TD 2010 Entry #1: Pre-Race

The brutal heat of the south Texas summer was in full scorchitude when Amy and I prepared to leave for Canada. As we waited at our gate to board our flight, I sat with my back towards the window and gave an over-the-shoulder, one fingered salute to the oppressive 100 degree, 100 percent humidity weather that had been wilting my brain for weeks. I smiled smugly, knowing that I was about to escape its clutches for an entire blessed month. The wonderfully crisp air of Canada awaited us.

My pleasure didn’t last long, though. “Um,” said Amy as she gazed out the window, “you may not want to turn around right now.” Of course, this caused me to turn around with neck cracking speed, and I beheld my bike box teetering off the top of a cargo trolley, which was being haphazardly driven by a tooth-challenged collection of cells. As my bike bounced around on top of the cart, inching ever closer to its toppling point, I angrily pulled out my camera and began filming the scene.

My bike had been packed very well, and I knew that the box could withstand some punishment without damaging my precious carbon fiber frame. But I was not aware of the fact that Careless Carl and the Airport Wrecking Crew would be chucking it around on top of cargo trolleys and then speeding around the loading dock with gum-gnashing indifference. My large lettered demands of “HANDLE WITH CARE!” and “THIS END UP!” were of zero concern to the slack-jawed slugs who body slammed my bike off the top of the trolley and on to the loading belt.

I was practically howling with rage by the time the guy in the plane hoisted my bike off the conveyor belt and practiced his discus throwing abilities with it. As my bike sailed out of my view and into the belly of the plane, I cursed myself for placing any trust in these airline baboons, and I swore vengeance upon Continental if I got to Canada and opened a box full of shattered dreams.

Thanks to the meticulous packing job, my bike was undamaged, but the lesson was not lost on me. And thus, I imbue you, the aspiring TD’er, with my first official tip: whether you pack your bike yourself or have a shop do it, and whether you ship the bike on the plane or via a shipping company, for the love of all  you hold sacred, ensure it is packed with ample padding and spacers so that it is fully protected and will not move around when jostled, and do not leave any loose parts floating around in the box. A hard shell bike box would be best. Take out insurance on it as well, because the Unholy Shipping Apes don’t give a rat’s ass about your bike or your Tour Divide.

What a way to start things off, right? Sorry for the rant. Once in Calgary, Amy and I took the Banff Airporter shuttle from to our hotel, the Banff Boutique Inn. However, for TD’ers arriving in Canada alone, I might encourage you to do what my eventual riding partner, Tom Santacroce, did, and ride your rig into Banff. There was almost always a wide shoulder, and I saw lots of cyclists riding the roads. It will save you some money, it will be a good gear check, and the closer you get to Banff, the more beautiful your surroundings become. If you have the time, you could even stop off in the beautiful Kananaskis area for a day of camping and sight seeing. If you’re truly racing the TD, you won’t have much time to leisurely enjoy the magnificent Canadian Rockies during the race, so try to soak it in beforehand as much as possible. I may try to do it this way in 2011.

As our shuttle neared Banff, I became downright giddy. This would be only my third trip into the mountains, and the snow capped majesty that greeted us was still an unbelievably gorgeous sight to my flatlander eyes. For more than the millionth time, I swore that I would move into the folds of the Rockies one day, so that I may be among its soul-soothing perfection and outdoor opportunities every day. Seeing me ogle the landscape through the bus window like a doe eyed school boy, Amy inconspicuously snapped my picture to capture my look of wonder:

Banff is a visually spectacular world heritage city nestled lovingly in the heart of a national park. Every direction you look yields magnificent views. And although it is a bit more crowded and bustling than I cared for, I couldn’t help but fall in love with it. There is a well kept system of hiking trails all around the city which provided access to gorgeous Rocky Mountain scenery, and in the few days we were there, Amy and I easily logged 25 miles hiking on those trails. We also shopped the mall, took in a movie, and dined in lots of good restaurants.

One very cool thing about Banff is that when you talk to someone new, you never know what accent is going to pop out of their mouth. Lots of nationalities were represented there in the residents and the tourist groups alike: Australian, French, Swedish, English, German, Irish, and plenty more. My wife and I started placing wagers on it. When we knew we were about to speak to someone for the first time, we’d do something like:

“OK, I say this guy at the desk is French, what do you say?”

“I say Australian!”

Most of the time we were both wrong. Once I was thrown for a loop when I saw a distinctly Asian couple speaking perfect German. The funniest thing, however, is when the person we were wagering on turned out to be American like us. We’d be like, “Oh, you’re just an American.”

So, to back up a little, we arrived in Banff on Monday evening, and after we checked into the Banff Boutique Inn, settled in a bit, and ate dinner, I assembled the bike. My plan was to ride 30-40 miles on the GDMBR every morning with full gear so I could hopefully accelerate my acclimatization and gain some confidence. Being a lifetime flatlander, I was still quite inexperienced when it came to riding in the mountains, and I felt I needed some time out there before Friday.

A quick mini-review on the Banff Boutique Inn…since these four days before the race were doubling as our first vacation in a year and a half, we opted to stay at a nice hotel rather than the YWCA, where the majority of the racers were staying. I had to make the Chief of Staff happy. The Inn was cozy and charming, but to our chagrin, our room had no phone or television. Amy was pretty irked at this, as she had been looking forward to watching some “Canadian T.V.” I said, “They just call it ‘T.V.’ here.” She said “Shut up.” One further note about the Banff Boutique Inn …it was hell getting the bike in and out of our room. The doors and hallways are narrow, and I had to navigate my way through four of them, complete with sharp narrow turns, to get my bike to and from the room. The proprietor graciously offered to let me use equipment shed out in back of the hotel to store my bike, but that thought made me nervous. I preferred to have it in the room with me, where I could tinker with it at will and have peace of mind that it’s not being jacked with. That being said, it’s a pretty cool place to stay, and it’s right down the street from the YWCA, where the race unofficially begins.

So I got up Tuesday morning around 6:00 AM and rode to the trailhead, fully kitted. On the way, I slowly passed up the YWCA hoping that maybe some like minded TD’ers were outside gearing up for a test ride as well. All was quiet, so I ventured forth alone.

I know this may sound cheesy to the seasoned bikepacking mountain dwellers, but this was my first ever experience out there riding my bike in the mountains, and it was absolutely magical. I’ll never forget it. It was chilly and fairly misty that morning, with a just hint of rain in the air. The route was upward trending, but I hardly noticed as I wound my way through gorgeous mile after gorgeous mile. The rocks, the streams, the trees, the scent of clean air and pine, it was all very overwhelming for me. I laughed out loud, I yelled into the wilds, I choked back a tear or two. I was here. I was finally here. I could almost feel my soul meshing with my environment. This is where I was meant to be…its where I belonged. Told you it would sound cheesy.

There was a moment as I was riding when I sort of “came to” and realized I’d been meandering about in a euphoric stupor. That’s when I noticed I was having difficulty breathing under the exertion of climbing, and also that I wasn’t using my bear bell, thus breaking my promise to my wife. Oopsie. I yanked my bell out of its pouch and eased up on the riding, allowing my poor flatlander lungs a little more respite. I settled into more of a leisurely pace, and began stopping a lot to take pictures. Maybe I’d attack the route with a little more ferocity tomorrow, when I had acclimated a bit more, and when I’d become a little more accustomed to the scenery around me. As it was now, I just wanted to gape at everything.

I would only do about 20 miles that morning since I spent so much time slack-jawing it out there. I had to get back to Amy so we could have our vacation time together. As I left the trailhead, I once again passed by the YWCA looking for fellow crazies, but none were about.

I spent the rest of that day in vacation mode with Amy. The next morning, I once again rode by the YWCA at dawn, hoping to see some TD’ers gearing up for a test ride, but there was naught but chilly emptiness. So I hit the GDMBR alone again, and I tried concentrating more on riding than gaping, though I still wound up ogling scenery like Lindsay Lohan ogles narcotics. Like her, I was addicted, and I had no interest in rehab. But I managed to get in 30 miles that morning, and on my way back, I finally ran into a couple riders, Jacob Johnsrud and Bob Moczynski. For some reason, it just felt really good to see them. They were the first TD’ers I’d seen since arriving in Banff. Hell, they were the first TD’ers I’d seen EVER. It was kind of this weird confirmation that the race was actually real, and that I wasn’t the only looney toon that was going to be in it. Little did I know that Bob would become one of my riding partners those first few days.

We chatted for bit, eyeing each others’ rigs and talking gear, before I dutifully returned to my wife for more vacation time. Poor Amy…I had been hoarding my vacation hours for a year and half to ensure I had enough time to do the TD. That, of course, meant that we had not vacationed together in all that time. Since our honeymoon, in fact. As much as I wanted to keep riding all day, I had a great time hiking in and around Banff with her, enjoying the type of atmosphere that we can only dream of back home. These would be my last days with her for 3 or 4 weeks, or so I thought. It kind of started hitting me then…we’d never been apart for that long since we’d met many years before. Just another sacrifice one must make to compete in the TD.

The next day was Thursday, the day before the race. I went ahead and took the day off of riding, thinking I should conserve energy and spend my last hours with Amy. The conserve energy “mission” was rather half-arsed, as we once again hiked all over the city. Although I didn’t need any more gear, I visited The Ski Shop, just because I felt I had to. It was, after all, the official bike shop of the TD. While I browsed around dying to buy things but needing nothing, Dave Blumenthal and another rider (sorry guy, I can’t remember your name!) came into the shop, themselves and their bikes muddied up good. They’d been riding the GDMBR as I had the previous two days, but a misty rain had softened up the trail for them. There’d be plenty more of that for me the next day.

Later that evening, we attended the TD barbeque and I finally met the whole slew of riders, many of whom were bonified celebrities in my mind. Eric Bruntjen, one of my mentors, Jon Billman, my inspiration, the famous Kent Peterson, who needs no introduction, and of course, The Matthew Lee, king of the Divide. They were all there, many of them with their rigs in tow, and I was finally able to mentally replace their orange tracking dots with their actual faces.

I must admit, I was a wee bit nervous about how these much more experienced guys might view my flatlander, noobie self, if they even knew of me at all. It turned out to be a completely baseless worry. Unlike some elite riders I’ve had contact with (cough cough roadies cough), everyone I met was super cool and immediately accepting, including Matt Lee.

From there, most of the guys went to the movie theatre for the premiere of Ride the Divide. As I’d already seen the flick (Mike Dion awesomely sent me an advance copy for my send off party) I opted to return to the hotel, do my final gear checks, and rest. The next morning….I would RIDE.

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