May 22, 2009 modeled snowpack depth
May 22, 2011 modeled snowpack depth
Tour Divide day 1 option 1 
Tour Divide day 1 option 2 Monday, May 23, 2011
Decisions
May 22, 2009 modeled snowpack depthMay 22, 2011 modeled snowpack depthTour Divide day 1 option 1 Tour Divide day 1 option 2 
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Path begins
An exciting announcement of what's to follow on the heels of this year's Tour Divide and will undoubtedly be another incredible adventure. Leave it to Mike Dion and Hunter Weeks to create another great adventure biking film!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Kokopelli rides again
The Kokopelli Trail and I have never gotten along particularly well. Putting that another way, it has handily destroyed me the past 3 times I've ridden it. The full trail runs approximately 135 from Moab, UT to Loma, CO with something like 17,000' of climbing, very little water, and no resupply. The varied terrain takes you up to the foot of the snowy peaks in the La Sal mountains, through rugged sandstone canyons, breezy desert mesas, and right down to the muddy Colorado River. For me, racing the trail has usually been a solitary experience due to a wise evening or midnight start time and the remote nature of the route.
My goal this year was to ride fast and feel good most of the time. Two years ago, I managed a 16-hour time during which I felt good for no more than 30 minutes. It was a pretty dang miserable day on the bike. This year, I also wanted to see how close to Dave Harris' very impressive 12:41 record I could come.
Eszter and I set off around 12:30 am from Moab and starting the climbing-heavy first 26 miles, which includes a 4000' climb immediately followed by a 2000' climb. The nearly-full moon shone down on me, glinting off my frame and rims. I turned off my light and was surrounded by the outlines of spectacular rock formations. Riding both climbs with just the light of the moon was absolutely spectacular. My head was enjoying things, my legs were feeling good as I floated up to 8000'. A turn onto pavement at that point marks a brief respite from the climbing - a 2000' paved descent. I turned my light on as bright as it goes and launched downhill. The cold air made me shiver, but I was too impatient to stop and put on any more clothing. I dove into the first set of switchbacks, and in middle of the second hairpin, I somehow horribly misjudged my speed and shot straight off the edge of the road, down an embankment, and into the woods! Miraculously, my bike and I were unscathed save a bruising a tree gave my elbow. I dragged my bike back up to the road and continued on, wide awake from adrenaline. That extra attentiveness helped me avoid hitting an elk a few turns later!
The early-morning hours of darkness flew by. I was making good time, my legs felt great, and the long, rough descents after all that initial climbing were a blast. I debated between riding my hardtail and my Spearfish, and I was very glad I had decided to go with the latter. I filled up two water bottles at the last reliable stream crossing that holds good water and pressed on. The first glimmer of light in the east excited me, and by the time I began the descent to the Colorado River at Dewey, the sun was about to pop up over the distant cliffs. That meant I was at least 90 minutes ahead of my pace from last time.
I don't particularly enjoy much of the second half of the Kokopelli. It's dry desert, a mix of rocky mesas and sandy 2-tracks, and the technical singletrack at the end is frustratingly slow and difficult after 120+ miles. My arms were starting to ache, and fatigue was beginning to settle into my legs. I forced myself to keep eating, but after being ravenously hungry for the first 5 hours, I was actually a bit worried about having enough food to get to the end. My water supply seemed good, and I knew that I'd grab a bit extra thick, brown water from the river in a couple hour just in case I'd need it.
The next few hours passed by uneventfully. An aggravating headwind persisted despite a weather forecast that suggested that there would be a tailwind there. My knee started to ache a bit, and my stomach stopped wanting food. I arrived in Rabbit Valley, ~2.5 hours from the end, and a minor meltdown ensued. My legs suddenly had no power, the mid-morning heat was already starting to get to me, and I was dreading the last part of the course. Dave's record, which previously had seemed to be just within reach, slipped away. I glanced back to the southeast and half expected to see Eszter closing in on me. I crammed down 250 calories of sugar and hoped for the best. My legs gradually gained some strength, and soon I found myself at the rocky, rutted, steep descent to Salt Creek. Skittering down it brought a smile back to my face, but the subsequent hike-a-bike sections stole it right back away.
I muddled my way through the last 8 miles of singletrack at a pathetic pace. I recalled suffering like a dog on these same trails last year during my first running race and was glad I could at least coast on the short descents. The area was crawling with other cyclists this time around, and seeing all those people was a bit of a shock after spending the rest of the ride alone with just the scenery and my thoughts. Minutes ticked by...the prospect of a 13-hours finish came and went. I pressed on, finally reached the last climb, coasted down the backside to the parking lot, and finished in 13:25 (managed to keep the stopped time to only 20 minutes!).
After running out of water a few miles from the end, all I could think about was a cold, sugary beverage. Lucky for me, Caroline had finished up her bikepacking trip in Moab and had just the ticket waiting for me in the car. Muscles on the verge of cramping, I lounged uncomfortably in the shade of the car, amazed at how horrible my body felt upon finishing. Eszter came in with a very fast time of 15:25 and was also very happy to be done. We both agreed (and hoped!) that the Kokopelli will be out of our systems for a while.
My goal this year was to ride fast and feel good most of the time. Two years ago, I managed a 16-hour time during which I felt good for no more than 30 minutes. It was a pretty dang miserable day on the bike. This year, I also wanted to see how close to Dave Harris' very impressive 12:41 record I could come.
Eszter and I set off around 12:30 am from Moab and starting the climbing-heavy first 26 miles, which includes a 4000' climb immediately followed by a 2000' climb. The nearly-full moon shone down on me, glinting off my frame and rims. I turned off my light and was surrounded by the outlines of spectacular rock formations. Riding both climbs with just the light of the moon was absolutely spectacular. My head was enjoying things, my legs were feeling good as I floated up to 8000'. A turn onto pavement at that point marks a brief respite from the climbing - a 2000' paved descent. I turned my light on as bright as it goes and launched downhill. The cold air made me shiver, but I was too impatient to stop and put on any more clothing. I dove into the first set of switchbacks, and in middle of the second hairpin, I somehow horribly misjudged my speed and shot straight off the edge of the road, down an embankment, and into the woods! Miraculously, my bike and I were unscathed save a bruising a tree gave my elbow. I dragged my bike back up to the road and continued on, wide awake from adrenaline. That extra attentiveness helped me avoid hitting an elk a few turns later!
The early-morning hours of darkness flew by. I was making good time, my legs felt great, and the long, rough descents after all that initial climbing were a blast. I debated between riding my hardtail and my Spearfish, and I was very glad I had decided to go with the latter. I filled up two water bottles at the last reliable stream crossing that holds good water and pressed on. The first glimmer of light in the east excited me, and by the time I began the descent to the Colorado River at Dewey, the sun was about to pop up over the distant cliffs. That meant I was at least 90 minutes ahead of my pace from last time.
I don't particularly enjoy much of the second half of the Kokopelli. It's dry desert, a mix of rocky mesas and sandy 2-tracks, and the technical singletrack at the end is frustratingly slow and difficult after 120+ miles. My arms were starting to ache, and fatigue was beginning to settle into my legs. I forced myself to keep eating, but after being ravenously hungry for the first 5 hours, I was actually a bit worried about having enough food to get to the end. My water supply seemed good, and I knew that I'd grab a bit extra thick, brown water from the river in a couple hour just in case I'd need it.
The next few hours passed by uneventfully. An aggravating headwind persisted despite a weather forecast that suggested that there would be a tailwind there. My knee started to ache a bit, and my stomach stopped wanting food. I arrived in Rabbit Valley, ~2.5 hours from the end, and a minor meltdown ensued. My legs suddenly had no power, the mid-morning heat was already starting to get to me, and I was dreading the last part of the course. Dave's record, which previously had seemed to be just within reach, slipped away. I glanced back to the southeast and half expected to see Eszter closing in on me. I crammed down 250 calories of sugar and hoped for the best. My legs gradually gained some strength, and soon I found myself at the rocky, rutted, steep descent to Salt Creek. Skittering down it brought a smile back to my face, but the subsequent hike-a-bike sections stole it right back away.
I muddled my way through the last 8 miles of singletrack at a pathetic pace. I recalled suffering like a dog on these same trails last year during my first running race and was glad I could at least coast on the short descents. The area was crawling with other cyclists this time around, and seeing all those people was a bit of a shock after spending the rest of the ride alone with just the scenery and my thoughts. Minutes ticked by...the prospect of a 13-hours finish came and went. I pressed on, finally reached the last climb, coasted down the backside to the parking lot, and finished in 13:25 (managed to keep the stopped time to only 20 minutes!).
After running out of water a few miles from the end, all I could think about was a cold, sugary beverage. Lucky for me, Caroline had finished up her bikepacking trip in Moab and had just the ticket waiting for me in the car. Muscles on the verge of cramping, I lounged uncomfortably in the shade of the car, amazed at how horrible my body felt upon finishing. Eszter came in with a very fast time of 15:25 and was also very happy to be done. We both agreed (and hoped!) that the Kokopelli will be out of our systems for a while.
Friday, May 13, 2011
The Cordillera Volume 2
Eric Bruntjen has put together another beautiful volume of writing from Tour Divide racers and their families. The publisher sums up the contents nicely:
"From the Canadian Rockies to the deserts of New Mexico the Cordillera features engaging stories from the longest, most grueling mountain bike races in the world. Follow world-class athletes as they dash from Canada to Mexico, unsupported, while fighting temperature extremes, sleep deprivation, mechanical breakdowns and physical and emotional hardship along the way. At times nerve-racking and heart-breaking, but also touching and inspiring, this collection explores the heart of human endurance. In these pages, you'll discover men and women who are obsessed with seconds in the 2,700-mile long course. You'll meet a spouse left behind to wait and wonder. You'll travel to the Arctic Circle, where a young racer stumbles upon a decades-old mystery from the "World's Toughest Bike Race," and much more."
As mentioned, included in this content is the mind-boggling story of my discovery of the bikes of "Divide pioneers" Mike and Dan Moes' left behind on Baffin Island during their fateful final expedition. This spooky story still sends shivers down my spine and captivates anyone with whom I share it.
All proceeds from sales of this second edition will go to Linnea Blumenthal, the young daughter of Tour Divide racer Dave Blumenthal who was killed last June in an accident en route from Banff to Antelope Wells.
Please consider purchasing a copy or three directly from the publisher. It will later be available on Amazon.com, but their cut will reduce the funds passed on to Linnea.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Divide training
Training for racing the Divide generally just involves big volume all around, but as important as the physical training might be, it's far from everything. While the mental side of things is not going to win an ultra for you, it sure can send you home early. I've been taking good care of my head, and Dan just posted a video of some riding from a chilly, snowy, slippery Sunday last week. We spent the afternoon on my favorite trails, and this clip shows the steepest, loosest descent there. The helmet cam perspective provides some footage that's a bit underwhelming, but it's the fun that counts, right?
Too big for words
Forty-five minutes of looking at topo maps and aerial photos in Topofusion on Thursday night resulted in a unique loop that formed the plan for the weekend - a 180-mile tour of the high plains in southern Wyoming, including some fast dirt roads and long stretches of 2-tracks of unknown quality stitched together along the northern rim of the Great Divide Basin. The trip didn't go entirely as planned, but it was absolutely delightful nonetheless. Here are a few photos, possibly with more to come. The landscape is too large for my camera and my late night frame of mind, but suffice it to say that this ride reminded me once again of just why I love pedaling my bike.
The foreboding clouds predict 10 hours of strong headwinds to follow
Please don't poke me. I'm pretending to sleep, and this sun feels so nice without you casting your lousy shadow across my back!
Two thin lines stretched to the horizon, and we followed them that far and beyond
Tens of miles from anything and anyone
What's a bikepacking trip without some hiking through snow?
This view explains how we managed to climb 11k in an area that doesn't really seem to have any substantial climbing. It actually has a lot of hills. (photo by Caroline)
A beautiful place to camp, and very popular among the deer, elk, and antelope, too.
Looking down upon our scenic campsite
Hmm. The Sweetwater River could not be forded as planned - more than hip-deep and flowing fast over slippery rocks. Let's backtrack a bit and take the Oregon Trail instead! So we did. Somehow those brave pioneers got their wagons across this river at 9 different fords. (photo by Caroline)
This guy had some place to be and was uninterested in slowing down for us
Abandoned heavy equipment provides about the only shelter from the incessant wind out here (photo by Caroline)
The trace of the Oregon Trail snakes its way among the knobby granite outcrops and sage-covered hills and across saline streams, providing a reminder of past adventures and struggles in a landscape that probably looks completely unchanged from what travelers saw in the 19th century.
The foreboding clouds predict 10 hours of strong headwinds to follow
Please don't poke me. I'm pretending to sleep, and this sun feels so nice without you casting your lousy shadow across my back!
Two thin lines stretched to the horizon, and we followed them that far and beyond
Tens of miles from anything and anyone
What's a bikepacking trip without some hiking through snow? 
This view explains how we managed to climb 11k in an area that doesn't really seem to have any substantial climbing. It actually has a lot of hills. (photo by Caroline)
A beautiful place to camp, and very popular among the deer, elk, and antelope, too.
Looking down upon our scenic campsite
Hmm. The Sweetwater River could not be forded as planned - more than hip-deep and flowing fast over slippery rocks. Let's backtrack a bit and take the Oregon Trail instead! So we did. Somehow those brave pioneers got their wagons across this river at 9 different fords. (photo by Caroline)
This guy had some place to be and was uninterested in slowing down for us
Abandoned heavy equipment provides about the only shelter from the incessant wind out here (photo by Caroline)
The trace of the Oregon Trail snakes its way among the knobby granite outcrops and sage-covered hills and across saline streams, providing a reminder of past adventures and struggles in a landscape that probably looks completely unchanged from what travelers saw in the 19th century.Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Big things in the works
The next seven months are guaranteed to bring a whirlwind of adventure, exhaustion, and change between racing down the spine of the continent, making use of an around-the-world plane ticket for some adventure biking (more on this later...), and finishing my dissertation. Now in a brand new development, I'll soon have a foreign landscape to call my back yard. It looks something like this:
Not bad, huh? And to go along with this, I'll have a real job. I have managed to survive nearly 30 years without having such a thing, but since I'm coming close to being all grown up, I figured it was time to look around a bit. And how could one pass up the opportunity to join the faculty of Prescott College and teach earth science, climate, and mountain bike courses? I couldn't.
Not bad, huh? And to go along with this, I'll have a real job. I have managed to survive nearly 30 years without having such a thing, but since I'm coming close to being all grown up, I figured it was time to look around a bit. And how could one pass up the opportunity to join the faculty of Prescott College and teach earth science, climate, and mountain bike courses? I couldn't.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Unsettled
Another weekend of strangely unsettled weather along the Front Range, another weekend of long hours in the saddle, and another sleepy Monday to follow that up.
Ride toward the light . . . just don't fall into gaping the cracks en route. Photo by Caroline Soong.
I had no idea this trail existed, but it was open to bikes and clearly sees very little use. Either way, a bit of singletrack is nice in the middle of a long dirt road/pavement ride.
Yesterday Dan and I headed up high to ride amazing trails. We got snowed on, as usual.
Squid plant?
Dan marvels at the a new trail we discovered. By new I mean very old, eroded, rocky, and steep, but new to us. On one end it hits a gate that on one side says "Private gate" and "Private property, no trespassing" on the other, yet we were standing on USFS land. Strange.
Just before getting lost in a sea of criss-crossing trails that all led across a narrow section of USFS land surrounded by houses, and each trail dead-ended in someone's back yard. Eventually a friendly homeowner laughed at us and said we could cross his property to get back to a road.
And I made a dorky new bag.
It keeps all my trinkets arranged nicely. Everything with a place and everything in that place, an important thing to consider when preparing for ultras.
Ride toward the light . . . just don't fall into gaping the cracks en route. Photo by Caroline Soong.
I had no idea this trail existed, but it was open to bikes and clearly sees very little use. Either way, a bit of singletrack is nice in the middle of a long dirt road/pavement ride.
Yesterday Dan and I headed up high to ride amazing trails. We got snowed on, as usual.
Squid plant?
Dan marvels at the a new trail we discovered. By new I mean very old, eroded, rocky, and steep, but new to us. On one end it hits a gate that on one side says "Private gate" and "Private property, no trespassing" on the other, yet we were standing on USFS land. Strange. 
Just before getting lost in a sea of criss-crossing trails that all led across a narrow section of USFS land surrounded by houses, and each trail dead-ended in someone's back yard. Eventually a friendly homeowner laughed at us and said we could cross his property to get back to a road.
And I made a dorky new bag.
It keeps all my trinkets arranged nicely. Everything with a place and everything in that place, an important thing to consider when preparing for ultras.
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