Morning ride: https://www.strava.com/activities/736982078 Afternoon: https://www.strava.com/activities/737205027 Day three and another night of comfortable lodging for less than thirty dollars booked using the Airbnb iPhone app and not until after 4 pm. So far my system of trying to save money whilst staying anywhere I happen to arrive is working well. That system starts each day with an inevitable, it seems, ambition to ride 50 miles or more before noon with little concern about where I'll arrive to as long as it's roughly south of where I started. This ambition is motivated by a body and mind reinvigorated by a deep sleep and a hearty breakfast; and by my experience that the body will eventually start to slow down. As my motivation dips and the sun begins it's long descent towards the western hemisphere, I give-into a slower pace, smell the flowers, sample the village bakeries, and eventually, though often well after noontime, I stop for an open-air lunch somewhere in the countryside. Finally, by about 4-o'clock in the afternoon I begin to consider a fairly lengthy stop to search for lodging in villages near and not so far. The principal aid for that search is the Airbnb app already mentioned. But I've also made extensive use of Google maps. Once the lodging stop and a reservation request have been made, a fairly dodgy series of 1-2 hours has so far ensued. First dodge, I must find the village where my pending reservation may, hopefully will, be fulfilled (accepted by the host) before I arrive. Until the host confirms my reservation, and hopefully they will given that daylight has all but vanished when I reach their vicinity, I will not know the location of their home other than a rough approximation (Note that a 'pending reservation' step can be avoided by booking only with hosts that offer immediate confirmation). Distances to hosts, from where I made the reservations, have varied. As short a 5 miles (8 km) or as many as 20 (32 km). Along the way, fading daylight and traffic conditions have at times been a liability, sometimes nudging-up against dark on a road not recommended for cyclists. But lightly kicking these consequences so that they come to rest gently, respectfully, on the verge, if my system continues to dispense conclusions from a shelf that must be labeled, somewhere, with the word 'serendipity' then I'll save a bundle on lodging costs without having to sacrifice comfort and convenience. And I think it's worth adding that one should not discount the value of a proper adventure to 'look forward to' and 'reflect on' at the conclusion of each day, something my 'after 4' policy almost guarantees on an Autumn tour well inside of month of October. Despite a long day on the saddle, just over 120 miles (192 km), I enjoyed several breaks today including a cappuccino paired with a chocolate filled croissant and a few freshly baked brötchen. Ambition delivered on it's 50 miles / 80 km before noon, and for the most part without stopping amidst a three hour spin mostly across a countryside festooned by wonder and inspiration. In the afternoon, as anticipated, I slowed my pace and delved into, as requested by my big brother Dan on Facebook, the smells and sounds of the local foliage along with whatever food, typically local apples, I had stashed in my kit pockets. Today the winds were once again favorable as they have been the previous two days blowing all the way from Siberia to my derrière or deflecting off my la cage thoracique at a comfortable 8-12 mph (13-19 kph), perhaps a bit more at times. This evening I'm sleeping in the small town of Baarlo, my second night in the Netherlands. According to my Airbnb host, Baarlo contains four castles, three dating back to the 13th century. I may have to return for a castle tour followed by visits to other historical sites in the area. Here is a sample of Baarlo history from Wikipedia, "The oldest mention of the name Baarlo is from 1219." "Archaeological discoveries have shown that Baarlo has a long history ... there was an ancient settlement west of the village from the Stone and Iron Age. Around 1930, a remarkable discovery was made: a large bucket or bronze situla from the period 800-500 BC." "An important Roman road was on the west side of the village. It came from the direction of Cuyk ... along the Maas villages Blerick, Heel, and Maaseik to Maastricht. Roman [artifacts found in the town] ... include two Epona figurines, a few urns, oak piles, and tiles of Roman origin." "In Gallo-Roman religion, Epona was a protector of horses, ponies, donkeys, and mules. She was particularly a goddess of fertility, as shown by her attributes of a patera, cornucopia, ears of grain and the presence of foals in some sculptures." "Castle d'Erp [was built] around 1200. [The castle and it's subsequent constructions experienced a] checkered history ... including sieges by William of Orange and his son Frederick Henry." I'd like to write a little more about my day but honestly I'm starting to feel some fatigue after my third 100+ mile ride in three-out-of-three days. Fatigue withstanding and with a smile across my face, I'll be back on the RLT 9 Steel by 8:30 tomorrow morning to attempt a grand slam, four hundred-mile (or more) distance rides in four consecutive days. I nearly accomplished that last year but was derailed, with love, on the fourth day by a relationship trump card. Sometimes I need to have that one thrown at me. Despite cooperative weather, in particular no rain and favorable wind, I've witnessed very little in the form of sunshine or genuinely 'warmish' temperatures. Instead, cloudy skies and "fresh" temperatures have been the norm across a landscape, not long ago, reclaimed from the North Sea. Despite my sincere appreciation for three days without rain, I'm nonetheless hoping for some sunshine tomorrow. The sunshine would warm my cold fingers and nose and no doubt do wonders for photographs. I bid any reader that's had the courage and patience to read this far (!) a Guten Nacht from Baarlo. Baring the return of Christ or a similar turn-of-events, this should be my last night in the Netherlands on this Autumn Tour. Tomorrow I'll sleep in either Belgium or Luxembourg. Morning ride: https://www.strava.com/activities/736180070 Afternoon: https://www.strava.com/activities/736312554 The RLT and I hit the ground fairly hard today, near the municipality of Uplengen, Germany, after I dug the front tire into loose sand on a hard right turn on tractor track. No major damage to the bike or the body, but my right knee will be sore for a few days. Little wrecks along the way aside, I still managed to ride about 120 miles (192 km), ten miles more than yesterday. I've set a goal to ride 100 miles or more per day across northern Germany and the Netherlands in anticipation of a much slower pace when I enter the hills of the Ardennes sometime tomorrow. Of course, weather could significantly hamper my 100+ mile ambition even on flat ground, but so far no rain, and the wind has been favorable other than some cross-winds over my right shoulder from the direction of the North Sea.
About three hours from Varel, Germany, I rolled into Bad Nieuweschans, Netherlands, a fortified village on the German border, a few minutes before 12-o'clock, just ahead of my first goal of the day, to reach the Netherlands before noon. We all know that short-term goals are an effective method of overcoming long-term challenges. For my mental state and the long journey ahead, reaching this initial border-crossing was very significant for my prospects of completing the full circuit back to Hamburg. As I crossed into the Netherlands, I felt my mind and body make a transformation from a man on a bike ride to a man on a long, exciting, journey through the unknown. It was a moment of reallocation. moving forward a new set of neural connections would be accessed by my subconscious, a neural network refined over many years and many journeys for the purpose of living in the here and now. And the moment was made even more memorable, even better, by the narrow wooden bridge that carried me the last few meters out of Germany into a new country for my life list. Not what you'd expect perhaps, a wooden bridge with hedges on either side of a modest canal, but that's the EU and it's a wonderful thing. Unaware of what my options would be later in the day, as I often was on this trip, I took advantage of the modern services available in Bad Nieuweschans, a town of only 1510 residents. First, by stopping at Edeka, my preferred supermarket on this trip, to purchase what I needed to prepare an open-air lunch in the parking lot and breakfast the next morning: brötchen (rolls), sliced cheese, and a hardy meat, prosciutto, an option that does not require refrigeration; also, local apples, organic cherry tomatoes, and nuts (or a nut / fruit mix), among other easily carried and eaten food options. These items, among others such as a hardy salami in place of prosciutto, became my staples. Some nights I added a local beer, or two, to my Blackburn Design Barrier Universal Panniers, but generally only when the grocery stop was much closer to my end-destination for the evening. In addition to a once-daily grocery stop, some afternoon's I stopped for a quick cappuccino paired with something sweet and occasionally a second sweet for one of my kit pockets. In fact, sweet became a theme, very unusual for me otherwise, as I delved deeper and deeper into my body's reserves. My body eventually craved chocolate covered bananas, chocolate-filled croissants, and apfelstrudel, among other desirables served-up fresh each day by the village bakeries. After my open-air lunch, I visited a sleepy, off-season, pub close-by where I enjoyed two cappuccinos before returning to the bike and the journey. Long, often straight, and always well maintained, bike paths along equally well cared-for canals are half of the cycling experience you'll encounter in the Netherlands. Most of the other half of my Dutch experience today was represented by bike ways, mostly paved, and sometimes shared with cars, through a picturesque landscape dominated by agriculture with patchwork forests and villages between. If the wind is favorable, as it was for me on this second day of my trip, with a bike and gear intended for light cycle touring a cyclist trained for long-distance bike racing can comfortably travel across Holland's patchwork landscape an average speed of 15-16 mph (24-26 kph). My bike and gear weighed-in at just under 48 pounds (21.6 kg) including two full (24 ounce) water bottles but no food just before I departed Hamburg on 5 October. Subsequent grocery stops easily increased that weight by another 2-4 pounds (1-2 kg). Weight aside, my average speed would have been closer to 17-18 mph (27-29 kph) if not for frequent deceleration to confirm my route and negotiate turns, especially whilst coming and going from human population centers, villages, towns, and cities. But those averages aside, it was not unusual today to check my speed and find that I was spinning comfortably, heart rate within my (zone 2) base-level intensity, at 20-22 mph (32-35). And when the wind was at my back, 24-25 mph (38-40 kph). Beyond Holland, over the next few days, I would eventually settle-into and accept 15 mph as a reasonable goal for any day, any terrain. The infrastructure of cycle ways connecting people and places in the Netherlands is an inspiration, motivation to smile, to sing a short tune with revised lyrics, even dance. It's hard to imagine, perhaps, how fabulous a trail system must be to inspire a cyclist to dance on their moving bike but that's exactly what you'll find, captivated by the experience and uplifted to what many would describe as a "religious experience". Nothing I experienced in North America, and elsewhere, prepared me for the Dutch cycling infrastructure and as a result I never imagined how good it might be. Most of today, I no doubt appeared as if I was pedaling towards something wonderful on the horizon. But instead, my motivation was here and now, an unexceptional component of a minuscule nodule of space-time, inside which I was savoring a moment with no concern about anything. I was riding-on as unattached to past and future as the Voyager Spacecrafts in their lonely explorations beyond our solar system. By about 6 pm, a late conclusion to an inspired day of bicycle touring, I arrived to the village of Hardenberg, my resting place for the evening, a few kilometers west of the German border just inside of the Netherlands. Since arriving, my AirBnB hosts have taken exceptional care of their one night tenant, including a locked and covered area to store his bike, followed by dinner, desert, tea, and plenty of stimulating conversation, just what a guy needs after riding solo for nine hours through a foreign land. Cost for this fantastic evening, just 28$ including breakfast in the morning. I'll be paying in US dollars using the AirBnB iPhone app whenever possible to avoid paying fees for replenishing my Euro stash. In Holland, the suggestion that "all of the people speak [implied here, 'fairly good'] English" is mostly true, and my evening hosts were certainly not an exception. Whereas elsewhere, in Germany for example, that's not been my experience. Nonetheless, if you're considering your own cycling tour through Europe, don't let the variation in English-speaking abilities influence your itinerary. People always find a way to communicate and as a rule, the same people are friendly and helpful. And the few that are not can easily be forgotten. I'm settled-in now, it's time to rest-up for day three of my cycling tour. I anticipate that I'll ride most of the way through the Netherlands tomorrow. The next day, assuming no unexpected delays or route changes, I'll visit Belgium and Luxembourg, both will be new countries for my life list. Already, the cycling infrastructure in the Netherlands has been a treat to experience. I'm looking forward to what will unfold on tomorrows ride. Guten Nacht from Hardenberg, in the province of Overijssel, a town with a population of "about 19,000" which received "city rights in 1362 from Jan van Arkel, Bishop of Utrecht" (more details at Wikipedia). Today's Route: If you have a premium account, you can download my route from today's ride here using Strava. Anyone can view my rides on Strava where I go by the alias, Lava Monkey. After many delays and despite an unusual reluctance to initiate my latest little adventure, this morning, at about 10:30 am, I departed Hamburg, Germany heading west towards the Netherlands on my Niner RLT 9 Steel gravel bike fitted with rack, panniers, and a top-tube bag from Blackburn Design. This is the beginning of what I anticipate will be 10-16 days, possibly more, of bicycle touring through Germany, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, and the Czech Republic. This will be my second adventure into the bicycle genre often described as "light touring". My first was only a month ago when I visited family and friends on a seven day tour of Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire, a region known as New England in the United States. My plan, on this autumn tour through Europe, is to complete a 12-1500 mile (1920-2415 km) counterclockwise circle that includes Hamburg, my home for the next six months, at the 12-o'clock (noontime) position. This morning, after a short ride through Hamburg, the second largest city in Germany and the second largest port in Europe, I arrived at the historic Elbe Tunnel. A narrow, one-way, road and adjacent two-way pedestrian sidewalks completely fill the narrow tunnel which can be accessed by lifts, including car lifts, on either side of the Elbe River. There is no fee to use the tunnel, and pedestrians, if they prefer some exercise, can access and exit the tunnel using metal stairways. From the top of the lift on the south bank of the Elbe, I initiated my great circle route riding west. At close to dark, I arrived at Varel, Germany on the North Sea, well over half the distance to the Netherlands, thanks in part to a chilly but otherwise enviable tail-wind most of the day. Given my progress so far I anticipate that I'll cross the border from Germany into the fortified village of Nieuweschans, Netherlands, by noontime tomorrow. Prior to my departure this morning, I spent most of a week visualizing routes and then carefully transferring those ideas to a GPS format and file size optimized for my Garmin Etrex 20. For this task, I relied on many digital and a few printed resources. Foremost among them was the GPS route-building software RideWithGPS. Among its many excellent features is the ability to overlay (build) routes on a map layer known as OpenFietsMap. The map layer was developed for cyclists by a well known open-source map provider, OpenStreetMap, Among it's many, excellent, cycling features, integrated onto the map layer, along with roads, etc, are bike trails, paths, and cycle-ways all conveniently highlighted using colors and line patterns. For example, the EuroVelo #15 cycling route along the Rhine is easily distinguished on the map as a prominent blue-red dashed line. After building my routes, I went to OpenFietsMap and downloaded a base layer, a base map, that covered the area where I intended to ride. I'll be relying on the accuracy of my OpenFietsMap base map for the full-extent of the trip. Often as an initial step before tweaking in RideWithGPS, I also made significant use of another internet-based, route-building, software provider, RouteYou. Among RouteYou's options for cyclists interested in building routes through areas that they're not familiar with, RouteYou offers categories, such as "Race Cycling - Nicest", that users can pick from. Based on the users selection, the software will suggest a route, through the unknown, between waypoints. If you want to take the scenic route you can choose "Recreational Cycling - Nicest". Alternatively, for the quickest cycling option between two or more waypoints, you can choose "Race Cycling - Shortest". Whatever you choose, the software does an excellent job finding a bicycle-friendly-way to your next destination. Tomorrow, a few kilometers into Holland, I'll load the third of about twenty GPS routes (gpx files) that I have stored on my Garmin Etrex 20. With GPS routes as my guide, I'll turn south and ride through Holland, Belgium, and Luxembourg, often passing into and out of Germany, eventually into northeast France. Once inside of France, I'll turn southeast towards the Rhine and the village of Lauterbourg. From the French-side of the Rhine, I'll cross the river and begin a long northeast traverse through central Germany towards Cheb in the Czech Republic. From Cheb, my route turns north towards the Elbe, the River where the journey began about 12 days before. When I arrive at the west bank of the Elbe, in the vicinity of Magdeburg, I'll locate and then follow the Elbe River Cycle Route all the way back to Hamburg. That's the plan anyway, assuming no serious delays, apocalyptic weather, spontaneous alternative routes, etc. Of course, I can always take advantage of Europe's exceptional train system and quickly return to Hamburg if that should become necessary. The sun was low and the temperature was dropping from cool to cold when I arrived to Jaderburg, Germany at about 5 pm. I quickly located a grocery store, forgot to restart Strava, and then rode-on a short distance to Varel where I found AirBnB lodging for just 28$ including tax! At the moment, I'm settled-in, fed, comfortable, and looking forward to riding into the Netherlands, a country I've never visited, around mid-day tomorrow. Guten Nacht from Varel, a German village on the Nordsee, formerly the home of Charlotte Sophie Bentinck (1715-1800), confident of Voltaire and Frederick the Great, and Lothar Meyer (1830-1895), co-developer of the Periodic Table (more at wikipedia.com). Despite months of preparation to arrive in 'A Race' condition for the Firecracker 50 something went wrong, and the result was a disappointing finish. Even worse, the timing of this result, as I'll describe below, caused me to briefly slip into the melancholy that unraveled many of my performances in 2015. After that brief slip, I rallied, set new goals, and settled-into a positive mindset that led, in part, to my best finish to date in the Silver Rush 50. Competing in two fifty mile races in five days delivered much more than I ever anticipated, the power of jedi mind tricks among them. Every possible sacrifice is accommodated for races of highest priority on the race calendar. Back in January, I selected, discussed with my coach Alex Hagman, and concluded on three A Races for the 2016 season: Gunnison (Full) Growler; Firecracker 50; and the Leadville Trail 100. Selection was, in part, motivated by what I didn't accomplish in 2015 at the Firecracker. Training and other preparation delivered at the Gunnison Growler on May 29th, for the second year running. I finished 1st in the age 40-49 male category. With two A Races ahead, you would naturally hope for a strong finish in the first A Race of the season. Fortunately, given how much luck and other variables contribute to a finish time, I managed that success and transitioned-into June and July with confidence and motivation to finish strong at the Firecracker, my second A Race of the season. The Firecracker 50 is a well attended event, including the largest contingent of elite (fast) age 40-49 male competitors (non-pro level) that I've faced-off against in any other race. It's not clear to me why so many elite age-class competitors show-up for this event, but they do so annually and always crush their sub-elite competition. A more typical scenario is a few, less than three or four, elite guys at the top of an age-class finishers list. At the Firecracker, there may be six or more at the top. For this reason, if you want to do well, say top three or even top five, in your age class then you're going to have to step-up your training and be prepared to empty your tank on race day. You're also going to need some luck, including no flats or mechanicals, and a body that shows-up ready to race. The latter is no guarantee of course, even with the very best training, some days we're unable to deliver for reason(s) that too often remain unresolved. June was a very unusual training month relative to February (build endurance), March (build endurance), April (maintain endurance, intervals), and May (maintain endurance, intervals). For starters, I spent the first ten days of the month essentially off the bike (just two exceptions) traveling with my girlfriend across Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming in search of mega-fauna and other moments of serendipity. This was a planned, scheduled, mid-season rest period. Alex had prescribed the same as part of my very successful 2014 racing season which included a top 50 overall / top 10 age class (40-49 male) result at the Firecracker 50 (4 hrs 17 minutes). A few days after returning to Fort Collins, I was back in the mountains, in Salida, Colorado, lining-up for the Salida Big Friggin Loop (SBFL; blog entry) at the Cafe Dawn. That race turned-out to be harder, as far as overall endurance, than any of my previous racing experiences including the Leadville Trail 100. After 116 miles with 13,600 feet of climbing, I returned to the Cafe Dawn about 11 hours after the start, wasted but smiling as the 2nd place finisher overall. After a short rest, I was back to training. The weeks of June 13-26 were used to reboot my endurance base and continue interval training. In the final week before the Firecracker, I backed off to just 6 hours on the bike, from 14-18 hours the two weeks before, without any hard efforts (intervals, etc). During this time I used warm (Ashtanga, Vinyasa) and hot yoga sessions to relax my mind, practice deep, controlled breathing, and maintain my core fitness. By now, yoga had become a regular part of my weekly fitness regime in place of bi-weekly core, balance, and strength (gym) workouts that were part of my routine during winter and the first three months of training in 2016. Although I had pre-booked at the New Summit Inn in Frisco (an excellent, fairly priced, locally owned, hotel) from 2-5 July, a few days before the Firecracker 50 I decided to shorten my reservation by a day. What I had in mind was 1) I wanted to maximize recovery time at 5000 ft (1524 m) in Fort Collins; and 2), arrive as close to the event as possible consistent with advice from very experienced, pro-level, racers. According to the pros, you either arrive to a high elevation venue roughly two weeks before a race or the day before, whatever your schedule can accommodate. The former is best, the latter is second best. Apparently, arriving 2-3 days before the event is the worst case scenario. Without getting into the physiological details, my understanding is that our bodies fitness begins to decline as we ascend in elevation. And that decline reaches its lowest point about 2-3 days later. From there, your body begins it's ascent to full, high-elevation, adaption (10-14 days). Saturday morning, I drove to Lory State Park and completed an easy spin on the valley trails, for the most part to spin my legs and pre-race check my Niner Jet 9 RDO. By about 4 pm, the same day, I was in Frisco, checked-in, and then driving to packet pick-up in nearby Breckenridge. After packet pick-up, I joined my teammate, RJ Morris, and his nephew for an early dinner. I was back in Frisco, with my Niner comfortably settled into my hotel room, by 7:30. All that was left for prep was feet-up, relax my mind, visualize the course, and then go to bed. In hindsight, my motivation was not high to race the following morning, but otherwise I was confident that my preparation, rest and training, had been sufficient to deliver an exciting result, possibly even top-three in my 45-49 age class. The Firecracker 50 splits 10-yr age classes into 5-yr brackets, it's the only venue I'm aware of that does this, normally I race in the age 40-49 category. Historically, 2013, 2014, and 2015, I've always been dropped by the fast guys on the initial climb from town to Boreas Pass. The climb starts at 9,500 feet (2896 m) and tops-out at 10,900 (3322 m) after 6.7 miles (10.8 km). Although there is a lot of racing remaining after this initial climb, I've never made-up the time deficit, a handful of minutes, that the elite riders accumulated in those opening miles. Once again, in 2016, and at about the same location on the initial climb, the top riders from the 40-44 and 45-49 male age classes rode away from me. As they rode away, unlike previous years, I didn't panic and quickly spin myself into an oxygen deficit. Instead, I focused on breathing, kept the pedals spinning at a high cadence, and slowly brought up my heart rate. I was suffering but not to the extent that I had in 2015, a season that derailed when I entered into an overtrained state (overtraining syndrome) by about the middle of June. Nonetheless, I was still unable to close the gap, and that gap continued to grow until the top riders were out of my view. I've inserted a graphic, above, from Strava Labs, their fly-by feature. The left axis records elevation (grey shaded area in chart). The right axis records time in minutes that a rider was ahead of me (above black line) or behind me (below the black line). Across the bottom, horizontal axis is course distance in miles. Study the grey shaded area in the background, this is the elevation profile for the race. You'll quickly discover that the race consists of two 25 mile (40 km) loops. Using the Strava Labs user interface, I added three competitors (that are also using Strava) to the chart represented by the three colored lines. On top, the lime green line tracks one of those 'elite' fast dudes that I spoke about above, in this case it's Rob Batey. Two years ago he won the age 40-44 age class in the Firecracker 50. Below are two additional competitors, top, fast finishers but not quite in the elite class. On a side note, I've met and become friends with Rob, he's as kind and generous as he is fast, an inspiration and a fantastic role model for the sport. At about mile two in the race, Rob and a group of about ten other riders pulled away from me. That point is clear on the chart, it's the point that the three riders begin to climb above (minutes ahead) the black line. About 25 miles later and a few miles into my second ascent of Boreas Pass (lap two), I reeled-in two of the riders shown on the chart. The moment I overtook them is that point where the red and aqua lines cross and drop below the black zero minute line. That's good news of course, as the race progressed I reeled-in some of riders that dropped me on the initial Boreas climb. But what about the elite dudes? Despite feeling good all day, that is not suffering because of overtraining or a lack of fitness, the elite 40-49 age class racers continued to pull away, to widen their gap, even in the second lap, as demonstrated by Rob's ascending lime green line. At the point that I overtook the two riders on the Boreas climb, Rob et al were six minutes or more ahead of me. Certainly the elite pace and my own were much more similar in lap two versus one, but nonetheless I was never a competitor for the top 3 (my goal) or even the top 5 finishing places in the age 45-49 age class on the fourth of July in 2016. For reasons that I still don't understand and probably never will, I essentially repeated my finish time from 2015 in 2016, no improvement despite my poor condition going into the race in 2015 and excellent condition in 2016. In a brief post-race interview with World Tour pro road racer Mark Cavendish, it may have been after one of his 2016 Tour de France stage wins but I can't recall for sure, he said something that made me pause and I still think about it from time-to-time. The essence of his statement was 'among many disappointments there will be just a few victories for any athlete'. He went on to say, 'and so an athlete should always take their time and really enjoy their successes', such as the 1st place finish that inspired Mark's comments. When I reflect on the disappointment that I was feeling following the 2016 Firecracker 50, it's not difficult for me to turn that around and come to a much more sensible conclusion: my performance was an inevitable, unavoidable, part of the process that is necessary for 'a few victories'. However, that sensible conclusion ignores the timing of the disappointment which was also significant. A year before at the Firecracker 50 my season began to unwind and spiral downward. Because of this historical significance, after the 2016 Firecracker I briefly slipped back into the melancholy that overwhelmed me a year before, thinking (foolishly) that missing my race goal in 2016 was anything more than an unavoidable part of the process of an evolving athlete. Fortunately, what happened this season in Breckenridge was not the result of overtraining and the overtraining syndrome that I was battling by this time in 2015. Instead, for unknown reason(s), it just wasn't one of my very best days. That aside, it was, nonetheless, a very respectable performance even if it was well-off the podium. After 4 hours and 28 minutes of racing, I finished 13th among males aged 40-49, and 6th among those that were 45-49. It's true that in 2014 I finished 9th in the 40-49 category, in 4 hrs 17 minutes. But that was one of those rare 'best days', one that I should continue to respect and celebrate at the expense of time spent dwelling on a performance that fell short of an ambitious goal. Thanks to friends and my coach, the day after the Firecracker, I was rallying around a new perspective and looking forward to its effects when I raced five days (9 July) later at the Silver Rush 50 in Leadville, Colorado. Like the Firecracker, my participation in the 2016 Silver Rush would be my fourth in four years. Let me clarify the new perspective by paraphrasing a part of a conversation I had with my coach, I asked ... "how about if we visualize the Firecracker as the last hard training ride before a re-categorized Silver Rush, formerly a B-priority race and now an A Race?" I also suggested that "we retroactively re-categorized the Firecracker as a C/B-Race". Note all of these changes were changes that I would apply to my mind as opposed to the physical-side of training. When we adopted this new perspective we were adopting a new state of mind. Five days later I finished 26th overall out of 549 starters, my best performance to date at the high elevation, notoriously difficult, Silver Rush 50. Among it's many challenges, the Silver Rush climbs to 12,000 ft (3660 m) six times over it's 50 mile course. I had essentially played mind games with myself and the effect, in part, was another strong finish to add to an already very successful season of amateur racing. As I made my final descent to the base of Dutch Henry Hill, the disappointment of the Firecracker easily settled into a logical space (just wasn't my best day) as the memory of the 2016 Silver Rush was being elevated into a category reserved for my best performances to date. Taking on two fifty-mile endurance races in five days will include some surprises. For me, top among them, was an unexpected reanalysis of my overtrained past and the value of changing the perspective of the mind without changing the physical-side of training. Perhaps some day I'll find myself titling a blog entry 'jedi mind tricks' and telling the story of a race finish worthy of those elite dudes from the Firecracker 50. In my next blog entry, I'll talk about another exciting finish for my modest palmarès, 2nd place overall at 40 in the Fort, a 40-mile endurance mountain bike race that dishes-out the equivalent of a 100 mile event. In addition, I'll share my thoughts as I approach the last A Race, the Leadville Trail 100 (13 August), on my 2016 calendar. Consistent with all of the events offered by the Colorado Endurance Series, racers competing in the Salida Big Friggin Loop (SBFL) must self-support including water, food, and navigation. There are no course markings, aid stations, or emergency personnel anywhere on the course. The SBFL comprises over 110 miles of single-track, (mostly) dirt road, and jeep trail. Most of the course lies between 8,000 and 10,000 feet (2438-3048 meters). Below I describe the course, my experiences along the way, and offer a few suggestions for anyone that might be considering taking-part in this grassroots event. A race profile alone, like the one provided above, isn't enough to know just how tough a race will be. However, in the case of the Salida Big Friggin Loop (SBFL), it's enough to initiate respect from any sensible mountain biker. Starting a few hundred feet above 7,000, near the heart of downtown Salida at the Cafe Dawn (barista's take note), the race begins with an initial ascent, with few breaks to shake-out the legs, that tops-out at ca. 10,000 feet on the forested slopes of Mt. Shavano (14,235 ft [4,339 m]). Part-way up that opening climb, the race course crosses 8,000 feet above sea-level and keeps climbing. From this point, until the final descent back into Salida, across 100 miles of single track, (mainly) dirt roads, and jeep trails, the racers body will rarely drop below or above 8,000 and 10,000 feet, respectively. And a significant portion of their day will be spent breathing the thin air above 9,000 feet. From Mt Shavano, competitors roll onto the Colorado Trail as they turn north towards another giant, another "fourteener" as they're referred to in Colorado, Mt Princeton (14,204 ft [4329.3 m]). Both of these majestic mountains are part of the impressive Collegiate Peaks, a commanding geographical feature of the Arkansas Valley, a never-forgotten vista among anyone that's been lucky enough to view it. After a massive climb from Mt Princeton Hot Springs to the upper forested slopes of Mt Princeton, the race continues north on the Colorado Trail to Cottonwood Creek. Just before Cottonwood Creek the course departs the Colorado Trail and begins heading east on a graded dirt road towards downtown Buena Vista, a town known locally as BV. It was at this point, the point when I should have exited the single-track, that I made a GPS error and went off course. Before long, I was, dreadfully, well over 10-minutes into an off-course blunder. At that point, I was still on the Colorado Trail when I should, instead, have been approaching downtown BV on a fast, paved, road into town. All told, when I eventually returned to the course, I'd given-up 23 minutes and added a few miles, with climbing, to what would be a monumental day on a mountain bike. In hindsight, I remained fairly calm given the extent of my mistake, I turned around and repeated the extra section in reverse. Once I returned to the course, I tucked my body around the Jet 9 RDO top tube and sped down the road, in the correct direction, towards Buena Vista. Downtown BV is roughly 50 miles along the race course from the SBFL starting line, about the half-way point. Riders typically make a quick stop in BV to resupply, especially water. Consistent with the rules of the Colorado Endurance Series, the SBFL rule book states that riders are required to self-support, that includes water, food, and navigation. The course is completely unmarked. Other than local competitors that know the course in its entirety, the remainder of the racers rely on a GPS such as my Garmin eTrex 20. In 2016, organizers diverged slightly from their hard-and-fast no support rule when they accepted Boneshaker Cycles request to offer neutral support, a place to fill your water bottles, etc, to SBFL competitors. Unfortunately, I rolled-past the shop, didn't see it, as I came into the downtown strip. Alternatively, I ran into a small restaurant at the east end of town and the wait staff were happy to fill my bottles. From BV to Salida water options are limited to residential homes, campsites, and natural water sources such as ponds and creeks. It's absolutely essential to fill up in BV! The day before I drove about 15 miles south of Trout Creek Pass along the course and stashed most of a gallon of water, that stash was my last water stop for the day. In total, I drank 9x26 ounces; two bottles on the bike, a third bottle in my middle kit pocket. A easily could have drank a tenth bottle if one had been available in the last 20 miles of the race, but the nine were sufficient. Just east of downtown BV racers ride over the Arkansas River on a narrow foot / bicycle bridge and take a right onto the Midland Trail. Immediately, the trail begins to pitch up, a familiar experience by this point on the course, and the next massive climb, of many, in the big friggin loop is underway. Riders continue for many miles on the Midland Trail into the Four-mile Recreation Area before transitioning to dirt road for the remainder of the ascent to Trout Creek Pass on Highway 285. Well before reaching Trout Creek Pass, the race course has entered South Park, a high elevation, prairie-complex surrounded by impressive Rocky Mountain vistas. At Trout Creek Pass, the route turns towards the south, towards Salida. No doubt, among SBFL rookies, I wasn't alone when I celebrated, quietly, a little, in my mind when I reached this point. I'd regret that celebration 10, 20 miles farther along. Although a lot has been accomplished by the time a rider reaches Trout Creek Pass, so much lies ahead that they would be best served by holding-off any celebration, no matter how small, to avoid disappointment. In hindsight, I should have held-off my small victory grin until at least Futurity Ghost Town. At Futurity, racers have the option to hop-off their bike and search for a Futurity Chip, the closest thing to a trophy they'll garner from the Salida Big Friggin Loop. In 2016, fifteen chips were prepared, all composed of flat, grey shale, of various sizes, with the letters 'SBFL' hand-painted, not so neatly, on their surfaces. Historically, the chip's value has been a 30-minute time-deduction off your finish time and 2016 was no exception. Futurity is about 90 miles into a roughly 110 mile 'long friggin loop' back into Salida ... that's 20 miles ahead in addition to 90 behind. If you decide to line-up for the SBFL some day, don't be misled (you're not done climbing) by the significant descent out of the ghost town of Futurity. After locating the chip stash and adding one of the smallest ones to my kit pockets, I descended between aspen groves on a fast, fun, two-track. At the bottom, the forest service road ended and another offered a left or a right option. The race continued to the left before a right at the next split, the beginning of another seemingly massive and steep, by this point in the race, climb. The climb is apparent as soon the left-hand turn is made, and that's enough to cause significant disappointment despite the beauty of the surrounding valley. And there is much more ahead, after that initial climb many, many, smaller climbs follow. Eventually, from the bottom of the descent from Futurity, I spun my way into an area called Aspen Ridge. As I continued to ascend, descend, and ascend, over-and -over again into and within Aspen Ridge, I suffered as much as I had in any race before. Each patch of shade beckoned me to stop for a visit, to give up. But if you're willing to start this race chances are you're stubborn enough to finish. Fortunately, for my long-term happiness, I turned out to be a stubborn participant for which I was eventually rewarded with a descent down a full-on (wide and graded) dirt road, known as the Ute Trail, to the trailhead of the recently completed Cottonwood Trail. Cottonwood, like Futurity, was another opportunity to grab a time-deduction. Riders received a 100 minute time-deduction, off their finish times, for dropping Cottonwood. I certainly considered bypassing Cottonwood and heading down the Ute Trail to town. By-way-of the Ute Trail, I would have been inside of downtown Salida within about 15 minutes. Instead, I took a left, adjusted my suspension to 'trail mode', and began what would be a fun descent down a well-built, designed-for-mountain-bikes, roughly 12-mile section of single-track. Because of this experience, the next week, after the race, I rode-up the Ute Trail twice to drop Cottonwood just for fun. The carefully routed trail includes a variety of challenges including dry gorges with technical drops and banked single-track through Ponderosa Pine forest, this trail shouldn't be missed if you're a mountain biker visiting the Arkansas Valley. The thinking was, I suspect, when the 100 minute time-deduction was chosen, that Cottonwood would be a continuation of the suffering that riders could otherwise escape by descending the Ute Trail. But what I discovered, soon after rolling off the dirt road and onto the single-track, was the trail experience, a fast, flowy, fun descent, actually revived my ambition to be a part of the race. Within moments, I was smiling as I guided my Jet 9 RDO from Niner Bikes smoothly down the trail. From the bottom of Cottonwood, on the south-side of Salida Mountain (aka, "S" mountain) competitors were told they could take any route they desired back to town. I continued straight from Cottonwood, farther along the Cottonwood Creek drainage before climbing back into Pinon-Juniper forest, and eventually exited the Salida Hills on the Mesa Trail. After spending so many hours alone, I'd been alone since Cottonwood Creek west of BV, it's a strange experience coming back into the hustle and bustle of human society, even into a small town like Salida. When I noticed a rider coming into my view from the left, I was trying to reconcile my new environment with the one, a moment ago, I had left behind. From reconciliation my minds focus very slowly shifted to the rider that seemed familiar and they were. Here was the rider that was behind me, out of view, when I'd continued straight on the Colorado Trail west of BV instead of turning right onto a dirt road. For the last six hours I'd been alone, but now I was looking at the last rider that had been close to me on the course. What I didn't know was he was presently in second place. Of course, I did know that he hadn't yet crossed the finish line. Ignorance aside, I knew I was going to try to pass him before the finish at Cafe Dawn. He made his way, without noticing me, towards the F Street Bridge. Over that short half-minute or so, I cut the distance to him in half. As he crossed over the bridge, I rolled-up behind him, just a few bike lengths away. In hindsight, after talking with him post-race, he was trying to revive his unresponsive GPS and so never noticed me coming, or going. At the first four-way stop sign in town, he went straight while still (mostly) looking down at his handlebars. I went right, picked up my pace, and finished with a sprint to the coffee shop. Despite a 23-minute off-course blunder and considerable mental suffering as I approached and rode through Aspen Ridge, I'd managed to catch and pass one rider in the last few tenths of a mile to finish 2nd overall. Suffering forgotten, I soon settled into celebration with my teammates, including the 1st overall finisher, Ben Parman, and all of the other Long and Short(ish) Loop finishers, among others. Before a late sign-up for the SBFL, my June race calendar was left intentionally empty. The plan in June was to start the month with a 10-day rest period and then resume training in preparation for my second, highest priority, race of the season, the Firecracker 50 (4 July). Although the SBFL turned-out to be a significant departure from resting and structured training, it certainly made a positive contribution to my form, something I'd hopefully carry-over into my July and August racing calendar. Contributions to my form included gains in physical strength and high-elevation endurance from racing mostly above 8000 feet for nearly 11 hrs, over 116 miles with 13,600 feet of elevation gain (my race file on Strava). The SBFL also helped me gain a new perspective: it redefined my understanding of 'hurt', the mental and physical suffering that an endurance athlete experiences on a race course. As bad as that sounds, the redefinition could prove to be valuable for my performance at the Leadville Trail 100 (LT100), the last A Race (highest priority) on my 2016 racing calendar. In my next blog entries, I'll write about what's been happening in the month of July. Overall, I've been racing stronger than ever, here are some of the highlights: Despite missing my top-3 age 45-49 goal at the Firecracker 50 (4 July), and by a wide margin, I regrouped and succeeded five days later (9 July) at smashing my previous performances at the Silver Rush 50 in Leadville. Subsequently, I made a last minute decision to throw-down in '40 in the Fort', a Front Range 40 with a reputation of a 100 miler. The conclusion of that race was my best, overall, podium finish to date, 2nd overall in the open class and just 1 min 7 sec out of 1st place.
Hartman Rocks Recreation Area rises out of the valley containing Gunnison, Colorado, in dramatic fashion, effectively tempting any mountain biker that might drive through town heading east or west on highway 50. The head wall, towering above the main parking area, exposes the granite bedrock foundation of the recreation area. Looking way-up from this perspective, technical chutes and fast, banked, single-track descend into a network of grin-inducing trails, such as Jack's and Collarbone Alley. Above the wall, and out of view from the parking area, is a rolling sage brush plateau broken by granite outcrops and creek drainages. This area too is criss-crossed by celebrated trails. Along with this exceptional single-track is a World-class scenic backdrop, the San Juan and Elk Ranges of the Rocky Mountains dominate views to the south and north, respectively. With a base elevation around 7,700 feet, Hartman Rock's is an ideal location for outdoor adventure .. including the sport of endurance mountain bike racing. The trail complex at Hartman Rocks is managed with considerable expertise and experience by David Wiens, retired pro mountain biker of Leadville Trail 100 fame, and his crew from the not-for-profit Gunnison Trails organization. To help fund the organization, Gunnison Trails offers a handful of running and mountain bike events, including a combined bike-run-bike event (Meowler). Perhaps the flagship of their endeavors, the Original Growler has become a bucket-list race for many cross-country (endurance) mountain bikers. Single-track makes-up the majority of the race, sometimes technical and always fun. Along the way, riders encounter steep, leg-burning climbs and ripping-fast, flowy, descents. On the jeep trail sections it's full gas to the next pinch. There is really no rest for the hardy mountain biker on the 32-mile course, completed twice for the Full Growler and one time for the Half. Added to the Half and Full Growler is a controlled start from downtown Gunnison along highway 50 and a few miles of racing on pavement to a dirt road climb of notorious fame, Kill Hill. You can easily see Kill Hill from the main parking area at Hartman Rocks, it's a great option for hill repeats if you're feeling masochistic. At a rented house not far from highway 50 and Hartman's, my girlfriend and I joined a group of Northern Colorado Grassroots Riders on Friday evening, May 27th. We spent the next day in preparation for the 7 am start the following morning. On Sunday, I woke at 3 am, quickly prepared a breakfast of two eggs, pre-cooked potatoes, and two slices of toast with butter. I enjoyed a banana and orange first, then the toast, potatoes and eggs, an order consistent with digestion rates, fruit digests the fastest, etc. After breakfast I went back to bed. As I transitioned into and out-of sleep, I did my best to relax by focusing on a style of breathing I learned from yoga classes at Elan Yoga & Fitness. At 6 am, I started the process of preparing for the race, by 6:30-ish I was rolling towards highway 50 and downtown Gunnison to line-up for the 2016 Full Growler. I felt good at the start, and despite no warm-up other than a light spin into town, I felt good during the road section of the race from town to Hartman's. That 'feel good' continued up Kill Hill, I topped-out inside of the top 20-30 riders, perhaps even a little better. After the race those 'feel good' suspicions were confirmed when I discovered that I set a personal record (PR) that morning climbing Kill Hill. But even better than that PR, as I climbed Kill Hill that morning my legs felt strong and my heart was suffering less than anticipated given my effort. All systems were working efficiently, confirming that my preparation for the Growler had been successful. Not far from the top of Kill Hill, the Growler course, ridden counter-clockwise (more below), converges on its first section of single track. I burned my legs a little more just before the pinch and managed to pass a few more riders while respecting that I was a slow-to-warm-up rider, i.e., being careful not to blow myself up. This section of single track quickly returns to two-track, a climb and a very hard left, a left I was happy to know about from my partial pre-ride the previous day. A short descent from the hard left and the race was back onto single track and climbing to The Top of the World where I set another PR on the course and was on my way to set many more before I finished lap one. Year-to-year race comparisons are difficult even when vendors offer an identical route annually. By reversing the direction of the course from year-to-year, a feature of the Full and Half Growlers, the comparison challenge is greatly amplified. The last time I raced the Full Growler in a counter-clockwise direction was my very successful 2014 season, my second season racing a mountain bike. In 2015, the event switched to its alternative clockwise direction, the direction it will roll again in 2017. Certainly, the course is very different when ridden in reverse. In particular, although it's equally technical going forward or backwards, there seems to be more intense (higher average grade) climbing in the counter-clockwise direction. Consistent with local opinion, that additional commitment to climbing, especially the climb out of Skull Pass on single track, and a steep, winding, jeep trail climb off the pavement, results in slower race times. Some technical sections behind me, I dropped into Skull Pass feeling so-so but not overly-concerned. It just seemed that I might be slowing-down, or perhaps going at a less-than-ideal endurance pace, given a few riders that were close behind me. At the bottom of Skull Pass I began what I knew would be a tough climb including at least one section of hike-a-bike, probably two. At the base of the first short hike-a-bike I ran into traffic and so had no choice but to hop off the bike. I cleared the short, steep, loose section and resumed pedaling. Near the top of the Skull Pass climb, a series of granite rocks and ledge can be cleaned, I'd done it with a 34T ring on my 1x11 Sram drivetrain post-season in 2015. Nonetheless. I wasn't able to repeat the feat, on either lap 1 or 2, even with a 30T ring on race-day in 2016. No doubt I lost some time by walking these sections. From the top of Skull Pass I pressed-on, eventually to Bambies descent, it was here that I finally dropped all but one competitor that had been on my wheel for many miles (sometimes I was on their wheel as we flip-flopped order). I dropped the last competitor on the climb that ascends off of a short pavement section that riders come to at the bottom of Bambies. A friend and my girlfriend were waiting for me on the pavement, it's always a thrill to see friends on the race course. They handed-up a bottle and I dropped my vest and arm warmers without stopping. A moment later, my smile forgotten, I was aiming my Jet 9 RDO at an awfully steep, loose, winding jeep trail ascent. I locked-out the drive train and began a patient leg-burning climb to the top. Unlike Skull Pass, I managed to clean the jeep trail climb, and all of the other climbs along the course. I also did well with the technical sections, one-time off the bike, otherwise a few dabs. From the top of the road climb, I enjoyed the downhill before another climb. The Growler course gives the impression of relentless climbing. Soon onto Josho's and another personal record compared to two years ago; then onto the celebrated Rattlesnake descent, another PR for the day. After Rattlesnake, lap one is nearly finished other than a steep, technical squeeze through the front wall overlooking Hartman Rocks main parking area, a trail called The Notch. I exercised some caution, apparently, on lap one, and subsequently set a PR descending the The Notch on lap two. On the lap one-to-two transition, I nearly missed my water bottle hand-up as I initially rode past both of my supporters. Spectators were crowding the transition area making it difficult for me to identify my crew while maintaining some momentum (not stopping). Normally, in previous years, I've used the transition hand-up to refresh two bottles, but the opportunity to grab a bottle on the pavement section below Bambies changed my strategy. I grabbed just one at each juncture, Bambies and the transition area. I started with two 26-ounce bottles and picked-up three more during the race, for a total of 5x26 ounces of water. From the transition, I climbed Jack's, feeling good but aware of another rider coming up behind me. Jack's tops-out and soon tailpipe, with it's granite marbles, and the ridge present many challenges, all single-track. The ridge includes a technical descent, mistakes on this section could result in serious injury. At the base of the ridge racers come face-to-face with a familiar trailhead, a moment later they're reascending Top of the World for the second time ... lap two-of-two in the Full Growler. As I ascended the Top of the World I was alone, and that remained the case, with one exception, for the remainder of my race. The exception was a racer that caught me while I was descending into Skull Pass. We climbed the pass together and then he quickly dropped me when we returned to the dirt road approach above the pass. Otherwise, always wondering who was ahead or behind, and hoping to see the next rider but not get caught, I did my best to keep my pace up and take risks on the descents. Coming off the pavement below Bambies, after a bottle hand-up and a small coke, I again cleaned the loose jeep trail climb. From the top, looking ahead, I glimpsed a rider which was most likely my teammate Ben Parman, but that's the last time I'd see anyone ahead of me. Looking back, while climbing Josho's, I saw a rider for the last time behind me. I thought he'd catch-up, but that glimpse was, apparently, enough to inspire me to pick-up my pace. Soon I was back on Rattlesnake, alone, descending Becks and then The Notch to the finish where friends were waiting to congratulate me. Compared to 2015, when the course was ridden clockwise, my finish time increased by about seven minutes in 2016. However, with climbing grades and other differences in mind, from 2015 to 2016, I think the time comparison is misleading. No doubt I had a great race in 2015, best to date at that time. However, 2016 was likely even faster, based on intuition and anecdotal evidence. For example, I finished ahead of Matt Woodruff for the first time, by about 1 min 30 sec, in 2016. In 2015, a year earlier, he finished ahead of me by about the same. In 2014, he won the age 40-49 age class. I was 6th that year, a whopping 31 minutes behind Matt. Also consistent with my best performance to date at the Full Growler, Strava recorded many second fastest times on sections that I repeated on lap two, along with a few personal records. My second lap no doubt contributed to the gap between myself and the next 40-49 male finisher, more evidence that I raced my best Full Growler to date, a gap of nearly 14 minutes in 2016. The previous year, I was only 36 seconds ahead of my nearest competitor, I passed them on the final climb up The Ridge on my way to the finish line / end of lap two. The excitement of the day is still crackling a bit just under my skin, especially the moment when I realized I had achieved my 1st place age 40-49 goal for the second year in a row. However, that realization didn't materialize until Dave Wiens was announcing the age 40-49 finishers at the awards ceremony. My friends and I had overlooked the fact that the one 40-49 male finisher that was ahead of me was registered as a pro (rocket and legend Josh Tostado). For that reason, all of us were convinced that I'd managed second place in 2016, certainly a position worthy of celebration ... a celebration that was well underway in my mind even when Dave announced my name in the 1st place slot. That made my second, 1st place finish, in back-to-back years, even better. Topping it all off was the opportunity to share the moment with my girlfriend and many friends from Northern Colorado Grassroots Riders. I'll never forget the surprise in their faces that no doubt mirrored my own when Dave called my name in the 1st place position! Training and racing are difficult, with many lows and a few big highs. For the next two weeks traveling with my girlfriend through Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming, the two of us would continue to celebrate, a little part of each day, a finish that both of us had earned, her through patience and encouragement and me through many hours of training and other preparation. Other than a century ride in Yellowstone National Park, during this time I also took a much needed break from cycling, only riding twice in ten days. At the conclusion of our trip it was time to say goodbye to my German lady-friend until September. Another sad departure behind us, on 9 June, she was on her way home to Hamburg and I was making final preparations for my first experience competing in a Colorado Endurance Series event, the Salida Big Friggin Loop just two days away. Despite all of the time off the bike and a 23 minute off-course error during the event, I finished 2nd overall at the Salida Big Friggin Loop at the end of nearly half a day on my Niner Jet 9 RDO. I'll pick-up here, with many more details, in my next blog entry ... In this blog entry I recall my experience traveling to and from 12-hrs of Mesa Verde, a 12 hour endurance mountain bike race, with Northern Colorado Grassroots Riders on a rented plush bus! And in between, I reflect on my progress towards preparation for high priority races that still lay ahead at that time, in May, July, and August. If you're going to ride-on as much as a cycling addict, then occasionally you should enjoy the view and allow someone else to do the driving. And that's exactly what Northern Colorado Grassroots Riders (NCGR) decided to do on their return to 12-hrs of Mesa Verde, an event held annually at Phil's World, a celebrated built-for-mountain-biking network of trails juxtaposed between Mesa Verde National Park and downtown Cortez, Colorado. Lightly and comfortably sprinkled into a plush bus, NCGR and company departed on Thursday evening, 5 May, with plenty of open containers (everyone except the driver) and a stack of Fort Collin's best pizza from Nick's Italian. Our pilot, Lae Angell (contact leaangell AT yahoo DOT com for rental inquiries) easily navigated his bus through Denver on I-25 south, as we relaxed with our feet up, before heading west to the San Luis Valley and our planned overnight stop in Alamosa. The next morning, after not-so-bad coffee but a long-ish wait at the hotel restaurant, we continued west, into the mountains, through Pagosa Springs and Durango. Thirty-minutes farther down the road we were passing through Mancos, then past the entrance to Mesa Verde National Park. A few minutes later we were looking for a place to park our team bus in downtown Cortez. We spent just enough time to visit Kokopelli Bike & Board for packet pick-up and to satisfy any last minute needs, including a quick wheel repair for our team leader, Ralph Eberspacher. A few miles back in the direction that we'd come and we were at the local fair grounds, race headquarters, free camping, and the starting line for 12-hrs of Mesa Verde. All the doors and hatches were thrown open on the bus, bikes unpacked and reassembled, tents thrown-out and pitched, food assembled, cooked, and eaten, all before dark. That evening, some chose to sleep in the bus, on comfortable, padded, benches converted to beds. Settled-in, a pre-ride in the bag, we drifted into sleep while looking forward to a half-day, 12 hrs, of racing the following morning. This would be the third year running that I came to 12 hrs of Mesa Verde as part of a 3-person, all male, team. However, I was hoping that it wouldn't be the second year in a row that I was unable to start due to inclement weather. In 2014, the venue did experience some rain, there was mud too, but completion of the race was never under threat. That wasn't the case in 2015. The weather turned from bad to worse to apocalyptic, and by then the organizers of 12-hrs of Mesa Verde really had no choice but to pull the plug which they did after lap two. Since I was scheduled to ride the third lap, their decision meant the end of my race, before it started. Despite a 2-lap 12-hrs, there was still an awards ceremony that year, and my team finished fourth in the 3-4 male category, a podium position. That remains my best finish to date as a non-starter! Fluctuating skies and less-than-ideal weather predictions aside, the 2016 12-hr event started and finished without a hitch. As in 2014, there was mud, rain, and snow before it was over, but fortunately conditions always improved, and quickly, to hero dirt. By taking-on the first lap and the opening Le Mans start, a start involving a ca. 1/4 mile run to a nearby corral containing all of the starter's bikes, it seems that the universe was satisfied with my contribution to the man-up part of the race. My hardy teammates on the other hand, especially RJ Morris, experienced muddy drive-trains and cold, wet, fingers on one or even two laps. By chance, I avoided that uncomfortable fate. For the Le Mans start, inspired by one of my teammates, Mitch Wood, I managed a fair run for my talents, reached the corral in the top 40-ish, and was out the pinch point (corral exit) before the planned back-up of riders. As I mentioned above, 2015 was a non-start for me at 12-hrs of Mesa Verde, as a racer anyway. However, with Phil's World on my R-pod base camp doorstep, I couldn't, sensibly, leave the venue until I exercised my Niner Jet 9 RDO with haste on the race course. The morning after the event, as everyone else was pulling-out, headed for home, I prepared the Niner and rolled-onto the course for what would be three relatively unencumbered laps, especially the first two laps, and a muddy lap four. On a hero dirt course built for mountain bikes, peak fitness that was intended for the race the day before, and few reasons to slow down (other bikes, etc), it's not surprising that lap one proved to be my fastest lap to date at Phil's World; 1:04:45. A year later, in 2016, my best was 1:05:16, 31 seconds shy of my best from 2015. Without the background, particularly unencumbered in 2015, it would appear that I'd actually slipped backwards, my form had perhaps descended slightly from 10 May 2015 to 7 May 2016. However, background included, it's clear that all that stood in my way of crushing my 2015 record was all of the bikes, fellow racers, that I had to share the trail with in 2016. All that considered, 1:05:15 was certainly a personal best. Looking a little deeper at my top ten times from the '12 Hours of Mesa Verde' Strava Segment, my 2nd and 3rd fastest laps on the 16 mile (26 km) course were from 2016, laps involving slowing down to pass, etc. By the way, lap one in all years is a different route, to spread-out the field, so not comparable to any other lap. My fourth fastest lap was lap two from 2015, a lap that, again, benefited by an empty course. My fifth fastest lap. lap 3 from 2015, may be the most useful for comparing 2015 and 2016 and determining improvement. By lap three in 2015 the race course was peppered with late arriving riders, no racers of course. And as a result, I was encumbered on that third lap, similar to how I was encumbered on all laps in 2016, and those encumbrances contributed to a slower lap time, 1:08:03. Fatigue aside, it was my third consecutive lap after all, I nonetheless think my best in 2015 would have been closer to this 1:08:03 lap time, perhaps 1:07:00, if I'd actually raced in the event. In conclusion, looking at my top 10 above, it appears that I sped-up by about two minutes from 2014 to 2015 and then improved by the same margin from 2015 to 2016. Over such a short segment, just 13.7 miles (extends to about 16 miles when the start / end race sections are added to the course), a two minute gain is significant and on-track with what a racer might reasonably anticipate, as far as improvements, from one year to the next. On 7 May 2016, following the seven-am Le Mans start, I returned to the race venue about 18th overall after a big effort on the Niner Jet 9 RDO. No where near top five or ten, but that was also my first lap, a lap when my physiological systems were still waking-up. Subsequent laps were full octane, and as a racer often experiences when they're feeling their best, I was passing and, for the most part, not getting passed. Riding high on my success from Smithville, Texas, the month before (Austin Rattler), I raced my third and final lap for 2016 as if it was my last opportunity to experience Phil's World. At the conclusion of that lap, I rejoined my friends and passed the clothes-hanger clip (baton) to my teammate just 10 seconds slower (1:05:26) than my previous lap (1:05:16; note lap times here and above do not include 12-hrs course south of Route 160 where timing and other facilities are set-up). This marginal loss, 10 seconds, is also evidence that the form that I brought to 12-hrs of Mesa Verde in 2016 was significantly improved relative to the form I had in 2015. Those are the numbers, some of them anyway, and they tell a reassuring story for a guy that has recently (since April 2013) been dedicating much of his life, his time, to cycling including high intensity training in his uncomfortable zones. But reassurance is not worth much if you miss the opportunity to share events like 12-hrs of Mesa Verde with friends, teammates or otherwise. Back on the bus, a fresh round of open containers in hand, and filled-to-the-brim with excitement and moments to share from the previous days racing, the coming together of an unexpected group began their celebration of the very best life can offer, friendships and having fun. About 10-12 hours after departing Cortez, we were back in the Fort and the black-and-green throw-down at the 2016, 12-hrs of Mesa Verde, was comfortably in the team 'bag' along with many empty PBRs. In my next blog entry I'll be writing about my experiences and thoughts following my second, consecutive, first place age 40-49 finish at the Full Growler, an event presented by Dave Wiens, his crew, and sponsors at Hartman Rocks Recreation Area not far from downtown Gunnison, Colorado. In this blog entry I recall the GI issues I experienced in February and March including related stories, such as my reasons for discontinuing my use of Hammer Perpetuem. That story naturally spills-over into my first race for the year, the Austin Rattler. I finally discovered what was making me sick only days before I flew to Texas with two teammates from Northern Colorado Grassroots Riders. Throughout the first two months of training in 2016, February and March, I experienced a lot of queasiness on the bike. Often, the queasiness subsided after about 1-1.5 hrs, but it never went completely away. On the worst days, queasiness persisted and even escalated. Desperate to keep riding and training, on those 'worst days' I thought my best option was to stop the bike and cram a few fingers down my throat, hoping to puke and relieve the sick feeling. It never worked, I never threw up, and the problem continued. By April 4th, a few days before I was scheduled to fly to Texas to compete in my first mountain bike race of the year, I was still routinely getting sick. Unfortunately, I'd made a classic error since initiating training on 3 February, I'd changed TWO parts of my cycling diet simultaneously. Prior to making these changes I experienced no problems; after these changes I was getting sick. In order to track the effects of one diet change, it's advisable to make just one change at a time, assess the results for a few weeks, then conclude before making any other changes. By the way, I suspected the more complex 'whole food' portion of my diet but as you'll see, that suspicion effectively distracted me from a far simpler explanation. Formerly, all of 2013-15, I'd fueled in-part using Hammer Perpetuem, during training and racing, and the results were always excellent. The product always provided me with stable nutrition (no bonking, etc) on the bike and no negative side effects. While riding in Germany the previous Autumn I'd run out of Perpetuem and was unsuccessful finding any product vendors in the city of Hamburg. It was the off-season so I didn't panic. Instead, I decided to experiment with whole food, something I'd been thinking about anyway, such as a variety of sandwiches made at home and bakery rolls, croissants (sometimes filled with chocolate!), and other goodies purchased in countryside villages. I experienced no issues, and soon made plans to bring the whole food trial back to Fort Collins and my 2016 training schedule In hindsight, I'm embarrassed that I didn't determine the source of my GI issues much sooner, such as the first week that I experienced the symptoms. Looking back, there were two, not just one, highly likely possibilities that could explain why, in February and March 2016, I was all of a sudden experiencing regular queasiness on the bike. Unfortunately, I locked-on to just one of them, whole food which varied from one day to the next on the bike, and hardly took a moment, all it would have taken, to consider another possibility: the product that I had started using shortly after I returned from Germany, Skratch Labs Hydration Electrolyte Mix. Unlike Perpetuem, this product, from Skratch Labs, was a simple mix of electrolytes (no protein, lipids, or carbs). In January and February, as I was thinking about and then reintegrating into training, I was also communicating with friends and asking questions. At that time, a lot of them were using an electrolyte hydration mix available in many flavors from Skratch Labs, a product that I anticipated would be harmless, as far as possible side effects, healthy, and effective for replacing lost electrolytes during training and racing. I tried it out, enjoyed the flavor(s), and quickly, without much thought, made a large purchase of the product. I mentioned 'harmless' because that must have been part of what I was thinking when I began introducing the product to my water bottles. Since that time I've had many more conversations. A couple of those conversations raised the same question, something I hadn't considered, such as what's the source of each electrolyte in the product? Apparently, our bodies will not necessarily respond well to just any source of an electrolyte. So that's one possibility why the product didn't work for me, as I'll explain in a moment it seems that my body / GI rejected one or more of the electrolyte compounds in the mix. Interestingly, a brief internet search didn't lead to any discussions about queasiness and this product. I'm guessing that's legit, evidence that my response to the product is unusual. Let me back up and finish the story ... On Monday, April 4, I serendipitously ran out of Skratch Labs Hydration Electrolyte Mix. It was a scheduled e-z spin, average watts 150, so I decided to ride on with just water and a couple of Gu gels (my primary means of fueling these days along with, often but not exclusively, Honey Stinger Waffles). I rode from Dartmouth Trail to Old Town Fort Collins at a leisurely pace, passed New Belgium Brewery, and rode on towards the Anheuser-Busch plant north of town. I was taking a route I knew well, one of my favorite loops for an e-z ride. By the time I reached Old Town the first flag had been thrown, something seemed 'normal', the normal that I had enjoyed before I began having GI issues. But at that point I was barely pedaling, maybe it was my easy pace. If I picked-up my effort surely I'd start feeling queasy? As I approached the Anheuser-Busch plant I sped-up, raised my heart slightly, still no issue. Now I was intrigued, what happens next is the e-z ride on the schedule is jettisoned and soon I'm giving it full power trying to make myself sick. I rode on, 10, 15, 20 miles into the route. Along the way I ate everything I had in my pockets, quickly and without concern, I was deliberately trying to make myself sick. Nothing worked. No matter how hard I pushed or what I shoved in my mouth the GI issue never surfaced. After two months of suffering I had my answer, a seemingly simple, harmless, electrolyte mix was being rejected by my GI and the result was queasiness ... and no doubt, a loss of power on the bike (I'll get back to that). I had suspected whole food, something I often varied from day-to-day, and been dead wrong, at least that's the way it seemed after one queasy-free ride. To be cautious, the same week that I was packing my bags to fly to Texas, I decided to abandon whole food in favor of trusted / tested products, Gu Gels and a few others, especially Honey Stinger Waffles. Once I made these changes, I had absolutely no GI issues. These days, for each race or training ride I head-out with water-only in my bottles and the products I just mentioned in my pockets. Looking ahead, I may reconsider whole food in the Fall, do some more testing, but for now I'm not taking any chances! On Thursday, April 3rd, I rendezvoused with RJ Morris and Mick McDill, two rockets from Northern Colorado Grassroots Riders, and we carpooled to Denver International Airport. A few hours later we were on the ground in Austin, Texas and driving east into the suburbs. In attractive downtown Bastrop. It's worth a visit if you're ever in that part of Texas, we feasted on tacos not far from the Colorado River. The next morning we comfortably made our way, not too early, to the race venue in Smithville, Rocky Hill Ranch, for a low-intensity pre-ride of the 16 mile course. In the Austin Rattler, the next day, we would repeat the loop four times for a total of, roughly, 100 km. During the pre-ride, I had an issue with my chain and rear derailleur that would result in some unwelcome stress that evening. Fortunately, those problems were resolved by about 6 pm. Following another feast in Bastrop, I went to bed with a clear head, ambition, motivation, and excitement. I was ready to wake-up the next morning and throw-down in the Rattler. The Austin Rattler was a sold-out event, over 800 riders including about 75 teams. In Lifetime Fitness - Leadville Race Series style, the Rattler starts in a single, massive wave of riders inspired to pedal by an exploding shotgun shell. A neutral start for about 1/4 mile then the race is on. RJ gapped Mick and I heading down the jeep road that leads to the first single track. Mick, aka 'the vanilla gorilla', dropped-back to run sweep, he's a good friend looking after his little monkey friends. I settled-in with a group of roadies no doubt, based on their furious pace on the flattish jeep roads and their reluctance on the tight, winding, single-track. By lap two I was past most of them; eventually, on the same lap, I caught-up to RJ. He was kindly pulling a group of about six guys across the ranch. After big smiles and a few words, I was generously propelled forward by an R-Jangutan sling-shot to the next rider. About that time, still well within view of RJs group, I caught an edge and swerved far-off the trail into the trail furniture (shrubs, ruts, tall grass, etc). I managed to ride it out, back onto the single-track, disaster averted. Within a few miles, my race was a two-man effort with Marc-O, a local rider from Austin, We stayed together nearly all the way to the finish line. Historically, the start of a race has always been a limitation for me, my metabolism and the muscles that system supports are slow to warm-up. The Rattler was no exception, but somewhere into the first lap I settled into what must have been a fast pace. For the remainder of the day, I was catching and picking-off my competitors. In hindsight, I wonder if I had put a little more in the bank than anticipated because of the queasiness I experienced in the weeks leading-up to the bike race? The queasiness could have acted as a governor? Alternatively, maybe the way I felt in Texas, outstanding, was a function of elevation (sea level), excellent preparation (training), and the boost of confidence my mind experienced when I finally broke through the queasiness, to a happy GI, and rode-on just a few days before the race. Unfortunately, this example involving uncertainty is far too often the case in bike racing, an unhappy reality for the curious scientist within me. The truth, the why, for my performance in Texas will never be known ... despite my suspicions. At the end of the day, after 4 hours and 10 minutes on my WTB Volt bike saddle, I rolled over the finish just 1 minute and 19 seconds off the 2nd and 3rd place, age 40-49 male, podium positions. For a C Race, a race intended only to test my legs and provide a quality (fun) training day, my finish couldn't have been better. Overall, 18th out of 575; and 5th age 40-49 male. The 4th place finisher was just 19 seconds ahead of me. Nearly a disaster, because of the Skratch issue, but then a major success, the Austin Rattler proved to be a great decision to launch my enthusiasm for what remained, the majority of the 2016 racing season including A Races (highest priority) in May, July, and August. In my next blog entries I'll recall spring racing, my successes and disappointments (not many!), and other experiences ... In this blog entry I recall two experiences in particular, my decision in January to switch coaches and then the difficult process that I went through to re-acclimate to training at elevation after living for four months close to sea level in Hamburg, Germany. January and February are tough months for outdoor cycling up and down the (Rocky Mountain) Front Range including my state-side home for the last few years, Fort Collins, Colorado. Home trainers and rollers are the only way to ride most days, 'only' unless you have heated gloves and a bike that sticks to snow and ice. That said, it's not all grey skies and cold. The patient cyclist can anticipate a handful of warmish days for getting outside to enjoy some well ventilated riding. And there is at least one local, indoor, alternative for social bikers: If you ever find yourself living in Fort Collins be sure to check out Source Endurance Training Center of the Rockies and say hello to the rocket that established and still heads the organization, professional road racer Zack Allison. Source endurance is a great, social way to train comfortably in the winter, inspired by music, the expertise of Zack and his pro and near-pro cycling employees. First-up on my list of responsibilities when I returned to Fort Collins from Germany was a personal decision that I'd been considering, reconsidering, and sometimes avoiding for weeks: to stay the course with the coach that mentored me in 2015 or to take another path, possibly even the path of self-coaching, in 2016. Now that I was back in The Fort, I couldn't put that decision off any longer, and arguably, I'd already put it off for too long. Fortunately, the universe is as unpredictable as it is interesting, and on one particular morning on about January 15th the unpredictable dropped-in for a visit and the difficult decision was behind me. From my new base camp in the home of friends and teammates on Dartmouth Trail, not far from Peloton Cycles, options for riding into Old Town Fort Collins or into the country were as convenient as a cyclist might have wished for. Nearby, city bike trails head-off in seemingly all directions, attractive options for avoiding in-town traffic and reaching-out to the less traveled roads of Larimer and nearby Weld County on the periphery of the Fort Collins hub bub. I'm in debt to 'The Royle Woody' family, including two patient boxers, for a handful of months of comfortable living at that location. On about 15 January, I was, by then, a few days into light training and scheduled for my first face-to-face conference with my coach at the same coffee shop where we started our coaching-athlete relationship back in December 2014, the Little Bird Cafe. When I left Dartmouth Trail en route to Old Town on my GT Avalanche 1.0 (the bike that inspired me to ride on; retired to city bike status in 2013), my intention was to ask tough questions until I was confident that the coach and athlete that overtrained in 2015 would avoid that scenario in 2016 without sacrificing performance. But sometimes planning and intention get derailed by poorly understood effects, by the unpredictable. In this case, the unpredictable showed-up part-way to town, at the intersection of Remington and Mulberry, about 1 km from the coffee shop. For reasons that I may never understand, at that traffic signal I was reminded one more time by my mind about the question I'd been asking for months, same coach or a change. A moment later, with a calmness and clarity typically reserved for non-fiction, I knew the answer was 'to move on' and that's what I did. After a professional conversation about the past, small stuff, and some of the status-quo, I explained that I had decided to move on, and to move on to a place that, at that moment, I was unable to visualize. I wasn't moving on to another coach that I had in mind. I was just moving on from what I felt was not an ideal scenario for my future as a cyclist and bike racer. Looking back, I have very few regrets from 2015. In contrast, I can easily visualize a long list of successes and a valuable education. Moving on from a coach isn't a reflection of the coach, not in every case anyway. It's more often moving on from a coach-athlete relationship. Like all relationships, the coach-athlete relationship is often ephemeral. It may even run its course in a season, as I felt ours had. Moving on doesn't mean forgetting or disrespecting the gifts from the past. I'll always be grateful for the coaching that I received from Pat Nash, and I wish him a long, fruitful career as a coach and his athletes great success. Perhaps reflecting some of the stress that resulted from 'the coach question', shortly after the conversation at the Little Bird I acquired a flu that knocked me down for a total of nine days. Not literally on my back, in the misery frame, feet up, but nearly so for a few days and then for many more days just lingering-on. The timing wasn't ideal given the way the 2015 season had ended (overtraining syndrome), or my recent decision to move on to unknown pastures. Then again, it forced me to be cool, to rest, and during that time I decided to return to the guidance of my coach from 2013 and 2014, Alex Hagman. Much to my relief, he held no grudge whatsoever for my professional departure after our very successful 2014 racing season, including an 'inside of the top 100' finish at the Leadville Trail 100. Moments after our first conversation we were back in a familiar space and mutually excited to make 2016 my best season to date. Patience followed as my flu eventually degraded to a mild nuisance before jumping ship entirely for a less motivated vector. By then it was February 3rd, my first scheduled day of training in 2016. For those of you that followed my training in 2015, you may recall that this is a full month later than the previous year. Already, and this would have been the case with or without the late January flu, training was going to be very different in 2016. Importantly, Alex and I would always do our best to integrate fun into the training equation, and plenty of time for recovery. I'll return to these and other details of my 2016 training plan in a forthcoming blog, In the meantime, I want to conclude this entry with recollections of the difficulty that I experienced regaining the mind and body that I'd lost shortly after the 2015 Growler. A melancholic mind, and legs that often lacked power, became my normal in the last six weeks of training and racing in 2015; and those legs seemed to be unchanged when I returned to Fort Collins in January. Despite the healing that I'd accomplished post-season, coming into 2016 I still had lingering concerns about my physical state. In particular, had I annihilated myself? Had the overtraining syndrome gone too deep to recover from in a single winter? To answer this question I went to see a medical doctor who assured me that my adrenal glands showed no sign of lingering stress associated with overtraining or any other source, a good sign. However, he also identified a significant deficiency of testosterone, not unusual for a 45 year-old athlete. Given the complications, namely "doping", of doing anything about the testosterone I decided, and have maintained this decision, to rely only on natural supplements (maca powder among other plant-based options). At the same time, I climbed back onto the bike and attempted to re-start what seemed like a very unwilling engine. A ride in late January, just before I fell ill, foretold the difficulties that I experienced in February. In particular, it was as if I was trying to ride in an atmosphere devoid of oxygen on a planet that had two-times Earth gravity. No doubt, four months living comfortably in Hamburg, near enough to sea level to occasionally record '0 feet or less' on a Strava elevation profile, explained most of my powerless engine. But then again, how much of what I was experiencing was the effect of overtraining from 2015? The question of permanent damage to my engine was hard to suppress. The month of February was a long struggle. And although March was better, the numbers from my rides still lacked a clear conclusion, damage or normal re-entry to training physiology? Looking ahead I hope I'll never again experience two introductory training months like I did in 2016. Part of the problem was my mental state, not quite 100% when I returned to Fort Collins. The remainder, it seems, was normal, early-season, physiological limitations. Through persistence, I eventually motivated the changes in my body, such as an increase in the density of mitochondria per cell, that are critical for the performance of an endurance athlete and cyclist. As a result, by mid-March I was beginning to have days when I had 'legs' and the lungs to power them. And not too soon either, my first race for the season was looming, an early season 100 km throw-down outside of Austin, Texas (April 9th). I'll share more about that race, the Austin Rattler, and many other details at Andre Breton Racing Dot Com in a forthcoming blog entry ... In this blog entry I recall the conclusion of my goal, set late in 2015, to ride 10,000 miles (16,000 km); and then share some of my thoughts on how the bicycle, while riding about 3000 of those miles in northern Germany, helped me to recover from overtraining syndrome. Before I flew to Deutschland from Denver International in September 2015, I made plans to return to Fort Collins, Colorado, fulfilling a basic travel requirement of German Customs and Immigration. At that time, the plan was to return in late December, allowing for a three month stay in Hamburg, Germany with my girlfriend. Plans changed slightly, by a few weeks, following acquisition of a six-month tourist visa. The six month extension allowed me to stay into the middle of January (and beyond of course) at which point I was being encouraged by my coach to return to Fort Collins and initiate training at elevation for the upcoming 2016 season. Despite how quickly the bonus days came and went, it was a wonderful couple of weeks including a memorable New Years Eve celebration in the Hanseatic city of Lubeck - picture a sky festooned with fireworks and enough smoke to conceal a massive forest fire! Following the bonus weeks, and a sad departure, I was on my way back to Fort Collins on January 10th; and on the ground, but still nearly a mile high, the following day. Over my nearly four month visit to Hamburg, the process of recovering from overtraining syndrome, my reality by June 2015, had been slow. But gradually I broke the cycle of melancholy that dominated my mind when I considered racing and often, life and cycling in general. Partly, this was accomplished by a very patient girlfriend, my "second coach" by the way, as she refers to herself. Nutrition, yoga, stretching and sauna, other forms of relaxation, and time ... also contributed to my steady recovery. But most of all, it was the bike that brought me back to a sensible reality, and a strategic late season (September) goal to complete 10,000 cycling miles (16,000 km) before New Years Eve. If I was successful, then my thinking was that I'd be far better off (happier) finishing the season with a goal in the bag than the disappointment that I experienced at the conclusion of the 2015 Leadville Trail 100. The strategy worked, as I'll explain below. The same bike that had brought me into the danger zone, reversed its effects. When the 10,000 miles were behind me I was back to the reality where my friends and family had been waiting and encouraging me to return. Elsewhere (scroll down to Cycling from Los Angeles to Cape Town) I introduced my goal of riding 10,000 cycling miles in 2015. Last I wrote on that topic I was inside of 8300 miles, still a long way to go, 8,976,000 ft (2,735,885 meters). In hindsight, I certainly underestimated the physical and mental investments that would be necessary to close the gap from 8300 to 10,000 miles. By late October, with winter imminent in northern Germany, the significance of that investment made it's introduction. In addition to the physical and mental challenges that I'd have to overcome to reach the finish, I was also going need some luck with the weather, and did I mention a very patience girlfriend? Fortunately, the weather cooperated: rain and cool relinquished and Autumn, as a consequence, came and went gradually. In between I rode on with the encouragement of my roommate and determination of a bike rider that was beginning to hope-for all of the feel good of accomplishing a difficult cycling challenge. Sometimes lonely, never with headphones, sometimes in the rain and often riding in cool, damp weather, I kept pedaling. After a mishap with my GPS, the long-awaited for day finally arrived, it was 20 November, I reached 10,000 miles for the year. Captured in the photo (above), I was smiling of course, but just under the surface is much more, a deeply satisfying feeling of success after a long, exhausting, mental and physical challenge. What next? I rode on for extra credit (strava)! And by evening I returned to Hamburg ... where I promised not to ride again until the middle of January ... a much needed break for myself and my relationship! Pedaling through the countryside of northern Germany, as the leaves changed from green to reds, oranges, and yellows, I was alone most of the time and often thinking about what went wrong in 2015. In particular, I thought about the effects of overtraining syndrome that enveloped me part-way through the racing season. Eventually I found my way, through a form of meditation, a rhythm, through cadence, to a healthy, positive, mental state. Among many other unanticipated consequences of becoming a cyclist, the #1 benefit of cycling may be access to this meditative, patient, deeply reflective, perspective. Of course, friends, family, and even strangers played a significant role as well in my recovery. In between my rides, I asked questions, had discussions, and eventually landed back on common ground with my clear-thinking contemporaries, overtraining syndrome was no longer a source of melancholy, instead it was a lesson that I'd always remember. Witnessing my transformations from the low point that led me to competitive cycling in 2012-13, and from a debilitating case of overtraining syndrome, both accomplished from the perspective of a bike saddle, has led me to conclude that there is much more to a passion for cycling than the obvious physical and mental health benefits. A 'much more' that is worthy of celebration, encouragement, growth, and exploration. These are some of the reasons that I intend to ride on, to be a bike rider, until my legs will no longer propel me. In my next blog entry, I'll delve into the two most significant challenges that I faced shortly after I returned to Fort Collins from Hamburg. |
André BretonAdventure Guide, Mentor, Lifestyle Coach, Consultant, Endurance Athlete Categories
All
Archives
March 2021
|