Ask Better Questions

No one drifts to their desired destination. The process of creating a meaningful life requires two things: intention; and focused energy applied in the direction of our intention, otherwise known as focused attention.

How do we get started in determining our intention? Sometimes it helps to ask better questions. What do I mean by “better” questions? In moments when we become aware that we’re adrift in our own life, it’s tempting to ask unhelpful questions, like “Why is this happening to me?” Or “What’s wrong with me?” Or “Why is so-and-so doing so well, but I can’t seem to get ahead?” Or “Why do I even exist?”

At times like that, it can be helpful to shift our focus to different kinds of questions: questions that help us evaluate where we are, where we want to go, and how to get from here to there.

Ready? Here’s a sample.

How do I show up in life? Do people light up when I enter a room? Or when I leave it? How aware am I of the way I engage with others? With the way I speak? Behave? If the way I do things is as important as the things I do, how am I doing? Am I even aware that the way I show up in life - in relation to other people and in relation to myself - is a choice? Do I need to shift the way I show up? What are small things I can do to that end?

Am I moving forward in my life & purpose? Am I connecting & contributing? Am I living out my role as a creative contributor? Or am I merely existing as a consumer? Isolated in escapism? Am I engaging my life? Or am I trying to escape it? Do I need to shift? How can I shift from escapism to engagement?

Am I stuck? Am I coasting? Am I cycling in stasis, repeating patterns from the past? Am I hoping things will get better? Or am I making them better? What actions am I taking to produce the results I want? Am I willing to make the leap if it means moving towards my goals?

How do I approach my problems? With doom & gloom? With paralyzing anxiety? With resignation that they’ll never get better? Or with a sense of optimism that my thoughts, words and actions can make a difference?

What does an optimally functional & effective life look like? How about marriage? Vocation? Spiritual life? Relationships with friends & extended family? On a scale of 1-10, how “optimally functional & effective” would I rate all these areas? How can I move the needle in these areas of my life? In all areas of my life?

Where do I actively focus my attention? Where do I passively allow my attention to drift? If our neurology is shaped and built in response to the way we focus our attention, what kind of brain am I building?

What about inputs & influences? What books am I reading? Who am I surrounding myself with? If we become the books we read and the people we associate with, who am I becoming? Do I need to cut ties with anyone? Do I need to seek out wise counsel or better friends? Do I need to read better books?

When it comes down to it, the way we show up in life is a choice: we can make the leap, put in the work, take the actions necessary to move our lives forward, and live life in crescendo, knowing that the best is yet to come; or we can play it safe, assume the role of the victim, stay stuck in past patterns, and drift into entropy, resigning ourselves to the “fact” that the best days of our lives are behind us.

The choice is ours.

I'm Under The Bus And I Can't Get Up

When it comes to initiating positive change in our own lives, why do things get hard?

Often when we’re trying to make positive changes in our life, there comes a point when we get stuck. We have a plan, we know the steps, we know what we're supposed to do. We start strong, we're on track for a day, a week, a month... but somewhere along the way we lose focus, we lose sight of the big picture, we start to drift.

Has this happened to you? It's certainly happened to me. Why is this?

Now, we could be talking about any kind of change: professional development, financial or relational changes, spiritual or personal development, education- whatever. For the sake of this discussion we'll keep it in the realm of physical health - 'cause that's how I help people - making changes to our health by attaining and maintaining a healthy weight. We start strong, but at some point we get stuck and it feels like were banging our head against a wall. We wake up with good intentions, but by mid afternoon the mojo is gone and the coffee in the break room just ain’t gonna cut it, so we go for the next best thing, which might be our coworkers bagel or a slice of pumpkin roll that our cubicle mate's better half made because "it’s the holidays!" Then, about a minute after the last bite goes down the hatch, we come to our senses and go "Whyyyy? I had such good intentions! Why do I end up under the bus every day at 3 PM?"

Been there? Yep, me too.

So what’s missing?

A lot of times what’s missing is a set of clearly defined goals. But more than that, what’s missing is the reason(s) behind those goals, the "why" behind the "what."

What does this mean?

I'll use myself as an example. If I say I want to lose weight, that’s OK but it’s not very clear - it denotes direction but not a destination. So I refine it, say I want to lose 40 pounds. OK, better, but now ask why: Why do I want to lose 40 pounds? Because my doctor said I should? My wife said I should? My kids, my friends, my life insurance agent said I should? Man everywhere I go I got people shoulding all over me! And these people may be well intentioned, but they are all external to myself. I know from experience that when the motivating factors are extrinsic - outside myself - it’s not going to work, or at least it’s not going to work for very long.

So what do I do?

I need to get crystal clear on my goals, and my reasons - not someone else’s reasons - my reasons why those goals matter. Once I have my goals, my reasons, and the reasons for those reasons, then executing the plan, following a program, creating positive change, becomes natural expression of my intrinsic motivation.

And there’s a simple way to keep these intrinsic motivations is front and center. Ready for this?

Write it down, and post it somewhere you can see it. "That's it?" That's it.

Let me illustrate. My background is in architecture and construction. At every project, inside every job trailer, the contractor has a plan center, which consists of a rack of drawings, and a table to roll them out and look at them so he can see the big picture, drill down on the details, and check overall progress. During the course of a project, the contractor consults the plans on a regular basis - daily; hourly; minutely if necessary - in order to keep the project on track and on schedule, so that at the end of each phase of the project everybody - the owner, the architect, the contractor - can verify that the project has been created in accordance with the plans.

In contrast, can you imagine a construction project where the Contractor looked at the drawings once at the beginning of the project, then rolled them up and shoved them in the corner, thinking "I got this." Yikes!

For the purposes of personal development, of creating health, creating positive changes in our lives, let’s create a Plan Center. Once we have everything written down - our crystal-clear goals, and our reasons why those goals matter - post them in your Plan Center. Keep it concise - one page, no more: this is what I want, and these are the reasons why I want it. Maybe your Plan Center is your bathroom mirror, maybe it’s a cork board at your office, or the wallpaper on your laptop, or the photo on your smart phone. Maybe you have copies of it in all those places. The key is to keep it someplace you can see it and consult it every day. This is not set-it-and-forget-it, that’s not how people work.

Daily.

Hourly.

Minutely.

Make it your morning meditation, your mid afternoon mantra. Do whatever you need to do to keep it top of mind. And let it be a living, breathing document, subject to ongoing refinement. As you progress, you're going to learn things you don't know now. That's a good thing, it's called being a human being. Incorporate this stuff into your plan: edit, revise, update, retool, reprint, and repost. Keep it where you can see it.

If you don't... Well, I'm not gonna say that you won't succeed, but I'e been there, and when the "why" is unclear or undefined or it gets hazy, success can be elusive. And when we don't get the results we want, when our goals go unfulfilled, when our hopes and expectations go unmet, it's easy to fall into the thought trap of "oh well, I guess it's not for me."

Believe me, I've spent years there. It's a lie.

Change is possible, lasting, positive change. You just have change the way you think about how you think about it. Which is where I am now.

If you can get your hands around this, if you can anchor your motivation and tie it to your actions, you can achieve whatever you want. Impossible becomes Possible.

If you're trying to initiate positive change in your life with regard to your health, weight, and fitness, if you're interested in any of this and you have questions, if you have goals but you feel like you're stuck in a rut - please reach out! Find me on Facebook (there's a link here somewhere), shoot me a friend request and PM me, or email me at DavidJamesPhillips[at]Gmail.com. Let's start a conversation, see if we can awaken your intrinsic motivation, and get you headed toward positive change in your life.

Peace.

David Phillips

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.

Pre-Race

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.

-David

.

Tour Divide Tracker is Live!

The Tour Divide tracking map is live!  Check it out (and preview the course) at

http://trackleaders.com/tourdivide16

Race day is still two weeks out, so not a lot of action out there yet.  In the days leading up to the Grand Depart, you'll start to see little blue & pink dots populate the map, converging on Banff, Alberta, Canada.  I'll be in the mix (look for DP), starting in Banff and racing southbound (sobo in TD parlance).  There will also be a smaller number of dots converging on the south end of the route - those represent the racers who are racing northbound (nobo).

You'll likely see other dot colors as the race progresses.  Yellow dots are for those challenging the course purely as an individual time trial (ITT), which means they're racing, but they're not participating in the Grand Depart on June 10.  You'll see yellow dots on the map all summer long. White dots are for those who choose to tour rather than race the route.  Has to do with pacing.  Want to stop and smell the flowers, and check social media at every available hot spot?  You're probably not racing; white dot for you.  Orange dots are for those who have deviated from the course - intentionally or otherwise - and have not gone back to the point of departure before continuing forward on the route.  That's a violation of the rules; orange dot for you.

This is as close to live coverage as you're going to get for this event.  I've been watching dots on maps for years now, and I'll warn you - it's addictive.

Who knows - maybe you'll end up being a dot on a map someday.

We should all be so lucky.

-David

Fast Forward

<tap> <tap> Is this thing on?

Let's cut to the chase: I'm racing the Tour Divide this year. Or rather, I'm going to attempt the Tour Divide this year.

A year and a half ago I'd been planning on doing the Tour Divide in 2015. Then I decided not to. And that was that. I though my whole Tour Divide dream was over.

But then something happened I hadn't anticipated. Without that dream, that goal, pulling me forward, I started to spiral down into an emotional slump. With my mental and emotional state in decline, my physical health soon followed. I was a sedentary, chronic grump. It was not pretty. Ask my wife.

So in February or March of 2015, I decided to get back on the horse. I assembled a training plan (I'm too cheap to hire a full-time coach at this point), and started training in earnest last summer. Training has gone well, and although I have't hit all my goals, I've made some serious gains. Bike and gear are sorted, maps pored over, and logistics studied ad nauseam.

I think I'm ready. Or as ready as I can be as a TD Rookie.

Okay, there is one last appointment with an orthopedist to check out this thing with my knee, but it's more for curiosity than to suss out an actual problem (fingers crossed), so I don't anticipate any real snag there. We'll see.

I deliberately didn't blog about my preparations this time around, 'cause what if I bail again? Why humiliate myself. Again. At this point, though, the plane ticket is paid for, and I've got a reservation at the Y in Banff. All that's left is to taper, pack up the bike, and show up.

In two weeks.

Yes, June 10 is race day. I fly to Calgary on the 8th. I'll post details about how you can follow along once the race is underway, if you're so inclined.

So yeah, getting down to the last minute. Starting to get nervous now. Is this really happening? Yes, yes it is.

Wish me luck.

-David

Tour Divide - Rules Are Rules

As riders, we’re attracted to events like the Tour Divide in part because of the rules.  And when I say “rules” I mean those listed on the tourdivide website – not the ongoing flame war on the bikepacking forum.  The rules are simple, and they’re tough.

• Stick to the course.  No exceptions.
• Advance forward on the route under your own power.  No motors, no drafting.  Sweat & oxygen only.
• No help from outsiders, unless the "outsider" is a commercial establishment that is open to the public.
• And if you break a rule for any reason, have the stones to self-relegate.

Solo.  Self-support.  Basically, do it on your own.  All bound up in nothing more and nothing less than a "gentlemen's agreement."  Nothing to win or lose but honor.  Pretty straightforward.

That being said, there are those every year who view the rules as more or less flexible, more like guidelines, to quote a certain pirate captain.  And there are others watching on trackleaders who notice, and wonder why said rule-bending racers haven't self-relegated.  And then there are others who seem to think that the rules as written are too stringent, and isn't it really up to the individual racer's interpretation and intention as to what kind of race they really want to be a part of?  And there are others (I'm losing track here...) who think there should be multiple classes of riders, presumably one for each group of a-la-carte rule-sets being followed at any given moment.

Yeah, makes no sense to me either.  Eszter summed it up perfectly in her post: "We didn't have issues following the rules of 4-square when we were all in second grade.  Why now?"

Exactly.  The rules are what make it a race, and they don’t need to be changed.*  Don't want to follow the rules as written?  No problem.  Lucky for your, there’s already another class of Great Divide rider.  It’s called tourist.  It just doesn’t come with the prestige of having your pointy blue dot chasing its way down the continent with all the others on the race page at trackleaders (though friends and family can follow along on the GDMBR general live tracker).  Maybe that’s a tough pill for those who want to be seen rolling with the fast crowd.

As for me, I’m not 100% which way I’m going to go in 2015 – racing or touring.  I’m one of those for whom this will be my first foray into multi-day racing.  Would I like to see my blue dot (more to the point, would I like to have others see my blue dot) on the race page at trackleaders?  Heck yeah!  Do I plan to uphold the rules as written?  I do.  But my primary goal is going to be learning – learning the course, learning what I’m capable of, learning how to do be a part of this crazy sport.  Is that really racing?  I don’t even know.  But unless I put that pressure on myself – the expectation that I’m going to push myself at something like a race pace – my outing could easily devolve into a leisurely tour.  And that’s not what I want.

Somewhere in that "Spirit of the Tour Divide" forum, someone suggested that a commitment to follow the rules be a part of a prospective racer's letter of intent.  I don't know why that never crossed my mind when I wrote my "blog of intent", but I think it's a good idea.  So consider this an addendum to my letter of intent.

I’ll be racing.  And I’ll play by the rules.  And if I end up breaking a rule for any of a million reasons, well, hopefully you’ll hear about it from me first.

-David

*Okay, I realize I just said the rules don't need to be changed, but I'd like to add one.  Call it the "good sam" clause.  If someone is in need of assistance - maybe she snapped a quick-link in grizzly country, or maybe he's face down in a ditch and the buzzards are circling - have the decency and/or courtesy to offer a helping hand.  What do you have to lose?  You won't be penalized for it, and whether they self-relegate or not, well, that's up to them.  Heck, they may not even accept your offer.  But at least you'll go to sleep at night knowing you're a decent human being.

Tour Divide 2015: Cracking the Nut

Now that I'm in this thing, how am I gonna get it done?  The more I ponder the possibilities - and assuming I actually can get it done - the more the following three things come to the surface.

Go alone.  Learn.  Keep moving.

Go alone.

First, I'm going alone.  Technically, anyone who challenges the Tour Divide does so as an ITT - Individual Time Trial.  Man against the clock.  The rules say that "Divide racing may be challenged at any time."  They then go on to say "TD emphasis is on a second Friday in June (southbound) 'grand départ.'"  That's when most southbound Tour Divide challengers congregate in Banff (or, if nobo, in Antelope Wells) for the grand départ.

I will not be among them.  I'm not anti-social or anything, but I'm waiting until late July to fly to Banff and point my bike south.

There are a couple of reasons for this.  First is weather, which, on the Tour Divide is like a box of chocolates.  But after watching the GD racers get pounded by the elements for a week straight this year, I'm hedging my bets, and hoping things have dried out by the time I start my run.  Not sure what this will mean when I hit New Mexico during monsoon season, but unless I start in September, monsoon season is going to be hard to avoid anyway.

The second reason is my own weakness when it comes to riding with others.  By going solo, I can circumvent my own propensity to try to keep up with stronger racers.  Maybe you can ride with others and not fall into this trap, but for me, it seems like no matter how I try, if there's a carrot out there in front of me, I'm a-gonna go for it.  Long ride, short ride, doesn't matter.  I can't help myself.  I know it's a trap, and I fall into it every time.

"Dave, see that trap?"

Yup. 

"You sure?  That trap right in front of you?"

I see it.

"Really?  'Cause it looks like you're about to step into it."

I'm good, I got this.

"Okay, go!"

Smack!  I fall into the trap.  I've pushed too hard and blown myself up, and within a hour, all I want to do is lie down in the ditch and take a nap.  

Pacing.  Sticks and carrots.  Impulse control.  Guarding my reserves.

Still working on those.

Learn.

In The Cordillera V5, one of the things that really stayed with me was Erick Armentrout's observation that "The first time you race the Divide you're not racing, you're learning.  When you come back you're racing."  Actually, this advice came from someone Erick met at the mercantile in Hartsel, Colorado.  In any case, it had the sound of wisdom, so this is the approach I'm taking on this, my rookie attempt.  Whether or not I ever return to "race" the Divide, well, we'll just have to wait and see about that.

When I talked about this approach with a friend, he coined the term "fast recon".  It's still racing, but I'm not out there to smash records or even approach the podium.  Frankly, I'd be thrilled with a qualified finish.  25 days is pretty much the outside limit of what is considered a competitive run for men, so that's my baseline.  There are so many variables out there, so many unknowns.  If I can shave a day or two off, great!  But this is my rookie run.  If I can make it to Antelope Wells in one piece, I'll take it.

Keep moving.

In the trailer for Ride The Divide, Matthew Lee gives away his secret to a successful run.  "Always need to keep moving, keep moving, keep moving.  Always."  I think that's the name of the game.  I don't necessarily need to move fast - unless there's a tailwind, or a descent, or both (score!) - but I do need to keep moving.  I think I remember one top-ten finisher saying "I don't ride faster than anyone else; I just sleep less."  Be smart about the time I take off the bike.  I mean, I'll take time to take pictures, smell the flowers and chat with the locals when opportunity presents itself.  But no lazing about in town when there's trail to be taken.

That's the strategy.  Preserve my capacities.  Learn all I can.  Always keep moving.  Finish.

And maybe someday I'll get to come back and really race this thing.

-David

Tour Divide 2015 - Contact Part 2: Butt

There is nothing quite like the exquisite misery that is delivered by a saddle sore.  It's one of those things where you think you can keep pushing, just muscle through the pain, not realizing you're opening yourself up to an infection that can take you out of the game for days, if not weeks.

There are several things you can do to reduce the possibility of toxic ass-et syndrome: shorts and padding, chamois cream, training mileage, personal hygiene, and the saddle.

Ah, the saddle.

Berthoud Aspin.  As seen on eBay.

I've already mentioned how when I bought my bike, I allowed vanity to enter into my saddle selection, and bought a Gilles Berthoud Aspin touring saddle.  It was a thing of beauty.  But it never quite felt right.  When I went for my bike fitting, I discovered why.

Stephen Merz at Cyclologic is my bike fitter, and one of the services Cyclologic provides is saddle pressure analysis.  With the bike mounted in a trainer, he slips this electronic boot thingy over the saddle, you get on and start to pedal.  As you pedal, he can see in real time where pressure is loading and unloading on the saddle through the cycle of the pedal stroke.  If there are any potentially hazardous pressure points - i.e. under the sit bones - he can see it on his screen.

Before we continue, a little anatomy lesson: what are "sit bones?"

Sit bones (ischial tuberosities) are the part of the pelvis you sit on.  Think of them like the curved runners on a rocking chair.  When you sit erect on a chair, you're actually tipped up on the rear points of the rocking chair runners.  This upright posture isn't so bad because the seat of the chair has enough surface area to disperse pressure to the rest of your butt and thighs, and allows you to move around when you get uncomfortable.  Not so on a bike saddle.  When you sit upright on a bike saddle, the rear points of the sit bones exert pressure on the tissue between the bones and the saddle.

This video shows a tale of two saddles.  My two saddles in fact.  The one on the right is the Berthoud.  As it plays, you'll notice that there are three major pressure points, and they don't move around much.  The points on the left and right are under the rear ends of the sit bones, and the fact that they don't move around tells me that the tissue between the bones is not being unloaded during the pedal stroke, and is therefore less able to recover as I ride.  Concentrated pressure over time leads to tissue fatigue and eventually to saddle sores.  Ouch.

This could be mitigated if I were able to roll my pelvis forward on the saddle as I ride, off of the rear "tips" and onto the longer "runners."  In this position, the shape of the sit bones allows for a wider dispersion of pressure, and the motion of the pedal stroke should allow the sit bones to rock back and forth, allowing for pressure to load and unload on any given point.  But I'm unable to lean forward on this saddle because of the third pressure point.  The one in the middle.  If I were to roll forward on the pelvis, I'd be increasing pressure in the, um, center area.  Such pressure can lead to more than just saddle sores.

Cobb Randée.

So Stephen introduced me to the Randée, a new saddle from Cobb specifically designed for folks doing brevet-style all-day-in-the-saddle kind of events.  I spent one hour on a trainer with Randée, and immediately put my Berthoud up on eBay.  In the video above, Randée is the saddle on the left.  The shape of the Randée allows me to roll my pelvis forward onto the "rockers" of the sit bones, reducing concentrated pressure on the tissue supporting the pelvis without increasing pressure in the middle.  The pressure points that do flare up during the pedal stroke tend to move around, which shows that the tissue beneath the sit bones is better able to unload - and get some relief - during each pedal stroke.  Overall, a much better scenario for long days in the saddle.

For chamois cream, DZ Nuts comes highly recommended, so I'm trying that out.  For shorts, I'm currently wearing DeSoto 400 Mile shorts, which have a 14mm (!) pad, and some high-tech wizardry involving tiny embedded ceramic beads to reduce friction between the saddle and the shorts.  The best part, though, is that they actually provide a degree of compression - more so than typical riding shorts - which is supposed to help stave off muscle fatigue.  So far, I like them.  Order large though - these things are snug!

Everyone's anatomy is unique.  I really wanted the Berthoud saddle to be the one for me, but sometimes things just don't fit together the way we want them to.  I can't recommend one saddle or pair of shorts over another to anybody.  But I absolutely recommend a saddle pressure analysis like the one performed by Cyclologic.  In my view, it's an essential part of the fitting process.

-David

Tour Divide 2015 - Contact Part 1: Hands

When riding a bike, you come into contact with it in three places: hands, feet, and butt.  Okay, technically that's five contact points, but you get the idea.  When riding that bike for miles and miles and miles and hours and days and weeks, it's important to think about how you interface with those contact points.  Minor irritations on a weekend ride with your buddies can turn into unwanted game changers when undertaking a multi-day bikepacking race.  The last thing you want when you're headed to the middle of nowhere is for your bike to rub you the wrong way.  Literally.

The "look."

So, hands...

But before I get into that, I have a confession.

I'm usually a pretty pragmatic guy, but when I ordered my bike, I have to admit to some degree of vanity.  See, I was going for a "look."  Those of you seasoned enough to know better are already grinning at my folly.  Anyway, when I ordered the bike, I also ordered a Gilles Berthoud Aspin touring saddle, a beautiful natural leather French-made piece of bicycle art, and matching leather handlebar wrap.  I even bought vintage-looking ElevenGear riding gloves.

Quite the ensemble.

Now, I did take the extra measure of wrapping the bars with an under-layer of Specialized Bar Phat.  I mean, it's gonna be rough out there.  Gotta treat your hands right, right?

Then I took it all out and rode the Chino Grinder, and I learned a few things about contact points.  I'll save the saddle discussion for another time, but here's what I learned about that pretty, smooth leather bar wrap: it's slippery.  Especially with matching leather gloves.  Especially on gravel roads.  With washboard.  I only rode the short course, but after 42 miles, my forearms were sore from simply trying to hold on to the handlebars.  No way this stuff was going to go any serious distance.

So, off it came.  I kept the padding, but switched out the leather for Lizard Skin bar tape.  Very tacky, very grippy, and in combination with the Bar Phat, very cush.  So far, it's been great.

I haven't finalized on gloves yet.  I like the carpenter's gloves I've been using on my trail bike - simple, cheap and durable protection, although they have no padding to speak of.  I do still dig the ElevenGear gloves for warm, dry riding.  They offer less finger protection, but offer some modest padding in the palm.  And did I mention that they look cool?  Not sure if either are going to do the job just yet.  Decisions, decisions.

I haven't bought thermal or wet-weather gloves yet.  After the horror stories I've heard from those who rode in the 2014 TD (Grand Depart), I'm uncertain which way to go.

For rain, I was keen on the Mountain Hardwear gloves that Marshal Bird was going to take out, but after reading about his experience, I'm thinking twice.  I've heard similar stories about other brands of "waterproof breathable" gloves too.  So at this point, I'm looking elsewhere to find something appropriate.  So far the most promising thing I've found is from the world of motorcycle touring.  My favorite so far is the Aerostich short gauntlet rain covers, but even Aerostich offers a bullet-proof (and cheap) alternative: industrial dish gloves.  At $4 a pair, I'll probably throw a pair of these in my kit for good measure.

As for thermal gloves, I was looking at the DeFeet Wool Duraglove.  Simple, inexpensive, Merino wool.  Pretty tough to beat.  Then when it came time to pony up, my size was not available.  Come to find out the Wool Duraglove is being discontinued, as DeFeet is introducing a Wool ET (electronic touch) Duraglove to replace it.  It's only a couple dollars more than the original, and is designed to be used with touch-screen devices.  Handy when futzing with the GPS or making a phone call with the smart phone.

Looks like these just came online, so if you'll excuse me, I gots me some shopping to do.

-David

Tour Divide 2015 - Bike Mods

So, Salsa Fargo 2.  Steel frame, drop bars.  A great bike.  How do I make it better?  More specifically, how am I going to tailor this bike for my use as an overland back country survival vehicle?  The Tour Divide takes place mainly on backroads and trails, with a little bit of single-track and a whole lot of climbing.  So what about this bike needs to change?

First modification: wheels.  There's a growing body of evidence that suggests that for mountain biking, wider rims make more sense than the beefed up narrow rims found on most mountain bikes today.  Less burping, better float, less deformation, reduced rolling resistance, yada yada yada.  All very controversial and subject to personal preference, but it makes sense to me.  So I had Peter White build up a new set of wheels using Velocity Blunt 35's drilled to fit a Schrader valve.  Why Schrader?  How many back country gas stations have a compressor with a Presta tire filler?  That's right - zero.  Rear hub is a Hadley 135mm QR, and up front I'm running a Schmidt SON 28 15, a dynamo hub that outputs 6W at 9mph - enough to run a headlight and keep my phone charged.  Wheels are set up for tubeless, and I'm running Specialized Fast Trak Control 29x2.2" tires.  They're light, they're fast and they're quiet, even on pavement.  I love my wheels.

What about the stock wheels?  I set them up with Schwalbe Marathon HS 420s.  I've taken them out a few times, but they're less comfortable and no faster than the Fast Traks, so I leave them at home and use them on the trainer.

By the way, cost of a complete bike plus custom wheels was about the same as the cost of a naked frame & fork set built up from scratch.  This way, though, I have a second set of wheels to train with.  Food for thought. 

Modified wheels & drivetrain. This mule is built to climb.

Second modification: cranks.  The bike comes stock with SRAM S1000 2x crankset with 28/42 chainrings.  I want lower gearing than this, so I swapped out the stock part with a SRAM S1400 crankset (the OEM version of a SRAM X7) with 24/38 chainrings.  Thank you eBay.

Third modification: cassette.  The stock cassette is a SRAM PG1050, which I left on the stock rear.  For the custom wheel, I added a SRAM PG1070 11-36 cassette, and to that I added a OneUp 40T granny gear.  The handy thing about the OneUp kit is that comes with a 16T cog as well.  Instead of making room for the 40T cog by simply yanking one of the higher cogs - say 17T - and being left with a jump of 15T to 19T in the upper gears, you can pull out the 15T and 17T cogs, and replace them with the new 16T cog.  It does wonders to smooth out the shifting, and overall the system works as well as the stock cassette.

Now, the Tour Divide is largely about climbing, so let's talk ratios for a minute.  My Santa Cruz Tallboy has a 3x crankset with a 24T chainring up front, and a 36T cog on the back, resulting in a granny gear ratio of 24/36 = 0.667.  Decent, but I still end up walking more than I'd like on Crown King Road.  Definitely not low enough for loaded backroad touring, IMHO.  On the high end, Tallboy and Fargo both have a 42T chainring mated to a 11T cog resulting in a final drive ratio of 42/11 = 3.82.  Nice.  Now, the stock 2x Fargo crankset has a low ratio of 28/36 = 0.778 - much higher than the Tallboy, and way too high for the kind of climbing involved in the TD (again, IMHO).  Now, if I were simply to drop the front chainrings down to 22/36, that would result in a granny gear ratio of 22/36 = 0.611.  That's a significant improvement on the low end, but the penalty comes on the high end, where the final drive ratio is reduced to 36/11 = 3.27.  Not terrible, but not ideal either.  With the crank/cassette mods I listed above, my granny gear ratio is 24/40 = 0.6 (!), and the final drive ratio is 38/11 = 3.45.  Happy medium.

Why so low, you ask?  With a low ratio of 0.6, I'll probably spin out at about 5 mph, and have a comfortable cadence somewhere between 3 and 4 mph.  One could argue that I could get off the bike and push it nearly as fast as I could ride it in low gear.  Maybe, but at least with this gearing, I'm still on the bike, and I'd rather ride the bike than push it whenever I can.  Personal preference.

There are other modifications having to do with contact points, but I'll save that for another day.

It's coming together.

-David

Tour Divide 2015 - The Bike

When I was a kid, my parents allowed me a ridiculous amount of personal freedom, and I rode my bike everywhere.  On road, off road, in traffic, through fields, across town - wherever the adventure du jour was taking me.  When I got to high school, my grandmother bought me my first real road bike, a Peugeot PS20.  Chromoly frame, Shimano 600 group, all white.  A thing of beauty.  Of course, I did nothing to change the way I rode my bike, or where I rode it, and within a few months, the shape of the rims reflected my beliefs about what a bike should be. 

Ever look back on a past relationship, feel a tinge of regret, and wish you'd been a little more kind and a little less harsh?  That's how I feel about my Peugeot.  Live and learn. 

Fast forward a few years, and now I'm deciding which bike to use for the Tour Divide.  Which bike do I think is going to help me go the distance?  My overall philosophy is that generally, the fewer moving parts, the better.  Less things to go wrong.  I'm not keen on the idea of being in the middle of nowhere when a suspension seal blows out.  Plus, suspension adds a bunch of weight which I'd rather not have to pedal up all those mountains.  So, hardtail with rigid fork it is.

In a perfect world, I wouldn't have to contend with derailleurs either.  I've lost count of how many hangers I've snapped.  However, Pinion gearboxes aren't widely available here in the US, I've heard mixed reviews about Rohloff hubs on the TD, and friends, single-speeds are not for sissies.  I'm not saying I'm a sissy here, but after about a month of researching what ratio every previous TD single-speeder has used in the past, and contemplating what that would mean for ME out THERE...  Ya know what, fine, call me a sissy.  I need my gears.

So I started checking out my options.  My initial intention was to buy a naked frame & fork, and build from the ground up.  What better way to get to know your bike, right?  I put together half a dozen "virtual" bikes in the form of spreadsheets, searching for the ideal combination of frame and components.  Know what I discovered?  Building a bike from scratch is expensive.  Budget considerations eventually prevailed, and I couldn't resist the value offered in a complete bike.  But I still didn't know which one to get.

I've done enough riding on a flat bar mountain bike to know that going long distance on such a bike is very hard on my hands.  At the other extreme, there's a whole spate of drop bar cross and gravel bikes out there, but I didn't relish the idea of being hunkered down over road bars for days and days.

Salsa Fargo 2, fresh out of the box.

Thank goodness for the Salsa Fargo.  Salsa's motto is "Adventure by Bike," and in my view, no bike exemplifies this better than the Fargo. 

The Fargo is one of the go-to bikes on the Tour Divide, as it combines the best aspects of MTB and road/cross bikes into one clean, sexy package.  A more upright position than a road bike, paired with a unique shallow-drop handlebar with flared ends make this the perfect back road touring mule.  

I bought the Fargo 2, which means it has a steel frame in lieu if titanium, and some of the components are a step down from the top shelf.  Would I have preferred the Fargo TI?  Of course!  My dream bike would be a TI-frame Fargo-style 29+ bike with a Pinion 1.18 gearbox and belt drive.  How sweet would that be?  But when one has champagne tastes and a beer budget, one learns to make concessions.

Is the Fargo 2 perfect?  Few things in life are, and the Fargo is no exception.  There are two improvements at the top of my list.  First, make it belt compatible.  The bike has these nifty "Alternator" dropouts on it, but if you're running single speed or an internally geared hub, you're still stuck with a bike chain.  Lamesauce.  Second, make it 29+ compatible.  While I was waiting for my bike to arrive at my local Salsa dealer, I emailed someone at QBP to ask if it was possible to run 29+, if not front & rear, at the very least up front.  I was told that such an arrangement would "ruin" the bike's geometry.  Now that I have the bike, it's clear the Firestarter carbon fork has ample room for a 29+ tire, but there is no way to shoehorn a three inch Knard between the rear stays.  I haven't tested a 29+ tire up front, so I can't say whether or not anything would be "ruined."  But it is tempting to give it a try.

So, perfect?  No.  Awesome?  Yes!  And getting more awesomer with some choice modifications.  I'll get into those modifications in future blog posts, but suffice it to say that I wish this bike had been available when I was in high school.  Maybe then I wouldn't still feel that tinge of regret.

-David

Tour Divide 2015 - Letter Of Intent

Two questions invariably come up when someone decides to take on the Tour Divide.

1. Why (!) are you doing this?
2. How are you gonna pull it off?

Hopefully I can answer some of the 'how' questions later on in this blog.  Maybe someone out there will find it helpful.  I'm no expert, but I've always enjoyed gleaning information and inspiration from the blogs of others as they've made their preparations.

But why?...  The question lingers.  I'm not even sure I can answer it.

I can still recall when I first learned about the Tour Divide.  It happened in 2008, but I remember it like it was last week.  The place, the noise, the light...

That summer, my wife and I were lodging in the Ronald McDonald House in Palo Alto, where our son had received a kidney transplant a couple months earlier.  It was an emotionally turbulent season for us, to say the least, and I was feeling pretty raw.  I had wandered down to the public dining room for a snack when I saw it: a beat-up copy of Outside Magazine with the audacious claim "The World's Toughest Bike Race Is Not in France" on the cover.  Being a bit of a bike nerd at heart (albeit a lapsed one), I couldn't help myself.  

Right away I was hooked.  Here they were, these young guys like Jay Petervary and Matthew Lee (along with the article's author Jon Billman) and a handful of others, and they're going to follow the Continental Divide from Canada to Mexico.  On mountain bikes.

Say whaaa?

Further, they were going to do it unsupported.  That means no chase vehicles with food or coaches or spare parts.  No fans cheering roadside.  No nutritionists, no mechanics, no massage at the end of each day.  If they wanted something during the course of the race, they had to carry it themselves, or hope they could buy it en route.

Crazy.  And irresistible.

Now at the time, I wasn't in shape to participate in a bike race around the block, let alone one over 2700 miles long.  Years at a sedentary desk job had resulted in a BMI teetering on obesity, and the cardiovascular capacity of a piano bench.  Heck, I didn't even own a mountain bike, and I could barely ride my road bike five miles without having to stop to catch my breath.  Yeah, sad.  When I thought about the Tour Divide, and the kind of shape I'd need to be in to show up at the starting line without getting funny looks - you know, the sympathetic, chuckling "what is this guy thinking?" kinda looks...  Well, the disparity between the shape I was in then and the shape I knew I'd need to be in to survive seemed insurmountable.

I believed - for me at least - that the Tour Divide was impossible.

Beliefs are powerful things.  Henry Ford said "Whether you think you can or think you can't, you are right."  Beliefs guide the decisions we make and the steps we take whether we realize it or not.  Actively or passively, we align our actions with our beliefs, and I had allowed the trajectory of my life to cement the belief in my mind that I would never be able to do something as grand and ambitious as the Tour Divide.

But I couldn't stop thinking about it.  Each year, I'd watch the blue dots on Trackleaders and listen to the racer call-ins at MTBCast, and my soul would yearn for adventure.  2010 saw the release of a movie called Ride The Divide, which provided all kinds of fodder for my adventure fantasy.  (Oh, and speaking of adventure fodder, this video by the Adventure Cycling Association is pretty awesome too.)  But at the end of the day, that's all it was for me - a fantasy.

Then in 2012, the tides of life began to change for our family.  I retired from my day job, which allowed me to start riding and training in earnest; further, our son's health continued to improve, and my wife Stacy and I were able to focus on creating health in our own lives.  We shifted from passive to active mode, and as we did, our beliefs started to change along with our bodies.  Last April, Stacy ran the Paris Marathon.  Yes, in France.  Which is a major accomplishment when you consider where she started on her journey toward health.  

Today we're in the best shape or our lives, and getting better every day.

So I'm training and gearing up.  I'm poring over maps and talking to those who have gone before.  And I'm having a blast doing it.  Next summer when I show up at the Spray River Trailhead, I might even look like I belong there.

Why am I doing this?  Because I finally believe it is possible.

-David