Advocate Cycles

Six Days and Nights – Stagecoach 400

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Words and Photos by Cedar Kyes

The stagecoach is a roughly 400-mile collection of desert road, double and singletrack and enough pavement to keep you honest. It was co-created and organized by Brendan Collier of the Hub Cyclery in Idyllwild, California where the event begins and ends. The route was created with the idea of a multi-day adventure ride in mind and it takes riders through a diverse collection of southern California surroundings from vast desert, high mountains, coastal regions and a bit of urban. To ride the Stagecoach 400 is to experience all of the raw beauty that southern California has to offer.

Embarking on this ride was the beginning of something way bigger than I had ever imagined and luckily, the start of the Stagecoach 400 was as informal as I had hoped it would be. While most people do treat this event as a race or ITT (Individual Time Trial), I was treating it more like a long bike ride with one of my good buddies, Brendan.

SC400 Start

I was content to watch the crowd gather and cheer them on as they departed in a kind of bikepacking critical mass that rolled out of town and down the highway towards the first long climb of the route. That climb would ultimately put a huge amount of distance between myself and the rest of the pack. Having embarked on this journey with literally zero training—and couch legs that had barely seen any physical activities all winter long—I was in no hurry to get the suffering started. I instinctively knew that I needed to ease into this ride if I wanted to have any chance of finishing.

After the initial warm-up and shakedown of my bike and my body, I was starting to find my pace and trust these wagon wheels. Having just built this fresh Advocate Cycles Hayduke with 29” wheels for the long journey ahead and having never ridden a 29’er before, there was a slight learning curve for me. After the first long descent, I was feeling comfortable enough to let it rip. The decision to build the bike as a 29’er would definitely pay off over the course of the ride for me—I don’t think I had the fitness to push a fully loaded plus-sized bike the entire distance of this route.

Since I had fallen way off the back of the pack on the second long climb of the day, I took this opportunity to take a look back at where I had come from earlier that morning—this was the last time I would see the snowy peaks of the Idyllwild area for quite awhile.

Eventually, after a long morning out back, I met up with my crew again. Brendan had a mechanical malfunction right at the start of the ride, which set him back a little bit. That delay gave me the head start I needed to get my legs and lungs working well enough to try and keep up with him for a few days.

Brendan and a few others caught up to me just in time to pull me along towards Sunshine Market with the promise of cold beer and sandwiches. I was happy to see them and even happier to crack that beer, which would be the fuel I needed to keep on the wheels of this steady paced crew for the rest of the day and into the night. We would ultimately end up pushing on into the late night hours and pitching camp in a cow pasture somewhere deep in the SoCal Countryside.

Morning came far too quickly and we needed to get back in the saddle in order to reach our destination for the day. Part way through the morning, we stopped at an old abandoned country store to soak up the morning vibes and ease into our day. While the others enjoyed their lightweight snacks, the genius of my morning coffee ritual became clear to the crew. I brewed a few cups and distributed with egalitarian generosity. I got the impression that most of the Stagecoachers don’t bother with a stove or coffee on this route. I’m not sure what would possess anyone to embark upon such a journey without and it sure did make this morning more enjoyable for us all.

Dropping into Black Canyon after our stop, the super green countryside funneled into the canyon and sent us spiraling down into a lush gorge filled with wildflowers and water flowing through huge boulders in the creek beside us. With all of the rain that California received throughout the winter, there were tons of crossings and streams where people had rarely seen water flowing before. Unfortunately, the fun would come to a screeching halt for me. After making a ridiculous navigation error and succumbing to a serious lapse of reason, I was left hopelessly chasing the crew for the rest of the day.

After losing a couple hours to some sort of physical breakdown, I finally came back to the world of the living and crawled out from under the bushes where I had lost consciousness trying to rehydrate myself in the shade. I’m pretty sure my body shut itself down in some sort of physiological self-preservation fit of revolt. I’m not really sure how long I was out for but I eventually came to the realization that it was a bit cooler and there was more shade to be found now. I pulled myself together and pushed on. Later I would find texts from Brendan that kept me motivated to catch up to the crew again. “You’re not that far back” and “We’re at Pizza Port in Ocean Beach” were the words that kept me going. Thoughts of cold beer and warm pizza were coursing through my numbed mind. So, onwards I charged towards the ocean.

At another water crossing, I came across a woman on horseback with her dog roaming nearby. The horse was taking a drink from the stream—I waited patiently for them to clear the crossing. I must’ve looked like I had just died and been reborn because this woman was genuinely concerned about my well-being. She asked where I was going. “To the beach” is all I could muster. She asked if I lived there or had a car waiting there. “No, neither of those” is what made it out of my mouth. She proceeded to question me about what I was doing there. I was able to articulate the basics about riding from Idyllwild to San Diego and back to Idyllwild and that I was trying to catch up to my friends who were already in San Diego. She offered me a ride to meet back up with them and said she would drop me off a few blocks away so nobody would ever know. I was tempted but I told her that I had to do this on my own. She then offered to say a prayer for me—I gladly accepted. It was a very nice prayer—warm and genuine—and I felt that she fully believed in its power. I thanked her and jokingly said, “I hope that helps me climb up this steep hill ahead.” She knew that it would. Thank you stranger! I thought of how nice that gesture was when I got my first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean.

Just as the sun was setting on the second day of my Stagecoach 400 ride I made it to Torrey Pines State Park. Even though I was in a bit of a hurry to catch up with my crew, I stopped for a moment to soak it all in. This was in itself a huge accomplishment for me. I had just ridden from way up in the Mountains of Idyllwild all the way to the Pacific Ocean—in two days. I met up with the crew in San Diego and we spent the night at a friend’s house in the city.

Exiting San Diego and heading back into the mountains, Day 3 would prove to be the most challenging of the entire ride. I struggled to keep up with the pack for the entire day and fell off the back on every climb. After the last re-group at a gas station in Alpine, I, decided that I needed to fall back and ride at my own pace if I wanted to finish. It was not a pretty moment for me—not until I finally got out of my head, listened to my body, and looked up at the beauty all around.

I was literally one click or call away from the wambulance when I realized that there was no rush and I could just soak it all in and finish the ride on my own pace. I also realized that I was just past the point of no return and it would be harder to bail out than it would be to continue forward. So, I sat there for a while and got my head straight. I watched the sun set and felt it cool down considerably. I had great lights and lots of battery power left and decided that I needed to ride more in the evening hours when it was cooler. This was a critical epiphany for me and I continued the relentless climb into the darkening night.

I coached myself through the next few miles of the route and, reading through the cue cards, learned that there was a restaurant and country store on the other side of this climb—giving me inspiration to push on. I made it up and over that mountain and on to the restaurant but it had just closed. Luckily, the store was still open so I grabbed a cold beer and a bag of chips. I found a nice little spot in the middle of a grassy field and I sat there under the stars, sipping my beer and savoring each and every salty chip.

I was uncertain about the next move. The cue cards alluded to the notion that there was another store at the campgrounds a few miles further along the route. “She makes great burritos for the Stagecoach riders” it said, which was the motivation I needed to push on into the late night hours. It was a sluggish uphill push on muddy trail but it was very peaceful.

When I rolled into the campgrounds I found a spot to throw down my sleeping bag and the nearby stream serenaded me to sleep. I slept like a baby all night and well into the morning. I took my time packing up and wandered over to the store. It was closed. As it turns out, most of the stores on the rest of the route are closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. I was able to refill all of my water and headed out for day 4.

This day featured a relentless climb up and over Mt Laguna. There was little to no shade and the temperatures were rising by the minute. Thankfully, the trails were pretty awesome and the views were amazing. I took my time and listened to my body—seeking refuge in every bit of shade that I encountered and being mindful of my hydration and nutrition, I chugged along all day. I was enjoying myself again. Even though it was slow going, I was happy to be making forward progress and I knew that this mountain had a summit—somewhere up there. I did not see or hear a single soul for the entirety of the climb. It was almost surreal how much solitude this stretch provided. Finally, I had gotten out of Babylon and into the Backcountry—this is what I truly enjoy and appreciate about bikepacking.

SC400 Mt Laguna

As I reached the summit of Mt Laguna and popped out onto the highway, I was blown away by the amazing view. I could see the Salton Sea way off in the distance and the snowy Tahquitz Peak/Mt San Jacinto way back up in the mountains where I had started the ride. The experience was enhanced from ten to eleven when I dropped in on the awesome singletrack that parallels the highway for most of this stretch. I forgot all about the long day of climbing and just ripped sweet singletrack for what seemed like an eternity. In fact, it was so good that I missed my turn and continued on the trail for quite a ways before I realized that I should be pointed in the opposite direction for my descent into the desert and to make it to the next store, which was supposed to be open until 6. This would be a critical re-supply before heading off into the most serious desert section—I was determined to make it to that store.

I knew that it would be a serious downhill into the desert from here. Once I was certain that I was dropping in on the right track, I let it all out. I’m not sure many people have gone as fast on a fully loaded bikepacking rig. It didn’t stop. I smashed through rocks and drifted into corners and in retrospect, it was downright foolish—I was determined to make it to that store in time.

The shreddy downhill gave way to a sluggish sand trap and my roll was slowed tremendously. I somehow managed to keep afloat in the sand and rolled it all the way out to the pavement where I put the hammer down and made it to the store with minutes to spare. It was closed—spring hours.

Welcome to my desert oasis. While it was indeed true that the store was closed, I did find what I needed to continue on my journey. There was a sign on the door that said to track down Doug for after hours registration. I wandered over to Doug’s place and knocked on the door. Nothing. As I was walking back to my bike and kicking rocks, I saw a guy headed in the same general direction as me and I called out “Hey there, are you Doug?” No. It was not Doug. “Doug is off today. It really pisses me off when he closes the store.” Meet my new friend Alber—Alber is the ranch hand at Butterfield. He’s on a mission of some sort. Thankfully for me, he just happened to be right there at that exact moment. He was genuinely concerned for me and he understood that I really needed to get into that store before I could proceed into the desert. He said he would try to get the keys from Doug and open the store for me in the morning.

As I sat there in front of the closed store, I was optimistic that this would all turn out alright. Soon after, Alber came over with an apple, banana, and orange and his two young daughters running along beside him. They had each made me a sandwich and wanted to bring them to me personally—I almost cried. I could not believe the genuine kindness of this family. I went from complete deflation to complete gratitude and full nourishment of body, soul, and spirit. Those little angels shined so bright—It was truly amazing. Thank you Alber and your wonderful daughters.

He told me about the cabins and the pool and the hot shower—I was indeed in heaven. That night I had a shower and slept in a bunk bed—It was a good thing too because the wind kicked up and was howling all night long. As I was cozy inside my little cabin eating homemade sandwiches, I couldn’t help but think about the prayer that I had been granted earlier in the ride. However you want to look at it, The Universe was shining down on me.

In the morning I made coffee by the poolside and by some other stroke of luck, I ran into Alber at the store before he took off on his work day. He let me in and I got what I thought I needed to carry me through the next stretch—I was good to go.

Welcome to the desert. Massive ocotillos were like gateway guardians to the Anza-Borrego Desert and they were in full bloom as I passed through. I gave a nod of respect to each and every one of them on my passage. They seemed to return the gesture as they provided me with little bits of shade where otherwise there was none to be found. Dropping into Diablo Drop and the Wind Caves was impressive and a little bit spooky—this is definitely where the Sand People live and I did not linger long.

Back to the pavement—with minimal shade and nothing but an endless row of power lines stretching off into the horizon, it was best not to think about it too much. I put my head down and focused on cadence. It wasn’t until I got to the next store that I even looked up—it was closed. The bar across the street was open and I bellied up to the bar for a cold beer.

Here I ran into a fellow Stagecoacher who had also wandered off on a solo mission. We shared some stories and helped each other feel not-so-out-of-place in this strange desert watering hole. As I walked outside to check on my bike, I noticed that a distinct change in the weather had occurred—then came the chatter from the locals about rain coming and that we were screwed. I slammed my beer, settled up, and saddled up. There was a strong and sustained headwind for the next 20 miles or so as we struggled our way towards Borrego Springs. We rolled into town just after dark and hit up the Taco Shop before heading out of town to find a spot to hunker down for the night.

SC400 Scorpion

I had known about the sculpture gardens around Borrego Springs and I wanted to see them in the daylight so I steered us to this spot just outside of town for the night. It was one of the best nights of sleep on the whole trip. We were out of the wind and the sky was booming with stars. Knowing that I had a big day ahead, it was a very quick and unceremonious morning at the sculptures before the two of us took off.

Making it to Bailey’s Cabin was a milestone for me. I had ridden this stretch once before but we were coming down the canyon and it was all downhill that time. I remembered the “Willows” section of Coyote Canyon and I was a bit nervous about getting through there. The last time I passed through it was so overgrown that it felt like we were trudging through the jungle. Thankfully, it was cut way back and our passage through was easy. That did not help the fact that we were headed uphill through the canyon. It was so sandy that I had to walk for long stretches.

Finally reaching the road at the entrance to Coyote Canyon was a great feeling. Despite the fact that I knew I was in store for a really long climb, it was good to be standing on solid ground again. The climb was every bit as long and strenuous as I had imagined and I pushed onward with a great sense of accomplishment that I had come this far.

It was only fitting that I finished the Stagecoach 400 at night since I had ridden so much of it this way. The night was definitely my friend on this journey. Thankfully, I had the best lighting system you could ask for. My Lupine Lights system worked flawlessly for 6 days and 6 nights of riding while also keeping my phone and my camera charged the entire time.

I got back to Idyllwild just hours before this snowstorm hit—I had seen the system moving in and I cranked up the pace on the final day so that I might beat it. I pushed hard from Borrego Springs all the way into Idyllwild and made it in time to get a cold beer and some warm stew at Idyllwild Brewery.

Many thanks to them for finding me some hot food even though the kitchen was closed when I rolled in. Another huge thanks to Marlin and Dawne for the hot shower and cozy bed to crash in. It was a wonderful way to finish an incredible journey. Last but not least, thank you to Brendan for putting together such an amazing bikepacking route through some of the most remote and untouched places in Southern California. It’s definitely the best way to experience the diversity that SoCal has to offer and thanks for pulling me along as far as you did. I don’t think I would’ve made it without your support and encouragement.

I also couldn’t have done it without the support of my awesome girlfriend who was holding down the fort and taking care of Bushido while I was gone. I look forward to doing this ride again—I pushed myself beyond my comfort zone and I tested every bit of strength that I could muster. It was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

A huge thanks for support from Advocate Cycles, Kali Protectives, Lupine Lights, Terrene Tires, Tifosi Optics & Zoic Clothing.

Until next time…

Ride Report - Tour of Aotearoa New Zealand

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Words and photos by Ihi Heke

New Zealanders love to bike. Even New Zealand’s prime minister, Hon. John Key, funded a cycleway that links one end of New Zealand with the other. Enter, first time Māori (Indigenous New Zealander) adventure mountain biker lining up for a “short” ride with the “tiniest of little” issues being that my first ever adventure ride happens to be the inaugural Tour of Aotearoa. Couple this with having no bike two days prior to the event, no training in the last six months and no idea what was required to set up a bike for a ride of this distance.

Running the entire length of New Zealand from north to south, the Tour Aotearoa is a 3000km bikepacking tour from the north tip of Cape Reinga all the way down south the town of Bluff. The tour is a collection of several of the greatest rides in the country all connected by the best available backcountry roads.

Luckily, the owners of Advocate Cycles are good mates of mine. On a recent trip to New Zealand, I convinced them that Māori were riding not for health, physical activity or even mountain biking but to seek the knowledge that only a mountain could pass on from several centuries of watching humans move across their pathways. In helping me out, they inadvertently helped Māori improve their connection to their lands through mountain biking.

Mountain biking is not only becoming popular with Māori communities seeking knowledge but it’s also becoming the new “rugby/netball” for Māori with too many injuries to play contact sports any longer. On top of this burgeoning interest in mountain biking, I’m convinced that adventure cycling as a form of mountain biking is the modality that will capture the imaginations of Māori due to the cultural importance of mountains within the Māori world view.

How this recent move to rediscover indigenous physical activity has come about has been a fascinating process in its own right. It was recently discovered that pre-European Māori had a highly comprehensive array of physical training techniques to improve power, agility, quickness, speed, coordination, flexibility, muscular endurance and aerobic conditioning. These strength and conditioning techniques were garnered from pre-European Māori’s most abundant resource, the environment that they lived in and shared with other living beings. That is, Māori appear to have looked to their ancestral ties with their atua (gods), kaitiaki (guiding animals) and tipua (spiritual animals e.g., taniwha) to make sense of their world and strengthen their control over their collective destiny by training as a reflection of what they saw in their local environment.

Initially, the whole idea of the Aotearoa sounded like a massive pain in the ass both literally and figuratively because I came from an era of mountain biking that used one bike for everything and each ride had to be completed within two to three hours. I was part of the era that thought that disc brakes were too heavy, carrying gear was unnecessary, and that suspension was for motorbikes and had no place on a bike—not anymore.

Two days out from the start of the Tour of Aotearoa, a smart looking, fresh, white, Hayduke turned up at my house. With the anthem of “steel is real” in the back of my mind I set about getting the bike up and running.

Twenty-four hours later, on a low tide, we set out on the start of the ride. The first section of the tour was 110km—86km of that on the aptly named, 90-mile beach. That’s right, almost 90km on sand with an incoming tide and 35 knot head wind for good measure. The first day was the filter from hell. A number of people on the start line asked how my training had been, to which I stated, “superb”—not a single issue of overtraining since I’d done none. Several comments were also passed that at a svelte 110kg I was probably “too heavy” to ride this type of event, especially with a 1×11 drivetrain, and I shouldn’t be surprised if I wasn’t successful in completing the tour. I think on both counts, I was finished with the event four days earlier than those who thought I would never get there.

I found the Hayduke to be a dream to ride on multiple, long, 12-hour days. I’ve been around mountain bikes for a long time (since the mid eighties) during which time I had been mostly interested in hill climbing only for the thrill of downhilling. Jump forward some twenty years and mountain biking has a new cousin—adventure biking. Interestingly, adventure biking allowed me to slow down and look around at all of the different locations more intimately because I didn’t feel obliged to rush.

Even more interesting was the number of people who knew about the Hayduke, especially considering it’s a brand new company. Not surprisingly, a large number of those people wanted to be part of the “next level crew” riding a Hayduke. I literally had adventure bike diehards leering over the Hayduke wanting to know every detail about how it rode.

The bike was a pleasure to ride, compliant to a fault, with effortless handling on the trail despite the gear loaded on the bike. In fact, I felt a little bit like the poor hillbilly with my borrowed panniers. Seeing all of the new techniques being used to carry gear including handle bar bags, seat bags and frame bags was out of this world and I intend to have a go at the correct adventure setup next time around.

I had expected to find the Hayduke tiring after a couple of consecutive days riding, considering I’d only ridden to the local store and back as training. However, I can say that I looked forward to getting back on it to ride each day. I think what I had underestimated was the relaxed angles of the Hayduke coupled with the steel ride making for a totally forgiving bike that could literally be ridden many long days in a row with very little rider fatigue.

In the end, the ride only took 22 days, when I had been told to expect 30, if I make it at all. I think the difference for me was the bike. It became like an old friend I’d catch up with for coffee before beginning each day. It was the absence of issues that made for such a wonderful ride. With the blessing of multiple days on the same bike, I was able to see the very direct effect that the Hayduke was allowing—a smooth ride and a great tour of my home country.

To say that I enjoyed being self sufficient and able to carry all my own food and sleeping equipment doesn’t do it justice—I loved it. Māori have had a long history of guiding non-Māori across a multitude of environments, all whilst surviving in often-difficult terrain. Adventure biking gave me a glimpse of my genealogy, of my very essence via mountain biking.

Race Report - Arrowhead Ultra 135

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Photo Courtesy Lori Dobbs / lori-dobbs.pixels.com

 

The Arrowhead Ultra 135 travels through northern Minnesota on the rugged and scenic Arrowhead State Snowmobile trail from International Falls to Tower, Minnesota. Known to be an extremely difficult race, it takes place in the coldest town in the lower 48 states and has a finish rate of less then 50%. It’s tough—throw in subzero temps or fresh snow and it becomes even tougher.

Barry Buhr just completed the 2016 Arrowhead aboard an Advocate Watchman so we caught up with him to see how the event went, how he prepared, and what he brought along on the journey. In the past, Barry has taken part in numerous distance cycling events including the Chequamegon 100, Maah Daah Hey 100, Rusty Ride 100, Duluth 100, Lutsen 99er and the Marji Gesick 100—although, none of them quite compare to the Arrowhead. Here’s what Buhrito had to say.

Preparation

Let’s start with how I trained for this event. I took a two-week snowboarding trip and didn’t ride a bike for 23 days, which was by far the longest time off a bike in years. Despite the fact that I was doing zero dedicated training, I was spending my usual amount of time outside in the snow and cold—getting a good workout everyday. I think in a way, this time off the bike was good because I’ve been developing what seems to be tendonitis in my knee, which started back in the summer, and time off the bike may have been a positive thing.

When I got home to Duluth, I had two weeks until the race. The very first day back it was -20 and I thought, “perfect, let’s get back to biking and get the cold tolerance built up.” All the miles and training had happened throughout the season, so getting my layering right and getting the gear packed solid was my main focus. In the days leading up to the big day I spent a good amount of time practicing with the gear, went on a few test rides, and felt really happy about how it all worked.

The Gear

For the event, I rode a rigid Advocate Watchman with 1×11 drivetrain and Vanhelga tires on 90mm rims. For gear hauling I made a simple sleeping bag fastener for the fork that worked great and had a Surly frame bag that held food, thermos, pump, tube and tools. On the back I had a Revelate seat bag that held the stove, fuel, sleeping pad, bivy, and extra layers. I also had an additional small bag strapped to the seat bag, which I used for more food. On the bars I had Barr Mitts, allowing me to wear summer gloves the entire time. I also brought along a Mountain Hardware 800 Down -20 sleeping bag, a Thermarest NeoAir sleeping pad, Outdoor Research bivy, Jetboil stove, fuel, and pot kit. For riding in the dark I brought along a Niterider OLED 800 light that I used in walk mode and a 100-lumen headlamp. I also carried a phone with an extra power source in case of emergency.

I decided not to use a drop bad out on the course so I carried a lot of food. Three peanut butter, honey, jalapeno, and bacon sandwiches, a big bag of trail mix, a big bag of sunflower seeds, beef jerky, two whey protein bars, four granola & nut filled bars and the customary jar of peanut butter.

For clothing, I wore what I would consider my “late October” gear most of the time. I wore thick wool socks, chamy tights with shorts over them, fleece base layer and hoody, an ultralight shell that I used about half the time, insulated hiking boots that I cut down the tread on to better mesh with my flat pedals, and a hat and balaclava.

International Falls

By the time Sunday arrived, the excitement for the event had come to life. We got to International Falls a little after noon—I wanted to have a solid amount of time for gear check incase any surprises popped up. The check-in/inspection was very smooth and I felt good about all the time I’d spent packing and re-packing to get everything dialed. After the check-in, we had to kill a few hours until we could check into our room and until the racers meeting so we drove around the town—I think we saw all the attractions.

After the rider meeting, I decided to suit up and ride from the hotel to preview a portion of the first snowmobile trail. The snow was soft as expected and definitely didn’t look like it was going to set up overnight. I rode back to town, had a few beers, and went to bed feeling confident in my tire choice given the snow conditions.

Race Day

It was warm and misty in the morning. I felt like I was dressed light, but I would later wish I was dressed lighter. I was sweaty in the first five minutes. I did pack a full extra base layer though and planned to change into that at Melgeorge’s. I figured if I kept moving at this pace I should be warm enough, albeit wet, until there.

I went out pretty fast, knowing that it would help a lot to find the “sweet spot” of where many previous riders had ridden the trail. Too far up front and I would be kind of blazing trail—after too many people and it’d be rutted. And rutted it did get—making it so you couldn’t lose focus even for a moment, or you’d catch the side of the rut and get pulled into the soft snow and come to a stop or expend a bunch of extra energy trying to save it.

It took me longer than I expected to get to the first checkpoint at Gate Store. While, I was okay with the pace, it also threw out my top time goals. I had figured that in good conditions with solid trail surface, this ride could maybe happen for me in 18-20hours and if it was soft or really cold, maybe 21-24 hours. With some additional adversity I figured 25-30 hours. Any more than that, and I figured something miserable would be happening…

With singletrack being my forte, I was riding relatively efficient though the ruts and morale was high. The hope had been to cross Elephant Lake in the daylight but alas, it was not to be. Riding by bike light now, I heard the wind before I got to the lake and knew what was coming. I thought I could make it across in my sweaty clothing but about 1/4 mile onto the open lake, the headwind got intense and the shell had to come out. As that cold wind hit my soaked body, the level of seriousness bumped up a notch.

Melgeorge’s Cabin

I finished the longest mile-long lake crossing ever with some nice folks cheering and Pam waiting at the end to offer some encouragement. She knew this was already taking me longer than I hoped. And then there it was, lit up like some sort of haunted house—Melgeorge’s cabin. I had heard what it does—it sucks you in—and so I hesitated going in. But I had brought fresh base layer and needed a place to change.

As I arrived at the cabin, TMF was outside. He offered this advice “Go in there, and get good and ready. Get dry, and don’t leave until you’re ready, even if it’s hours.” So I went in. The volunteers were nice enough to dry my clothes so that I had a full backup for emergency on the second half if needed. Two plus hours ended up being the amount of time that just felt right and it was about 10pm when I pedaled out of the driveway, with Pam cheering me on as she headed off to Fortune Bay—hoping to see me by about 11am or maybe noon. Her cheers faded and I was on my own for the night. All. Night.

Into the Night

I had left Melgeorge’s feeling good physically and mentally. By midnight though, I started to fade—my legs were still there, but my head wasn’t. I started literally falling asleep at the bars, doing that thing where you snap back to it quick. It was painful and just got overwhelming.

At about 2am I came across the Myrtle Lake shelter. There was a pair of ski’s leaning against it and someone was in their bivy. I sat there for a couple minutes, contemplating if I should do the same. Honestly, I was a little scared to camp because I was sweaty and although it was “warm” out, it was still around 20° and that’s plenty cold enough to send a wet person in hypothermia. I chose to keep on, knowing that there was supposed to be another shelter in about 12 miles if I still needed it. Seeing someone in their bivy gave me the confidence that I could hopefully do the same if needed.

After 3 more delirious hours, at 5am, I finally stumbled across the Elbow Lake shelter and I thought, “Yes, this is happening right now.” I pulled out the sleeping bag, pad, and bivy—set it all up and got right in. The best move would have probably been to strip down but I just kept my clothes on. I slept okay for 3 hours. I heard at least two others come and go during the time I half slept. Finally, when I saw it was almost 9am, I forced myself to get going again, I knew that several people had passed me and that this “race” wasn’t going to finish itself.

Back on the Trail

With setup/packing, this had taken over 4 hours now. I was freezing as soon as I got out of the bag with hands shaking while I re-packed everything. Then I looked over to the trail and a saw that a foot racer was coming by. This got me motivated to get moving and I actually covered some pretty good ground for a bit after this—eager to see that Surly checkpoint I wanted so badly to come across in the dark. It had taken me two more hours to get there and I don’t think I’d have made it there without sleep.

I met Bob at the tent and he had the most heavenly cup of coffee ever for me. They also had a bottle, which I declined at first but then opted for after the coffee. This quick pit stop was great for morale.

Soon after that I was at Wakemup hill, the most notorious of all hills on the course. It’s huge when you’re pushing a 50+lb-loaded beast through a few inches of fresh snow. I crested the hill and there it was—something nobody ever mentions—what I will forever refer to as the Wakemup Hilltop Halfpipe. It was a ditch with fresh snow. Everyone had ridden right down the middle. I surfed it. It was awesome.

Unfortunately, after that, the terrain got pretty flat. Flat should be easy, but it was back to long straightaways that went by painfully slow. I’d be going down these long straightaways but moving so slow because it was just like walking a tightrope. Then, when finally at the end of the straightaway, it’d just take a slight bend into another one, which was mentally tiring.

Coming to an End

At some point, I checked my phone and had a signal. I saw where I was on the map and that helped a little. And then finally, I rounded the corner and saw the uphill to the finish. Pam and a few others were there waiting and so I got out of the saddle for one last hammer. I crossed at 3:56pm, for a time of 32hrs56min. I was a tad bummed I had to stop and lost a lot of spots but otherwise, I felt pretty good—my brain having benefited greatly from the few hours of rest. The volunteers were so nice and the guy at the finish kindly guided me inside for the post-race inspection. I collected my awesome trophy, hot-tubbed, hit the buffet, and passed out.

Thanks to everyone who lent me gear—it felt good to actually use all the things I carried! I’m glad that it turned out to be a uniquely difficult Arrowhead and I’ll be sending in my 2017 application come September.

Arrowhead Tips

For anyone considering riding the Arrowhead 135 I would recommend getting out and riding your bike in conditions that make you uncomfortable. Remember what layers you wear for every temperature range because the event and location can throw anything at you. Practice riding with your gear loaded on your bike and know how to use each piece of gear—try to use the bivy for at least a couple hours in the cold to see what it’s like. Go on long rides and just work on breathing and relaxing when it gets torturous. And remember that the coldest, most brutal bike ride is almost always still better than most days at work.