TD 2010 Entry #4: Elkford – 110 Miles

Canada is gorgeous.  It is just absolutely gorgeous.  In a few short days, I’d seen a life’s worth of beauty in and around Banff, but as I pedaled my way south down the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, the Canadian Rockies just started mercilessly pouring it on.  Words fail me when trying to capture their beauty in writing.   The pictures are wonderful, but they pale in comparison to actually being there.  Just do yourself a favor and go there.  Put it on your list.

I forget at what point I realized I was riding alone, with no other TD’ers in site.  It didn’t bother me…from Day One I had been fully expecting to ride the entire race alone.  The vast majority of my training had been alone, and I was comfortable with it.  In fact, I preferred it as a strategy, as I did not want to have to conform to other riders’ schedules or abilities.   I knew there was a fat chance in hell of me winning the race, (News from the Divide!  42 racers drop, including Matt Lee….Tony Huston now in the lead!!  Schwing!!) but I was going to try my best to put up a good time…sub 24 days is what I was realistically aiming for, and to have a chance at that, I had to really push myself.  I didn’t know if that could happen if I rode in a group.

And so I pedaled on my merry way, not pushing too hard, but never lollygagging for too long either.  Whenever I encountered a majestic view, I briefly stopped and took pics and videos.  I was in a race, but I knew might never make it back to that place again, so I’d spend a few moments reveling in the beauty.  At times I became sort of irked that I was, in fact, racing, because I had an intense urge to just squat in certain areas of unparalleled magnificence and spend the rest of the day enjoying it.   But always, after a few moments of blissful admiration, I dutifully pedaled on.

Somewhere around 25 miles in, I came to Canyon Dam, where I caught up with two riders:  Suzanne Marcoe, whose purple DeSalvo I recognized from her blog, and the Moots riding Mike Gibney, who seemed to be smuggling boulders inside his legs.  This was Mike’s third attempt at finishing the TD.  The two of them were maintaining a pretty leisurely pace as they chatted with one another.  I snapped a photo of them out ahead of me, then exchanged a few pleasantries as I rode past them.  It may sound corny, but passing them amped me up a little bit.  “I passed other racers!  I gained position!  Woo hoo!” 

I had no reason to expect that I’d see them again, but a few miles later, I stopped to have a snack and a picture break near an eye-poppingly beautiful gorge, and they caught up to me and joined me there.  After chomping down a power bar, Mike mounted up and rocketed off, disappearing quickly in the thick woods.  Seeing him tear out of there, I got the feeling that he was ready to “get down to business” as it were.  For the third time or so that day, I marveled at the effortlessness a rider displayed when climbing.  It never seemed that easy to me.  Even after hundreds upon hundreds of miles of training, climbing was always a chore.   As Mike cranked his way out of our view, Suzanne and I clipped in and resumed riding at our slower paces. 

Here are a couple videos I took of the general area I described above.  Mike and Suzanne caught up to me a few minutes after I took these.  These are unedited and I apologize for all the jumblin’ and fumblin’!

Now to reveal my own ignorance.  As I stated earlier, my preferred strategy was to ride alone.  So I wasn’t making any particular effort to synchronize my pace with Suzanne’s, but that’s how it seemed to work out.  Our distance between one another would widen and close at various times, but we were essentially riding together.  I mention this only because this was my first such experience.  I’d done a couple races before, but I’d never consistently ridden with anyone.  It’s funny looking back at it now, but I didn’t know if there was some etiquette I should be following or what.  I figured one of us would eventually pull away from the other, so I thought I should just, um…”ride naturally??”  Then I laughed at myself for even giving it any thought at all. 

The laugh stopped when I realized that my wife was probably seeing me and Suzanne’s SPOT tracking dots right on top of each other.  Uh oh.   That first phone call was gonna be a doozy.

Soon, as Suzanne and I rested at the top of a brutal walker, we heard some rustling from down the slope, and Bob Moczynski appeared, slaving up the steep hill just as we had.  It gave me great peace of mind seeing him and Suzanne as winded as I was.  I’d been sucking wind like a madman up that slope, and I was glad that it wasn’t just the curse of being a flatlander.  They were struggling, too, and that gave me weird solace.

Bob had come from Wisconsin along with his buddy and second time TD’er, Jacob Johnsrud, who was apparently way out near the front of the pack.   I‘d met the two of them a couple days prior a few miles out on the GDMBR.  Bob expressed his delight with having caught up with us.  He was not of a mind to ride alone.  Although I didn’t make it public knowledge, I was not expecting us to ride in a group for any great length of time…I was still sure that we’d eventually separate, or at least I would.  Such was my strategy.  But for the time being it was pretty nice to have some company. 

About 55 miles into the day, we neared our first en-route resupply opportunity, Boulton Creek Trading Post.  I didn’t need anything, so I really didn’t want to waste time by stopping there.  After all, I was aiming for Sparwood, still another 80ish miles away.  I had packed plenty of food,and there was water EVERYWHERE on this route.  Seriously….you could probably start the TD with no water at all and be fine, as there are crystal clear streams, rivulets, and mini-waterfalls all around you.  If Fate allows me to toe the line in Banff again in 2011, I will drastically reduce my starting water supply.  I’d begun the day with 100 oz on my back, which turned out to be totally unnecessary.   It was just extra weight.

Anyway, I decided to go ahead and pull into the trading post with the others, because a very urgent call of nature was playing peek-a- boo with my backside.  There, we met young Tom Santacroce, who I would have sworn I’d seen behind us somewhere, but nope, here he was having a breather, and it looked like he’d been there for a while.  Tom and I had talked via email before the race, and I knew that he was a fellow flatlander hailing from vertically challenged Iowa.  He would join us from that point on.  Little did I know that my fate and Tom’s were intertwined.

In the store, I had my first bad experience with being near the back of the pack…they were sold out of chocolate milk!  I grumbled and bought a coke and some chips.  It just wasn’t the same. 

After spending way too much time dawdling around the trading post, we got back on the road, and I became very excited.  For we were approaching the first pass of the Tour Divide, Elkford Pass, which would also be the very first pass I would ride in my life.  It wasn’t a major pass by any means, but according to the cues, we would be climbing “a virtual wall,” and I was anxious to see how I would fare.  Also, before the race started earlier that day, Matthew Lee reported that the other side of the pass was in miserable condition due to days of heavy rain.  I found myself dying to get there…is that weird? 

It was around this time that I had my very first bear encounter.  I was in the lead, with Bob tailing me and the others tailing him.  “Bear!” called Bob.  I nearly broke my neck swiveling my head to and fro looking for the beast, but, as Bob explained, it had been lurking in the trees as I rode past, and I scared it off.  I never saw it myself, but due to the proximity, I include it as an “encounter.” 

Soon, as we approached the “virtual wall,” the skies began darkening.  There’d been no sun all day, but now, rain threatened.  I didn’t care.  I attacked the pass.  Well…that’s what I thought I was going to do.  More accurately, I slogged slowly up the muddy slope while I looked around smiling.  It was sloppy and cold, and my feet were already soaked, but I had a feeling like “I’m doing this!  I’m actually doing it!”  And honestly, I don’t think the “wall” was very “wall-ish” at all.  If it hadn’t been for the muddy conditions, I don’t think it would have been much steeper than any of the other passes coming our way.

We took a triumphant snack break at the top of the pass, elevation 6443’, and soon, a lone figure came into view behind us, slowly laboring his way up the muddy slope.  He was wearing a turtle helmet.  It was Kent Peterson!  I wondered if I should wait for him and tell him how he unknowingly helped me out of the funk I’d been in earlier that day.  But then I realized that my pace had been virtually the same as someone known as “The Mountain Turtle.”  I pressed on with the group. 

Yep, the backside of the pass was sloppy as could be.  But splashing through the filth brought back memories of high school football games in the mud.  I was actually enjoying it immensely. 

70 miles in, we came to the Tobermory BC Forest Service Recreation Site, which had a first come first serve cabin equipped with a wood burning stove and cots.  I thought it was fantastic.  A free cabin in the middle of one of the most beautiful places on Earth.  Canada, I am lovin’ you somethin’ fierce.

Suzanne had been aiming for the cabin as a possible stopping point for the day.  She was feeling rather fatigued and, I think I recall tha ther knees were bothering her.  She didn’t know if she wanted to press to Elkford.  Bob wondered if he might also stop.  Tom and I felt great and determined to split from them if they decided to stay at the cabin.  As it turned out, the cabin was already occupied by an old timer who was out enjoying the outstanding Canadian wilderness.  Just as we pulled up to it, the rain started falling, and the old fellow chatted us up as we changed into our rain gear under the eave.                                    

As we changed, Kent Peterson caught up to us again.  I love this guy’s style.  He joined us under the eave of the cabin, exchanged a couple laughs while he changed into his rain gear, then left while we were still changing and situating our rigs.  He had the process down to an easy science.  He quickly and cordially took care of his business, and then he left with no concerns about us or when we were leaving.  He was riding his race at his pace, the way he wanted to ride it.   At some point, I reckoned I would do the same with our little group, though I still had not told them as much.  Although I was very much enjoying the company, I just didn’t want to be in situations where if one person has to stop, everyone stops.  I was in a race, after all.     

Suzanne decided to press on to Elkford, and our merry troop continued as one.  By this time, it was somewhere around 8 PM and we still had 40 miles to Elkford.  I began to accept the strong possibility that I would not make Sparwood that night. 

Somewhere over the next several miles, young-legged Tom pulled away from us and disappeared from view.  Later, I pulled away from Bob and Suzanne and they faded out of view behind me.  It was dark now, and for the first time since early in the race, I was riding alone.  I wondered if it was for good.  It was certainly much more boring now…I could no longer see the majestic panoramas around me.  15 miles or so outside of Elkford, a truck came rumbling up the road, and a group of drunken youths pulled up and offered me a beer.  Molsons, I think.  I guardedly declined, wondering if that would offend them.  I’d heard the tales of drunkards harassing TD’ers.  They wordlessly continued on.  Shortly after that, I pulled over to rest for a few minutes before making the final 12 miles or so to Elkford, and Bob and Suzanne caught back up to me.  We pulled into Elkford together at about 11:30 and moseyed over the bar/hotel.  As Bob and Suzanne went inside to inquire about food and a room, I stayed out in the cold and guarded the bikes, and loe and behold, the twosome of Tom and Kent Peterson came riding up.  (But I thought they had been ahead of us???) 

Inside the bar was a headscratching scene.  A warbling rock and roll band was pumping out ear-splitting decibels to three disinterested people.  I guess those three people were deaf.  One of them was drunk with his eyes half closed, and this fellow had some very important things to say to me as he swayed around himself.   I didn’t hear most of these important things, but I did hear him say that he had a 10 room house that he wanted us to stay at tonight. 

“A 10 room house?” I asked.  

“yeah”

“So, you have a MANSION then.  Right?  You have a mansion?”

“yeah…BURP”

He especially advanced the mansion offer to Suzanne.  We were all welcome to stay there free of charge.  It was just “right up the road.” Needless to say, my Spidey sense was tingling.  As much as we each would have loved staying at a mansion nestled lovingly in the Canadian Rockies, and which undoubtedly had a laundry service and a free massage parlor, Bob, Suzanne and I opted to take the last available pizza to the last available room at the hotel.  Tom and Kent were riding on the cheap, and set up camp at a small park a little way down. 

And now, for the strangest, most unexpected story of my first day on the divide.  After we showered and laid out all our wet, muddy gear to dry, we went to bed.  And I swear that I laid there for 5 hours, and didn’t get ONE SINGLE WINK of sleep!  I hadn’t realized this until I lay down, but my heart rate was booming at a mile a minute.  After 110 miles of rugged, muddy riding, I should have been exhausted.  I wasn’t.  I was AMPED out of my mind, and my body wasn’t tired at all.  It was rarin’ to go.

After a couple hours of laying there and hoping I would calm down and get some important zzz’s, I could tell that this was obviously not going away.  I couldn’t believe it…I’d never experienced anything like it before.  Being still and doing nothing was torture.  “Shit!” I thought, “I may as well get back in the saddle and start riding!”  Yes!  That’s what I’d do!  I’d get up, quietly pack my gear, and leave.   I’d make up the sleep tomorrow night.  But no, my bike was buried under the others, there was no room to move them around without waking up the Bob and Suzanne, and my gear was strewn out all over the joint.  It would be impossible to pack my stuff (and no one else’s) in the dark.  I was stuck.  So I lay there wide awake all night long.  It was brutal.  The next day, I was expecting a wave of fatigue and sleepiness to wash over me at some point.  Never happened.  I really felt strong, and I felt I had missed a great opportunity to catch up to the leaders by riding overnight.  It was a lesson learned.  I determined that I would have to split from the group tonight to prevent an occurrence such as this from happening again.

That was my plan.  The Divide had others.  Funny how things work out.

All the day one pics:

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