Coconino revisited

Upon returning home from the Tour Divide, I was a bit tired. That’s to be expected, obviously, but I was more toward the utterly exhausted end of the spectrum. My legs recovered strength fairly quickly, but I spent a few weeks sleeping for what seemed like close to half of every day. That was new for me. During those weeks, I rode a few times, but short singletrack rides weren’t really doing it for me. I needed something bigger, or different, or something. I went on a bigger exploratory ride on my fatbike to scratch an itch, but that didn’t really do it, either. My running shoes even saw some use, but despite having some fun on trails I don’t ride on much or ever, something was still missing.

One afternoon as I rode down into town and caught a glimpse of Bill Williams Mountain on the skyline, it dawned on me. Coconino - the loop that I exploded myself on in a big way in May with Scott Morris and Aaron Gulley. I still had not ridden the entire 250-mile loop. But I quickly dismissed the idea since I had just finished the Divide.

A few days later, I received big box with a new Salsa Spearfish 1. While assembling it, I thought about where I should take it for a good ride, and the Coconino idea returned. I took the bike out for a test ride that evening, and the more I rode, the better my legs felt, and the more Coconino sounded like a good idea even though I knew it really was anything but. The weather forecast for the following days was warm but free of storms as the monsoon circulation temporarily weakened. On a course where any rain can turn the track to show-stopping clay mud, that’s a good forecast.


I returned home from the ride and was greeted by Caroline.


“How’s your new bike?” she asked, admiring its black and red color scheme.


“Good. The rear shock feels really nice.” I paused. “I think I might go ride Coconino tomorrow.”


“Uh, do you think you’re recovered enough?”


“Not really,” I replied. “But my legs felt pretty good tonight.”


“Do you have anything going on at work?”


“Nope.”


“Well, why not then?”


Sweet. Perfect logic. I didn’t need her blessing, but it’s always nice to have it when I’m about to do something stupid. By then it was 8 pm. I wanted to be riding by 6 am, it took an hour to get to Sedona to start, and I still had to pack gear, food, eat dinner, shower, ready the bike, and get some sleep. Ideal preparation, no?


Fast forward 10 hours, and I was rolling through the brilliant red rocks along the eastern edge of Sedona. The sun was just peeking up above the Mogollon Rim, the trails offered an inordinate amount of traction after the past weekend’s rain, and my legs felt good. They felt so good, in fact, that I had to hold back since those trails are so much fun to ride fast. My goal was to ride slowly all day, something that I often struggle with. Riding too hard early on back in May was what really did me in.

So slowly I rode, leaving the glowing rocks and leafy green ocotillo behind as I followed the Lime Kiln Trail toward Cottonwood. The rain had hardened all the sand, but horse traffic had already loosened things up considerably. I cursed at the horse “damage” even though it really is just normally a sandy track. After riding a hardtail last time, I was looking forward to the dual suspension for the rocky descent into Cottonwood, and it didn’t disappoint. It always surprises me that they have such fun trails above this little town, but I enjoyed every inch of that ledgy descent.


At the gas station in Cottonwood, I filled up on water and Gatorade, grabbed some ice cream and cashews, and then started up the nearly 5000’ Mingus climb. I climbed as slowly as my gearing would allow, but I was dripping with sweat before I even reached the dirt. By the time I hit the hike-a-bike singletrack higher up, I could tell I was already becoming dehydrated despite my best efforts to drink as much as I could. But at least my legs felt reasonably strong still, and my progress was slow but steady as Cottonwood became smaller and smaller below me.

Upon reaching the summit, I had gone through most of my water, so I was happy to see that a USFS water trailer was still parked at the day-use area. I filled everything back up, ate a bit of food, and took a deep breath as I thought about how hot the next miles were going to be. It was warm atop the mountain, and I had to gradually make my way down 5000’ to the Verde River before another long climb. As I descended gradually, the air became hotter and drier, and my legs steadily became more and more tired. I stopped and ate again, and then again, but eating was becoming difficult. I eventually reached the Verde an hour behind my time from May, which was probably a good thing. I refilled my nearly emptied water yet again and began the next 5000’ climb up toward the Mogollon Rim and over Bill Williams Mountain.

Sweat continued to drip off my wrists, ears, nose, and nose. Thick salt accumulations outlined my knuckles, abs, shoulders, and probably the edges of my small backpack, too. I had been taking several salt tablets every hour, and so far, signs of cramping were absent. A few miles into the climb, I reached the rusted, shot up old 55-gallon drum where I sat as I realized I was doomed in May. I stopped to snap a photo and continued on, feeling mediocre but triumphant at having made it past that spot.

The climb dragged on for hours. The sun dropped lower in the sky, which was welcome as the juniper lining the rough, rutted road cast longer and longer shadows that eventually provided me with some shade. I made it passed the series of impact craters Scott, Aaron, and I had left in the middle of the road. Topping out on the Rim and passing into stands of huge Ponderosa pines, the sun disappeared and the air cooled quickly. I was struggling to eat much of anything by this point. Each bite required a sip of water to get down. But the thought of burgers in Williams kept me moving steadily.


Darkness fell as I hit the paved Perkinsville Road, which carried me to the Bentham Trail that climbs another 900’ up Bill Williams Mountain. New to me, this trail was a delight. The switchbacks were expertly constructed and mostly rideable, and the lights of distant Chino Valley and Prescott lit up tiny sections of the valley far below. Above me, stars shone brightly amid the moonless sky. Before long, I was descending rapidly down a steep, overgrown trail. Big rock steps kept me on my toes, and alarmingly soon, I found myself popping out on a street in Williams. I filled my pack with whatever food sounded remotely palatable at a gas station before heading to McDonalds.


I rolled up, switched off my lights, and walked up to the door. But it was locked. The gas station attendant told me it was open until midnight. I slowly read the hours on the door. “Friday-Sunday: Open until 12” it said. What the heck? It’s 11:05. Confused, my tired brain tried to figure out why the door was locked


Wait…what day is it? Friday! No, Thursday. Damn! Wait, it’s Wednesday! I found the Wednesday line on their sign: Open until 11. Nuts!


So I went across the street to a tiny gas station, bought a tuna sandwich, big coke, and a noodle bucket from a grumpy woman and sat there for 20 minutes while trying to eat everything. A burger or three would have gone down so much more easily!


I finally was rolling again, just before midnight, disappointed at how long I spent in town. My legs felt quite sluggish, which would be the theme for the night. I struggled down the mellow dirt roads toward the next section of techy singletrack. It was quite a fun trail, but I was dreading its short, steep climbs and tire-tearing rocks. I didn’t even make it an hour out of town before my eyes kept trying to close on me. I popped a caffeine pill, and 15 minutes later, nothing had changed, so I stopped behind some trees to take a 20-minute nap. I put on my long-sleeve jersey and vest, but even with that, the quick nap had me shivering – quite the contrast to my overheating earlier in the day.


But the helped tremendously, and I was soon rolling along quickly. I still was having difficulty eating, unfortunately. Only Slim Jims were going down easily, and I hadn’t bought enough of them! The Sycamore Rim singletrack struck me as particularly spooky in the dark. With no moon, the forest was a black void punctuated by jagged rocky outcrops and a surprising number of white, broken stumps. I enjoyed the trail, but that forest left me on edge, and I was relieved to get back on a wide-open dirt road before long, especially with both tires still holding air. I stopped to fill up my gas tank with a mixture of gummy bears, Reese’s Pieces, and Cheetos. Here I learned a valuable lesson: Never mix these three things together. It’s an awful combination. Luckily, the Cheetos vibrated to the top, the Reese’s to the bottom, and I was able to skim off one type of snack at a time and choke it down.


Unfortunately, the dull road left me sleepy once again, and I was forced to stop for another short nap.  By the time I was rolling again, it was nearly sunrise, and it felt like I had covered virtually no ground overnight. On top of that, my butt was quite sore from my shorts chaffing it, and my legs felt like bricks. Climbing became a huge struggle, and my morale was plummeting. Several times I stopped to simply sit in the road and try to eat and get my energy level up. I tried to get excited about the descent off Wing Mountain, but even that seemed like a tough section of trail to get through. And it was.


And then the course climbs up to its highest point on the western flank of Mount Humphreys, just shy of 9000’. The steepest section did me in, and once again I was reduced a sad pile sitting in the trail. I ate a bit more food, and after a few more miles of slumming, I reached the Arizona Trail and the descent that would bring me into Flagstaff. Bailing there sounded like a nice idea.

As soon as I turned onto the AZT, the trail tilted downward. I let go of the brakes and swooped through andesite boulders, soared off a series of gentle drops, and pumped through another rocky section. Suddenly I was awake and alive, loving the trail. I had heard great things about this section, but I had regrettably never ridden it. In a matter of minutes, my morale went from its lowest to highest point of the entire ride. My legs suddenly felt better. And the perfectness of the trail literally brought tears to my eyes. Moments like that are why I’m able to push through such miserable times. I’m sure I can ride that section of AZT a hundred more times and never again will it be as sweet as it was that Thursday morning.


Before long, I was sitting in front of yet another gas station, eating yet another ice cream bar, drinking yet another giant coke. I’ve spent far more time in front of gas stations in the past few years than I’d like to admit. I rolled out of town with a warm burrito nestled in my jersey and enough food to get me most of the way back to Williams in hopes that at least some of it would go down into my stomach. My motivation was now to get to the end, and I knew I had the energy to do it and vanquished the thoughts of bailing.

The AZT south of Flagstaff is not very enjoyable until reaching the Mormon Lake area. Loose, sharp limestone cobbles litter the trail initially as it climbs in and out of a series of small canyons. Then the trail climbs onto Anderson Mesa, where the track degrades to a cattle trail covered in 4-inch-deep hoof prints locked in dried mud and littered with loose basalt cobbles.  It was bone-snakingly brutal. I stood for miles on end, hoping for something, anything to change! Eventually, conditions improved, I cruised along an abandoned logging railroad grade, past Mormon Mountain, and over the gravel roads near Munds Park.


My legs still had some energy in them, and my stomach was finally coming around. A few more Slim Jims and five packs of peanut butter M&Ms kept me going to the beginning of the long descent into Sedona. I still had a few hours left before dark, and nearing the finish, my mood improved dramatically. Long sections of that descent were spectacularly entertaining, especially along the Schnebly Hill Trail with the sheer drop off the cliff at its side. I pushed the bike to its limits through that kind of terrain, grinning in between grimaces brought about by exceedingly rocky sections. Another half hour of technical descending down Munds Wagon Trail and I was in town and back to my car. I was again dripping with sweat and out of water, but it no longer mattered.

I sat down on the boulder next to my car and reflected for a minute. Had all that suffering been worth it? I had missed Aaron’s 35.5-hour record by an hour, but I knew going into it that my legs were in no shape for chasing records. Sections of the route had been quite fun, but I was also miserably exhausted for long parts. The AZT descent that morning was definitely the highlight. In the end, I once again had learned quite a few lessons and created many new memories. I had seen some new territory, and I no longer have to ride down to town from my house and think that I still haven’t ridden that loop on the horizon. And I wasn’t simply sitting at home twiddling my thumbs. So it was definitely worth it, despite the hardship. And I’m sure I’ll be back at some point. Hopefully then I’ll have fresh legs and the weather will be a bit cooler.

Of washes and windmills

The day after we returned home from Antelope Wells, an idea for an unique sort of ride popped into my head. I'm not quite sure where it came from, but a couple days later, I glanced at a map, deemed the idea possible, and then got my fat bike back in working order. That simply meant unseizing a seized up bottom bracket. This morning, I went into the office for a quick meeting and then spun up one of the dirt roads that climbs over the mountains above town.

The plan for the ride seemed straightforward: Climb up to the top, then descend one of the larger washes from near its head all the way down to the valley below. Hence the need for the big tires. It didn't take long to find my way into the wash after dropping over the other side. I apparently wasn't the only one with this sort of idea, as much of the length of the wash seemed popular with the ATV crowd. Fortunately for me, none of them were out today, so I had the place to myself.

After some interesting narrow, rocky bits up high where the stream gradient is relatively steep, things mellowed out. That meant deep sand. But this proved to be no problem at all for the bike, although it did take a fair bit of energy to churn through the stuff. By early afternoon, the temperature had risen well into the 90s, my gloves were encrusted in salt, and my water supply (as well as my food stash!) was dwindling. My map showed a few windmills, and I was banking on at least one of them being operational. The first one was oozing water into a tank filled with green water and dead sparrows. I passed and continued on to the next one.

This one, Homestead Windmill the map called it, had a tank that was mostly empty but had a bit of clear water in it. I contemplated taking some, but decided to continue on to the next one in hopes that I might actually be able to get some water straight out of the pipe. As I rode away, the wind kicked up, started the windmill turning, and convinced me to turn around. Just as I got to the tank, water began gushing out of the pipe. And it was cold water! I savored it and topped off my bottles.

After finally reaching the end of the wash, I turned back and climbed up a tributary. It was narrow, steeper, and punctuated by a series of miniature slot canyons carved through soft rhyolite tuff. I spooked a pair of owls and followed them upstream as they flew from perch to perch. Lizards darted up the rocks along the sides of the channel as I approached, and I simply baked in the sun. Shade was tough to come by, so I just kept plugging away.

The wash petered out a few miles up at another windmill that was spinning frantically in the steady breeze that was blowing up the valley. I enjoyed a bit more cold water, turned onto an ATV trail, and began a very circuitous route toward home. The last of my food was gone, and with a few hours to go, I knew it would be a slow ride home.

The keen-eyed vultures keyed in to my tired state and waited atop the fence post at the next gate. I swear they were circling overhead until I climbed up higher into the trees. I eventually made it home, happy the long day in the saddle, and convinced that riding a fat bike around all day is similar to riding a tandem around, only far slower on the descents.

From the lone Tour Divide stoker

-->

Here is another post written by Caroline! 

 Clean and happy at the start outside the YWCA in Banff.

What’s it like being a stoker in the Tour Divide?  Fun, hard, sleepy, exciting, sick and sometimes bumpy;  I would have loved to just post a photo dump of our all our pictures but Kurt wouldn’t let me get away with that.  It seems that others are also intrigued by a bike with two wheels that holds two people and are curious as to how it compared to our past experiences racing it alone.  Maybe there are other couples interested in taking on this challenge?  Instead of a day to day recap of our ride, I wanted to write about some of the unique experiences that I encountered while racing across the country with Kurt and Babe the Blue Tandem.  

 Clouds already thickening on the first day.

Lots of snow hiking.

If you have never ridden a tandem I will clue you in on an obvious fact that you will first learn.  Tandems go uphill slowly and descend fast.  Let me reiterate, Babe (Blue Tandem) climbs like a gigantic boat and descends like a rocket.  The Divide has lots and lots of climbing which means lots of slow miles.  There were a few occasions where we were standing and churning the pedals so slowly that I burst out laughing because of how slow we were going.  That almost always ended up with us toppled over and me trying to catch my breath from laughing.    Sometimes it just made more sense to walk the bike.

Trying to keep feet dry in the Flathead.

Another snowy pass completed.

The plus side to being the stoker is being able to look around a lot more, especially when descending.  I am a very tentative and slow descender, but when on a tandem I can actually go downhill… fast, scary fast.  There were many instances where I closed my eyes when going downhill for fear that we would crash because of how fast we were going.   Normally I consider myself a good passenger in the back who doesn’t yell, scream or squirm about, but when Kurt got Babe airborne going down the first descent since leaving Lincoln, MT it caught me by surprise and I can’t remember what I said but I’m sure I let out some kind of yelp and scream. 

Pushing up Richmond Peak.

 A cold, damp morning outside of Ovando.

The real kicker is being able to sleep on the bike while pedaling.  No, joke!  The first time I feel asleep going downhill was on the Galton Pass descent.   This was not any typical descent.  The descent is long, steep and treacherous.  This descent has ended other riders’ Divide quests, and I did not want to be on that list.  We had a few added challenges like lots of fresh snow, cold, and darkness.  It was snowing while we were climbing and descending with 6 inches of fresh snow.  The sun was setting, the temperatures were dropping and we were both cold.  We stopped to put all of all clothes before continuing the trudge down.   We hiked until Kurt felt it was safe to try riding.  Once on the bike we were riding over slushy snow that was starting to freeze.  The descent seemed to go on forever but somehow I feel asleep a few times.  It was never for long but I would wake up from my own weight shifting.  I think once Kurt even said to stop moving.  Oops.  My excuse was that it was 11pm and I was tired.  Hey, it was the truth and we were still miles from Eureka, MT.

There were numerous other times that I briefly feel asleep and sometimes it even happened in the daytime.  When I move around too much on the back of the bike Kurt always says, “Are you playing with a monkey back there?”  Oh, I wish I had a monkey.

Navigating Lava Mountain.

The classic Red Rock Pass photo.

There are a few negatives to being a stoker when descending.  I have to keep my weight low and basically not move.  I normally descend with my butt in the air but I wasn’t able to do that being a stoker because it makes the bike more difficult to handle.  Instead I had to sit still with my butt on the saddle to avoid extra shifting.   This caused extra saddle soreness but I got used to it.  

The infamous Rail Trail section in Idaho - 20 miles of washboarded gravel.

  Togwatee Pass.

The singletrack sections on the Divide were entertaining and people always seem curious to how we fared.  The first singletrack section was the short, heinously steep climb in the Flathead that connects two remote forest roads.  It was raining which made the short of hike-a-bike section even more difficult since traction was nonexistent.  There wasn’t much room for me to stand behind and help push so Kurt somehow dragged Babe up to the top on his own.  The short singletrack section in the Mission Range was easy to ride.  The trails on top of Lava Mountain outside of Butte in Montana were not easy and required lots of hiking.  The trail was steep, rocky, and slippery from all the earlier rain.  Gold Dust outside of Breckenridge was the next singletrack challenge and we rode it with flying colors.  There was even a large group of riders at the bottom cheering us on.  The last singletrack stretch was the CDT section outside of Silver City, NM.  I was not looking forward to it since I walked most of it last year.  We hit the singletrack section at the hottest time of the day and did the short hike a bike section up to the more rideable terrain.  After the first mile we were able to ride the majority of the trail.  I am still amazed at all the things a tandem can do.  

Climbing Union Pass.

 High up and worn out between the Wind River Mtns and Gros Ventre Range.

This year without the snow detours we had more snow to hike through in the Flatheads and Montana, maybe a total 20 miles.  As long as there were already bike tracks and footprints in the snow we were able to reasonably push Babe thru.  Sometimes I was in front pushing with Kurt helping in the back and vice versa.  An interesting fact I learned while hiking down snowy trail sections.  Kurt can walk with Babe faster than I can walk on my own.  I practically had to run to keep up.  

 Gravel road snaking along the Continental Divide in Wyoming.

My Impaler Bars.

It seemed like every time Kurt and I rolled into town we would get questions about where we were heading and what it is like to ride a tandem.  “That looks like lots of fun”, “You guys must be enjoying yourselves”.  I would always reply, “Oh yes, lots of fun”.  However in reality, all I wanted to do was crawl into a bed and sleep…for days.  One of my biggest battles this year was sleep.  I could not stay awake for the life of me.  We would wake up, ride and thirty minutes later I would be sleepy and have to take a caffeine pill.   One big difference that attributed to my sleepy state were the reduced number of hours slept.  This year we averaged 5 hours of sleep compared to my 7 hours last year.  We also rode more hours in a day, and being the stoker can sometime be boring.  Yes, I said it.  Boring.  I didn’t have to think about shifting, braking or steering, and it was even more difficult staying awake when it was dark out.  I had the cues and computer on my handlebars, and Kurt had the GPS and generally knew the route since this was his 3^rd time riding it, so I didn’t have to call out every cue.  This gave me even less to do.  I think in the future I should stick with 12 hour races or shorter. 

Taking a break from battling a strong headwind in southernmost Wyoming.

Snack Break above Gore Canyon.

From the few rides Kurt and I had done on Babe we knew that both of our comfort on the bike was going to be a compromise.  When Kurt stands I stand, when he sits, I sit.  Both riders need to be pedaling at the same cadence.  We both had to get used to not being able to coast, stand, sit and stretch whenever we wanted.  It took some getting used to it but we made it work.  Going into the race I knew I wasn’t going to be able to use areobars because they would have been sticking into Kurt’s back.  I thought I would be okay with just the handlebars and bar ends.  I soon found out that on the long paved stretches that I needed something to get my weight up higher because there was too put pressure on my sit bone area.  We stopped at the Outdoorsman in Butte, MT for a few things, and I bought a pair of bar ends to install facing me.  I only used them on flats and when both my weight was equally for fear that it would snap my handlebars that didn’t recommend having bar ends on in the first place, and now I had two sets of bar ends.  I called them my bull horns, but Kurt likes to call them the Impaler Bars.

Atop Boreas Pass.

Evening light outside of Sargents, Colorado.

Being sick sucks, and when on a tandem it affects both riders.  I felt great the first week of the race and was hoping I could maintain it through the remaining weeks of the race.  However all good things come to an end…right?  Doom came when we camped up high a few miles from the top on the Wise River climb, and I fell asleep shivering and also woke up cold.  My nose and throat were both stuffy but otherwise I felt okay.  It wasn’t until later in the day that I would start having sporadic coughing fits that were sometimes alarming.  The following day I continued coughing to the point where I threw up a few times.  For the next two weeks this itchy cough would not go away causing me to gag and then throw up.  I have lost count the number of meals that painted the ground.  It became frustrating having to replace the food I just put in my body because the desire to eat had long vanished.  How I wished I had Eszter’s appetite.   I could feel my body growing weaker as my fuel was slowing be drained.  I had a mix of good and bad days on the bike since getting sick but it wasn’t until getting to Grants, NM where I was scared I might not be able to finish.  We decided to carry extra food for when I did throw up so that I could replace those calories without eating all of our food.  In the end I’m still confused on why I constantly threw up since this has never happened to me in the past.  

 Finally to New Mexico!

Outside of Pie Town.

Besides being uncomfortable on the bike, being sleep deprived, and throwing up I did enjoy my time on the Divide.  I got to see first hand why Kurt does well in these types of races.  As I said before it was hard on a tandem but I really did like riding with Kurt.  I also enjoyed riding and passing back and forth with Josh Shifferly, Dylan Taylor and Ryan Correy.  Josh and Dylan caught us in the Great Divide Basin where we had an awesome 30mph tailwind, only to have that tailwind turn into a brutal headwind the following day when headed toward Brush Mountain Lodge.  We saw Dylan off and on for a few more days in Colorado and were happy to see what a great ride he was having.  I also really enjoyed seeing other racers and friends touring the route that were heading north.  

Strange and annoying dirt a few miles shy of Beaverhead Work Center.

Continental Divide Trail singletrack.

For much of the earlier part of the race Kurt and I were following the tire tracks of Ryan Correy, whom we had nicknamed Hammer.  We eventually caught up to him and had a few minutes to chat before he crushed us again on another climb.  My favorite quote from the entire race was from Hammer.  I had asked him how he found out about the race and why he decided to do it.  Hammer said, “This is nothing like the movie,” referring to Ride The Divide.  Ah, I had to chuckle at that because the movie didn’t capture the day to day misery the race brings.  

Ready to get to the border and Kurt is playing with a tarantula!

Finished!

After having had some time to reflect on our ride, Kurt and I can both say that racing the Divide on a tandem is much harder than racing alone.  There were many new challenges we had to face, but in the end, we succeeded.  I am a little lost for words to describe what it feels like to ride 2,700 miles with someone you love on the same bike day in and day out.  Thank you Kurt for pedaling me from Canada to Mexico; I couldn’t have done it without you and wouldn’t have wanted to, either.

Another June, another ride to Antelope Wells

Caroline and I wrapped up our challenging Tour Divide ride at Antelope Wells on Wednesday morning at 10:15. The temperature was already well into the 90s, and we were relieved to have made it to the Mexican border as early as we did. The border agents seemed unimpressed, but after the hundreds of cyclists that start or complete there journey at this remote crossing, I'm not surprised. Their tiny office did offer a soda machine, though, so we bought a few bottles, drank up, and Caroline promptly fell asleep in the shade as I contemplated how we would find a ride back north. A couple friends from Prescott were touring the route northbound, and they had left their truck in Hachita, 45 miles from the border. While Caroline was napping, I got lucky and found us a ride with a couple of air conditioner repair guys who amazingly had room for the tandem in the back of their truck. An hour later, we were on the road back home.

I'll post some more thoughts and photos from the adventure later, and I'm hoping Caroline will do the same, but for now, here are just a few reflections and pictures.

- Tandems don't climb very well. In fact, climbs become something to dread. The steeper, the more dreadful.

- Caroline is one of the most determined people I've ever met. Two weeks of coughing fits occasionally resulting in her losing her lunch (or breakfast, or dinner) was enough to slow her down a bit, but she was hell bent on continuing to making forward progress.

- Tandems are a pain in the butt to push through snow. Or lift over downed trees. Luckily all that was over by central Montana.

- I was consistently more exhausted this time around than during either of my previous rides. My legs hurt more, my eyelids were heavier, and towns simply seemed much more distant from one another. Caroline agreed that this was far more difficult than was her experience last year.

- Our bike held up amazingly well. We replaced one set of tires (rear in Steamboat Springs, CO and  front in Silver City, NM), the drive chain once (Butte, MT), the brake pads once (both in central MT), and that was it. The Rohloff hub was amazing to have on the tandem, the chains needed lubing no more than once per day, and I only had to retension the chains every 4-5 days at most.

- My knees, ankles, and Achilles tendons tolerated the ride eerily well. I had one Achilles taped up for a couple days early on, and one knee ached periodically, but nothing like last year.

- I think I may have actually gained weight. I certainly didn't lose any, and my arms definitely gained some muscle from manhandling the big bike.

- The Continental Divide Trail singeltrack before Silver City, NM is far more enjoyable when you haven't run out of food and water. In fact, it was actually rather fun as we were able to ride most of the trail!