ride new trail.And yeah, today, my gratitude was off the charts. I ventured into the World ofsome guy named Phil in Cortez, CO this morning and was pleasantly surprisedwith his style of trails. Hardpacked singletrack curving through rocks andtwisting around trees, this system of trails is SO DAMN FAST. Whew! What athrill to scream along the ledges overlooking Cortez with views of snowcappedmountains jetting out of the landscape. Short, semi-steep climbs preceded blazing fast flats and downhills. I built so much momentum and speed I felt like I wascheating as the bike went up effortlessly. This ride was so much fun that Ibarely noticed I was working at all. I did find myself wishing I wassinglespeeding it, however.

Here are somepictures that give a small look at some of the terrain. Ha! I have no idea ofthe last time I rode trails this fast. Check out the hardpack. Yummmmmmy! Fartastier than pumpkin pie and stuffing!

Really not much of a technical challenge on any of the trails in the system, but the rocks that did exist were fun to ride and were usually followed by some sweet banked turns that sent you rocketing out of them.

Views of epic peaks from the open areas along the ledges:

Toward the end of the ride is a crazy fun section called Rib Cage, dubbed the "center of the mountain biking universe." A rollercoaster of table top-like ups and downs, I will definitely be back with the helmet cam to get some fun footage. I never stopped to take any pictures, so you will have to venture into Phil's World and experience it for yourself!

More pictures. Look at this hard pack! Too much of Phil's World will spoil anyone who doesn't crave a good technical challenge, a grueling hike-a-bike or a long climbing sufferfest...

The clouds began to roll in and the sun disappeared just as I crossed the road and entered the parking area. A great day and an exhilarating ride in SW Colorado!

I saw this guy on my way back to Durango: (sorry for the crappy pic, but he was a monster)

And finally, before I start on the outline of the fatbike plan and beg you all for some advice:

Reflecting for a moment on all I have to be thankful for in my life

Happy Thanksgiving!

Do something, ANYTHING other than stand in line to buy cheap crap tomorrow. I got sucked into a Black Friday sale at the Trek Store for the first time ever last year. And, yeah, I now have this pesky biking habit..and a lot less money.

Fat Bike Insanity

2011-11-23T22:17:00.001-08:00

"I don't believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are the experience of being alive."
-Joseph Campbell

The experience of being alive. Stop and think about that. Can you? Can you direct your attention and focus on that (or anything) for a minute without being distracted by something with a keypad? About a year ago, I could not. I found myself so wrapped up in the maze of rushing to do everything, planning, working, saving, budgeting and trying to accommodate everyone, that time (aka MY life) was whizzing by without my awareness. My interactions with friends and family as well as my experiences were dull and mediocre. I always felt I needed more when what I really needed was LESS. Less shit to clutter my house, maintain, pay for....yeah, you get the picture.

So that is a small snippet of why I am LOVING the slow pace of Durango. Loving the two lane highways. Loving the fact that my conversations and relationships now have some substance and are not just convenient and routine.Loving being able to find the time and focus for things that I am truly passionate about. And, ok, maybe the trails and mountains around here are kinda cool. Wink. Wink.

But...what the hell does this have to do with a fat/snow bike that is the title of this post?

Yep. The experience. Of life. Of something I haven't ever felt. Snow beneath fat tires with low pressure.....

*Grin*

And here is my plan....

I ultimately want and will have a Moonlander someday, but I have to start cheap (real cheap) and simple. I don't need the nicest, newest and coolest. I can't afford it anyway.

It needs to be a single speed. Why? Because I don't want to shift. My hands get so stupid cold that I have trouble shifting my Superfly from time to time in 30F weather. And in a sick and twisted way, I want the simplicity. Ok, ok... and (true to my nature) the challenge.

I know very little about building a bike and suck at wrenching on things. But I can Google and have learned a lot from forums and the Surly Information Hole. And here is what I have come up with in the past couple months:

The bike I bought stupid cheap:

Thinking of something loosely similar to this when all said and done (but no gears and slightly different specs). And I like the idea of the Poor Man's (Woman's) Pug. For now anyway.

http://fattiremn.blogspot.com/p/project-poor-mans-pug.html

To start: Wheels and tires go, seat goes, stem goes, handle bars go, cantilevers go...all (except wheels and tires) to be replaced with better parts I already have.

FORK:

I bought The Enabler fork brand new, right out of the box for far less than retail. Check it out. Kinda cool, no?

WHEELS AND TIRES:

Still researching. Wow. A lot here. I could throw down the equivalent of a car payment on the biggest, fattest, widest combo money can buy. Yeah, that's not happening. Sure, it would look totally badass, but I would learn absolutely nothing, it wouldn't work on the back and I don't have the car payment to spare anyway. So I am spending a lot of free time cruising through forums like this:

http://forums.mtbr.com/fat-bikes/surly-1x1-widest-tire-rim-sizes-587150.html

Its looking like a 26x3.0 is going on the back with a Large Marge rim. Any 3.0 tire suggestions?

The front is going to be a Large Marge rim as well and I am trying to convince myself (unsuccessfully at this point) not to go with the Big Fat Larry. Note humorous sarcasm.

Seeing this isn't helping either:

http://forums.mtbr.com/fat-bikes/big-fat-larry-fit-enabler-fork-753040.html

Tempting.

BRAKES:

Yeah. I know. I screwed up and got the old frame that is not disc brake friendly. I planned on using my Hayes brakes on the front but it never crossed my mind that the cantis wouldn't work on the back. Duh! No experience, insufficient research. So, I was definitely stressing a little thinking I had to start completely over.

Until I found this:

http://www.highintensitybikeshop.com/index.php?_a=viewProd&productId=22

Will that work? It seems as though it solves my problem as long as all the measurements are correct.

GEARING:

The 1x1 came as 36x18. That will crush me on snow and I would imagine a lot of HABing in my future.

Soooooo........34x20? 32x20?

Alright. That's what I have. Frankenbike. An adventure in building that may rival the adventures of riding that lie ahead....

Ummmm....help?

Ramblings of a Nomadic Dirtbag

2011-11-22T02:49:00.001-08:00

Next stop on, uhhhh, "tour" was Ouray, CO last week for some high altitude snowshoeing. Leaving the bike home and meeting up with my awesome friend and kindred soul, Scatman, we tackled the Horsethief Trail which climbs high above this sleepy little mountain town. A long time cyclist, epic adventurer, badass thru-hiker and an all around great person, my compadre in crime from the rainy northwest came to check out my favorite corner of the earth for a few days. Hot chocolate and bagels from Ouray's Backstreet Bistro started the day and the views on this 9 mile round trip effort were nothing short of impressive.

We climbed just short of 3000' in approximately 3.5 miles. There really wasn't much snow for the first part of the climb as you can see here:

It became a considerable effort, however, as the snow got deeper and the altitude increased. Quite the cross-training workout!

We had to stop short of our Bridge of Heaven destination due to darkness and sketchy trail conditions, but any time spent anywhere in these mountains adds meaning, happiness and years to one's existence as evidenced by the following:

After a night in Ouray, a day in the town of Durango and a night with friends in Bayfield, we found ourselves at the West Fork of the San Juan River ready to do some more shoeing, camping and remote hot springing.

We went in about 5.5 miles to some unnamed hot springs on the river and set up camp.

After cooking dinner, a warm campfire kept us from getting in the hot water below the bluff on which we were camped.

The sub 100 degree water and an ambient temperature in the mid 20's (F) made a morning soak much more appealing. Hours of campfire time under a huge sky filled with stars put the world right again and I crashed out in a warm down bag for the night.

The next morning we hiked down to the river, towels strewn around our necks with honest intentions of getting in the pools.

But after some childlike rock hopping and exploring, we decided that the water temperatures and depth were a little less than desired for the cold November air. Translation: We are whiny wimps!

So, we broke camp and headed out to the road all the while savoring views like this of the Weminuche Wilderness:

The drive north to get Scatman on a plane back to the rain of the Pacific Northwest humbled us with views of the Sangre de Cristos in the early evening light of winter.

A few more random pics from the journey:

And I leave you with this...

So...Go do epic shit. Don't Sit Around. Life is too wild and precious!

Up next...the fatbike plan. I have all the pieces here except the rims and tires.

Chasing the Call

2011-11-18T05:10:00.001-08:00

It's been almost a month since I have posted anything. Oh, and what a month it has been. I finally pulled the plug and decided another winter in Denver spent wishing I was in the San Juans was not happening this year. So November 1 started my Winter 2011 Tour with a trip north to Montana for ten days to ride and work for some friends. Bozeman was the first stop to hit up Bangtail Divide and soak in Upper Potosi hot springs. The next day was on to Helena where I stayed and rode some local trails including a cold trip up to the Continental Divide Trail near MacDonald Pass.

My days in Helena consisted of gym time, yoga, work and bike. A small town, a slow pace and good people. Perhaps the strangest sandwich I have ever come across was found at The Staggering Ox. Strange, but very tasty. An experience in and of itself.

Leaving Helena, I then headed south through Idaho, Salt Lake City and on to Moab. I completely lucked out staying one day ahead of the storm both driving and when I got to Moab, the weather was as close to perfect as it gets. I pulled into the Sovereign TH about midmorning and rode through the afternoon into early evening. A few bikers were out, including some pretty enthusiastic guys from Canada who shared their stories of many epic rides including La Ruta de Los Conquistadores which is on my list for 2013.

Moab was a phenomenal day as always and I left that night after dinner wishing I had another day to ride more trails I had never been on before.

From Moab, I was then Durango bound. My ongoing love affair with this town (actually the mountains and wilderness surrounding it) will become evident in future (in progress) posts...

Who Says?

2011-10-26T11:27:00.000-07:00

Who says I can't be free of all of the things that I used to be?

Rewrite my history?

Who says I can't be free?

-John Mayer

The first time I heard this song, it pretty much grabbed me by the arms, spun me around and shook me to the core. Who says? Who? Who says I can't be free?

Who says I must be always on track and never wander?

Who says I must constantly struggle for the legal tender? (love you, Jackson Browne)

Who says I must be defined by what I do to earn money?

Who says I must always have an answer?

Who says I have to succumb to the system?

Who says I can't thrive where I am with what I have?

Who says I must keep a hold of all the clutter and things that do not serve me?

Who says I cannot let go of doubt?

Who says I must stay in one place because it is familiar and convenient?

Who says I am flawed?

I have been saying these things to myself for too long. Now is the time for that voice to be silent. The place where perceived expectations and negative chatter stop is the very place where authentic life begins. The "sound" of real life is beginning to fill my ears. No longer obligated to "hear," my mind welcomes the clarity and nourishment of silence...

Page

2011-10-21T10:19:00.000-07:00

Goodbye, my old friend. You lived one hell of a life. Many miles, many steers,

many left turns. I have cussed your grumpy ass and kissed your sweaty face.

You carried me through middle school and high school and I have never given my

heart to any horse before or since. You helped make me the person I am and the

cowgirl I will always be no matter where life takes me. Part of my heart went with

you, buddy. I love you.

Me and Page, John Day, OR

Coos Bay, OR....First time ever riding on the beach

Goodbye, My Old Friend

2011 24 Hours of Moab Race Report

2011-10-11T08:18:00.000-07:00

Moab, UT. 2010.

My first 24 Hour Race. Second mountain bike race ever. Tenmonths into my new obsession with bikes, I stood in my baggy shorts, plain tanktop, elbow pads and full Camelbak among300 or so other racers to run around the most famous juniper tree in mountainbike racing. I was like a kid in a candy store, excited, nervous and basicallygiddy. I was pumped to give this first lap everything I had. I was scared of“babyhead hill” at mile ten (hence the elbow pads) and didn’t trust my abilityto make it down with a great deal of speed, but I was game to give it a try.Being on a four-person team I rode my heart out on each lap. Everything ounceof energy and effort I had was left out “Behind The Rocks” and the best I couldmuster was a 1:31. I had never seen the quality of bikes and racers before. Iwatched guys come in consistently under an hour on each of their laps. It waslike a whole new world had opened up to me. I was a little “starstruck” as Iwatched Jari Kirkland stand atop the podium after destroying the course and puttingup 15 laps to take the women’s solo. I was in awe. I turned to one of my teammates,Chris, as we were leaving Moab and I said, “Next year, I am going to soloMoab.”

Moab, UT 2011.

365 days later, I was standing in the same spot wearing TrekStore bibs and jersey. Elbow pads gone, no Camelbak. No team. I was here aloneto ride for 24 hours. I wasn’t worried about killing the run or even the firstlap. I jogged around the tree in the middle of the pack and eased up the road.I hung back to avoid all the riders eating it on the first rocky section andmosied my way up and down everything before the “Nose Dive.” The courseconditions were absolutely the best anyone could dream up. The rain had stoppedat about 9 that morning and there was no dust anywhere at anytime during therace. The sand was hard-packed and stupid fast. I remembered the lines throughthe rocks and was able to ride them with confidence unlike last year. I don’tthink I even broke a sweat on my first lap except for maybe the last threemiles of road where I grabbed a big gear and tore into the log tent (because,really. I am and always will be a 10 year-old at heart and being a super speedracer is why we all ride….right?).

WIIIIIIIDE ANGLE picture trying to stay warm just before the run

Just as I approached the tent, I heard someone yell, “Yeah,second female in!” My lap time was 1:26. Ha. I had to smile a little to thinkthat I totally eased through that lap and it was 5 minutes faster than myredline effort a year ago.

A lot can happen in a year.

I stopped quickly at myelaborate pit (aka my Mountain Hardware backpacking tent), grabbed some water,a GU Gel and chain lube. After two more laps, I put on my lights and made sureI had enough battery/light combos to get me through the long night that wascoming. I knew I was leading the field of women, but I wanted to widen the gapand I had set a goal of 13 laps before the race. The air was starting to getcold and my fingers were freezing from the descents. I put on heavy gloves andkept pedaling.

Light and battery management as well as food and hydrationtook up about 5-10 minutes between each night lap. The temperature was droppingand my new friends camped beside me had a perfect and alluring campfire which Isat by while trying to choke down food that no longer appealed to me. It is ascientific fact that campfire minutes go by much more quickly than regularminutes, and before I knew it 17-20 minutes of real time had passed. And thisbecame the trend for all my night laps even after my new friends left for theirhotel in Moab.

As I think back, I wonder if I would have sat so longwarming my feet if I hadn’t of been up almost a full lap? Having a big leadgave me some comfort and the colder it got, the more my 13 lap goal was injeopardy. I was turning in consistent night lap times, but they were far slowerthan I had intended. At almost the exact same (mile 13) as last year,ironically enough, my headlamp failed and I wasn’t running a handlebar light onthat lap. The moon was huge and bright so I would have made it in fine, but Iwas lucky enough that a woman came along shortly after and was nice enough tolet me grab her wheel and pirate some lumens.

I was unable to eat much after about 2AM. Nothing lookedeven remotely appealing except GU. I think I took two bites of some kind of barand set it down. I was battling the sleep monster as my eyes were starting todroop. My 4AM lap was the hardest lap of the race. It was (I think) harder thananything on the CTR also. I (and every other female I encountered and talked toon the course) had not felt any feeling in our toes since about midnight andthere was literally frost on my handlebars. Before mile 1 there are rubber matsjust below a descent that provide a way across a nasty, sandy wash. I hit theseat about 4:03AM and crashed HARD. My tires went 25 different directions whenthey hit the slippery frost that had accumulated on the mats. GROAN. My knee andthe right side of my face took the full force of that crash and I wanted tocuss. But I got up, fully prepared to fight and win this battle, and walked itoff. I yelled up to another rider who would have gone down on the mats assoon as I had gotten back on my bike. We both went on and once we were a little ways past, I heard someoneyell “SONUVA” from behind me. Mats 2. Riders 1.

I pushed on and began to slowly walk some of the hillsbetween mile 2 and 3. I felt groggy, fuzzy and sleepy. I could have curled upin a bed of rocks and been asleep in a second. The sleep monster was in my faceand I kept fumbling to draw my sword and slay him. I was a little unaware oflife going on around me as I just plodded along trying to stay awake.

After the Nose-Dive when the pace significantly increases, Ifelt better and finished out the lap. I stopped at my tent for about 30seconds, slammed some caffeine and headed out for another lap. I knew the sunwas coming to greet me in less than a half an hour. Yummy sunshine. The snowcovered LaSalles teemed in the early dawn. My crazy, beautiful life has givenmy eyes some astonishing and dreamlike views and this was certainly one ofthem. I knew I was 2 or 3 laps ahead and could easily be in my warm andwonderful down bag in my tent, but the moment I experienced in the freshsunlight on my bike is one for the memory banks that I will be able to relivefor a long, long time.

I completed my tenth lap and everyone was cheering and goingcrazy at the log tent. I was up by over 3 laps and people were yelling andoffering me shots and beers. All thedrowsiness and fatigue from two laps ago was gone, the glorious sun was shiningand I knew I could do two more laps to get closer to my personal goal of 13. Asit ended up, I finished my 11^th lap and threw my timing chip in theair to celebrate my victory. My last lap in the new morning sun was somethinglike 15 minutes faster than the previous one…ah, the mind game involved inracing. Indeed a crucial aspect to master.....as I had just proved to myself for theone-millionth time.

I caught a nap in my tent while I waited for the awardswhich started around 2:30. Flowers, a little bit of coin and a new Camelbakwere the material fruits of my labor. I stepped down from the podium honored tohave stood where some of my heroes had stood in years past. The dwindlingnumbers led to not so fierce competition in the women’s soloclass, so dumb luck played a part in my ability to take the top spot. But Iwill take it, cherish it and use this race as a huge learning experience andconfidence builder.

I CAN do this. I CAN solo without elaborate support. Negativityhas no power over a heart like mine and a desire so intense. SO:

F theNaysayers!

I came along way on my bike in 2011. I went big right out ofthe gate. I tripped and fell a few times, let the bruises heal and got back upto accomplish and win some pretty cool stuff. I need to step up a level nextseason though. I have big goals to chase and an upcoming winter to work my tailoff to help make them a reality.

Oh, and speaking of the winter, I can't wait to start rollin' FATtire & SINGLE speed in the snow...

Lots of reflecting. My thoughts coming soon...Maybe some CX here soon too...Zuni ride is out though...Bummer.

2011 24 Hour Nationals Race Report

2011-10-05T11:23:00.000-07:00

I rolled into Colorado Springs this past Saturday with virtually nonerves. My partner, Erick, agreed to take the first lap in our third coed duoeffort this season. The start line isalways a gut-wrenching experience for me and since I wasn’t toeing the line to runthrough the grass, I felt pretty calm. I had been on the course a few times andwas feeling comfortable with it. Nowracing with the guys from the Trek Bicycle Store, we were camped next to themand I was ready to put some miles on a new kit.

Erick absolutely smoked the first lap. It was the fastest hehas ridden all year—a truly impressive 1:04 started us out.

I clocked a slowerthan expected time--a sloppy 1:14 for my first lap.

(There is no pictorial evidence in my possession that I was ever on a bike at all this past weekend...hmmm...so imagine a photo HERE)

We alternated laps until thesun came up the next morning. I was lucky enough to get both the sunset andsunrise lap. Other than the two gigantic chickens that danced around cluckingand flapping their wings in front of me somewhere in the wee hours of themorning, the major highlight was the “purple mountain majesty” glowing off Pike’sPeak at sunrise. It made me almost forget about the fact that you can buy adouble cheeseburger at the top in the gift shop. Almost.

The turnout for the coed duo was disappointingly low. Onlyfour teams made up the category. The race officials did not update any laptimes during the night but Cameron Brennemen threw down his first three laps eachin under 1 hour. Smokin’!! Nina Baum was riding strong at 5-10 minutes fasterthan me. She caught and passed me somewhere in the night and we rode together fora bit laughing and joking at how we were only seeing women out on the course. Ilove meeting new and inspiring people who have accomplished a great deal on abike. I respect them a great deal and receiving encouragement always means alot and keeps me going on tough days when I question whether or not I have thetalent to be out here. So for this, thanks Nina! These are three things I havebeen shooting for since last October when this whole dream started:

"Strong, relaxed and positive on a middle-of-the-night lap. That's the way to be." :-)

The third place team was riding townies and at 9AM when times were posted, we were a full four laps ahead of the townie team and a full four laps behind Cameron and Nina. Double checking with a USAC official (who manually pulled times for us), showed that to lose the silver medal, the townie team had to put up 4 laps in three hours with their fastest lap being 1:40 and their most recent 3:29.

The podium was mathematically set and that was it for me. Riding another lap was not going to change the overall results in anyway and it was time to save my legs and be wise. Erick chilled out and rested for a while and then decided to ride his 9th lap to commemorate and celebrate the end of a great season of racing for him. It was an honor to stand on the podium three out of three times this year with a great person and partner!

Two other friends, Michael Scott and Jeremy Young took silver in the male duo category. They were consistent, fast and strong throughout. Wow, guys! Awesome work! I was really happy to watch another Trek Store racer, Jonathan Davis, stand on the men's solo podium. Congrats!

And because everyone seems to have a small world story, I will add mine to the mix. I ran into my childhood friend from back in John Day, OR who was there running support for her husband and his first podium at Nationals in the solo male division. I am so stoked for you, Jennifer and Nate!!! Huge congrats! The power, speed and unrelenting effort I see in these guys as they blow by me on the trail is incredible and very inspiring.

I have the utmost appreciation for the support I received from the Trek Store Team. I respect the talent and dedication I saw in these guys. The bar is set high and the structure within the team exists to help lift them to the next level. It was an extremely positive and encouraging atmosphere and the enthusiasm from their families and friends was awesome to see.

So yeah, 24 Hours Nats is in the books for 2011. I learned many things about racing and people, I rode well, I rode sloppy, loved the course, hated the course, slept about 30 minutes and am very grateful to Jim Dukes, Drew Brown and Zack Hoh for illuminating my night laps to the max. Thanks guys for helping keep the rubber side down in the dark here and in Moab this weekend!

This would be a great place to end this blog post, however, I can't help but mention a very mysterious object along the race course that exerts great power over mortals. The pink futon. It is virtually impossible to explain or resist. Surrounded by sleeping sheep, it repels derailleurs and has the inward pull of a strong vacuum. When Coke and pizza are added--lap count and lap times fall into extreme danger....

Next up:

Moab!! Moab!! Moab!!

Rocktober

2011-09-29T11:56:00.000-07:00

Two days until 24 Hours of Colorado Springs. I live about anhour and 15 minutes away from the race venue, Palmer Park. Last night was mylast ride until somewhere around 1:15 PM on Saturday when Erick finishes his lap. (Hmmmm, so that means I don't have to get up Saturday til like 11:25AM and can make it for my first lap). Just kidding!

My coed duo partner, Erick Lord, isa master of the course layout. He has this menagerie memorized and has done hishomework this past month. I have been on it three times and soon realized that a little bit ofknowledge will go a long way for me in this race. Situated directly middle ofmy least favorite town in Colorado, Palmer is a popular destination fordownhillers. There are some insane drops I have seen these crazies go off. Idon’t possess that skillset, but I must admit, I wish I was that cool.Preriding has given me some knowledge about some of the crazy, sharp turnsleading into short, steep climbs and allowed me to find the lines through thetechnical sections. The course is a mix of everything with no extended climbingand lots of rocky descending and fast stuff in between. Erick and I picked upsupport from Boulder Trek Store and will be sporting new kits this weekend.Many motivated and talented people associated with this team and I am excitedto ride with them! Erick’s wife, Jen, will be posting updates on Facebook. So,if you suffer from insomnia, are bored or just want to keep up with the hottestaction happening in CO Springs at 2AM—check out my page as I am sure she willtag me.

First ever ride in Palmer last winter

My first 24 Hour solo effort will be happening in Moab onOctober 8^th and 9^th. I am kind of amazed that it has been a year already since Team Need MoreCowbell Invaded Moab. I have to say that my experience in Moab 2010 should be partly blamed for this bike racing habit I have developed. Greener than I am now, Iwas inspired and amazed at the quality of the racers I got to ride with. I hadan absolute blast with three awesome dudes on our “Just For Fun” team and whenI rolled out of Moab, I knew that it was the beginning of something that Iwould live and breathe for a long time. So, when I roll back into town nextweekend, I will be especially thankful to Sonya for helping me get here. I amsuper excited to throw down a huge effort and see what happens.Follow me here if you are still bored:

24Moab Real Time Results

One year ago in Moab amidst the masses in the LeMans style start. Yeah, check the elbow pads! I tore up my elbows and knees all the time during my first 8 months of riding.

Drew and Zack in camp- Moab 2010

My last organized mountain bike effort on the dirt this yearwill be the Zuni 100. Similar trails to that of the 24 Hours in the EnchantedForest, I am looking forward to just going and riding new stuff in New Mexico.My body and legs will dictate if a second 46 mile lap will happen. No pressureor expectations here. Just a good ride with great people.

And finally….My project. It will be a HUGE learning experience that will annoy soooo many bike mechanics. HA!

My trash bike, Celeste, the SS (my first true love):

Is going to be reicarnated as a sweet snow/sand machine like this without gears:

Wow. Fat tires are cool!

2011 MTB Marathon Nationals Race Report

2011-09-22T03:06:00.000-07:00

If I could locate the keys to my time machine, I would take it for a spin to about two or so weeks ago and I would do the Vapor Trail 125. I felt great. I was itching to be on my bike. Nothing hurt. Hell, nothing even really felt hard to climb. My legs felt fresh, fast and strong. But, because I knew I would be leaving for Oregon for the MTB Marathon Nationals, I sat at home and watched dots move across the screen. Yeah, I am not really the "watching" type. Especially when the moon is full, it is September in Colorado and the VT125 course is what it is.

My rationale was I didn't want to crush myself and be in a hole for Nats. Save the legs, be rested, you know all the terms and cliches. Well, the rest did nothing to prevent my quads from cramping so badly that I quit. At mile 18 of 54. Yeah, it hurt that bad. I had nothing to make the crank turn. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Insert time machine access here. I would go back in a minute, because I regret sacrificing the VT125 experience for the rest I thought I needed. (Spoken like a true rookie, huh? I know.) But, I am who I am. The beast can be trained, but never tamed...

Bend, OR. September 16, 2011.

A loooooong drive from Colorado put me in my hometown of John Day, Oregon on Thursday the 15th. I saw family I hadn't seen in over 3 years. My 80-year old grandma never ages. Seriously. She still looks 50. Wow, I do hope those genes crossed over in my favor.

It was good to get back to where I grew up even though I only spent a day there and rode a short, easy road ride with my mom into the nearest town. We left the next morning for Bend which is about 3 hours west. I met up with more family who had made the trip to come and watch and ate some lunch. I went on a short, easy pre-ride in the early evening and felt good. I remember being really thirsty afterwards and pretty much all night. I crashed out early and I was excited and anxious for a good race in the morning.

September 17, 2011. Race day.

I got up feeling not hungry and not thirsty. A bit unusual for me. Thinking back, I didn't really drink as much as normal although I did eat pretty well. For being as thirsty as I was the night before, it was kind of odd that I just didn't really want to drink much the next morning. I wrote it off as nerves and pedaled a short mile or so to the start line from the hotel. There was one hill on the way and as soon as I started up, my quads burned. The morning was brisk and chilly and I was not warmed up at all, so I didn't worry about it, but distinctly remember my thoughts at the time: "Ugh, I hope this isn't how all the hills are going to feel today."

Hmmmmmm, a bit of foreshadowing? Yeah. Unfortunately so.

I warmed up slowly for a long time. I felt good. Fresh. Ready. I met an Adrenalin teammate for the first time ever about 30 minutes before the start. And, he ended up taking the bronze.Way cool. (Ha, nice to know that we both traveled 1300 miles and are on the same team. But that is about par for my "team" this summer. More on this in a few days, because it just changed today.)

Start line..me (198) making faces for the camera

The start was a neutral roll out through a couple of roundabouts and a 4 or 5 mile paved ride to a double track. I stayed back a ways for the first mile and slowly meandered my way to the front when the car pulled over and let us go. I grabbed the wheel of the leader and stayed there most of the time.

Four of us took turns pulling each other in a line through some wind until we turned off onto the first double track road. The pace wasn't anything too fast on the pavement, so I jumped into second and used the leader to pace myself. The road was dusty, hardpacked and fast. About a mile later it became sandy and deep as well. There was one super steep hill that was a quick hike-a-bike to the top followed by a fast downhill. I had fallen back to fourth and couldn't get around the girl in front of me on the downhill. Leaving the line would have been stupid as it was really deep on both sides. I finally passed everyone on the flat double track that followed and began the long, gradual climb. I was going a little harder than I wanted, but kept pushing on. I started to feel tired and my legs were slightly burning. I looked down and saw we were only on mile 9. I could hear girls shifting behind me and became frustrated with my lack of power. In the next three miles, two girls passed me and I could not stay with them. I looked down. Mile 12. Somewhere between here and Mile 12.8 both my quads did this:

right quad

left quad

First cramps I have EVER had like that on the bike. I don't know what cramps are. They have never existed in my world. The only other time was in Arizona back in April. They were gone as quick as they came and not nearly as intense and painful.

Another medium hill. OUCH! A short downhill followed by some flat, fast trail. I had no power. An incline. Misery.

I slowed waaaaaaay down and got passed again. I came to the first rocks on the trail and got off slowly. I sucked down some electrolyte gel and some water. Determined to ride this off, I started pedaling about 5 seconds later.

Nothing changed.

Passed again. I stopped for a second time and drank more. Another gel. I waited this time, leaned against my bike and put my forehead on the seat. What the hell was happening? Then the mental demons of self-doubt, frustration and anger crept in and began to bash me in the face.

Passed again. This time it was by the eventual winner of the 40-49 group. I felt like screaming. Where was my body? The one that I needed, dammit! Not this noodle-legged rag doll that was trying to pedal.

I finally made it to the aid station at Wanoga Sno-Park and began stretching, massaging and trying to convince myself to continue. I watched about ten women pass me. I stood up. I pushed my bike a few feet and started up the first little hill out of the Aid Station:

Nope. Not happening. I got off course and coasted down the Cascade Highway into Bend. That was the end of my 2011 MTB Marathon Nationals. All 18 miles worth.

There are many reasons why shit blew up in my face. Oh, believe me, I have been through them numerous times. From the tiniest detail to the most philosophical stretch.

For the first few hours, my mind raced: I want things too much. I push too hard. I need a solid training program. I am a total beginner who has ridden for less than two years and just started racing in April. A crash was inevitable. It happens. It will happen again. I learned valuable lessons. I am hugely disappointed. There was no one there I could not have beat. It was an expensive trip.....and on and on and on.

It's human to analyze. It's female to overanalyze and its Jill to uberanalyze. But this time, I don't feel the need to beat it into the ground. So, I am going with this simple conclusion:

Learn from it. Let it be. Shrug it off and move forward.

Bend's Old Mill District

Les Schwab Ampitheater near the start line

Disaster recovery courtesy of the McKenzie River Trail

2011-09-20T16:51:00.000-07:00

I am waiting on pictures from my poor performance at the USAC MTB Marathon Nationals in Bend last Saturday and I am still rolling that debauchery around in my head, so the race report will be up very soon. Just not today....

My race recovery report (ha) requires far less thought:

I experienced a rare bit of homesickness upon my return to the Willamette Valley's most beautiful and perfect river--the McKenzie. I used to live and breathe steelhead fishing this river from a drift boat and from the bank for two years. (Now I have to dig up old pictures to back up my "fish stories." You will see them on here in a few days....Just a forewarning)

Presently, my neglected steelhead rod sits in the corner of my closet and my return this past weekend involved a ride along the famous McKenzie River Trail.

The ride is a huge net downhill and winds through trees so thick that the sunlight battles to seep through to the fern-laden forest floor. Many sections seem enchanted and my senses were overwhelmed with the mysticism of the area. My ears tuned in to the sound of rubber rolling over the dirt and the crunch of pine needles beneath my tires. Lava rock littered the area and provided some technical sections to keep me honest. As the trail neared the river, the peaceful sound of a wake from a passing canoe or the splash of the water on the bank took me back to the lazy July afternoons I would spend fishing with friends a few years ago.

My hidden paradise in the northwest

Sahalie Falls is definitely a highlight of the ride and although I have seen this waterfall more times than I can count from the road, I must say this time was by far the most memorable. Why? About 2 miles of SICK downhill and 20 fun stairsteps to cruise down on the approach to the best viewpoint.

Sahalie Falls

View from the top of the steps

A Late Summer's Afternoon Dream

Part of the trail is actually asphalt and surrounded by lava rock near Cold Water Cove

Contemplating a COLD swim

Along the banks of Clear Lake, a spur off the McKenzie River Trail

Good for the soul, the heart and the mind, the McKenzie River will be a place to which I will return for the rest of my life. Its serenity slows life's pace, its beauty leaves me in silence and the memories of delicious steelhead dinners will ensure I bring my rod next trip!

Stay tuned, you will be tortured (or maybe bored to tears) with fish pictures from my pre-bike era....

Read and reread.

2011-09-19T21:56:00.000-07:00

Not About a Bike

2011-09-09T12:16:00.000-07:00

Sitting in a small café on Tuesday, I overheard a girl andher father at the table next to me talking loudly about her birthday plans.The server came to greet the two and the girl announced it was her nineteenthbirthday. Soon, every employee was gathered in a circle around the table to sing holding anything and everything that would make noise. Just after the “everyone join innow” and the actual start of Happy Birthday, the girl grabbed her phone:

“Oh my God, this will be the best Facebook status ever.Better than Mandy’s from two days ago!”

I almost choked on the bagel I was eating.

I looked over and the entire time everyone was singing HappyBirthday, the girl never looked up once from her phone: Status updated. Commentreceived. Another one. Like first comment. Respond to first comment. Likesecond comment. Respond to second comment. OMG. LOL.

Smoke seemed to be coming from the pink smartphone that wascenter of her universe. In the meantime (believe it or not) real, actual,authentic life--the waitstaff singing Happy Birthday-was happening outside ofFacebook world. The girl was oblivious to it. Facebookathon 2011 continued even when the song ended. She finally looked up about30 seconds later and proudly announced to her father the number of likes andcomments she received.

I set my glass down and just stared at the wall in front ofme. Who are we? What have we become? Sadly though, this was nothing new. It’sthe same as the mom who watches her son take his first steps through her iPhoneand has it posted almost instantaneously or the one million pictures we haveall seen of every type of alcoholic beverage, in every bar surrounded by twentydrunk people posing for said pictures again and again and again. Sure, picturesare fun and great times should be recorded with technology, but look aroundright after the picture is taken and count how many people are posting it totheir Facebook pages.

But wait…what is occurring again during the immediateFacebook fixation?

Oh, yeah…Life. The present moment. Here. Now.Conversation.Interaction. The baby’s 3^rd, 4^th and 5^thsteps. All missed while we are posting.

Another great example is a story my friend told me about adate he had with a girl who was constantly texting. (We all know this person.She is the one who has the fake-interested nod, says “Oh yeah, I know” too manytimes and has the ridiculous courtesy laugh that takes the place of heractually listening because her incoming text is really top priority.) Afterseveral frustrating conversation attempts, and the fact that he was prettyhungry and the waiter was standing at the table, he finally got out his phoneand texted her:

“Are you ready to order dinner?”

His phone beeped almost immediately: “Whenever you are.”

True story. Yeah, really.

So, these are extreme examples, but do serve to illustrate mypoint well.However, before I go on, I definitely want to assert that I:

Am certainly not judging anyone

Do not have it all figured out

Am not saying that we should never use Facebookagain. It has definite uses and benefits

Am not bringing up anything new here. You canall relate

I am just really saddened with the superficiality ofconversation I experience on a daily basis characterized by broad formalitiesand quick responses that are never truly heard or cared about. Much is empty,meaningless chatter that just fills up time followed by inability to rememberthe conversation, lack of eye contact and numerous glances at the iPhone. Atsome point, the conversation falls silent because they have no idea how torespond due to the fact they haven’t a clue what I just said. And so, the cycleof disconnect continues…

Where did we start becoming so disconnected? Have we lostthe ability to reconnect? To feel the sting of sadness or the euphoria of loveand happiness? Are we really so busy? Do we have so many emails and Facebookmessages to answer that many get short, uncaring, businesslike replies? Lifedoesn’t exist in the news, on Facebook or Twitter. A text message is not thesame as a person’s voice. An emoticon is not the same as a smile or a laugh. Itcannot convey compassion or tenderness. An exclamation point is not the same ashuman excitement or elation.

Life is here. Now. This moment. Staring you in the face. Whatmatters? REALLY matters? People? Friendships? Conversations that cut deeply orjust touch broadly on silly shit like current events/new products that we willforget about in a few hours? Can we slow down and live with authenticity? Reachout and put some meaning into our conversations? Increase our awareness of thepresent, real moment that is occurring? Hell, maybe even LIVE in the moment?

Technology is useful, ever-evolving and sometimes trulyamazing. It is not the culprit. We have a choice of how much, when and wheresocial media fits into our lives. I am a bit guilty of “social media overuse”lately and have been allowing myself to be part of the very cycle that breaksmy heart and leaves me feeling empty. I am tired of feeling like an epic socialfailure when I reach down and try to connect with someone and get only broad formalityin return. I can’t count the number of times I walk away from completely benignconversations just shaking my head in disbelief. No, not every humaninteraction needs to be profound and earth-shattering. But can you listen and fullyengage in the light and fun conversations without concern for your phone or feelingthe need to do something, be somewhere or “one-up” the story? Tell me something fromyour heart. Look me in the eyes. What makes you come alive? What brings you toyour knees? What do you dream of doing someday?

Behind this laptop isa human heart. Just like yours. And I a value human connection far more than aninternet connection.

So come to life. Your (real) life is happening now all around you.

Blah, blah, blah...

2011-09-06T01:46:00.000-07:00

Much has been ruminating in my head and my heart since August. Many topics have come up, but when I get to my computer to unload, everything seems more poignant and interesting in thought-form. The words just aren't flowing on the screen, YET. Oh, believe me, I have a great deal to say, it just hasn't evolved into paragraphs and sentences at present. And, I haven't been to any races since the CTR, so no epic tales and humorous side observations.

Prepare to endure some random rambling and boring updates....

I entered the MTB Marathon Nationals in Bend, OR on September 17th. I am excited to ride on dirt I have only hiked before. I haven't seen my family in a long time and big plans are forming to see my parents and grandparents. My life in Oregon seems like an eternity ago. I see all my old friends and most of my family live their lives through Facebook. Posts and pictures about their kids, family trips, jobs, high school sports, dishes, laundry and the weather in Oregon all seem to occur in this other galaxy. A galaxy in which I used to dwell in a much different time. A time and place where I had no clue what SRAM or Bontrager was. Hard to fathom.

My legs feel good again. After lying around and doing really nothing but trying to heal my swollen ankle for about 6 days, I got back on my 'cross bike and rode pretty easy on the road and on easy trails through Bear Creek. Contrary to my usual intense nature, I was content with some easy rides. I had virtually no power in my legs. After about 5days of this nonsense and I was absolutely dying to get on some single track. Too much road bores me. Not a playlist in existence that can cure it either.

Mt. Falcon was my first post-CTR ride on the Superfly. I couldn't believe the way my legs came back on that ride. Then it was Centennial Cone. Even more power. The hills I thought would leave me a bit winded did not even phase me. Mmmmm, yeah. I will take these legs.

The rest of August consisted of local riding until I met up with this badass on a fully rigid singlespeed to tackle Segments 7 and 8 of the Colorado Trail. The pace was much more chill than the CTR and I had a blast just riding and having time to relish in the sunshine and beauty. And yes, I am an utterly hopeless Colorado Trail addict. If work was not a grinding, painful necessity, I would have ridden it all to Durango again, shipped my bike home and hiked it back to Denver. Dead serious.

One of my favorite rides in Colorado is Segment 8 and this time I had fresh legs, even after 7's hike-a-bike "delight." Leadville came all too soon for me and the road ride back to my car in Frisco took no time whatsoever. I had tentative plans to rejoin at Spring Creek Pass and take some time to camp near Cataract Lake, but timing, pace and work schedule weren't in my favor. Oh, I will find time soon. Guaranteed.

Ummm, what else? Oh yeah, Palmer Park will definitely be on the ride list several times this month. 24 Hours of Colorado Springs is October 1-2 and Erick and I will be doing the coed duo. My first preride last week left me scratching my head, but slightly smiling as well. It would be in my best interest to be on top of my game at night. One mistake or one blind corner with someone pushing their bike up or down and the consequences could be disastrous. Familiarity brings confidence and I am lucky to live so close. My goal is to ride smart and fast and narrow my lap splits.

So....Last October at 3AM somewhere out on the course at 24 Hours of Moab, I told myself that I was going to solo this race in 2011. On a different bike. It wasn't looking to promising for a while until Sonya Looney so very generously transferred her entry to me. Its going to happen! I am absolutely on Cloud 9.

Cyclocross still mystifies me a bit. I really don't know what to expect, but I am going to give it a whirl on Saturday and see how much I love or hate it. I have been riding my 'cross bike a lot, and it has basically shown me that my bikehandling skills need work. But I crave intensity and competition, so we shall see. Stay tuned, the race report should be interesting...

This is the most boring and benign blog posting I have ever written. Like you, I am yawning through it as well. But keep checking back, I have some big races coming up. And I have a lot to say about other things....just not today.

I am out. Getting on the road and off the radar for a couple of days...Blanca and Ellingwood beckon.....

Starting to Reflect...

2011-08-15T17:09:00.000-07:00

My great-great grandmother was a tough little Finnish woman who decided in order to survive she needed to leave and come to the United States. So she got on a boat, came through Ellis Island and made her way to a rural eastern Oregon mining town. She decided and she did it. Alone.

I have often thought about the courage, determination and strength she must have possessed to make the trip in the late 1800’s across the North American continent. What were the biggest challenges? What demons did she fight? What happened on that journey? What were her thoughts? I wish I could sit down and talk with her and her daughter and grand-daughter now that I am an adult. As a child I knew her daughter (my great grandmother) and she was a firecracker. Highly intelligent, a bit overbearing, intensely driven, but the most loving and beautiful soul I knew. I was too young to know the third generation (my grandmother) before she died, and I will always be sad for this.

I would hope to gain a better understanding of myself as a woman with a fierce drive, a wealth of intensity and a strong sense of determination all coupled with a tender heart. I trust, forgive and seek the inner beauty in people in a childlike way that I refuse to abandon. Dealing with the resulting disappointments and heartaches is a consequence I have learned to manage within. Notice I did not say “accept” or “become accustomed to.” Oh hell no. It has been a long process of learning, picking battles and just rolling with the punches sometimes. The insight and wisdom I could gain, however, over a long fireside chat with three tough Scandinavian women and a pot of coffee (or who knows, maybe a bottle of whiskey) probably could have made high school as a whole and some relationships since a little easier. DNA is an amazing and powerful thing that controls tendencies and traits we can only hope to manage in a successful way throughout life.

The rest is environmental. I grew up in rural eastern Oregon. I was never in the house playing. I was always out on my horse exploring. I became somewhat of a loner because none of my friends lived close by. I had to find a way to get on my horse when I couldn’t reach the stirrups. I had to find a way to open the gate if I wanted to ride further. I developed a good sense of how to survive, overcome and not give up. I am not scared of being alone in the middle of nowhere at night. The things I learned in Nowhere, Oregon are things I still carry with me today. I would never trade my childhood for anything.

I think that my innate characteristics dictated by my DNA along with the environment in which I was raised both contributed to the success I experienced on the CTR. And some dumb luck, for certain! I did some things right. I am happy to have put another female on the finisher’s list. My gear worked well for me. I didn’t spend a lot of money on custom bags. Would they have been nice? Definitely. Necessary? Not at all. The only thing I would change is I would have brought one more layer to keep my core a little warmer. (Hmmmm, or maybe had I eaten more and more often, I wouldn’t need it).

But in the seven days since I rolled into Durango, I have had time to think about the many mistakes I made that cost me hours and days. I will finish faster next year. Sub 6 days is my goal. I am confident that it is very attainable in my world. The simple, basic experience of just being a part of the race is a huge factor. The rest? I have a little under a year to dial it in.

Not only is the CTR one of the most epic races through one of the most gorgeous places in the world, but it gives one a chance to critically self-analyze. What works for ME? What changes, upgrades, strategies will make me faster and stronger? I don’t have the raw power, speed and physical ability of Thomas, Kerkove, Jakomait, Passant or Jefe. And I never will…Damn DNA. I saw some guys with Tour Divide style setups with nothing on their backs. Won’t work for me. I need to distribute the weight I carry. I can safely say my gear and bike was lighter than a great majority of the racers this year, but for sections like Ten-Mile Range, Fooses Creek and Section 22, a super heavy bike/gear setup will crush me while going up the almost vertical pushes. No single setup, style, strategy or sleeping system is ideal for every person. Yeah. That is one of my favorite parts of this race.

Enough incessant rambling. On to my mistakes:

I should have started with brand new tires. I had been rolling with the same back tire since late April. I love the tire for the distance of racing and riding I had been doing. I used it in the Durango Dirty Century without problems, but it really was pretty worn out when I started CTR. My inexperienced eye didn’t really detect the substantial wear, until it was pointed out to me after it blew at Celebration Lake. It cost me about 20 hours total.

I stayed too long in towns. I needed to be more efficient in stores. I knew I was hungry and besides a can of Coke, I would catch myself wandering around looking but not really wanting anything I saw. Trying to figure out what food to take with me to Silverton from Buena Vista was harder than Sergeant’s Mesa. When I finally did leave the store, I didn’t end up taking enough food. I planned well as far as the food I started with, but once that was gone, I wasted a lot of time. Next year, I will have a plan for what food to buy and where to find it in each town.

If at all possible, I am not going to sleep in towns next year. Its too easy and too comfortable and makes it really hard to leave. The hotel in Leadville was an absolute luxury and I loved it every second of that shower and warm bed. But…..could I have survived without the hot shower? Yes. Could I have crashed under some shelter for a few hours and dried out my clothes? Yes. I would have gotten dry and been on my way hours earlier. I will have a sleep plan and daily mileage goals.

I have to eat more frequently. I can’t roll on a gut full of pizza or burritos. No way, I would be sick and miserable. But what I need is lots of high calorie food like bars, dried fruit, trail mix, crackers, yogurt, bagels, candy, etc that don’t weigh me down but translate into energy on a constant basis. That’s the food I ate, packed and bought. Just not enough. I seriously underestimated the amount of calories I needed. I am able to ignore hunger and push on and I paid for it for the first time. I lost the ability to keep myself warm enough on the road detour to keep moving. I shivered all night inside a bag in which I should have stayed plenty warm. I needed more far more calories than I consumed that day.

My fitness needs to improve. That is a given. And it will.

I got off course just before I dropped into the RV Park near Breckenridge and it probably cost me 45 minutes to an hour. That won’t happen next year.

I am sure I made many more and will identify them in the next few months, but I will go with these for now. I have so much more riding, racing and learning ahead of me in the time between now and next August. What a ride it was. What an absolutely incredible undertaking. The 2011 CTR was my first taste of a truly colossal effort on a bike.

Yep. I’m hungry for more….

2011 Colorado Trail Race Report

2011-08-11T16:33:00.000-07:00

So there is absolutely no way I can put into words how hard this race is. I actually like that. I want it to inspire those reading this to do something you aren’t sure you can finish. Do what you have been dreaming of doing for years. Something hard. Something seemingly impossible. DO IT. Get up. Move. Take a step. Dare to fail. Jump in the ring.

The only people who will truly understand the difficulty are the other racers. They know. They know the physical stamina, endurance and pain that are a given part of this epic undertaking. They also know the mind game that MUST be mastered.

My writing is an attempt to give you an inside look at one female rookie’s experience for seven absolutely EPIC days in August. Let’s call this part one. It’s the raw “data” of what happened during the time you were all yelling at my SPOT dot to get moving. As I recover and reflect on my triumphs and my mistakes, I will definitely have a much more analytical part two to submit to the blogosphere world in the next few days.

So for now, I welcome you to jump into my pedals and experience the 2011 Colorado Trail Race if you are so inclined.

(Oh, and if you are interested, my gear list is included at the end…Ha! Now you are going to have to read all 5500 words. No cheating by just scrolling down!)

Sunday July 31^st. 8 pm.

I was pacing AGAIN. Nerves wound tight. All my gear was packed. Food ready. Bags on the bike. I checked my tire pressure. Calculated my weight plus the estimated weight of my gear and added some to the rear shock. And checked them both again. I went over everything in my head for the tenth time. Batteries. Fresh and extra. Check. Bivvy. Check. Tire boots. Check….Jill, STOP. Go to bed.

I dreamed about riding all night. I am notorious for hovering in that surreal place between sleep and awake and experiencing vivid, almost real dreams about something on which I have an intense focus. In college, it was basketball. I would wake up in the corner of my room crouched in position to shoot a free throw. No joke. So I am guessing that last Sunday night, my legs were most likely moving in a circular motion while I was sleeping. Either way, my dog was annoyed enough that I found her sleeping on the floor, which never happens.

My alarm went off and I was ready. It was like the first day of first grade where you lay all your clothes out clear down to your socks the night before. Yep. I got ready in absolute record time and had my bike and gear out on the curb when Jen and Erick came to get me. I had to have looked like the nervous kindergartener waiting for the bus on the first day of school.

We got to the start about 20 minutes early and I was amazed at the number of cars. My stomach was flip-flopping as I was standing three or four rows back from the front.

We started to roll out and I immediately became calm. I grabbed some guy’s tire and settled into an easy, comfortable pace. My legs felt good and I looked down at my GPS and the red line I was going to follow for the next 400 plus miles.

The weather was good and the pack I rode with stayed relatively close together as we climbed and descended en route to the first town of Bailey. Some were hammering out of the saddle up steep stuff only to slow way down and die at the top. Hmmmmm, I knew that hammering in the first 10 miles was not happening for me. The ride to Bailey felt good even though it was hot through the burn and up the loose sandy hills. I got to Bailey just as the only convenience store in town was closing in the middle of the day for construction and repairs. Ugh! No. Luckily, the clerk who was locking the door in my face said I could come in and get some ice water and a free fountain soda if I was quick. Ok. SCORE!

I sat for a second outside and noticed there were two bikes outside a little café next door and rolled over to use the bathroom. I was getting ready to head out when Sonya walked in the door. We chatted for about a minute and the sky opened up and dumped buckets of rain. Ha! I wasn’t in any hurry anymore. After about 30 minutes, the sky cleared up in its typical Colorado afternoon thunderstorm fashion and I set off. The ride was a small section of dirt road then onto busy 285 which had very little shoulder. I rode with Sonya most of the way until she dropped me and scooted up the road to the top of Kenosha Pass where we rejoined the singletrack. I hit the top of Georgia Pass a little before sunset. I was smiling as I thought about how this section had been my first bikepacking trip ever a mere 10 months earlier. At the time, I had no idea how to pack and was just experimenting and trying to figure it all out. I remember being absolutely miserable having well over 20 lbs on my back and wanting to die from fatigue.

I paused for a minute to marvel at the serene sunset and put on my leg and arm warmers.

I plugged my light in and started down the sweet descent. My light which had registered as fully charged was flickering and about to die. Grrrr. What a piece of garbage. I wanted to chuck it into the trees but instead grabbed my 80 lumen Black Diamond head lamp and an additional handlebar light and finished out the downhill. I came to the bridge and saw a couple of racers just setting up camp to my right. I moved along through some deep mud and came to a big group camped near the trail, campfire raging.

“Hey, the Colorado Trail goes to the right.”

“Uh, ok. Sounds like you have seen a lot of bikers today.”

“Yep, and by the way, ignore the trail closed signs ahead. They are logging up there, but not at night.”

I rolled on a little further and came to the signs. I stopped, knowing the big climb that was ahead and saw a paper plate or something that instructed CTR racers to detour to Tiger Run Rd.

Awwww, yeeeeah!

I really had no desire to ride extra miles if no one else had to, so I ignored what the campers had said and did what Stefan had posted earlier that night. It was around 10 or 11 and I was starting to think about how good my sleeping bag would feel. Being able to fall asleep basically anywhere, I don’t carry a sleeping pad, so I found a good tree alongside the gravel road, leaned my bike up against it behind some tall grass, ditched my shoes, wrapped up in my emergency bivvy and crashed out, for about two hours.

My tiny travel alarm was beeping and I opened my eyes to a head lamp shining on me. It was Michael, a guy from Denver, I had ridden with into Bailey. I quickly packed up my bag and bivvy and followed him down the rest of the detour. We initially passed the turnoff to Horseshoe Gulch, but turned around and rode back to catch the last few miles of the detoured segment. Michael rode faster than me and didn’t have a GPS, so I gave him my guidebook to get over the top of the Ten-mile range into Copper. The sun was just coming up and somehow I took a right following some tire tracks and got off course for about 45 minutes. A bit frustrated with myself, I backtracked and descended into the area near Tiger Run RV Park and remembered that I hadn’t eaten in a while.

After a quick breakfast, I crossed the highway and started the long, grueling climb over to Copper Mountain Resort. Hike-a-Bike is all it is near the top. I trudged on and on and on. I met a racer who had called it quits already descending and soon found myself riding (pushing) with a girl named Kim. We were passed by a guy named Marco who was pushing his bike with a vengeance. He ripped by, informing us he had just ridden the whole detour with Sonya the night before on the instruction of the campers to ignore the “Trail Closed” signs. He seemed a little embarrassed but in good spirits as he tore up the hill, leaving me to wonder if he had wings in his shoes. All I knew was that the long, steep switchbacks and the straight up, rocky, root-filled climbs were kicking my ass!

UGH! I was happy to see the top and start the gnarly, technical descent down the other side. Some walking was definitely required in some of the wicked steep, wet, slick spots. I didn’t need to be a hero and one mistake on some of those rocks meant certain carnage and would abruptly end my CTR adventure. I met back up with Kim at Quiznos in Copper and chatted with Kurt who was already there but feeling a bit out of it. I was really hungry and ordered some food. I met a singlespeeder from Flagstaff who was contemplating calling it due to some serious pain on the bottoms of his feet. I felt bad because I knew he was done by the way he talked and the look on his face.

I stayed a bit longer than I wanted to and saw Kim take off about 30 minutes before I was ready to leave. I had just gotten all my gear packed up, helmet on when it started to rain. Hard. Ha. I ordered a cup of coffee and chilled for another 20 minutes on the couch. Not wanting to waste anymore time, I was pretty ancy, but knew that getting soaked was a bad idea. I hate to be cold and I knew there was a great chance of more rain tonight. “Finish” was my word of the week and I wasn’t even out of Summit county yet, so this 20 minute wait wasn’t going to kill me.

I consciously focused on the goal of finishing during every mile. Yes, my legs burned. Yes, I was frustrated with the fact that my pace was slower than normal. Yes, I wanted to catch Kim who was now a good hour ahead of me. The intensity that runs in my blood is a very powerful thing and the constant challenge of keeping it in check and channeling it towards the overall goal was a huge part of my race.

I began to climb up Copper Mountain and under the ski lifts. I smiled because the last time I was on this trail I was covered head to toe with mud, headed towards the finish wearing Viking Horns, and had just scaled three old cars in the Warrior Dash last summer. I continued climbing and a couple hours later, found that Kurt close behind. We rode together for a while and I stopped to eat once again. He went on and waited for me to descend down to Camp Hale. It had started raining just as I topped out and never let up until we reached Leadville. The descent to Camp Hale was sick! It was fast and flowy in some spots, steep and rocky in others, but overall, a wonderful, welcomed treat in the pounding rain. The rain didn’t exist as I flew down the hills, around the corners and through the loose rock. My hands were light on the handlebars and my body was part of my bike effortlessly moving through time and space.

Before I knew it we were climbing up Tennessee Pass. Matt, from Phoenix, caught us and we rode swiftly and intently towards Leadville. I was running on sheer adrenaline and desire to be out of this storm and dry. I know this because I was absolutely starving. I could feel my sides drawn in and my stomach growl and rumble every few minutes. There was no way in hell I was stopping. I was latched onto Kurt’s wheel and the time flew as we got closer and closer to Leadville. Matt flatted on the pavement and we stopped to wait as he tried to add some air. I couldn’t stay stationary for mre than two minutes because the cold breeze was sapping every bit of warmth from me. I rode circles in the road to keep moving as Matt tried to fix his tire and we finally went on when he decided to just limp into town and fix it underneath some shelter.

A hotel room was the consensus if there was anything open and the backup plan was to bivvy in the 24-hour ATM shelter. Luckily, we found a room and all I could think about was a hot shower. My teeth were literally chattering and no amount of hot coffee from the Loaf-n-Jug could warm the ice that had collected in every joint and vein in my body. The shower pressure was absolutely ridiculous but it was warm and I was again amongst the functioning part of the population. I had to chuckle to myself because going into this race I could never imagine sleeping in a hotel anywhere along the way. Now here I was with all the clothes I had drying on the rack beside my bed and not giving a second thought to the fact that I had known the two guys in the two other beds for less than 6 hours. Or that I did not care when I had to make a mad dash from the bathroom to jump under the covers in only a towel all the while instructing them to look the other way….HAHAHA…Priceless!

In all honesty, I was far more worried about getting an early start the next morning and all the time I was going to spend sleeping and not moving forward. Kurt started a little ahead of me and Matt had to get a new tire, so we never saw each other again until Buena Vista. The ride to BV was sweet with so much downhill and rippin’ fast singletrack, I felt like I was cheating. It seemed too easy and before I knew it I was crossing the tracks onto the dirt road leading into town. Ahhhhh, life was good and my mood was seriously elevated. I was again starving and bought some food at the City Market. Here I met up with Jonathan and Kurt and Matt again. Armed with 17 burritos between them, Kurt and Matt left about two hours earlier than I did.

I still had damp gloves and socks from the storm in Leadville and wanted them to be completely dry for the long pull to Silverton. A quick stop at the local laundramat to dry everything and wait out yet another short storm was in the cards.

Part of this race is knowing yourself and what is essential to finishing. Absolutely necessary to my success is warm, dry clothes. Being damp and cold pretty much just pisses me off and can send my attitude southbound very rapidly. I stocked up on food, drank a Coke and set off up Cottonwood Pass at about 8:30 PM. I knew Kim was going to probably stop and sleep for the night and I was completely ready and actually quite excited to push all through until morning. I got to Avalanche Trailhead, put my iPod on the most motivating playlist I had and went into a trance as the miles ticked away. The uphill sections and sporadic hike-a-bike passed quickly and I found myself on the road near Princeton Hot Springs.

I stood up out of the saddle and felt it extremely hard to move forward. Damn. My back tire was flat. But I was ready and expecting at least two or three of them. I calmly took my back wheel off and added some air using my CO2 cartridge, hoping Stan’s would seal whatever hole had caused the flat. Nope. Not happening. It was time for a tube. Unfortunately, I only had one cartridge. Where were the other two I had bought to put in my repair kit? Most likely sitting on my dresser at home. Nice one, Jill.

I realized there was also a small tear in the sidewall and used one of the five (!!) tire boots I had. When I went to air up the tube after getting everything put back together, I had no pressure from the small hand pump I was using. I messed with it forever. On and off, back and forth. Tried and tried and tried….I was getting frustrated because I really wanted to get moving again. I was having no luck getting air into the tube. I didn’t feel tired or sleepy at all. In fact, I felt completely mentally energized and amped to keep moving. My body must have had a different idea, because the next thing I knew it was about 6 am and I awoke to the sun rising, the pump still in my right hand. Ha, not kidding. It looked like I was setting up a small yard sale as all of my gear and tire repair stuff was spread out about two feet off the side of the road. A construction crew had just arrived to fix a dip in the road and I am sure had a good laugh and the crazy chick sound asleep with a bike pump in her hand.

I sent my friend Erick and Steve a text asking if there was anyone close behind me who may have a pump. I actually didn’t get either reply until Silverton, but somehow in the light, managed to get air into the tube. Sweet. I was back on track. I hadn’t made the progress I wanted, but pushed on, hoping to get to Hwy 50 and Fooses Creek soon. Forest caught up with me about an hour before dropping down to the highway and told me of a little RV Park less than ¼ mile to the east. Knowing that I didn’t have a lot of food, I opted to bomb down and grab some more. I was eating and needing far more than I had anticipated, so thinking soley of finishing, I took the extra 30 minutes. The selection consisted of chips, spam, candy bars and soda. There was barely any food at all there. The clerk must have felt sorry for me or something I guess because she came out of the back room with a whole bag of blueberry bagels for which she adamantly refused money. Hmmmmm, wonder what other delectable items she had back there?

I was back on the highway and just as I started up Fooses Creek, it began to pour. I quickly found a tree, got in my bivvy and covered myself with the only shelter I had—a super light piece of plastic. I sat for about an hour, dozing off, waiting for the downpour to cease. Just as it finally did and I was packing up everything, I looked at the road and saw a guy in nothing but a white T-shirt and shorts grinding away. What the hell? This dude was so tough. The rain was cold. I had all my clothes and rain gear on and here he was in basically nothing.

Why was I such a damn wimp? HTFU, Jill. I began persecuting myself for being so slow and such a rain weenie. My monkey mind started to whirl with doubt. Is it going to rain all night again? Do you want to freeze like in Leadville? There is no town to warm up. You don’t have a tent. You have a bivvy and a plastic cover. What will you do if you get up on Marshall Pass and its windy, rainy and cold? The highway is right there…you can bivvy up in the picnic area. Don’t chance it….

These thoughts were all the negative, defeating garbage that was floating around in my head. I sat for about ten minutes feeling a whirlwind of emotions trying to cloud my determination and focus on the finish. I was fighting the inclination to succumb to feeling safe, warm and comfortable. Pressing on meant being uncomfortable, tired, hungry and quite possibly wet and cold.

I stood up, snapped back to reality, laughed at my moment of silly weakness and swung my leg over the saddle. I was above this crap. Why did I let the “doubt demons” try to cloud my focus on forward movement to the finish? I have dealt with much, much greater difficulty. Sheeesh! Get your ass moving, girl!

The climb up Fooses Creek was like a rainforest in the northwest. I bumped into Andy, the toughest Brit I know a few times and he was beginning to fade. He said he was probably going to call it a day and sleep for a while. My energy was renewed from my mini mental breakdown and I charged on. The final purely vertical push to the top of Marshall Pass was amusing.

It was just getting dark and I enjoyed a brisk spin along the top for a few miles. The reflection of glowing elk eyes in the meadow around the trail added and eerie, yet soothing aura to my ride. So soothing in fact, I actually fell asleep twice while riding. I am dead serious. Who does this? I started singing whatever song had been stuck in my head to keep myself awake. The riding was virtually effortless with the trail oscillating between flat and descending. I rode through a section of tree lined trail and noticed several dry spots strangely just the shape of my sleeping bag. I pushed on, wanting to gain ground while I knew everyone was asleep in their tents. I finally relented and bedded down for a few hours after crashing due to the fact that I had again fallen asleep WHILE PEDALING!!

I heard wet brakes squealing as the sun came up and figured it was Andy starting his day. I packed up and pushed on. I descended and ascended the nasty half mile into Baldy Lake to filter water later that afternoon and met a solo thru-hiker named Emma.

I continued on, leap-frogging Andy and Forest through fields of cows and up and down big, rocky, rooted hills all the way to Apple and some wonderful trail magic.

I can confidently say that the best orange soda on planet Earth came from his cooler. It was just about dusk when I got to Apple and saw Emma again. She reintroduced herself and proceeded to tell me exactly the same story she told me at Baldy Lake just a few hours earlier. I resisted the urge to stop her and just let her continue on with her script all the while wondering if she lacked short-term memory or was just high as a monkey. I still have no idea. Entertaining to say the least, however.

I bid my new friend good-bye, grabbed a package of Nutter Butters to devour and began the long road detour that would end up at the top of Spring Creek Pass and the start of Section 22. The song “Dirt Road Anthem” by Jason Aldean was rolling through my head for hours on this part of the course. If you know the lyrics, you will understand why. The most, uhhh, let’s say, interesting part was the random drunk dude parked alongside the road who opened his door and insisted I stop and have a PBR with him. I politely declined as I sped up to get by. Yikes!

It was really getting late and I was getting cold. The wind was icy and my teeth were almost chattering again. I had gone as far as I could stand and ducked in near a cattle guard on a side road. I quickly jumped in my bag and wrapped up in my bivvy in an effort to get warm. I set my alarm to go off in 2 hours. I shivered the entire time hovering on the border between asleep and awake. When my alarm did finally go off, I could not force myself to get out of my (semi) warm sleeping bag into the cold breezy night and continue on.

This was kind of a low point for me. I woke up as the sun was peeking over the horizon still unable to warm up. I looked at my frame bag and noticed a layer of frost on it, my bike and everything around me. Knowing that in 15 more minutes the sun would be higher in the sky and the Earth much warmer, I still made no effort to get moving. The cold was sapping my mental toughness. And, I didn’t know it at the time, but Becky had passed me sometime that night while I was trying to hibernate.

Like magic, I came to life when full sunlight hit my body. I was up and pedaling again in about two minutes wondering the whole time if I was really part reptile and how to better deal with my aversion to cold. I was starting to get bored grinding away on the dirt road when I met a northbounder named Ryan just on the other side of Los Pinos Pass. He had skipped 22 and 23 and stayed in Silverton for a couple days due to horrible lightning up high. He seemed a bit weary and frustrated when I talked to him, but I admired his determination and energy to push on. South to north just seems harder to me. Stony Pass Road and the Junction Creek to Kennebec Segment are two prime examples. Ouch. Those could almost break one’s spirit.

I FINALLY got off the monotonous road and to the beginning of Segment 22 just in time to watch a guy dump his brand new Harley on its side in the gravel parking lot. He was a bit embarrassed, I think, as I jumped off to help him pick it back up. Not much was said and I continued on my way.

I am embarrassed myself to admit that I pushed my bike through a lot of Segment 22 than I wanted. My legs were cooked and my ankle was really swelling. Each step hurt and each turn of the crank hurt. I twisted it or did something minor to it back before Buena Vista, but it wasn’t anything to really even think twice about. At this point, I think it was just the miles accumulating on a tired joint and the swelling was becoming noticeable. I am pretty successful at pushing through pain and had been for the better part of 200 miles, so I just kept it wrapped and managed. Something inside was driving me on. Diligently. Constantly. Finish-focused at all costs.

I stopped at a stream to filter some water and saw Forest coming back down with an older gentleman I had never seen before. Dangerously low on food and struggling with the altitude, Forest had decided to call it. I felt sad for him, but held so much respect for an awesome person and strong rider. He offered up his last two bars and said the older guy was going to give him a ride into Lake City. A quick hug and they continued on down the trail.

I plugged along, in awe of the scenery and criss-crossed paths several times with a group of ATV riders. They stopped and offered me a beer which I declined, but couldn’t resist the little four year-old boy insisting I take his Ziploc bag full of mini candy bars. I politely took one. He looked at me, insulted, set the entire bag by my bike and hid behind his mom. Another priceless CTR moment in my memory.

Happy to have some human interaction, I talked with the group for a while answering all their questions about the race and was called insane a few times. I did learn that the older guy with Forest became quite irate when he saw them on ATVs. Apparently, without provocation, he picked up bucket-sized rocks and hurled them at the tires, screaming that they were not allowed to be on the trail. Things eventually simmered down after some choice words were exchanged. Wow, people do amaze me.

Some images from Segment 22:

I really can’t tell you anything about Segment 23. I pushed through completely in the dark, solo, nonstop. I was in a trance almost. Push up, ride down. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat…..you get the idea. I descended Stony Pass Road right at daybreak and had the best cup of hot chocolate on the planet at a little café in Silverton. I knew I had passed Becky and was now way ahead, but did not know Kim had dropped way back in Lake City. I saw Matt again and met Pete. We ate breakfast and they set out about an hour ahead of me.

At this point, I had been pushing for 24 hours. I had ridden the last three sections before Durango but not the part from Molas Pass to Celebration Lake. I knew the Indian Peak ridge was going to be a bitch, but I really wanted to finish up by the next morning. I was tired, but what was really bothering me was a huge chamois sore that was excruciatingly painful. Heh, here’s where it gets a little personal. Rotating between two different sets of chamois didn’t work and I found myself dreading the five miles up to Molas Pass more than all hard singletrack that lie ahead. Why? Take a guess. The road ride is a seated grind. God, this was going to HURT. I grabbed some food and took off up the pass. I had to ride out of the saddle, playing number games with myself to keep mashing on the crank out of the saddle. In no way, shape or form was I touching that saddle. Nope. Not happening. So I did ascending and descending pyramids (12 turns, rest, 10 turns, rest, etc) for 5 miles of pavement. I think I sat maybe one time only to shoot back out of the saddle with tears in my eyes.

Once I finally rejoined the Colorado Trail from the worst five miles of the entire 2011 CTR, things got significantly better. The pristine beauty and the fact that I was mowing down lush wildflowers that invaded the sides of the trail with my handlebars helped take my mind off my, ummm, painful issue. A lot of people were out and about on mules, bikes and just hiking. The diversity and perfect beauty of this section puts it as the overall most beautiful trail I have ever set rubber on. I was lost in the surrounding peaks, the roaring streams, the vast, thick and colorful flowers and the vibrance of life that filled both sides of the trail. I will be back at a much slower, leisurely pace to enjoy this magical kingdom very soon.

Almost to the end of the segment, I was bombing down a road when I heard what I thought was a gun shot completely out of the blue. WHAT?! Was I in between a hunter (poacher) and a deer? I locked my brakes up and hit the ground. Seriously. Then I looked at my back tire. NO!!!!

Not one, but three holes that completely tore through the casing and tore the tread off. I methodically took the wheel off and then the tire off the rim and began scraping Stan’s away and getting the surface as dry as possible to try and boot the holes. I used all of the remaining tire boots I had and was searching for my duct tape when a thru-hiker named Allan came along. It was about 7 pm by then and I asked him what he thought of the tire. I was dreading hearing the answer he gave me. He was a bike mechanic from the east coast and told me the tire was toast. Especially considering what I had left to ride. I could probably make it a little ways but would just have to stop and repair several times. I was down to my last tube and not happy AT ALL with what I was realizing. My only option was to carry my bike and gear down Bolam Pass Road into Durango, buy a new tire and ride back up to rejoin where I had left.

I had been going for 36 straight hours. Bike shops were closed, so I went to sleep after a few tears of disappointment. I was primed to finish this thing by early the next morning and undoubtedly would have, but this was going to set me back a full day or more. Durango was a loooooong walk and Bolam Pass was the last thing I wanted to reclimb. But I was going to do it. Tomorrow.

I woke the next morning at 9:30. All gear on my back, bike slung over my shoulder and carrying my wheel in my left hand, I began the long walk into Durango. Thoughts of calling it quits pervaded my mind. I looked up to see a mountain biker coming toward me. He stopped and asked what happened. I showed him my tire and told him of the long walk I had into Durango. A couple minutes later, his buddy rode up and stopped.

He looked at me and asked me one question: “Do you want to finish?”

Surprised, I stammered: “Hell ya, I want to finish.”

Those were really the only words that were spoken over the course of the next 20 minutes. Completely unsolicited, two trail angels sprung into motion sabotaging part of their ride to help me get moving again.

“Get going, girl!”

I was off. Forty miles was all that stood between me and Junction Creek Trailhead. I was up and down Blackhawk before I knew it. I had a couple of minor derailleur issues just before Highline Trail that resulted in some intense cussing at my bike, but managed to solve them somehow. I threw my iPod on every Disturbed song I had loaded and in no time, I was looking at a sign that put me 1 ¾ miles from Taylor Lake.

I lost it. I sobbed tears of happiness and accomplishment as I descended down to Taylor Lake. No, I wasn’t finished yet. I still had 21 miles, but at that point the finish was more of a reality than ever. My ankle hurt. The swelling was a little scary. My toes hurt. I had to unclip a lot on descents to relieve intense pressure and pain, but (ok, here is the Honey Badger reference) I didn’t give a shit. I was low on batteries and my light was going to be dim. But I was going to be rolling into Durango in less than three hours. The hard, painful parts were over. I had two climbs and two wicked descents left and I was going to OWN them.

I finally calmed down on top of Kennebec and was treated to one of the best descents around while it was still light. I stopped at the bridge at the bottom to put on my lights, climbed for four miles and descended the rest of the way to the finish.

My eyes filled with tears of euphoria for the last two miles. There were no cameras. No people. No banners. No one. Just me and my bike and almost 500 miles of Colorado behind us. I screamed. I danced. I hugged my bike. I laughed. I sobbed.

I did it. I set my mind to it 11 months ago. And I completed it. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t at the pace I hoped for, but I did it.

Fourth woman ever.

2011 CTR Bike and Gear List

2010 Gary Fisher Superfly 100

29x2.2 Continental Race King Front Tire

2x2.0 Bontrager 29.3 Back Tire

Sea Line Seatpost Bag with straps (1 extra inside for adjustments along the way)

Epic Designs Frame Bag- purchased used and modified to fit my fully

GoLite Rush Backpack with 3L Osprey hydration bladder

Small Dry Bag attached to handlebars with mileage cues, gu gels, snacks, etc

Camera, SPOT

Helmet, headsweat

Sunscreen, Sunglasses, mosquito repellent

MiNewt Helmet light and battery

Black Diamond 80 lumen backpacking head lamp

Handlebar light (AAA powered)

Cell phone, iPod, ID, Debit Card, Emergency info

GoLite tank top, sports bra

PI Chamois/Team Kit Bib Chamois/jersey

PI Arm Warmers, Leg Warmers

UnderArmour base layer

Socks

PI X-Alp shoes

PI bike gloves

GPS mounted to handlebars (6 extra AA’s)

Extra socks, extra AAA batteries, Protein/Powerbars, food, Chamois Butt’r

Mountain Hardware rain gear

Montbell sleeping bag, emergency bivvy

First aid and Repair kits:

1^st aid contents: bandaids, alcohol prep pads, small guaze pads, vetwrap, xtra butt’r, needle/thread

Repair: Tire boots, duct tape, 2 ultralight 16g CO2 cartridges with dispenser, 2 tire levers, bike tool, hand pump,

Master chainlink, derailleur hanger, tubes

Spyder thermal gloves

MSR ultralight water filter

2 Plastic Garbage bags

Lightweight plastic ground/rain cover

Colorado Trail Race: WHY?

2011-07-27T19:09:00.000-07:00

It’s gonna rain. Oh hell ya, its gonna rain.

Probably at least once everyday next week. It’s August. It’s Colorado. It doesn’t stop raining until September. I clearly remember spending around 15 days out in the Colorado wilderness last year in September. These days included epic climbing, camping and hiking. And no rain. But…those were the soley foot-powered, pre-Superfly days….

Now as I am going through my gear again and again, and maybe wishing a little that this race was September 1^st, I am ready to get wet..and muddy…and bloody. And be hungry, and thristy. And change flats and fix chains and torn sidewalls. I am ready to sweat and shiver. I am ready to Climb. Pedal. Push. Carry. Slip. Turn. Crash. Descend. Filter water. Watch the sun rise and set. See the stars appear and disappear. Nap in the shade. Sleep in the rain. Marvel at the Columbines. Drink in the thin air…

I am ready to finish this race. A race I only learned about last October when I stumbled upon a woman’s blog that outlined her experience. I remember thinking how much I wanted to do this race when I was done reading. I sat back in my chair and I made up my mind that I was going to learn more about this bikepacking thing that completely intrigued me. And I was going to be at the starting line of the 2011 CTR.

Now, four full days away, I have my gear packed and ready. I am nervous, but that is nothing new…typical Jill. Nerves and stomach knots mean I want it..Really want it.

I will buy food on Sunday and head out to the start to camp with my brother and my black lab. Monday morning I will roll out with all the others who have strapped a bunch of bags to their bikes for one reason or another…

Sooo…why am I doing this? What’s my reason?

Because I do crazy shit? Heh, well. Yeah.

Ok...

I am doing the Colorado Trail Race to:

Challenge myself not only physically and mentally, but to fulfill my innate need to be in Colorado’s unique and perfect mountains.

Finish every single mile of a trail that cuts through the most personally inspiring and stunning place I have ever been.

Experience challenges without the mundane conveniences we all perceive as necessary.

Search for a bit of chaos and adventure.

Simply pedal my bike (some will understand, some will not…)

Use strategy and skill to my advantage as the conditions and situations arise.

Apply the things I learned in Arizona this past April, namely: leave the uber-competitive drive to win at home and race to finish, it’s a long race and one flat or mishap isn’t going to end it. Push on. Wisely. Calmly.

Get the hell away from text messages, email and Facebook

Finish. Finish. Finish.

Overcome.

Continue my lifetime pursuit of epic...

Fighting the Mind

2011-07-14T22:04:00.000-07:00

So I got my legs back. I entered Expert (as a result of some helpful encouragement) for the first time this past Saturday in Winter Park, not completely knowing what to expect. It was a really great course with some challenging, wet roots that kept me honest. I totally blew the start, thinking there was a few minute gap between the Pro and Expert starts. I was gawking off, not ready and was at the back of the pack off the line. Luckily, I was able to find some power and grab a podium spot in my age group and 4th overall.

I felt pretty good about my race. I made some mistakes descending some muddy switchbacks that cost me and I need more power on the flats, but I climbed very well. I left WP motivated for the upcoming week and excited that I didn't come in LAST :)

OK, motivated, feeling good. Now onto:

7AM this morning. I was at Carter Park in Breckenridge. A little tired mentally and emotionally, but decently motivated to ride the Breck 68 course as a training ride. I began climbing the rocky, rooted switchbacks and my legs felt great. The morning was crisp and cool and wildflowers were everywhere along the trail. I met a few runners and hikers, exchanged a few greetings and kept climbing. I continued on and came to Sally Barber Mine and started to feel something I really haven't dealt with while on my bike. Boredom. Yep. I was suddenly unmotivated for no real reason. I wasn't feeling physically fatigued, in fact, I felt like pushing harder. But I really didn't care if I turned the crank one more time. And my new chain was slipping so much, I was becoming annoyed.

In a matter of an hour, I had gone from wanting to ride 68 miles to wanting to get off my bike and, honestly, take a nap in the sun. I continued on riding and my attitude got worse. What the hell was going on? I had been looking forward to some solitude and exploring trails and roads I had never ridden before. I wasn't even noticing the beauty of Breck that was surrounding me as I rode along, head down, literally fighting the urge to quit the ride and head back the way I came. This was work. And not a bit of fun. Ugh!

I pushed on...and on...and on. I had previously ridden and loved the CT section of the course last summer, but really didn't enjoy it today and soon I found myself just trying to get this loop done. I went deeper and deeper into my head and as I got back to Carter Park, I was done. Boreas Pass did not interest me in any way today, despite the fact I have been itching to ride Gold Dust Trail since last summer.

Bored with my bike? WTF??? Sure it has happened on local trails I have ridden thousands of times, but totally uncharacteristic when I have driven an hour to ride new trail.

So what's going on? Well, here is my 5 cent self-psychoanalysis:

Intensity and passion are two attributes of which I posess more than my fair share. Starting as a child, I set and fervently pursued goals, and still today, I generally use my innate, intense passion to drive me beyond my perceived limits in a healthy and productive way. But somedays, namely today, my mind was just needing a break. I just want things too damn much sometimes...

So, of course, tonight I am persecuting myself in the back of my mind for wasting a good CTR training opportunity. But, in an effort to continually manage two powerful attributes, I am also thinking of these words:

"To combat oneself is the most difficult of wars; to defeat oneself is the most beautiful of victories"

-Friedrich von Logan

Ahh, some days the war is easier than others...and today was a tough battle with the mind.

Veteran cyclists out there: thoughts? advice?

One Helluva Hundred Miles: Durango Dirty Century 2011

2011-07-05T16:42:00.000-07:00

100 miles and 13000’ of climbing. Colorado Trail Segments 26, 27 and 28. Mud. More mud. Deep, loose, greasy snow drifts partially melted on steep hillsides. Unridable, scree-covered winding switchbacks climbing to 11-12K’. Downed trees blocking the trail. Rocky ridges traversing huge canyons. Determination. Guts. Hardcore. And I loved every second of every minute of all 18 hours.

4:45 AM. Saturday, July 2, 2011. Durango, CO

I woke up to the sound of a southern accent talking loudly on a cell phone coming from the truck parked beside me. I pushed my sleeping bag off my face, checked my phone for the time and smiled. In about an hour, I would be setting off on a 100 mile ride through the San Juan mountains. The ride included the last three segments of the Colorado Trail and I couldn’t wait. I first learned of the Durango Dirty Century back in February when I was reading up on another race in the Southwest Endurance Series. Initially intrigued by the Mt. Sneffels Big Friggin’ Loop, I soon found that the dates conflicted with the Colorado Trail Race. The DDC looked just as epic and challenging, so here I was, waking up under the big Colorado sky, ready to ride for many hours. I had packed my GoLite pack the night before and had everything I needed for this self-supported adventure: water, food, water filter, SPOT, GPS, extra socks (always, always in my pack on any trip), gloves, sunscreen, tubes, hand pump, tire boots, patch kit, repair kit, rain coat, leg warmers and head lamp.

I adamantly decided I was going to finish this ride no matter what. Frustration and disappointment still lingered from the AZT 300 failure and I have not been able to completely forgive myself for the mistakes I made that led to my DNF. So, I set my stubborn mind to finish 100 miles. No bailouts, no lesser B or C routes. The Superfly was logging a hundo today….come hell, high water, flats or torn sidewalls.

I rolled into San Juan Cycles a little before 6AM and met a few of the other crazy people riding the full 100 mile loop. My legs weren’t snappy and fresh like usual. I knew I pushed it too hard during the week and had neglected the needed recovery time from 24 Enchanted, but I was on a mission and hoped my legs would respond accordingly.

Minutes before the start my GPS would not turn on. I had fresh lithium batteries in it and had no idea what was going on. I tried some batteries out of a light from the bike shop, but that wasn’t the problem. I had printed the published route directions and had them with me, but a nice, neat pre-downoaded gpx file of the Colorado Trail segments would have been nice. It was too late to do much, so I settled into the front third of the pack as we set out on pavement for the Upper Hermosa trailhead.

The first part was flat and fast. I heard the whizzzzzzz of singlespeeds all around me and chatted a bit with Scott, a strong rider I had just met through a mutual friend. Soon the paved climb started and my legs felt sluggish and heavy. The first 10 minutes of anything I do usually feel like hell, so I just pushed through, waiting for 10:05 when my body usually wakes up and starts to perform. Ugh, was not happening. My legs were lead blocks and not happy with this early morning BS I was putting them through. I climbed on, grabbing a wheel and grinding up the hill, making small talk with Sonya and a few others around me. Soon we came to the trailhead and Sonya and I stopped. She had extra, fresh batteries for my GPS. I replaced the old ones and nothing happened. After about 5 minutes of being stopped and trying everything to get it to work, I jumped back on and started the singletrack.

The first bit of singletrack on the Upper Hermosa trail was a stunning ride full of small climbs and quick descents, finally coming out alongside the creek for the last 5 miles or so. Wildflowers littered the green meadow and the creek roared fast and full. The morning was crisp and cool still and I was riding through scenery one sees on postcards in the mountain town gift shops. I rode with Scott for awhile and then with a physical therapist from Phoenix until we came to the first of two aid stations. Part of racing is meeting new and interesting people from everywhere. No matter how diverse we may be, a certain underlying connection exists with every person I have ran across riding my bike. It could be we are all a little sick in the head for choosing this crazy adventure or we all march to the beat of a slightly different drummer. Whatever the reason, freaks will find each other eventually and thirty of us had congregated this morning to take on this challenge.

The Hermosa Creek trail ended at a river crossing and an aid station that consisted of a few coolers and some food. Hoping caffeine would jolt my body into action, I chugged a can of Coke, grabbed a granola bar and set off on Bolam Pass Rd. After about 3 miles of moderate gravel road climbing, I parted ways with Scott and two other guys and finished the last 6 miles of Bolam Pass. The ‘B’ ride option skipped Segment 26 (Blackhawk Peak) and started at Hotel Draw. Not wanting more than 12 or 13 hours on the bike, the group I was riding with opted for a shorter route.

Bolam Pass Road climbed up steep switchbacks to Celebration Lake. I was still sluggish and slow. My legs burned and were just lethargic. I must admit, I am not used to feeling this type of fatigue. The relationship is always this: My brain asks for power, my quads react. Simple, really, so what the blank was going on today? Altitude? Possibly, but I hesitate to use that as an excuse since it has never been an issue previously. Some dehydration maybe, but most likely overtraining. I wasn’t miserable, just slower than I am used to and that was frustrating.

Once I hit Celebration Lake, I saw a sign for the Colorado Trail pointing to the right. About an hour and a half later, and some stopping to try and fix my GPS, I realized I was on the Colorado Trail, but definitely NOT in a “Durango-ly” direction. I took the batteries out one more time, put them back in and FINALLY the unit powered on. By this time, I had figured out that I should have turned left back where the trail intersected Bolam Pass Road and was on my way there. Ahh, what’s an extra 5 or 6 miles? Ha!

The trail climbed for about a mile right off the road through the first of about 30 snow drifts and then became a traverse with a gradual incline.

I continued on for about 4 or 5 hours climbing, descending, pushing, and carrying my bike over and up big drifts.

My legs felt like hell going up steep hills on the bike. Even off the bike, I could feel an uncharacteristic burn that I refused to let frustrate me. My mind was strong and determined. I was taken aback by the views and was in the middle of my own definition of Eden—riding through the San Juans on a mountain bike. Heh, beats the hell out of mindless small talk, screaming kids, burnt hamburgers and incessant fireworks at the “normal” 4^th of July weekend BBQ. J

I saw two people resting at the top of Blackhawk Peak as I was coming up. One was an east coast singlespeeder who was suffering from dehydration and an altitude headache. I descended just behind him and learned he was going to bail out at Hotel Draw. Although I didn't know it at the time, the other person I was about to spend a lot of time with.

I came to Hotel Draw and grabbed a Coke, some melted Gummi Bears and some Hammer Gel and saw Rebecca who had also stopped at the last aid station. We figured out that while I was riding my “bonus miles” at Celebration Lake, she had passed me. I would spend the next ten hours with her en route back to Durango. Truly an awesome companion and cyclist who was just as determined as I was.

The next ten hours took us up over 13000’ and produced some long, exposed descents both ridable and unridable.

We stopped shortly at Taylor Lake for some water and bombed down to a bridge crossing the Animas River about 14 miles from the end.

It was just getting dark and we put on our lights. We climbed much of the steep ascent immediately following the bridge in the dark to conserve batteries. Night riding is an intoxicating trance for me. Like being in a tunnel of fluid motion, there is nothing quite like the coolness of the night, the serenity of the trail and my tires that seem to hover over the rocks, roots and switchbacks. We descended and climbed. My light began to fail, so I stayed right on Rebecca’s back tire and pirated what light I could.

At midnight, we came to the Junction Trailhead just outside Durango. Cheers, high fives and big smiles preceded our paved road descent back to San Juan Cycles for the finish.

As I look back, I choose not to dwell on the fact my body did not perform. Obviously, I realize I am not bionic and muscles need rest and recovery, but I chose to overlook that fact in the week before and I paid the price physically. Lesson learned.

The big victory here was in my head. Not once did I ever seriously consider bailing out. It was set in my head. 100 miles would be done today regardless of how my legs felt. I took this frustration and the frustration of getting off course and my rear derailleur ceasing to shift in stride. It would not and did not affect me. I accepted the fact that my pace was far slower than I was used to or wanted.

Here, in the mountains of Colorado, three months later, I began to forgive myself for Arizona somewhere around Indian Peak. I finally let go of the insecurities and self-doubt that have somehow clung to me since April. I attribute my ability to finally forgive myself to the mysticism of the mountains, the clarity of looking down from above 13K’ while pedaling a mountain bike and the perseverance it takes to complete 100 hard miles.

I have found where I belong. I know now where I “fit in”and to where I will always return, no matter how far I travel in my constant search for novel and epic. I came from Oregon. I was born in the Blue Mountains on a horse. I currently live in the Front Range. I will see the better part of the world in the next 20 years, but you can bet I will be an old lady living in Ouray with an old black lab and one badass mountain bike still trying to shred some trails. Yah, and most likely still lining up for the start of the 2071 Durango Dirty Century.

More pics from the trail (all photography credit Jeff Kerkove, Sonya Looney and Aaron Kimble)

24 Hours in the Enchanted Forest Race Report

2011-06-25T23:11:00.000-07:00

My constant attempts to play mountain bike racer found me back in New Mexico for the 2^nd annual 24 Hours in the Enchanted Forest this past weekend. My coed duo partner, Erick and I registered for this event back in late April after learning the course was 100% singletrack and reading very positive things about the previous year. We were also coming off some excitement and energy from a 3^rd place finish in Tucson in late February, so we decided to throw our hat into the ring once again.

Jen and Erick left early Thursday morning and I rolled out of Denver Thursday evening. I got to the race area early Friday and camp was set up and ready, complete with hammock:

camping with the cows!

After hanging out a bit in camp, the three of us set out on a mid-afternoon preride. This was Jen’s first time on a mountain bike in two years, and after this past weekend I am guessing the Lord’s may have a new 29er in their quiver soon.

The pace was really mellow and we were just getting a feel for the terrain, the turns and the climbing. I followed along in the back just loving the fact I was on my bike and trying to calm a few nerves. The race course was about 16.5 miles long. (For those who aren’t familiar with 24 Hour Mountain Bike Races: the race starts Saturday at noon and ends Sunday at noon, racers ride laps in many different categories (solo, duo or team) and the most laps in 24 hours wins. The laps are timed and if a team has the same number of laps, the winner is decided by time)

The first 5 miles of this course was a meandering climb through the trees. The corners were sandy and the trail was really dry. After mile 5, it flattened out a bit and went through the trees with some fast ups and downs. The blazing descent that occupied about mile 10 to 13 was manned with three search and rescue volunteers at all times. Very rocky with loose gravel and serious opportunities for catching A LOT of air, but one mistake and it’s a ride out on a stretcher to the nearest road. The last three miles provide just enough climbing to dispel the hero notion one begins to obtain upon exiting the rippin’ downhill.

Erick lined up for the mass start on the gravel road and put us in 4^th place after the first (shortened) lap:

The first lap was a shortened version that saw a mass start down some dirt roads

Erick on the opening lap

Our camp was on the actual course, and since the timing chip was the actual race baton, we simply made our camp the exchange area.

I was able to catch two of the women to put us into second after my first lap. We steadily gained time over the team in third place and chased the Stan’s No Tubes team all night long. I remember hoping that each person I came up upon in the dark was wearing the white No Tubes jersey, because we were so close. On my 5^th or 6^th lap at about mile 10, I finally saw Karen. She had about 7 or 8 minutes on me at the beginning of the lap, but was on her second lap in a row. I stood in camp, watching her head out, waiting for Erick to finish his lap and I knew this would be my only chance to take the lead. Once I finally caught her, it was a race. One of those moments I crave. And, one of those moments in which I grew as a cyclist. It was dark and we were on the loose, rocky downhill. Just ride, Jill, don’t think, don’t analyze, get off the brakes, lean back, push the comfort edge, come fully alive, stay with the bike….GO!

We both missed a weird turn in the dark and were seconds apart for a couple miles. I found another gear or two and managed to pull away in the last three miles and finish a couple minutes ahead, but was very impressed with her strength after pulling double laps.

Headed for the exchange tent

Enchanted creatures appeared overnight and remained for the final morning laps

As the sun came up, we found ourselves again in second place. Allan (the other half of Stan’s No Tubes) seemed to “have a turbo-pack on his bike” (Credit Erick Lord), and was too much for either of us to catch.Thus, just past noon on Father's Day we stood on the second rung of the podium next to some very talented cyclists.

Click here to see lap times and full results. The timing system didn't keep track of who rode each lap, but we alternated laps with Erick riding the first one. Our division is Coed Duo, Team Adrenalin Cycles.

Next up: Kit Carson and Challenger summits, Durango Dirty Century, Full Tilt in Telluride and continuing high altitude riding all as part of Colorado Trail Race prep....

Bikes and Bars

2011-06-08T20:53:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, the Golden Handcuffs. They have been on and off my wrists since I was 21. From high volume, downtown Denver bars to the proverbial neighborhood dive bar in Western Oregon, I have slung drinks in almost every imaginable atmosphere. Sometimes it was as one of three jobs and a full classload. Sometimes it was my night job that required an 80 mile round trip commute which I did everyday for three years because the money was so good. I have taken a few short breaks from bartending that have always been required in order to regain my tolerance of people, but I seem to always fall victim to liking a lot of cash in my hand at the end of every shift. And I love having any given trail virtually all to myself on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays when the rest of the “normal” world is fighting traffic to get to their 9 to 5. Taking time off is never paid, but as long as my shift is covered, I can plan as many hiking or biking trips as I want. When I lock the doors at 3AM, my work is done. No stress of meeting deadlines or emails to answer. I have met amazing people from all over the world and from all walks of life. Many of these people will be my "forever" friends whether we live in the same town or on different ends of the planet. I thrive on the fast, paced, intense nature of the job and the environment can be fun and exciting. I was in the middle of the Democratic National Convention and the World Series. We made more money those weeks than what the majority of the customers we served make in a month. I have carded NBA players and gotten hookups to events and concerts that were unbelievable and unforgettable. I have worked with and for some of the best people I have ever met. Tips that have been thrown into jars and shoeboxes have paid for airfare and travel expenses to epic destinations to climb, hike and bike.

Sounds great from the outside. Make a ton of cash at night then run, bike, climb, swim, hike, travel or just chill by a lake all day. The work is fun, easy, entertaining and there are minimal corporate games to play. Bartenders have it made, right? Not this one. Not anymore anyway.

For those who have never served or bartended I don’t expect you to relate as well as those who have worked customer service or service industry jobs, but I have to let the floodgates open here. Most of the antics that I can even recall, I now look back upon and laugh. In this industry, one develops a shell that has to be completely impenetrable to rudeness, harsh words, constant demands, creeps and stupid people. You learn to take nothing to heart and I can list a million ways to mess with the annoying customers to just get through “those” nights. Mr. Fingersnapper, I saw you a long time ago, but I will walk by and ignore you 25 times before I will get your beer. Ms. Slur-my-words, there is a reason I am not going to give you another double Jager. Each time you ask me why, I will make up a different story, because you won’t remember in the morning anyway. No, Mr. Creepy, I don’t want your number for the one-billionth time. Oh, you want mine? Sure, its uhhhhh, 999-1234. What it doesn’t work? Hmmm, I have no idea why!

I have been threatened to be killed by a local drunk or two for cutting them off after 12 hours of drinking. Every vulgar name you can call a woman, I have been called. I have worked in 3 inches of drain water on the floor for over 9 hours on a Friday night because the bar was too greedy to lose the sales, close for the night and get the plumbing fixed. I have jumped between numerous whiskey-drunk meatheads who think they need to kill each other in the middle of the dance floor and I have been subpoenaed to testify several times regarding one incident or another. I have heard the same stories from the same people more times than I can count and even after I finish the story for them, I can expect to hear it a couple more times over the course of the night. And I have heard the Kid Rock/Sheryl Crow song “Picture” more times than any human alive. I am lucky enough to hear it not only on the jukebox, but even karaoke too! See why the shell is necessary? But, really, these are all just antics that drum up a few sarcastic jokes. What follows is the heavy artillery that is beginning to penetrate my "shell":

The night owl lifestyle is not so easy anymore. I am tired of working while I should be sleeping. My personality doesn’t really click with being a day sleeper and in order to associate with the rest of the world on weekends, I have to get up early after going to bed around 3:30-4 AM. In my mind, sleeping all day is a total waste. So, I function on very little sleep all weekend and when Monday rolls around, all I can think about is my pillow. Inevitably, I have a million things that need done on Monday, so I don’t get as much sleep as I need. I have adapted to functioning on too little sleep, and its not healthy. And when I am tired, I am overly sensitive and irritable. My motivation suffers as well.

At work, my conversations are at most two minutes long. I am master of the quick-witted one-liners or the fake “act-interested smile.” This is a result of being in constant demand. Someone always needs something--a beer, an answer, a toothpick, turn the TV channel, give me change, etc. I have become so accustomed to attempting to tune out the same stories over and over again or having no time for a meaningful conversation, it seems my own social skills have evolved in a similar fashion. I often find myself making no time or having the patience to really talk with my friends and family. For example, I will text, facebook or email you, but for some unknown reason I think it takes too much time to dial or answer a phone call? Huh? The sense of urgency to always be doing something and having no time to do it seems to be carrying over to my “real” social life and I find myself always seeking more depth in my conversations and interactions. Texts and Facebook are so empty and sterile and yet, I find myself communicating via those vessels far too much. More on this later for sure..

I have been in school enough years to have my doctorate. Seriously. I have changed majors and career goals three times. Each time stopping just shy of completing my bachelor’s. Why? I lost passion for what I was doing. I could make awesome money pouring drinks and bike, hike and climb whenever I wanted. I could not afford to not work and just go to school, so trying to balance the two took all my time. I would roll into class with my baseball cap pulled as far down as possible on about two and a half hours of sleep from working the night before and try to comprehend protein structure. And, in all honesty, I was dreaming of being on my bike in the mountains.

This was not me at all. I went from Valedictorian, Dean’s List student to an adventure obsessed bartender who felt obligated go to class. My passion for biochemistry is still alive and that door is still open, but when I started mountain biking a year and a half ago, I knew my life would somehow center around it from then on.

Finally, I do not really fit into any social circle. I don’t get off work and hang out with the industry people and spend half of what I make at the bar. Finding the best Happy Hour in town is not my idea of an epic quest and I have no desire to take trips to go gambling and drinking with my friends on my days off. You won’t find me at work unless I am on the clock. I have plans made for training, riding, racing, trips, hiking and running in advance and inevitably, I do a large amount of it alone. Which is cool for the most part. I have adapted to doing my own thing for many years and it fits my personality. I am definitely a bit of a loner and I love the solitude of the mountains, but I am human and I am female. I don’t want to do everything by myself, but who can take a Tuesday afternoon to go ride 50 miles in the mountains? No one with a 9-5 job. And none of my co-workers are into it. Yes, I have been called an anomaly more than a few times.

So then the weekend rolls around and all my friends who share the love for biking and adventure have rides and things planned that I want to join in on. And I am unable to go because I have to be at work in the evening……See the pattern?

Relationships are even harder. Ask anyone who has dated a bartender. Opposite work schedules work for awhile, but one day you realize that your biggest form of communication with your boyfriend is texting at work because you are both home at the same time for only about two hours a day. And I find myself alone all the time, because the person with whom I most want to share all my epic adventures is at work. It takes its toll. Sad, but true.

Ahhh, but I have been sucked into bartending for too long. Why? The money. I am certainly not there for my health or for intellectual or social stimulation. But I am hitting the point where the money is not worth it anymore. Over the past six months, I have made a ton of changes to free up every possible dime to go towards my bike and getting to races. Material luxuries have never been of much importance to me, but now they are even less. I love the simplicity of owning next to nothing. I have what I need to live. I don’t drive a nice vehicle anymore. I live in a small apartment. The burden of unnecessary things is gone and I love it. Its called minimalism and although I kind of defaulted into it in order to have a nice bike and pursue my dream, I have always related on many levels.

The answer? A job in the cycling industry for awhile before I go finish my Biochem degree. I want to pursue my true love with like-minded people in an environment that intrigues and interests me. I need to explore this road because I sense a lot of opportunities awaiting me. I am more than willing to take the cut in pay. I will find a way to make it work on less money. I have been over bartending for so long. I did my time and paid my dues. I want to work with sober, motivated people and challenge myself to grow.

The golden handcuffs are coming off very soon. Nomadic will be a good way to describe me and the San Juan Mountains will be a good place to look for me this summer… J

Angel Fire

2011-06-07T00:11:00.000-07:00

I absolutely love and hate the starting line of a race. My stomach physically tightens the exact second my front tire touches the line.I often wonder if there is a direct circuit that connects the rubber to my gut, because it never fails.

The latest race in Angel Fire, NM was no different.This was my third MSC XC race ever and I was racing Cat 2. I took second in Fruita due to a broken derailleur and I wanted the win this time. I was going to jump on it from the start and attack. I was craving some rocky singletrack and I knew there was going to be a bunch of climbing on this course. I wasn't racing until 2pm so I loaded my Superfly on the lift with a couple of downhillers I was traveling with and decided to do some Super D recon work. My lip was still bandaged from three days prior so I was debating whether or not to enter the Super D as planned. I rode it three times and found it to be not that technical. Lots of banked, fast corners through the trees, a couple of fast flat spots and one really steep downhill. Fun riding and very doable, although far from ideal on my Superfly.

I must admit, I kinda missed my old friend I rode all last summer...More travel and that drop post would have been nice:

No doubt after riding the course that I was in. I was offered a DH bike to borrow but when I found out that a large part of the XC course was the Super D course, I declined. Practice times ended and I had a couple of hours to eat and get ready for the XC race.

As I warmed up, I felt pretty good. My plan was to go hard right off the line. There was a short but steep hill seconds from the start and I wanted to be out in front. We lined up and watched the men start. There was 5 minutes between each age group for men.

I am generally pretty quiet. Chatter doesn't really interest or calm me at the start line. Sure there are always a few introductions and some small talk but I am heavily focused on channeling my intensity at this point. I looked over at the girl next to me who talked about where she has raced nonstop for the last 10 minutes. Hmmm, I guess that means she is fast? She had five Powergels taped to her stem and she was informing us that her coach instructed her to use all five and she was not allowed to wear a Garmin and see her time. Then she told me how she was going to pass her dad who had started 5 minutes ago...God, I just wanted the race to start so I could have some relief from her constant chatter. People amaze me.

30 seconds. My stomach was doing flip-flops. The second I heard the word "GO" and my right foot turned the crank, all my nerves evaporated. I got ahead quickly and made a hard move left for the inside spot on the turn and began the short climb. I could barely see someone just behind me to the right, so I mashed down. I grabbed a few more gears and tore ahead on the flat road that lead to the first big hill. I was way out in front at this point and actually had the fleeting thought that I had missed a corner or something. I smiled and sped up a little on the approach to the hill. I quickly glanced back to see a girl in a white helmet quite a ways back and a little ahead of the pack.

That was the last time I saw any female on the course. I don't know where the power in my legs was coming from, but I wasn't complaining. I continued to wind up the long, rocky switchbacks, through trees and up about five or six steep climbs. I caught and passed about six men and then grabbed the wheel of a guy who was throwing down a great pace. I knew I was not strong enough to pass him and stay far enough ahead, so I followed him for a long time. The long lap ended with part of the Super D that I knew well and the short lap included a rocky section that was not really a trail it seemed. It was much faster to run through this short section, so I threw my bike up on my shoulder and leap frogged through what was similiar to a river bed---very weird trail! I finished up 14 minutes ahead of the 2nd place woman. My chain came off twice during the race, but other than that, all went well.

I chilled with all my travel partners and we grabbed some dinner and called it a night. I woke up Sunday morning a little nervous not knowing what to expect for the start of the Super D. When I got to the start line, I was kind of intimidated and totally out of place on my 29er with my face all bandaged up.But I honestly didn't care. I was there to have fun with the course and crush out some fear that was slightly lingering from my crash in Colorado three days prior. There were only 14 women total-3 pros-so we all started on the line, two feet on the ground. There was about 30 yards of uphill to the beginning of the course.

GO! It was far quicker to run than try to hop on and ride, so I sprinted out in front and cut left hard to fall in behind two women. Dust was everywhere. I couldn't see the ground ahead of me. I leaned back and let off my brakes and flew. Waaaaay past my comfort level, but I didn't want to get passed. My seat was too high and I just kept leaning back and letting the bike roll over all the rocks. I am amazed I did not go over the bars. I kept the two in front of me in sight and I was determined to hang in and not let anyone get right on me. I thought maybe I could catch them on a long, flat section I knew was coming up. Nope. Damn, they were fast.

I came to a long, steep downhill that scared me. Lean back, let go. I knew if I touched the brakes, I was dead. I was still consuming massive quantities of dust and really couldn't see that great. At the bottom of the hill was loose gravel to the left and big rocks to the right. My wimpy little tires wanted no part of it and went everywhere. My back tire skidded almost out from under me, my front was all over the place and I was sure I was going to leave the mountain on a stretcher. I veered right and miracuously was able to keep the rubber down only to be passed by everyone (I thought). I got back on course and (this has a familiar ring to it) never saw another female until the end.

I was laughing at myself the entire way to the finish line. I think this laughter was to avert my thoughts from what had just about happened. My adrenaline was maxed though and I knew I would be on a different bike next time. A monster had been created. God, that was a rush!

Checking the results tonight, I finished two minutes behind the non-pro winner. I was 9th out of 11. Awww, I was having a good time making fun of myself for being DEAD LAST..

Next up: I decided to forego the Bailey Hundo in favor of 24 Hours in the Enchanted Forest. So back to New Mexico it is. The crappy part of the weekend?

Chasing Boys

2011-06-03T13:46:00.000-07:00

Chimney Gulch is a local trail that ascends Lookout Mountain in Golden on dirt. I have ridden the classic road climb on my road bike a billion times before I ever started mountain biking, and the dirt trail route to the top is much more challenging and fun. Steep climbs, sharp corners, many rocks and obstacles are mixed in with some fast, flat, through-the-trees portions of this classic Jeffco trail. Once on the summit, a great way to connect parks is to descend Apex's Enchanted Forest or just turn around and rail back to one's car.

The latter was the choice this past Wednesday evening. I met up with Erick and Jeremy and we began climbing. My legs were asleep and protesting every revolution for about 2/3 of the way up. Ugh, I was frustrated as I kept asking my quads for more and they kept giving me the middle finger.

Once on top we turned around and dodged hikers and fellow bikers coming up the trail. I felt good and had ridden this downhill many, many times. Finally, the trail opened up a bit and Erick and Jeremy took off. I pushed through some technical sections pretty hard as I railed down the hill. I was having fun chasing these boys and riding quicker, smoother lines. The extremely sharp, downhill switchbacks demanded a foot down to get around (ahhh, it will come), but I felt pretty good that they were only slightly in front of me. My chain came off and I stopped to put it back on right before the hardest obstacle on the trail. I had ridden it once before and cleared it, so I decided to give it a go this time. I didn't make it without throwing a foot down. Grrr!

I quickly came around a corner and over some small rocks in the middle of the trail. Clunk! I felt my bottom bracket hit one of the rocks and my bike immediately stopped. Ummm, unfortunately, I did not follow suit. Instead I became airborne, knowing some road rash was in my near future. I began to look for the best place to land and as I came down, hit full force on the right side of my lip on a small rock that seemingly came out of nowhere.

UGGGGHHHH! The rock split my upper lip and blood was going everywhere. I broke two teeth and dislodged a dental bridge I have had since I was 18. Just as quickly as I landed, I jumped up, grabbed my bike and untangled the chain that came off and wrapped around the branch of a nearby bush into which it fell. I swung my leg over the saddle and started riding down again. I honestly didn't feel much pain and the looks on Erick and Jeremy's face when they saw the blood gushing out of my face, sent me to the rear-view mirror of a nearby car when we came to a road crossing. Ha! The line of the day (and I am not sure who said it) was: "Uhhh, no don't look in the mirror."

When I or someone around me is significantly hurt or in an emergency situation, I go into ultracalm mode. There was nothing anyone could do, so I just rode the rest of the trail down to my car. I was a little shaken when I really got a good look at my bloody face, but tried to just breath deep and keep it together. I got some ice on it as soon as I could and when I got to the ER, I was actually laughing at myself and really just thankful it wasn't something really serious.

I looked pretty beat up when I left and knew I would be spending some love time with the dentist the next morning, but was still joking around with the doctor and nurses in the ER. Everything is relevant and I couldn't stop thinking how thankful I was that I wasn't in a coma with head trauma or something.

My teeth are all straight and pretty again.The skin-glue and the scrapes are not attractive at all, and neither is my fat lip, but I guess they provide good entertainment for the people in line at the grocery store. I love watching people's reactions!

Of all the places to launch through the air, I chose to do it at a very easy part. There are far more crash-likely places on Chimney Gulch, so I am not really sure why I caught the bottom bracket on the rock. I originally thought it was my chain coming off that did it, but as I replayed the scene in my mind afterwards I completely remember feeling the rock catch and thinking, "Uh oh, this is not going to feel good!" as I flew forward.

My friend Jen asked me if my mom ever told me not to chase boys. I had to laugh. Why yes, in fact, she did. Good advice to live by. But.....when it comes to mountain biking, that's all I really know. I can't find any girls who ride on a regular basis and chasing the boys makes me faster, tougher and hopefully.........smarter!

This morning, I rode from Morrison up Apex and down Chimney Gulch to put any fear to rest. I slowed a little to look for the rock that did me in, but my confidence is ok again and I am excited and nervous for Angel Fire tomorrow and Sunday.

The following pictures are carnage-ridden and a little intense. I am going to throw a random podium pic from a race in Fruita a month ago, just so my bloody face doesn't come up as the first picture on Facebook. Ummmmm, enjoy (I guess):

Fun trail, broke a derailleur, look like I swallowed a bug here..blah, blah

Ok, so on to the aforementioned carnage:

In the paraphrased words of my buddy, Drew:
"Your blood sacrifice to the trail Gods should suffice for quiet some time"

I definitely was laughing at my latest blunder!

AZT 300 ITT Update

2011-05-30T02:27:00.000-07:00

Arizona, you have broken my heart twice now. I was "mishap prepared" this time around and ready to ITT last Tuesday. I was mostly just craving the solitude of simply being out on my bike for three days. I felt very little fatigue on Rainier and my legs were stronger than I thought they would be when riding in Seattle afterwards. My shuttle rides came together at the last minute and then someone started a huge fire affecting the Canelo Hills and access to the start. The report put the fire at 10,000 acres and 0% contained late Tuesday. Parker Canyon Lake was scheduled to be closed until June 1^st. I learned of this as I was on my way to the airport, packed and ready to fly out. I froze up for a minute and took the nearest exit off I-70. I pulled into a parking lot and just sat in complete disbelief for a couple of minutes. I was cognizant of, but really did not expect a fire to jack up my week.

I had around thirty minutes to make a decision whether or not to go ride anyway and just skip the first 31 miles of the route. I went back and forth. Why was I going? Let’s not beat around the bush. If you have read any of my blog, or know me, it is no secret I was going for a run at the women’s record. I didn’t want to do the AZ 270, I wanted the full AZ 300 to finish. A short conversation with my good friend and racing partner, Erick, really helped me look at it from a few different perspectives.

Thus, going to Tucson would be just to train and I really have zero desire to ride in the desert heat for no real reason. Since I live minutes from a fantastic trail system in Jefferson County on which to train, I slowly turned around and started heading west back home. Melancholy and introspective on the way home, I really wanted to spend my birthday finishing the AZT 300, but began reckoning with the notion that this year it was just not to be…

Talk about all dressed up and no place to go L

Time to shift my focus and newly acquired bikepacking experience to the big dance in August!