Handiwork

The satisfaction that comes with using one's hands and mind to fashion something, especially something useful, is one that delivers sound sleep and a sly smile. Making things, in lieu of ordering or purchasing things, has been systematically discouraged in the modern world. It's not good for the bottom line, apparently. But I would argue that it's also depraving the soul, all in the name of instant gratification and the all-important GDP. I could continue this rant, but I digress. 

Many years ago I read an excellent book called "Shop Class as Soulcraft" by Matthew B. Crawford. It stuck with me, acting as a reminder of the important connection between intellect and hands, spirit and body. If we neglect one, we suffer as a whole. Unite them and we find strength. Personal responsibility and a sense of self reliance are born out of action, doing, rendering a thought. 

With all of this in the back of my mind, only truly brought to the fore upon writing this, I set about making two ways to carry gear while bikepacking. The first was a handlebar harness that I made using the template that Gabriel Amadeus of Limberlost created (check it out here). I modified the design for my specific needs, making it narrower to fit inside drop bars. I used a vinyl "For Rent" sign as the main piece, some webbing and PVC from the hardware store and a set of buckles that were harvested from a set of old straps. It was a success. If you're interested in a lightweight, affordable way to carry gear on your bars, I encourage you to purchase the template sold on the link above. It provides clear instructions and it's always nice to support those who encourage DIY projects. 

The Limberlost DIY harness is light, cheap and pretty tarn tough. Here it's holding a dry bag with a bivy, sleeping pad and pillow. The stand-aways could be shorter, bringing the assembly higher and creating even more room for larger items. 

Next up was a frame bag for my Mosaic. Thanks to working with Joe Tonsager at JPaks on a previous bag, I had a good idea on how to make a template and lay out strap placement. Initially I planned on making a bag that filled the entire triangle, but as I've pared down what I'm planning to bring on Tour Divide next year, I saw that it would be possible to run my bottles on the frame instead of the fork blades. Looking to maximize space, I made a template for a mini frame bag. I purchased materials based on recommendations available on several sites (Google: "make your own bikepacking frame bag." The first link at Bikepacking.com and the first YouTube video shown in the results are really helpful.) Below is the result of an afternoon's work. This includes figuring out how to thread and use the sewing machine my mother graciously gave me over a year ago. 

I made the entire bag out of XPac to save a bit of weight. Many people will suggest using Cordura for areas that make contact with the frame. This is probably a good idea when making a complete frame bag that will carry heavier items. The trickiest part was sewing the zipper panel and working around the tight curves that I made for myself. I actually think a complete triangle bag would be simpler to sew. 

I made sure to include a couple features that I wanted. First was a port on the top of the bag, much like those on Revelate's Tangle bag, that would allow me to run wires into the bag. I run a dynamo hub and I'll put my cache battery and charging kit in the large portion at the front of the bag. Second was a set of Velcro straps to hold a pump. Rattling noises have a way of  driving me crazy, so I wanted a way to hold my Lezyne pump to keep it quiet and also use all the limited vertical space in the small bag. So I sewed in straps on the underside of the top panel. This keeps is tight against the top tube and out of the way and secure as I rummage through the bag while riding. 

While the bag is a far cry from the professionally made bags I have from Revelate, JPaks, Bedrock and Ortlieb, making this bag was very inexpensive and it's perfectly usable. The stitching isn't pretty and the bag isn't entirely even side to side, but as a first go at sewing I'm pretty happy with it. I'll likely make another bag that fills the triangle so that I can carry a few more creature comforts on touring trips. I have some ideas for it as well that could be fun. I would also like to play with some cuben fiber or Dyneema to make some uber light bags, stuff sacks, etc.

It's all play, but it's also really satisfying. If you have the slightest inclination to make something, give it a go. You never know where it'll lead. It's the can-do attitude that raises us to our highest potential. The world can use more of it.  

Lessons Learned

Well, that's it for my gravel season. I couldn't be happier with how it went. It wasn't all roses, but suffering is a big part of this particular game. I trained hard this year, harder than I've been able to in year's past because I was healthier, my knees in particular.

I'm rarely concerned with 'beating' people at these races. It's not the metric I use to evaluate my performances. Instead I focus on how I felt, how I raced, how my race plan worked, my equipment choices panned out. Perhaps the two most important questions I ask myself are 1. did I finish and 2. did I leave it all out there? If I answer yes to both of those, then it's a success. Of course, you have to answer yes to #1 before you can do so with #2. So this year was the year of completion. I finished every race I entered. That makes me very happy. And in almost every case, I can also answer yes to the second question. Learning to empty the tank, with a measured effort, over the course of 10 plus hours, is not easy. But I'm getting there. Here are my four biggest takeaways from this season:

1. Mental discipline - It ain't always easy to stay positive. But in the darkest moments is exactly when you need to do so. What a paradox! This year I worked hard on not dwelling on the downside of a situation. I focused on the fact that I was breathing. I was out doing something I love: riding a bike. I reminded myself that it's okay to slow a bit to collect yourself. I certainly found myself taking a few moments to look around. I often find myself concentrating so hard on finding the fastest line that I forget that the roads I'm on take me to some beautiful places. So stay positive. Take control of your thoughts. (Sorry if I'm starting to sound like a Jedi, but they had something important figured out)

2. Keep moving - Take pleasure in movement, however slow. In races, you can shave an incredible amount of time by limiting your stoppage. When you approach a checkpoint or aid station, have a mental checklist of what you need to accomplish while you're there. Then get the hell out of Dodge! Be sure to offer a hearty "thank you!" as you leave. It buoys your spirit and the volunteers (and they're always volunteers, out giving up their day to help us poor saps). You can jump forward several groups without going any faster on the road this way. Even if you leave solo and want to wait for a group to catch you, you can spin easily, eat some food and get some fluids down. Just keep moving!

3. Do your homework - Tire choice, gearing, nutrition all play a big factor in your day going well. If the event is new to you, do some research online. Reach out to the promoter or someone who has raced it before. The gravel and mountain bike communities are made up of people happy to share their experiences. Don't be afraid to ask for help. On several occasions I had a lot more fun racing because I put a little extra thought into my preparation. A good example was Land Run. I brought two sets of wheels, one with narrower tires for wet conditions and a set with wider tires in case it stayed dry. I also brought along my Mike Johnson, special edition, shish-kebab skewer/mud scraper. I had a great day because I was ready for the course and its infamous red clay mud. 

4. I need less food than I think but just as much fluid as I think - This year I consistently overestimated the amount of food that I could and/or needed to consume during a race. Aside from some tender tummy issues, I never bonked during races. Perhaps I'm becoming more calorically efficient, who knows. But in any case, I can afford to go a bit lighter in this respect for single day races. On the other hand, I do need to carry all the fluids I usually plan for. I suffered in the heat at several events this year and through extra fluids consumed and used to douse myself I managed to get through the rough patches. 

So those are the takeaways for me. Already looking forward to next year and all the hard-fought learning that will come with it. Onward! 

Rituals

The week before any bike race includes a personal checklist that helps me prepare physically and mentally for the ordeal ahead. Top of the list is a dress rehearsal ride. Wearing exactly what I plan to wear, carrying exactly what I plan to bring, I head out for a ride that includes several efforts that simulate race pace. Anything I can do to streamline my on-bike experience and eliminate any adjustments that I'd have to make on race allows me to focus on the effort. Every race is slightly different so it's good to have a dry run. 

Next up is a bike wash. A clean bike on the start line helps me feel prepared. It's also an opportunity to check for tire, drivetrain and brake pad wear. I perform a bolt check to ensure that nothing will come loose on race day. I wipe the frame and lube the chain, then set it aside knowing the bike is ready even if I'm not. 

If the weather looks toasty I may go for a haircut. I will always shave my legs a few days before race day. This ritual goes back to my days road racing. A pair of smooth pins is faster and makes the muscular definition more obvious, a reminder of the hard work put in on training rides. 

I also put together my race day nutrition, packing it carefully. I print off cue sheets (if applicable) and upload the GPX file to my GPS. If the event is a long one, I charge an auxiliary battery pack as well as my Garmin. While I'm focused on electronics I charge my Di2 battery and consider making a music playlist and uploading it to my phone.  

I'll double check hotel reservations and flight information if need be (I almost always prefer to drive though). Do I know the time and place for rider check in? It all helps.  

Clearly I'm a planner, a logistics guy. It's how I approach many things and its part of the reason that I love gravel racing and bikepacking. Planning and thoughtful consideration typically pay off. Here's hoping it does this weekend at an event that is new to me: Gravel Worlds. Arrrgh!

The Baddest Race in the Baddest Place

(Another wonderful post from Jason Gaikowski. We're both headed to MDH100. Here are his thoughts as he approaches this monster of a race. - Nick)

“We must dare to be great; and we must realize that greatness is the fruit of toil and sacrifice and high courage.” “Let us rather run the risk of wearing out than rusting out.” - Theodore Roosevelt

That’s the kind of audacious thinking that makes people stick your name on a National Park in a place called the Badlands. Powerful and inspiring; unfit for the genteel civilized folk.

106 miles of singletrack awaits alongside 12,000 feet of climbing to throw a bit of pepper into the day. A record stands a shade shy of nine hours. Minneapolis Mafioso Tommy “Hurl” Everstone spent a clean 15:15 on trail. The website says the race is EXTREME; death or serious injury could occur. Quitters need not apply.

This is going to be a long day.

Set yourself on fire

I’m not ready. Not in any rational or conventional sense. Early this summer life jumped out screaming“SURPRISE! HERE’S LOTS OF REALLY GREAT STUFF ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!!” and since then I’ve logged more air miles than training miles; more airport time than saddle time. Under fit, over fat and more than a little fatigued from a few hyper-active couple of months.

This is going to hurt.

But like Glassow says, “Success isn’t the result of spontaneous combustion, you must set yourself on fire.”

So there you have it, I’m heading to the Maah Daah Hey 100.

Embrace the “L”

You’ve probably heard that three is a magic number. I believe that L is a magic letter. I’ve learned over the years that embracing the L is the difference between a bad day and a hard one; between suffering in misery and suffering in joy (and there will be suffering).

Embracing the L is the difference between compete and complete.

Compete: to strive to defeat and establish superiority

Complete: having all that is necessary; to the greatest extent possible

The Badlands are bigger than I am, and vast and more powerful that I could ever be. Striving to establish superiority will generate vastly powerful misery. Others are faster than I have ever been, more talented and blessed with the fitness of youth. Striving to defeat others will generate a cramp-filled and very bad day.

I go to the Badlands simply to gain something necessary, to make myself greater and more complete. I will embrace the L. I will suffer joyfully.

And in doing so, I will win the long hard day.

My gameplan

Fortunately, 20 years of foibles, what-the-hell-have-I-gotten-myself-into’s and hard-earned lessons have left some accumulated knowledge in their wake. I have an idea of what to expect, and how to plan for this kind of day.

Eat, drink, eat, drink. Managing my fuel tank is my top priority. Simply, I plan to fuel my way through the day. Job number one is to manage my fuel and hydration with a combination of complex carbs, protein, salt, and more salt. I’ll avoid sugar as much as possible, as I know it will give me gastro issues. A favorite of mine is almond-butter and fig jam sandwiches with a generous layer of salt. I’ll carry matcha green-tea bags with me to throw into water bottles for a change of pace.

Go slow, take it easy on the climbs, and don’t think too much. Over the course of a long day, any athlete’s power over 10 hours will be equal to his 10-hour average power. You can get there with a combination of highs and lows (attack, recover, attack, recover) or by settling intoyour endurance pace and steadily hanging out in Zone 3 all day. On this climbs, steady zone 3 feels really easy, so climbs become an automatic cue to enjoy a little snack on the way up.

And most importantly (for me) keep it simple: eat, drink, breathe, pedal, drink, breathe, pedal. Zone out and let the miles flow by. The day will unfold on it’s own terms, so simply be.

This too shall pass. The forecast calls for cool morning temps (this shall pass) and a warm afternoon (this shall pass). I know we’ll all feel excited and energetic at the start (this shall pass) and struggle with the grind of a late day climb (this shall pass.) The day will be a roller coaster filled with highs and lows, strength and weakness, confidence and doubt. The key is to fully embrace the joys, for they pass too soon; and to accept the suffering, secure in the knowledge that joy that lies ahead somewhere. The pain and pleasure are impermanent. The day is impermanent.

And what we take away lasts forever.

Character building

Sometimes people ask why I do these things. Crossing a mountain pass at night in a snowstorm. Debating the merits of drinking from an oil slicked mud puddle. Pedaling beyond the limits of common sense. I’m never quite sure how to answer.

I’m grateful for the bonds I’ve forged, the deep friendships and the character these experiences give. They are essential to how I see the world and who I strive to be. Honestly, I’m tempted to respond by asking why they don’t do such things; curious to learn how they build character.

I go to the Badlands to gain something necessary; to make myself more complete. I will embrace the L and I will suffer joyfully.

I am under fit and over fat. I am not prepared, and I am so ready.

The Pursuit of a Life Well Lived

(In a first, and certainly not a last, I'm extremely happy to introduce a guest writer on Rambleur. In his first post, dear friend Jason Gaikowski writes about his time racing in Mongolia. Despite his humility, Jason is an accomplished endurance cyclist, with a strong background in mountain biking and gravel. I hope you enjoy his words as much as I do. - Nick Legan)

It’s awkward sometimes...

...to meet someone new and trade the tales that record life’s story. A marathon or  half-Ironman elicits a wave of enthusiastic congratulation, sparking an exchange of story-in-kind that lays the foundation of common ground. Mongolia isn’t like that.

Mongolia is amazing. Mongolia is unbelievable. And sharing a story of racing a mountain bike 900 kilometers across the Mongolian steppe generates admiring congratulations and a fascinated questioning that plows the ground uncommon. People understand the Ironman; they relate to a marathon. Mongolia…? Mongolia might as well be Mars.

The Mongolia Bike Challenge

The Mongolia Bike Challenge has billed itself as the “World’s Hardest MTB Stage Race.” And yes, it’s hard. A quick stage-by-stage rundown follows:

Stage one kicked things off with the warm embrace of 2,900 meters of climbing over 113 km. That’s 9,500 ft and 70 miles over terrain that can fairly be described as “lumpy.” One rider, a former pro, felt it best to find a place for a bit of a nap before the final climb.

Stage two presented a forgiving 2,240 meters over 117 km, with all the climbing bunched into six very pitchy climbs. Many racers described this as the hardest single day race they’d ever done…

Stage three asked for 2,000 meters over 148 km with one climb early and a soul sucking crawl to a mountain top finish.

Stage four started by descending stage three’s finishing climb before demanding 2,540 meters and 175 km. This was a hard day, but they said the next day was easier.

Stage five covered 50 km of of mostly flat trail with a downhill bias and was wonderful until we climbed 1,500 meters over the next 40 km. The total of 1,730 meters and 170 km was NOT easier than stage four.

Stage six offered the gift of a 47 km time trial with less than 1,000 meters of elevation. A hard XC or Marathon race anywhere else feels like a rest day.

Stage seven finished things off with 1,486 meters over a relaxing 86 km and big climb to the finish.

Stage racing is hard. Mountain bike racing is hard. So yes, mountain bike stage racing for 900 kilometers is hard. Really hard. And totally doable.

I am not that special

Yuki, Ryan and Nicolas; national champions of Japan, Ireland and Italy. The Mongolian National team. John, who’s pro-motorcycle career predated a pro-cycling career. Those guys are special. Me?

I’m a 46 year old guy from the Midwest with a mortgage, a daughter and a bone stock Salsa. I have more airline miles than training miles and power that is generously described as “meh.”

I eat too many cheeseburgers, drink beer too often and don't floss as much as I should. 5’ 10”-ish, size medium everything, and statistically average in nearly every dimension. I am, quite literally, a reflection of everyman. I am not special.

And I conquered the Mongolia Bike Challenge.

The hard part

The hard part isn't the 900 kilometer, the 14,000 meters of climbing or the remote terrain. It's not the time, the travel or expense. The hard part isn't in the doing…

It's the deciding.

A year ago, a video popped up in my feed. It would have been so easy to ignore, but I watched it. And then the real challenge began. Can’ts, shouldn’ts and all the impish reasons why I couldn't go came rushing into my brain like a runaway avalanche. I’d missed the early-registration discount. Registration was limited and probably full. There was so much going on at work. It would be cost too much. I hadn’t been riding enough. The air travel would be miserable. What if I finished last? What if I didn’t finish? What would people think? One justification after another asking: Who was I to dare to go to Mongolia?

This is the my lesson from Mongolia: after daring to decide, not one thing was as hard as I’d imagined. And in sharing the story, I’ve discovered that an awkward uncommon ground lies between those that dare and those who don’t. Too often, we all allow can’t to quietly limit the lives we are capable of living. Let uncertainty be your guide, and make uncomfortable decisions in the pursuit of a life well lived.

About Jason: 

Zen-peddler seeking salt, Jason forged his riding roots in the pre-DK200 era with the Flint Hills Death Ride, The Big Loop, and a decade of "Thursday Night Adventures into Darkness." Founding member of the WUDCHUKS of Kansas City, Gaikowski's favorite units of time and distance are "a while" and "a ways." Palmares include a podium position at Dirty Kanza and successfully riding by a dead cow (twice) without noticing. 

Off to the Tour, then a tour

Monday, June 27th, 2016, 11:12am. Seated at the airport right now, about to board a flight that will connect to Paris. I'm headed to the first few days of the 2016 Tour de France. Always exciting to head to a place that I love, northern France. My first time to France was in the Brittany region and I'll be nearby in Normandy for the next week. It'll be good to flex my linguistic muscles again, eat some good cheese, drink some bad coffee and reconnect with the circus of professional bike racing. 

The energy of the Tour de France is a double-edged sword. It's hard to keep up with that much activity, especially when trying to capture some of it for consumption by online fans of the race. Much of race journalism is distillation. Comprehensively covering an event as massive as the Tour is virtually impossible, but we do our best. Check out Bikeradar.com for my work. 

Upon my return from the Tour, I'll head out on a tour of my own. Thankfully I'll be with my adventurous wife, bikepacking from Wyoming, through a bit of Idaho and then into Montana. After 550 miles of northbound travel along the Adventure Cycling Association's incredible Great Divide Mountain Bike Route we'll leave the route in Ovando and head to Missoula for the 40th Anniversary of the Adventure Cycling Association and BikeCentennial. 

It'll be fantastic to unplug after the chaos of the Tour and doing so with my partner in life/crime is an amazing added bonus. Can't wait for both the Tour and my tour. Ride on!

Nursing a gravel double century

The ebbs and flows of gravel racing could make a guy think he was bipolar. The highs I've experienced after 12 plus hours on the bike border on religious. The lows, well, we all know about the lows. They'll have you hiding in the shade of a tree along a dirt road rethinking your purpose in the world. You'll question your sanity. But finding that place can also bring an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude for your life, your family, your typically able body. Gratitude for a community that creates opportunities to find your limits (that is the tagline of this year's DK200 after all) and does so with an enormous amount of support, enthusiasm and understanding. 

My 2016 Dirty Kanza 200 was a success in many ways. I saw loads of friends. That is always a highlight for me. Cycling media, pro cyclists, industry peeps, gravel regulars were all in Emporia. It was great to catch up with several of them and just as nice to see some of them in passing. 

Lunch with Joe Meiser (of Salsa fame) and my beautiful bride at Radius in Emporia. A good pre-race meal and top notch company. 

Eventual winner Ted King was relaxed on Friday.

Two of the toughest ladies on bikes, Rebecca Rusch and Kristen Legan, were happy to catch up. 

Salsa athlete, Tim Ek, and I go back to my first Dirty Kanza in 2011. Always good to see his smiling face! Avenge me!

Bobby Wintle, of District Bicycles and Land Run, headed to Banff for the start of Tour Divide after his Dirty Kanza ride. His Cutthroat was dialed with an Andrew the Maker frame bag.

Neil Shirley had a mechanical-free Dirty Kanza. If you ever get a chance to meet this Road Bike Action editor, you'll encounter one of the nicest guys in cycling. 

The Race: To be blunt, the ride was a tough one for me. I had great legs and bad guts. I rode a safe start and was eating and drinking well right up to the point where, after cresting a steep rise, I emptied the contents of my stomach roadside. Lots of fluid lost. I went from zero to eleven on the nausea scale. While I didn't publicize it, I was riding Dirty Kanza unsupported. So I carried enough food and fluids to get to the halfway point in Eureka, where I would visit the Casey's convenience store for nutrition. That meant that I had plenty of food on board and slowly began taking a nibble whenever I could manage. I set a mental timer that every 10 minutes I would take a sip of fluids and a small bite of food. I couldn't always stomach doing that, so I would re-evaluate every 1o minutes. Doing this, I got myself to mile 102.7 in Eureka and went to the store. I hadn't eaten much so I only bought a couple liters of water, some Gatorade and an ice cream. Temps were up and I wanted to stay cool. With a primarily north/south route, at the halfway point racers had to turn north into the wind. 

While the wind can be a strong nemesis, I chose to view it as a blessing, keeping me cool and focused. After eating a bit more and downing some water (typically I drink Skratch all day) I began to come around. My attitude was positive and I began working with different groups out on the road. For 20 miles, things were good. Then they weren't. For many miles after that, I had to avoid looking at the mileage, my speed, the time of day. I turned on my upbeat Dirty Kanza playlist and tuned out for a couple hours. Trying to push when I felt a small lift in my energy and conserving when needed. 

I constantly reminded myself that the wind was my friend. I had all the food and water I needed. My bike was running well, no flats and a great gear range. The weather was perfect. I was moving. I coached myself, saying that riding was the only solution. Stopping only delayed the end. Slow miles are better than no miles (my Tour Divide mantra). But push when you can. 

I crawled into the third checkpoint, in Madison at mile 162, confident that I could make it to the finish. But it was going to be a knock down, drag out battle inside my head to get there. After crossing the timing mat, I rounded a corner in Madison and saw my wife. It was a wonderfully welcome sight. She had suffered from a bad stomach and pulled the plug in Eureka and then rallied to come to Madison to support me. A banana and a small Coke from her worked a small miracle. Not the made-for-TV type miracle, but after getting them down I was able to put what power I had left into the pedals. This was miraculous after feeling like I had floated the pedals for several hours. Again I turned off the screen on my GPS that showed the numbers. I focused on the route, determined to not make a wrong turn. I nodded my head to Tom Petty, John Mellencamp, Macklemore, The Doobie Brothers, Ben Howard, Dave Matthews, Paul Simon, Pharrell Williams, U2 and others. Singing "Free Fallin'" out loud brought a smile to my face. 

I began to catch a few riders. "Good job" and "Hang in there" and "Stay strong" exchanged. And for a time, I was exhausted and moving and happy. And then another low. And in the low, I checked my computer. Only 15 miles to go. I could walk that if need be. I carried on. I couldn't eat any of the food I had on me. Couldn't really drink anything else either. Then I heard a train. And up ahead, sure enough, there were a pair of trains stopped on the tracks. A few other riders were already there. A few more arrived. I saw a friend. We chatted. Eventually the trains moved on. It wasn't a welcome rest. It was just a delay. But the time off the bike did help make the last ten miles easier. I rolled into town and crossed the finish line, thankful that I had pre-ridden the last miles of the route with Mike Reynolds, an Emporia eye surgeon who, along with his family, hosts me and Kristen each year. I hadn't beaten the sun. I hadn't beaten my 14-hour goal, but I had beaten one of the lowest calorie days in my ultra cycling experience. I had nursed my way across the line. Success.

Anticipation

Now begins the resting, the hydrating, the clean eating. Time to upload the GPX track to the GPS. Time to wash the bike, check every bolt. Time to think about fueling for the race, charging the lights, picking the clothes for race day. Make all the decisions possible ahead of time so that when the early alarm on June 4th sounds, the only thing to do is eat, pump tires and ride. 

This Saturday will be my fifth start at the Dirty Kanza 200 and hopefully my fourth finish. My wife and I are loading up the car tonight to get to Emporia Thursday afternoon. We're staying with friends in Emporia, another reason to look forward to this incredible event. Even with the known quantity of 200 miles of gravel, even with a place to stay that we know and love, the anticipation builds for me every time before Kanza. It's my Super Bowl. I see friends that I've made through gravel racing in the past years. That's fun. But even more fun is prepping myself mentally, after months of physical preparation, to plumb the depths of what I can do on a bicycle. How hard can I go? For how long? Finishing is always a challenge, but finishing with a sense of having done it well is more important to me. Was I gracious to course marshals and fellow competitors? Did I waste time at checkpoints? Should I have forced down that extra gel?

These are all scenarios that I try to visualize in these days before I leave so that when an opportunity presents itself to me, I'll make the choice to do better, go harder, be an example of compassion to myself and others. That and hope for a bit of luck!

Better Training Through Adventure

Intervals can make you strong. Sprints can make you fast. But only adventure can make you tough and determined. Sitting on a trainer grinding out the hours requires a certain mental fortitude (one I'm not equipped with) but pushing a loaded bike up a rocky quasi road in the rain, four hours into a ride builds a real world resilience that indoor workouts cannot match. 

Now to be perfectly clear, I do intervals. I have a power meter and even wear a heart rate strap on most rides. I do sprints and a few times a year I grind out the hours on an indoor trainer. Training smart has its rewards. But it's when I'm outside, managing my exposure to the elements, that challenges me both physically while also tasking my problem solving skills. Working out the on-bike logistics that a long ride requires is much of the fun for me. 

We all get them wrong from time to time, but hopefully we also learn from those experiences. It's easy to be once bitten, twice shy and this sometimes leads to overcompensation. A good friend who helped introduce me to bikepacking and ultra racing says, "we carry our fears." He means that if you fear the cold, you'll probably carry too much clothing. Is the dreaded bonk your worst enemy? This makes overloading on food a possibility. 

After years on the bike, doing long events you come to better understand the risk/reward, speed/comfort relationship. The give and take of those aspects of cycling can be tricky. They can even change from one event to the next, one year to another. Those ratios are highly personalized too. What works for me will not, necessarily, work for anyone else. 

A trap that I once found myself in was reading account after account by other people about a particular event, the Tour Divide. Now, I certainly gleaned some great tips and tricks. It helped to challenge my approach to it all. But like all advice, you need to consider the source. And if you don't know the person doling out the help, it's hard to gauge its usefulness for you until you go out into the world and test it. 

So get out there. Don't be afraid to be a little uncomfortable. Take precautions, but a few nights of bad sleep only a few hours' ride from home is quite a bit better than three weeks of bad sleep because you didn't do your homework. If something went wrong, adjust it. Take notes if that's your process (it's certainly mine). But also get out there with new people. They can teach you and you them. 

There is no substitute for experience. The doing of something is the only way to actually learn it. Thinking about the doing, brainstorming the possibilities can be helpful. But ultimately you have to go outside and figure it out. 

Howling at the Moon

I'm a day early. The full moon hits us tomorrow evening, clear skies willing. To honor our lunar queen, I've downed a few fermented beverages and I'm up later than usual. This happens. The full moon affects me, or perhaps I look for excuses to have an extra drink and stay up late.  

If nothing else, I'm celebrating a good day. I attended a tech seminar, got some decent writing down on the page, had a good phone call and managed a killer ride where I climbed a bunch and got all muddy.  

I'm also in the midst of prepping for a week of camping and bike riding in the desert with one of my closest friends. Instead of packing a laptop and charger, I'm packing my Mosaic flask (thanks Aaron) filled with a favorite bourbon, an Ed Abbey book that's new to me and all the intel I can manage on cliff dwellings and petroglyphs in the area. We're going to howl at the moon. Do man stuff. (And I'm all for the ladies doing woman stuff) We'll dream big dreams and tell bad jokes. We'll come back tired and refreshed. I can't wait. 

Our Varied Land and My Love of It

As I've written earlier on this site, I'm in the midst of travel-fest, some for work, some for fun. Thankfully I've enjoyed every destination and reason so far. Over the last ten days alone I've raced over 60 beautiful miles of singletrack and road in western Arkansas and lapped the 100-mile White Rim in Canyonlands near Moab, UT. I've been lucky to sleep outside 3 nights, with more later in the month, and even luckier to spend time with wonderful friends. I've also happened to meet new people that brought smiles to our shared time. 

Beyond the time in the saddle, I've accrued some serious seat time in my car. Observing the changes in the American landscape at a cruise control monitored 75 miles per hour is a far cry from my preferred 14 miles per hour aboard a bike but I still enjoy it. Audiobooks and podcasts offer new ideas that a traveling mind is far more open to consider. When company is present, a car trip allows for intense conversation and flights of fancy. And when topics run dry, the world outside will eventually spark an idea. I love travel. It reduces life to minimums, simplifying it, intensifying it. So I encourage everyone reading this to start planning your next trip. A fresh perspective on your daily routine, a solution to a longstanding problem, a new friend, an old friend reconnected. All these are possible but at a minimum you'll see some new territory. And that's always a good thing. 

Looking down on the White Rim

The King's jail key, Scooters not bikes, Puking instructions, Toilet counters

One of the perks of my work is travel to often romantic locations. For the first time, I took the opportunity to extend a stay, this time in France, because my lady was also on the trip. We had 4 nights and 3 days in Paris together. As an added bonus, both of us have visited Paris before so our must-see list was mostly accomplished on prior visits. So we emphasized relaxation and new destinations when considering our itinerary. 

A quick Google search helped guide us to new spots, most of them well off the beaten path and away from the tourist hordes. It is truly a luxury to have time to wander Paris. It is one of the world's most beautiful cities. And even living an entire lifetime there wouldn't afford one enough time to fully explore The City of Light. An area that I had never visited before was Le Marais in the 3rd and 4th arrondissements. My bride and I both wanted to see the Hotel Carnavalet, a 16th century mansion that now houses a museum on the history of Paris. The museum has an extensive collection of artifacts from the French Revolution (including the key that locked the door to the jail that held King Louis XVI before his execution by guillotine) and a huge painting collection. The furniture of Marcel Proust's bedroom was also on display. 

The key to Le Temple, the name of the the prison that held the royal family after the French Revolution. 

We spent some time at the Museum of Magic. It was oriented towards kids and we felt right at home!

While the obvious differences and delicacies of France are well-known, being there in person allows one to observe the daily lives of Parisians and to see the latest fashions (whether clothing or otherwise). For urban transport two things really stuck out: 3-wheeled motorized scooters with 2 front wheels and folding, human-powered scooters that both adults and kids seem to love. Outside a school we saw piles of kick scooters locked up in the place normally reserved for bicycles. Outside the Pei pyramid in the courtyard of the Louvre, we saw a father and daughter scooting around the sites. A middle-aged man scooted across a busy intersection near Les Invalides. It is a novel means of conveyance, efficient in both movement and in size. Compared to a bike, scooters are positively tiny. 

Most disturbing were the 3-wheeled motorized scooters. For crying out loud, they're horrible! Of course, that's just my opinion and I'm sure there are reasons that someone might want to waste their money and their image on riding such a contraption. But without being mean spirited, I can't voice that here. 

Also fun when overseas is to intentionally misinterpret signage and to laugh at poor translations. I speak French fairly well and so acted as a guide of sorts to my wife. Near the Eiffel Tower, there was signage asking walkers to use the provided trash cans. Of course, the visual obviously, and yet tastefully, depicted two people vomiting into those trash cans. I laughed my head off!

I wasn't able to get a photo of the last, perhaps most interesting, oddity that I found. In a public pay toilet (they're common in France and worth every penny for a clean place to relieve oneself), above the aging and yet well-maintained stall door there was an analog counter that recorded the number of times a door was opened and closed each day. I'm guessing that the counts are used to help monitor and adjust the frequency of cleaning. It was a wonderful, low-tech way to keep tabs that had obviously worked for decades. 

On the whole, our trip was a great success. We had a fantastic time, ate well, slept plenty and warmed many cafe seats. But after 3 days of fun, we were both ready to head home. While in France, we managed to miss a blizzard that hit Colorado's Front Range. But upon our arrival in Denver the weather had turned for a brisk, sunny Easter day that we shared with family, a nice homecoming. 

Life on the road

One of the craziest six weeks of travel I've ever undertaken is underway. It started with a 9.5 hour drive to Stillwater, OK for Bobby Wintle's Land Run 100 gravel race. I got to town early and caught up with friends from the Dirty Kanza crew, making new acquaintances at a bar a block from District Bicycles.  

The race went well and I'm extremely happy with my result as well as how I felt during the race. My only mistake was starting with a cap and a vest on. I overheated and had to slow to take them off. The mud was an adventure, one that I safely navigated. The second half of the race was entirely rideable and negative splits were easily on offer.  

Oklahoma sunsets are hard to beat.

A red clay hand tattoo is the sign of a fun day of gravel and mud racing. 

After the race, I grabbed a burrito and a shower and headed west. I drove for 3 hours and stopped for the night at a cheap motel in Shamrock, Texas. The next morning I woke early and hit the road by 5am. I was headed to Moab, Utah for an event with Specialized. 12.5 hours later I rolled into town and met up with other journalists. 

The southern approach to Moab is incredible. 

Over the next 2 days we rode the big S's new electric mountain bike. The trails we hit were perfect for the electric assist full suspension bikes. See my story on Bikeradar.  

The views from Amasa Back do not disappoint in March.

Worn out from all the fun, I drove 6 hours back to Boulder in Wednesday. As I write this I'm on my way to the airport with my wife. Michelin is launching a new series of tires and we're flying to the mother ship in France for the event. Afterwards we're taking a 3-day layover in Paris. It's the first time we're traveling overseas together and the excitement is big! 

When I return, I'll have a few days at home before driving east again, this time to Kansas City to meet a friend before we head to Arkansas for the Ouachita Challenge.  

A week after that it's a trip through the White Rim with a crew of dudes for a couple days of sandy fun. 

Sea Otter after that and then more time in southeastern Utah, this time touring Anasazi ruins and petroglyphs for a feature I'm working on for Adventure Cyclist. 

It's gonna be a barn burner month ahead but I couldn't be happier. 

A slow build

Sometimes I can get carried away. When I got back to riding my bike after mostly only working on them for seven years, I was so happy to be pedaling that I often overdid it. I discovered gravel racing and dirt road exploration and dived in whole hog. This led to me attempting the Tour Divide in 2013.

I arrived at the start line in Banff a bit worn out. I had tried to do too much too quickly. In June of that year I had only been back to riding for three years and for two and a half of those, I rode by feel, no really training. I enjoyed long, easy days on the flats but rarely included intensity in my riding routine. While I was far more fit and trim than when I left the pro mechanic gig in 2010, I wasn't physically or mentally ready for a race that big. After 1,200 miles, my knees were giving me serious fits and my mind was a mess. On the drive home from my bailout point of Dubois, Wyoming I nearly swore off the event as "not my thing" and considered touring portions of it. 

Two years later, in July of 2015, I went back to Banff for a solo attempt on the route. I was far more relaxed and I had another two years of riding in my legs, this time with more structure and intensity. Going solo allowed me to stay in my own head instead of focusing on the performance of those around me. And for four days of big riding all went swimmingly. I was in the zone, enjoying the mileage and the solitude. I bumped into fellow travelers along the route and loved the interactions, however brief. Unfortunately an ankle problem surfaced, perhaps as a result of me preventatively taping of my Achilles. As I limped into Butte, Montana (almost literally) I was in good spirits, but knew that the likelihood of completing the route was slim. I sought help, got a massage, soaked, ate, drank and rested for 36 hours. Upon rising at 6am to head south, I almost fell when I put weight on my bad ankle. It was over. But I knew that I would be back. 

After returning home, resting and getting regular therapy on my ankle, my motivation to return to Tour Divide quickly took hold. I decided to build slowly, take a year to race gravel, go on week-long bikepacking trips and spend more time strengthening my core, back, arms, shoulders, legs, wrists and ankles. Yoga has helped. Regular massage and carefully keeping tabs on my bike fit has allowed me to train harder than ever. I ride with less fear than ever before, fear of injury, of a knee or ankle going bad. 

So next year, 2017, I'll be back. This time I'm planning on starting at Antelope Wells, New Mexico and heading north. The change will do me good and it will commit me to an airline ticket at the finish as opposed to a car pick-up in New Mexico. The slow build and the experience from my two previous attempts has me mentally ready. So Banff here I come, next year. 

For love of a deadline

Much has been written about procrastination. Ways to avoid it, how it can be useful, etc. Like most, I'm not a fan of procrastination. It often leads to less than stellar results.

On the other hand, I love a deadline. I'm a planner and seeing a looming deadline on my calendar motivates me to get organized and take action. That doesn't necessarily mean sitting down with a blank Word document in front of me and grunting out an article. It may mean lay groundwork. Reaching out to a contact via Facebook or email. Making a call. The other day that meant mounting up, measuring, and photographing a half dozen tires. 

But putting the deadline on the calendar is the first step. Do it. Write it down. Put it somewhere where you'll actually see it. Make it hard to ignore. That's what gets me fired up. The work is work. Sometimes it's fun, sometimes it's not. But I'm thankful for the work. It keeps me busy and pushing my limits. I've also worked hard to put myself in a situation where I love my work. I get to write about cycling, bike products, events and people. I admit that it makes a huge difference in my attitude, but there are still times when it becomes a drag. But with that deadline out there, it's better to get started than it is to sit around on my hands. 

Getting some sun

I love seeing new parts of the world. On Monday last, I flew to San Diego with several VeloNews crew members and my wife, the lovely Kristen Legan, for eight days of bike testing. We're staying in a vacation rental home in the hills above Murietta. The riding is exceptional, peppered with steep climbs, a preserve with dirt trails nearby and good weather in January. 

While riding, I've spotted eagles, hummingbirds, a coyote the size of a German shepherd, a bobcat and a roadrunner. It's really cool to come to a new setting. Nature spotting is part of why I love long bike rides and seeing new wildlife is a thrill for me. 

The bikes have been fantastic too. With very few exceptions I've found something to like about every one of the 60-plus road, gravel and mountain bikes the VeloNews crew has here to test. For hopefully obvious reasons, the gravel bikes piqued my interest and two of them really stood out. Both the Norco Search and Pivot Vault surprised me with their trail manners, handling and spec. We're lucky to be riding bikes in this day and age as they are so versatile and capable. 

First overnighter of 2016

Now I'm not big on New Year's resolutions, but I do like a challenge. So starting in December last year I decided to do at least one century ride per month and at least one overnighter per month for 2016. During warm months this isn't too tough and with the trips I have in the planning phases I'll get several centuries and overnighters on consecutive days. But during the cold months in Colorado it can take some gumption, planning and fortitude to get out, especially for the overnighter. 

Last night was my first time sleeping outside in 2016. It happened to almost coincide with the full moon (that's tonight by the calendar I checked). I got an early start and did most of my two-hour climb with daylight guiding me. After dark, thanks to the moonlight and the lights on my bars and helmet, I did a bit of exploring, looking for new spots to lay my head for future trips. No luck, even after post-holing for 20 minutes, pushing my loaded fat bike. Alas, I turned around and headed to a familiar location for the night. 

It was a bit colder than I expected (I woke to temps in the teens) and I ended the night sleeping in most of my clothes. I was really glad I brought a tent as I had room to add layers in relative comfort. The moonlight woke me on a couple of occasions but pulling my hat over my eyes helped me snooze in peace. Unusually I slept past the sunrise and got up at 7am. I used my soda can stove to make a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. Hot liquids were amazing! I leisurely loaded up and was back on a favorite dirt climb heading up at 8am. I took my time, warming myself in the sun and thankful for the uphill effort. Soon I was shedding layers. 

Road conditions were a mix of hard pack snow, ice and dry dirt roads. 

Nice views of the even higher mountains.

Boldly going where anyone with a 4x4 has gone before!

My trusty Surly Ice Cream Truck. For winter overnighters, it's my go-to bike, with a Blackburn front rack and panniers. A Revelate Terrapin easily holds my Big Agnes Copper Spur tent. Fenix BT20 on the bars, LD22 on the helmet, Cateye rear blinky. Bar Mitts to keep the digits happy. A Revelate Feed Bag for food, Fenix battery pack and Red Fox Bluetooth speaker. Also note the down tube fender fashioned from a stolen political yard sign (finally politics has a purpose!).

It was a beautifully clear and calm morning. I climbed to a more travelled dirt road and dropped into a once prosperous mining town. The cafe was closed, a bummer as more food was calling my name. I downed a Clif bar that I had kept warm in my jersey pocket, finished my water and climbing the last few hundred feet before a long descent back home. 

It was a great night out, and not because I slept like a baby. I didn't. It was great because I rode a moonlit trail, turned off the day-to-day world and started the year right. Here's to at least 11 more!

I woke up today

Ain't that grand! I threw on clothes and headed to my work area. I sat down at my desk at 7:04am after putting on the kettle to make coffee and feeding my dog, Cori. I wrote for 45 good minutes, finding the zone, and the words came, thankfully, pouring out. With the early light of the day brightening with each passing minute, I typed away, periodically researching a point online, then returning to the Word doc at hand.  

Only a couple times did my attention wander after that. Directing myself back to the article underway, i finished up an hour of work happy with the progress made. Plenty of new material and several minor revisions. 

My misses woke and while she readied herself for the day, I took Cori for a stroll. A cold, windy morning greeted us. Icy trail near our house kept me alert. Yellow snow kept my canine friend enthralled. 

Next up was breakfast. Scrambled some eggs for my lady and myself. Accompanied that with toast and some avocado. A bit of Tapatio hot sauce and the feast was complete. Soon after my gal loaded up her bicycle for a ride to her parents' place in Denver and a night's stay. (Love the adventurous spirit of Mrs. Legan). Then it was my turn to saddle up. Filled a couple bottles, pumped up the tires and threw on the layers. 

Two and a half hours later and several climbs under my belt I limped home, calorie depraved. A shower, food and now to relax. Not a bad Saturday. 

Avoiding Hibernation

It's snowing big fat flakes of the frozen stuff outside. Days like today make you appreciate a heated space, a comfortable couch, a good book and a hot cup of joe. The decision of the day is whether to succumb to the creature comforts of modern life or suit up and get out on the fat bike for some outdoor play time. There's always the trainer too. Some intensity might be a good thing. I got in my monthly 100-mile ride a couple days ago. Legs are well recovered after two busy days of working and running around getting "things" done. 

I'm running out of indoor projects, excuses that is. I've built the wheels I needed to build. The house is clean. Cars are in good working order. Need to keep writing, as always. But all signs point to going outside. Really they always do. If you read them right. Maybe a hike today. 

Not sure if everyone else has these internal discussions. My motivation for exertion, both physical and mental, has been high. Lately the question is simply what to do, which bike to ride, where to go. All very good problems to have. I'm a lucky man. Gotta get out while the bears are all asleep. Have the woods to myself. 

Gratitude (the first of many posts on the subject)

When I traveled to Emporia, Kansas in May of 2011, I was had no idea the effect it would have on my life. It was my first try at a gravel race. Though I'd ridden the dirt roads and old mining doubletracks of Boulder County and beyond for some time, none of those outings had included a number or timing. It was also my first go at a double century. The Ride Across INdiana (RAIN) had been my previous longest ride at 163 paved miles and that had been several years prior. 

I was in Emporia at the invitation of Salsa Cycles. They provided me with an entry to the race, a frameset to ride and a place to stay. The Salsa crew included sponsored riders and employees. We all stayed at a local's house (thanks Randy!) where we made ourselves at home, crashing on couches and sharing floor space. 

Among the people I met I made friends who inspire me to this day. I discovered a new tribe and a welcoming one at that. Joe Meiser, now the Senior Product Manager at Salsa, later took me on my first multi-day bikepacking trip. He had finished Tour Divide in 2009 and after hearing some of his tales, I was enamored with the idea of tackling the route myself. 

Lelan Dains lived at the house where we were staying. He volunteered to support us at aid stations. He's now a part owner of the Dirty Kanza and someone I hold in the highest regard. I can honestly say that without him I wouldn't have finished that long day of racing. His encouragement and unending enthusiasm pushed me to plumb new depths. 

Tim Ek, a Salsa athlete, helped to allay several of my fears about the distance, the roads and the amount of calories needed. I was certainly packing my fears that first year, with far too many inner tubes and energy gels strapped to my bike. The day before the race we found ourselves relaxing, watching TV when 1984's "Red Dawn" came on. It was exactly what we needed, a cheesy movie to distract us. We joked that  "Avenge me!" would be our call to each other if either of us fell victim to punctures. 

And as much as all the people I've just mentioned mean to me, it was Jason Gaikowski who, over the subsequent years, has become my brother. He worked at Quality Bicycle Products at the time. We ended up sharing floor space in a quiet loft area of the house. Jason can be a reserved guy and I wasn't sure of him at first. But we stayed in touch after the race. We headed to Utah for our first multi-day bikepacking trip with Meiser. We rode the Katy Trail as part of a two-day, 315-mile extravaganza of suffering and started the 2013 Tour Divide together. A couple years later, he acted as officiant for my wedding. He remains one of my closest friends and confidante. 

All this to say that I'm grateful for the experiences in my life and the people that I've met. The Dirty Kanza is just one of those experiences and the four fellows I mentioned here are but a small sampling of the wonderful people that have played a part in my life. I'm glad that my job at the time allowed me to head to Kansas and I'm thankful that I had the guts, or perhaps the ignorance, to attempt the race. So I encourage you reading this to take a chance, test your limits, and be open to the people you meet along the way.