Monday, July 18, 2016

2016 Tour Divide Recap

"Everyone has a plan 'til they get punched in the mouth." -Mike Tyson

I thought I was ready.

I thought I had trained well. I thought I was well equipped, well provisioned. I thought I had it all planned out, with resupply stops and mileage goals for a 21-day finish all mapped out. 

I thought wrong.


I flew to Calgary where I have family who picked me up at the airport, fed me, put me up, and drove me to Banff the day before the race. They, like myself, are bike nerds, and have every imaginable bike tool in their garage, so it was the perfect place to open the bike box and build the beast. So far so good. I checked into the Y, caught the tail end of Crazy Larry's pre-race Q&A, and caught up with Josh Waters, who had introduced himself at the airport in Phoenix. Quality man. We walked over to Atmosphere to procure bear spray (Pro tip: tell them Crazy Larry sent you - they just might give you a discount.), then headed back to the Y. As I prepared my bike bags and checked my kit, I discovered that my down jacket was missing. I called my wife, who confirmed that my down jacket - which I had purchased for this race - was indeed hanging safely in my closet. Sigh. With the forecast calling for rain and misery, I didn't want to leave Banff without one. What to do?

Day 1 Plan: Banff to Sparwood (+/- mile 140)

Day 1 Reality: Banff to Boulton Creek Trading Post (+/- mile 60). 

Race day, and I still needed a down jacket. So I stood with the crowd for the group photo, rolled out to the trailhead en masse, waited for everyone to go through, then headed back into town. Shops opened at 10:00, so by the time I found a suitable replacement and got my act together, it was 11:00 before I was on course. By that time it was raining, and it continued to rain the whole day. With the late start, I figured I'd only make it to Elkford before dark. However, when I arrived at Boulton Creek Trading Post eight hours later, I couldn't stop shivering, even after a microwave sandwich and a cuppa hot chocolate. Frustrated and freezing, I decided to call it a day, and headed down to the Lower Lakes Campground for the night. (Pro tip: When it starts to rain, bust out the rain gear. I passed a lot of people who waited too long to stop; by the time they put their rain gear on, they were soaked through and at risk of hypothermia. Conversely, when it stops raining, shed the rain gear as soon as you can, before you wet through from the inside.) I pitched my tent in the drizzling rain and crawled into my sleeping bag. Sleep would prove elusive, however. It'd been a while since I'd been honest-to-goodness tent-camping, and I had the hardest time falling asleep. This would prove to be a recurring problem: Most nights, I just lay there with my eyes closed, wishing for sleep that would not come.

In the back of my mind I knew I had fallen well short of my goal - barely half way to Elkfork? Less than half way to Sparwood?! - but I stuffed those thoughts down deep and rationalized my decision to call it a day. I'm managing expectations, I told myself. But I was also faintly aware that I was at risk of setting the tone for the rest of the tour, of settling for lower mileage when things got tough. I stuffed those thoughts too.

Highlight: John, one of the other riders I encountered at Boulton, decided he'd had enough too, and we rode together to the Lower Lakes campground. As we meandered down the drive to the campground, I saw a sign on the right side of the road that explained the campsite registration procedure. Not wanting to stop, I focused on the sign as I zipped past, only vaguely aware of the open field on the opposite side of the road. When I got to the bottom of the drive, John was no longer behind me. Where did he go? A minute later he appeared, coasting down to where I had stopped. "I thought I lost you," I called out. "I was watching the grizzly bear!" he responded. Apparently as I was was focused on the sign, a griz in the field on the opposite side of the road was focused on me. I had no idea. The campground steward came to check on us as we pitched camp, and John asked about the bear. "Don't worry about the bear!" he reassured us. A few minutes later, we heard bear bangers cracking in the distance as the steward ran Mr. Griz off. We had no further run-ins, so I can only assume the steward was successful. And that was as close as I ever came to a bear sighting.

Day 2 Plan: Sparwood to Eureka (+/- mile 260)

Day 2 Reality: Boulton Creek to Sparwood (+/- mile 140)

I woke up soaking wet (it rained through the night), broke camp and hit the trail. Everything was soaked. The day started cold and windy, then warm and sunny, then cold and windy again, sometimes all within a few minutes. I saw no bears, but I did spot a moose (huge animal - no rack, but unmistakable in profile) along the climb to Elk Pass. It took its sweet time eyeing me before lumbering off into the bush, and I thought it best to let it have its way. I stopped in Elkford to resupply and spray the muck off the bike (The owner at FasGas actually drove to the store and brought the hose out of the backroom for me. Talk about service!). I baked in the sunlight on the climb out of Elkford, then froze in the wind on the descent into Sparwood. Even though it was early (not yet 7 p.m. according to Trackleaders), I decided to call it a night at the hotel. I went shopping for resupply, ordered pizza (Funky!), then pitched my tent in the room (it was wet through) and hung up my soggy clothes, hoping everything would be dry by morning.

Wait, Sparwood? By now I'd lost an entire day, but the allure of a warm, dry hotel room, and the prospect of actual food drew me in. Besides, bear country. No matter, I thought- you're just a day off your original plan. Just kick it into gear tomorrow, and make up some distance. Or settle for a 22 day finish. You got this.

Highlight: Around mile 70 there's a BC Forest Service Recreation Site, which includes a cabin with cots and woodstove. First come first served. This place is in the middle of nowhere - except that it's listed on the ACA Canada map and is right on the trail. Well, a local nature lover (Rob was his name) decided to drive to the middle of nowhere for a weekend of solitude. He arrived at the cabin on Thursday June 9th. On Friday, about mid-morning, the Tour Divide peleton started pouring through, many of them stopping to warm up and dry out. Half a dozen riders even crashed his party and camped in (or near) the cabin that night. By the time I stopped at the cabin on Saturday morning to dry out, Rob's patience was wearing thin. He was kind, but you could tell he was not having the peace and quiet he had hoped to find that weekend. Thanks for being a good sport Rob.

Day 3 Plan: Eureka to Bigfork (+/- mile 400)

Day 3 Reality: Sparwood to Wigwam (+/- mile 230)

I woke up to discover that although my tent had aired out, my clothes were not dry. None of them. I took my bundle of damp kit downstairs and asked if I could throw it in the dryer, only to be told that it was against hotel policy. On the way back to the room, I commandeered a luggage cart, hung all my stuff from the top bar, parked the whole mess in front of the heater, and cranked it all the way up. Half an hour later, I could at least get my clothes on. Late start - out the door by 7:15. Easy rolling start with miles of pavement. I broke the headlamp mount off my fork while hoisting my bike over the Jersey barrier to get onto Corbin road. (Pro tip: Bring extra zip-ties! Also, the Google Maps satellite images are out of date and the GPS track is misleading, but I'm guessing there's probably a legit entrance from the highway onto Corbin Road a little further east.) By the time I got to Corbin, TD riders Rick May and Ian Ford had caught up with me. We leap-frogged our way over Flathead pass, taking turns leading down the rocky (!) descent and through the water crossings. (Pro tip: Keep your hubs and bottom bracket out of the water, or risk having to replace your bearings down the road.) By the time I made it to Butts Cabin, Rick and Ian had left me behind. The weather was perfect, and I had a spectacular grind up Cabin Pass, followed by a lively descent down to the Wigwam Recreation Site. Rick and Ian were there already, considering their options - do we stay or do we go? Rick, who had toured the route three times previously, knew what was to come (Wall + Galton), and recommended staying for the night. As the sun appeared to be setting, it was not a hard sell. We pitched camp, and hit the sack.

Corbin Road, on the way to Flathead Pass
By now, I had managed stuffed my expectations so proficiently, I almost couldn't hear them as they badgered me to press on, reminding me that it doesn't actually get dark up here for a couple more hours. Besides, since I had assumed I would be in hotels the first several nights, I failed to pack a rope with which to hang a food bag, and Rick let me double up with his. (Pro tip: bring a rope and bag for your food, and learn how to hang it properly. There were a couple of Euro-tourists at Wigwam who insisted on hanging their food bag right next to their tent - not the way to do it people.) Besides, strength in numbers at the campsite, I rationalized. Besides, fatigue. Stuff stuff stuff.

Highlight: Right after Butts Cabin, I happened on a campground where someone had put a big jug of water next to the road with a sign "welcome riders" or some such. I took it as providence, and refilled my water bladder. Also, when I arrived at Wigwam, Rick was feeding dates to a doe from his hand. It probably doesn't bode well for the deer (domesticated), but it was cool to see up close.

Day 4 Plan: Bigfork to Ovando (+/- mile 530)

Day 4 Reality: Wigwam to Red Meadow Lake (+/- mile 330)

I set off early, and made it to the base of the Wall around 9:00. The Wall has to be bad for Matt Lee's karma this time of year. Seriously, all those curses being called down on him every June? Ouch. I grunted my way slowly and carefully up the muddy, rooty path. No room for error here. I thought of the two riders I passed on Day 1 who were pulling loaded Bob trailers, and prayed that they scratched before they made it this far. Next was on to Galton Pass, which was brutal going up and brutal coming down. No smooth descents in Canada. I thought for sure I was burning my brake pads down to the metal as I picked my way down down the mountain. When I saw the manicured pastures on the valley floor, I almost cried. Pavement! Roosville! Montana! I resupplied at Subway in Eureka, then stopped at the laundromat to dry things out for a few minutes. On to Grave Creek Road and up to Whitefish Divide. I made it to Tuchuck by 7:00-ish, but wanting to make up for lost time (and still no rope for a food bag), I pushed on, hoping at the very least to make Upper Whitefish Lake. I hit the North Fork Flathead River valley just before sunset. The sunlight was streaming horizontally through the trees, dappling the road in front of me. And the aromatic from the trees made the whole valley smell like Christmas cookies. Spectacular. I made the Red Meadow turn just before dark, and started up. By now my right knee was starting to ache, limiting the amount of power I could put down. With a handful of miles left to Red Meadow Pass, I could no longer stay on the bike, and walked the last hour and a half. I arrived at Red Meadow Lake before midnight, discovering half a dozen other riders already set up for the night. Fatigued, I gladly joined them. (Pro tip: Red Meadow Lake has a food locker - no bear bag required - but if you can make Red Meadow Lake, it's just a hop and a skip to the pass, and then it's less than half an hour down to Upper Whitefish Lake. It's not a huge distance, but I wish I'd had a better sense of it that night and pressed on.)

Galton Pass
By now I was realizing that my 21-day plan was completely unrealistic. I had just finished my biggest day on a bike ever - which was still far short of my daily mileage goal - and was completely wiped out. In all honesty, I was going into a mental/emotional tailspin, unable to conceive of a plan or goal other than the ones I had set before I arrived in Banff. I've read advice from others about managing expectations, and thought I had prepared myself mentally for the possibility of losing time here and there. But as my plan started to unravel, I started to have a very difficult time reconciling myself to the truth of my situation: my plan was trashed. Now what?

Highlight: Beautiful weather all day long, all the way up to camp. I learned later that people following as close as the next morning had snow on Whitefish and hail on Red Meadow. Take your good days when you can get 'em!

Day 5 Plan: Ovando to Helena (mile 640)

Day 5 Reality: Red Meadow to Whitefish

Cold morning. It started off clear, but clouded over quick, and before I made the north end of Whitefish Lake it was raining. The pain in my right knee had now escalated from throbbing to stabbing. When you're cold and wet and in pain, it doesn't take long for weariness and panic to come knocking. I was elated to finally make it to Glacier Cyclery, then next door to Loula's, where the Lemon-Stuffed French Toast is sure to turn your morning right side up again. Back at Glacier, I was delighted to run into Josh Waters again, but was heartbroken to learn that he needed to pull the plug on his tour and was heading home. I decided to take a rest day, and booked a hotel. I also needed to replace some of my kit, which was not performing as I'd hoped, so I made the rounds to the local outdoor shops to see what was on offer. Back at the hotel, I ordered pizza from Jersey Boys, and went to bed early.

Red Meadow Lake at dawn
Highlight: The people of Whitefish. No kidding, from the moment I met Vanessa and Tyler at Glacier, through all my shopping at the Toggery, the White Room, and Sportsman - heck, even Safeway - everyone was kind and considerate and willing to refer me to their competitors in town if they didn't have what I needed. First class! Oh, and the Cowgirl Coffee shacks! In Whitefish you're never more than about a hundred paces from high quality caffeine, and the folks that staff the shacks are super.

Day 6 Plan: Helena to Wise River (mile 770)

Day 6 Reality: Whitefish to Swan Lake (mile 420)

By now, I was having misgivings about my knee's ability to hold it together. As such, I decided to do "half days" - roughly 60 miles per day - for the next few days to see if my knee could recover so I could carry on. I got up early to resupply, pick up new kit, and ship old stuff home. By the time I hit the road, it was already 11:00. It was another beautiful day as I made my way east from Whitefish to Columbia Falls, then south toward Swan River. I made it to the Echo Lake Cafe just after closing time at 3:00, but as I sat out front consulting my map and eating cold pizza, the owner stuck her head out the front door and asked if there was anything I needed. I was good on fuel and water, so I used the restroom and headed off. As I climbed up the hill on the west side of Swan Lake, Dave Schreiner caught up with me, and we walked the rest of the way up to the top of the hill, chatting all the way. We bombed the descent, and made the T-intersection at the bottom of the hill around 7:00. I was heading east toward Swan Lake Trading Post, but Dave was determined to make Holland Lake that night, and continued south. I made Swan Lake Trading Post and Campground where I inquired about the tent sites. As Joe the proprietor showed me around, he looked up and said "Ya know, it's supposed to rain tonight. C'mere." He led me around to the far side of the pond where they had three 2-man yurts set up. Upgrade! Sure enough, sometime after midnight, it started to rain. So nice to sleep dry.

Highlight: Between Whitefish and Columbia Falls, I had the chance to pedal alongside Dieter Borsutzky. We had actually crossed paths briefly on the connector between Elkford and Sparwood, and talked about where our journeys had taken us since then. Then he said to me "To my mind, there are two ways to do this kind of thing. Either you push-push-push as hard as you can, and need to take rest days to try to recover; or you soft-pedal and just, you know, keep going." Sage advice. I wish I had taken it.

Day 7 Plan: Wise River to Lima (mile 910)

Day 7 Reality: Swan Lake to Holland Lake Lodge (mile 480)

Rain. Joe made me a hearty egg & cheese breakfast sandwich (McSwan!) at the Trading Post before I set out. The segment from Swan Lake to Holland Lake looks deceptively easy on the ACA profiles, but in reality it seems like you're always climbing. By now, not only the knee was in pain, but also my left ankle, presumably from all the hike-a-bike. (Pro tip: Incorporate jogging/hiking/trail running into your training regimen. You'll be pushing your bike up hills more than you ever thought possible.) The rain stopped with a few miles to go, but between the pain and the wet and the mud and the cold, weariness was creeping in and thoughts of despair were at the door. I checked into the Holland Lake Lodge and called my wife. Knowing how much I'd done to prepare for this (and how much she'd sacrificed so I could chase this dream), she checked and double-checked (and triple-checked) with me to make sure my mind was made up - I was done. I know you're not supposed to quit at night, you're supposed to sleep on it and all that, but with my legs betraying me, I didn't feel it prudent to continue on to Richmond Peak and the high country that lay beyond. Downstairs I discovered that Dave Schreiner was still at the Lodge, so we had dinner together with another NoBo tourist named Chris. It was delightful. (Pro tip: Don't quit at night. Sleep on it. Then, take it a step further - get up the next morning, pack your bike as if you're going to press on, and take one more step. If after all that you decide to pull the plug, then do it. But not before.)

Highlight: Finding Dave Schreiner still at the Lodge lifted my spirit. Good company, good man.

Day 8 Plan: Lima to- seriously, why bother

Day 8 Reality: Scratched at Holland Lake Lodge

Holland Lake
I had an early breakfast at the Lodge bar with Dave Schreiner, then headed out to the lawn by the lake to snap some photos of him before he headed off to take on Richmond Peak. Back inside the Lodge, a couple who had overheard Dave and I at breakfast offered to drive me to Missoula (highlight!). In town I was too early to check into my hotel, so I rode my bike to the UPS Store, where it took me the better part of an hour to knock down my trusty steed and stuff it into a bike box.

And that was that.

So what happened?

How in the world did I fall so far short of my goals, and end up so wracked at the end of it?  I've mulled this over again and again, played "coulda, shoulda, woulda" over and over. There are a bunch of things I did poorly - major gaps in my training program, fuel and hydration management, and personal care (i.e. saddle sore prevention) among them - but I think the biggest thing for me was lack of experience. Early this year, I consulted a coach who reviewed the training plan I had assembled on my own. Coach suggested that the 10-hour, 12-hour, and 14-hour rides I had planned late in my training program were excessive. "Training isn't racing" Coach said, indicating that such long rides would over-stress the body, making adequate recovery difficult or impossible in the midst of heavy training. I think that for a seasoned racer, this is probably good advice, since the seasoned racer already has a deep well of experience to draw from when the going gets tough. However, for me - not a seasoned racer - those long training rides were more for developing the mental grit necessary to carry on when fatigue sets in. If I could do it over...

There were also kit failures that detracted from the ride. First, the ultralight backpack I started with was simply too light; I replaced it with an Osprey hydration pack with plenty of room for gear and food. Next, the Ibex merino Shak Classic mid-layer, once wet, would NOT dry out in a timely manner; I replaced it with a Patagonia R1 hoodie. Last, gloves! The DeFeet Charcoal ET wool gloves coupled with the Aerostitch Triple Digit waterproof/breathable shells did not work, as they wetted out within an hour of the onset of rain on Day 1. I replaced them with neoprene rafting gloves from Sportsman in Whitefish. The wetsuit gloves work - kinda. When the pace picks up and the gloves are wet inside and out, airflow across the outside of the gloves sucks the heat out of your fingers through the neoprene. Better than what I started with, but I am still in search of an adequate cold/wet glove solution. (One of the guys at Sportsman suggested keeping the wool liner + waterproof/breathable shell combo, but adding a waterproof glove, such as a dishwashing or surgical glove, next to the skin. Apparently this is something that mountaineers will do to prevent wetting out from the inside, which - if the shell is doing its job - is likely what was compromising my wool insulation layer. I was never brave enough to actually try this out, but it sounds promising, if a little counter-intuitive.) If you have a glove solution that works for you, post it in the comments. I'd love to hear it.

What went right?

On the upside, there were things that performed as well as - or better than - I'd hoped.  My customized Salsa Fargo was a champ; the Gevenalle GX shifters worked perfectly through training and on the trail; custom wheels (Velocity Blunt 35 rims; Hadely rear hub; Schmidt SON 28 15 front hub; 36 spoke 3-cross build by Peter White Cycles) have been bomb-proof over 5,000 miles of riding and racing, and Specialized Fast Trak tires roll fast over any kind of terrain. The Schmidt Edelux II light is adequate for road surfaces (though it does not illuminate overhead obstacles, low-hanging branches, etc.), and works with the SON hub down to walking pace. Handy for hiking uphill in the dark. Much of my kit was by Ground Effect, and almost without exception it exceeded expectations. Custom orthotics by the Sole Man AZ were awesome. Scott Abbey made it possible for me to ride more than 30 miles without searing pain in my left foot. Feet are no longer an issue for me. The Gore over-socks I borrowed from my friend Steve were a last-minute lifesaver. Coupled with DeFeet Woolie Boolie socks, my feet may have been damp from time to time, but they were never cold. My sleep system worked exactly as I needed it to: Tarptent Moment DW, Sea to Summit Ultralight Insulated Mat, and Zpacks 20 degree bag. The tent is not the smallest/lightest available, but with two stakes and one pole, it's super-simple to set up in the dark after a long day in the saddle. Relevate Designs handlebar harness and Terrapin holster coupled with Sea to Summit eVac dry sacks proved to be a great combination. I heard about lots of folks having GPS issues, but my Garmin eTrex 30x turned on and did its thing faithfully every day. My Sinewave Revolution and Limefuel Blast (previous generation) cache battery worked well, powering my iPhone and my GPS. And even though my ride didn't end the way I had hoped, at the end of the day I'm in the best shape of my life, and able to continue training for the next adventure.

Lessons learned

I picked this up at the airport
in Missoula. I highly
recommend it.
The Tour Divide is a tough teacher. I'm still learning lessons from my time out there. Set realistic goals and ride a realistic pace. Dieter's words about pacing still echo, and while I still think it's important to set goals, those goals should be anchored in your actual riding experience, whether that experience comes during racing or training. Ask yourself which is more important: finishing the course, or riding beyond your experience in order to put down a "competitive" time at the risk of possible injury? It was naive of me to think that my daily race mileage goals could be so much higher than my actual riding experience. That's the big lesson, but there are many others. Diversify your training. Run. Hike. Train for hike-a-bike. You'll be doing a lot of it. And practice everything. Practice until you don't have to think about it. Practice fueling and hydration. Be disciplined about it. Everything - body, soul, spirit - deteriorates when you're low on food or water. By the time you're hungry or thirsty, you're already behind. Know how your filtration and/or purification systems work. Know how to unwrap a Clif bar while riding the bike. Practice self-care of your nethers (read: saddle sore prevention), and be disciplined about that too. Practice setting up camp, then practice breaking down. It took me an embarrassingly long time to break camp in the mornings. Practice sleeping outside. For real. You're taxing your body more and getting less rest than you're used to, so you'd better be able to get some solid sleep in the few hours you have each night. Take supplements to help you sleep if you need to. Bring antibiotics to fend off opportunistic infections. Lots of riders scratched this year due to chest colds and the like. Above all, manage your expectations. Things will not go the way you think they will. And all that time on the turbo-trainer does nothing to prepare you for when things go sideways. Sometimes the toughest gap to bridge is the gap between expectations and reality. The better you get at bridging that gap, the more likely you are to succeed.

Take lots of pictures. Shoot lots of videos. Introduce yourself to others. Ask people's names. Don't be shy. Take pictures of them. Take pictures with them. It's astonishing how the brief encounters I had with people on the trail are the most vivid highlights of my trip. But the memories, the passes and the people, start to fade quick. Those pictures and videos will help to crystalize them for you. And know that no matter how quick or slow you go, whether you go the distance or pull the plug early like I did, it's going to go by way too soon. You did all the planning and training - for a year or more! - and suddenly it's over and you're back at home, watching dots on Trackleaders, typing up a ride report, and wondering how it's all over so quick. Savor every minute, no matter what that minute brings you.

Will I attempt the Tour Divide again? Yes, I think I will, for a few reasons. First, it would be a shame to have learned as much as I have and not get out there and try it again. Second, it gives me a broader goal to shoot for with regard to my overall health and fitness. I like that. (Plus, it gives me a somewhat legitimate excuse to obsess about bikes, which I've always loved.) Last of all is a lesson I learned at the Wall. When I posted the photo of the Wall on Facebook, I noted that "Things like the Wall are just thrown in to spice things up. I may forget which mountain pass is which, but I will never forget the Wall." In a broader sense, adventures like this, should we choose to pursue them, afford us opportunities to add something unique to our lives. When I'm 80, I won't care (or likely remember) the time I spent in an office or mowing my lawn. I will never forget the Tour Divide.

By the way, Dieter Borsutzky arrived at Antelope Wells earlier this evening. Chapeau, sir.

Check out more photos from my journey here.




  1. Here's a photo I got of you on day 1 - Great report, sorry it didn't go according to plan for you, but well done anyway! See you back here in 2017?

    1. Megan! I did not put together that this was YOU taking that picture. Nice to have met you in person!

    2. BYW, the current plan is to return to Banff in 2018 for my 2nd rookie attempt.

  2. Great write up. I left Banff a week after the grand depart at a pace between race and touring. My initial goal was Sparwood, but after 12 hours I found myself in Elkford and was absolutely spent. I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of the country that I never got hungry and didn't eat like I should have. A common mistake.

    I banged up my right knee on day 2 and was fine when it happened but it hurt enough that I limped when I walked and with the next 3 mountain passes and hike a bike areas, I opted to take the Fernie alternate so that I could recuperate in Eureka for a night.

    A heat rash (not a saddle sore) developed somewhere along the line where I couldn't sit on a saddle and I ended up heading home from Whitefish. It was very very demoralizing.

    My legs were never noodles, they always felt good except for the knee on day 2 and when I got near the top of Whitefish divide. But darn is it demoralizing...

    I will be back up there next year, 100% guaranteed.

    1. True, when things start to hurt, it feels (emotionally) like your body is betraying you.

  3. One thing that I found and sounds like you also experienced. Set priorities for when you stop every day. Is everything charged. Can I dry anything. Are my bibs clean. Is my backside ok or in need of attention. Is the bike ok. etc...

    1. I always try to make sure everything is set for the next morning. Where I fell down was making sure that I was ready for the next morning. Stuff like saddle sore prevention got dropped early on because I didn't think it was a big deal. Mistake.

  4. For warm hands in the cold/wet, I can vouch for the vapour-barrier method (I have relied on it both in cyclocross racing and in cross-country skiing, where to freeze wet hands has dire consequences). I wear the following layers: 1. medical (disposable) gloves on hands (carry multiple spares - they weigh very little) 2. fleece mittens (in cx I swap for thin fleece gloves) 3. waterproof overmittens (thin and flexible) - you could also use waterproof gloves but I find mittens to be MUCH warmer. This combo means the sweat from your hands doesn't wet out the insulating (fleece) layer, and the waterproof outer keeps the rain/snow from compromising your insulating layer. I prefer fleece (polyester) to wool because it dries faster (I have dried fleece mitts in a pinch by tucking them into the waistband of my tights for a couple of hours). I have used this combination to keep my easily-chilled fingers warm through many cx seasons and many winters of long days of xc skiing.

    1. This is pretty much exactly what Wil at Sportsman suggested. I didn't have the guts to try it. Someone suggested on Facebook that I try the MLD eVent rain mitts, so I'll probably try those next. Already got some decent fleece gloves, and surgical gloves are cheap and easy to find. I'll be experimenting with this over the winter.

  5. Great write up, Dave! Its good to hear the story behind your "dot" on trackleaders. Congrats for having the guts to even try this race.
    As for using a vapor barrier to keep from wetting out insulation, Andrew Skurka has a great article on how and when to do this at the link below. It might help with your glove issue.

  6. Good job man, thanks for sharing!

  7. Great read, congratulations, you are blessed. Hope your recovery is going well and you are training again. One quick question what size eVAC dry sac did you use?

    1. Recovering well, thank you! The eVac bags were 13 liter, which approximates the size of the proprietary Relevate bags for the Terrapin holster and the Sweet Roll. Both systems worked great, as did the bags.


  8. i like this post, we visit again for more updates , thanks for sharing this article.
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    1. Hi David! What a great adventure! Your Dad & I are so proud of you for doing this. Not only are you a keen biker, but a fascinating writer as well. You brought us right along with you--& we love your humour as well as your creative & practical ingenuity! Go Man! Mum & Dad

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  9. What mah size limefuel blast did you use?

  10. superslot เล่น ผ่าน เว็บ เว็บไซต์สล็อตออนไลน์ รูปแบบใหม่ ซุปเปอร์สล็อตเอ็กซ์ดี มาแรง กับ ที่มาแรงที่สุดในขณะนี้ ทางพวกเราเป็นคนที่ให้บริการเกม พีจีสล็อต ที่สนุกที่สุด

  11. ทดลอง เล่น สล็อต ฟรี สล็อตเว็บไซต์ตรง ไม่ผ่านเอเย่นต์ เปิดใหม่ ของทางค่ายเกม pg ของเรา เป็นอีกหนึ่งศูนย์รวม เกมสล็อตออนไลน์ ที่นักเสี่ยงดวงต่างๆนั้นไว้วางใจอย่างมากที่สุดในขณะนี้