TD 2010 Entry #5: Butts Cabin – 87 Miles

June 12^th, one full day of divide racing under my belt.  It felt great saying that to myself.  I was living my dream adventure.  Hell yeah!

After being wide awake and completely amped all night long (see previous post), I was up and rarin’ to go at 6 AM.  Bob, Suzanne and I packed up our filthy belongings, went and had a big, hot breakfast, and eventually hit the road.  Tom joined us, saying that Kent had risen and departed at some point before him.  I found myself once again admiring Kent’s methods.  Because by the time we had all packed up, situated our rigs, and were finished with breakfast, it was almost 9 AM.  For me, that was terrible.  Id wanted to be on the road by 6 or so.  I admonished myself for letting it happen, and swore that I would make up for it by riding long into the night, whether the crew came with me or not.

In what would become a recurring experience, we had a ball buster of a climb out of the city.  The fact that it was paved was of little comfort as we inched up the wickedly steep road.  As I labored, Bob said, “Hey Tony…pant pant pant…look to your left!”  I looked out over a magnificent sweeping vista of impossible beauty.  “That’s….pant pant pant…nice.”

Luckily, the climbing would not last.  Eventually we turned off the paved road and once again found ourselves on rugged dirt roads.  Soon, Devian Gilbert caught up to us.  After chatting with us for a few minutes, he bade us adieu and shot away, vanishing quickly from view.  A competitive fire flickered inside me for about 2 seconds before I extinguished it.  As much as it made me want to start laying down a hairy-chested cadence, I just wouldn’t be able to maintain that kind of speed.   Maybe I’d overtake some of these guys when (if) they started tiring out. 

The route to Sparwood was mostly downhill.  Indeed, it was practically a 30 mile descent right into the city.  This was the first long, extended downhill I’d ever ridden, and it was on rough, bumpy terrain.  Once I got a good feel for it, it was a blast!  However, it quickly dispelled any notion I’d had of “resting” on the descents…no no no.  One must stay tense and alert or risk a spill via any number of fast approaching obstacles, like rocks and ruts in the roads or switchbacks that are more acute than they appear.  These were lessons that this flatlander was learning on the fly.

Also, I had to ride most of the descent out of the saddle, lest my backside get pulverized.  In doing this, I made a mistake I would pay for during the next few days.  I locked my knees while downhilling over the rough terrain.  Sure enough, on a particularly jarring bump, I impacted the crap out of my left knee, and a fiery pain ensued.    Figures…the whole time leading up to the race, I’d been worrying about my right knee, the one I’d had ACL surgery on years ago.  Now, the “good” knee had been hurt instead.  It was Divide Irony.  It was Divirony. 

Thanks to my lapse in attention, standing on the pedals was no longer an option …it hurt too badly.  I spent the next few days sitting in the saddle all day long, gobbling pain killers and punishing my ABC (Ass-Ball-Connection).  I’d already been riding more slowly than I cared for…this definitely didn’t help matters. 

Putting the knee out of my mind as much as possible, Bob, Suzanne, Tom and I continued down into Sparwood.  It was a nice, clean city in a gorgeous environment, and I mentally added it to the list of about 20 places that my wife and I would move to someday.  After Sparwood would be the remote Flathead Valley portion of the race, and as such, it was important that we had full bellies and enough food to carry us to Roosville, Montana.  So we feasted on burgers at the A&W, ordered another meal to go, and resupplied at the grocery.  I was also planning on making my first call to my wife and to MTBCast, but after spending entirely too much time for my liking doing the previous chores, I got antsy.  I at least had to call my wife, so I searched the whole town for a pay phone and called her.  And even though I’d been dreaming up all sorts of entertaining comments to leave on MTBCast, I didn’t bother to call in…too much time had already been wasted.  I’d call from Roosville.  I was ready to roll.

I saw another TD’er in town before we left…don’t know who it was.  I was going to the store and he was leaving it.  When he saw me, he yelled as he rode past “Woo hoo!!  Which way is Highway 3!?”  I laughed and thumbed him towards the highway.  Hm…tally another mark in the “Guys who passed me up” column.

We finally left and hit the 14 miles of paved road leading up to the Flathead turnoff.  I was really getting pretty angry with myself…I had allowed myself to waste time at damn near every opportunity.  I wondered how much farther along I’d have been had I stuck to my plan.  “Man, if I ever do this again…”

I must have really started forcing the pace, because Bob asked, “Is there a reason we’re pushing this hard?” I looked over and saw him laboring harder than I’d seen him before, and then I looked behind us to see Suzanne and Tom falling a ways back.  I’m not sure if I was actually pushing harder than normal or if they were just getting tired.  “Can we slow down a little?” he asked.

I didn’t let on to Bob, but I struggled with that question.  I didn’t want to slow up.  I was tired of being slow when I knew I could be much farther along by now.  I’d missed my goal of Sparwood on the first day, we’d had a late start on the second, riders were passing us…I felt like I was ready to “get down to business.”  On the other hand, my knee was on fire and was begging for me to ease up, and I was enjoying the company of our little crew.  There is comfort and camaraderie being in a group.  I was conflicted.

I was saved from the decision when I looked back again and saw Mike Gibney coming up along side Suzanne.  Huh?  I thought that guy was way out ahead!  I heard him dispensing TD news, so I dropped back to hear.  Matt Lee was almost at the border.  Wow.  That Matt…playing right into our hands.  We had him right where we wanted him.

Mike rode with us for a bit, then, in a sight that was becoming too familiar for my taste, he jetted off ahead of us as though we were barely moving.  How did these guys do it!?

I must say, this 14 mile stretch between Sparwood and the Flathead was the most boring of the race so far.  Although there was nice scenery, the paved road was just not exciting like the mountain dirt roads.  I’d been looking forward to some nice smooth riding for a temporary change, but after 7 or 8 miles of pavement, traffic, and mining operations, I was thirsting for the rugged wilds again.  The others agreed.  Our prayers were answered with the Flathead, though.  Boy were they ever answered!

At the base of Flathead Pass, we stopped to treat some water and have a snack…I shoved down a large Twix and a 5 Hour Energy.  That charged me up pretty good, and I found myself having a gleeful time riding up.   Despite the knee pain, I felt wonderful, and I found myself machining up the pass.  The others fell behind me, and as such, they missed out on the moose I saw darting off into the trees.  I’d never seen a real live moose in my life, and I let out an ecstatic whoop, even though I really only saw his hindquarters. 

Conquering my second pass helped put me in a euphoric state of mind.  My soul was singing.  This is what I signed up for.  Every mile in the Flathead was more spectacular than the last.  Unlike the previous day, the weather was beautiful…there wasn’t a single cloud in the massive, blue sky.  The majestic lands were untouched, unspoiled.  The piney scent of pure mountain air filled my lungs.  This, right now, was the fantasy I’d lived in my mind’s eye in the months before the race.  Me, riding my mountain bike alone in remote wilds of unparalleled magnificence.  This was my paradise.

Soon, I came upon another first: a snowmelt rivulet running across the road.  Ok, so you know by now from reading my blog that I am a flatlander from southeast Houston right?  So I hope you don’t think I’m too much of a dork when I say that I stopped and stared lovingly at this sweet lookin’ obstacle.  It was just a very cool sight to me, and I drank it in with my noobie eyes.  Little did I know that there were plenty more to come.  As I stared at it, sizing it up as far as whether I would ride it or ford it, the others caught up to me. 

“Dude,” exclaimed Bob, “what did you take at the base of the pass!?” 

“Huh?” I asked, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He meant how had I climbed the pass so much faster than them.  I didn’t know, other than that I just felt great.  The 5 Hour Energy gave me a nice boost, but I began wondering if my long, hard months of training with full kit were paying off.  I enjoyed the implied compliment from Bob…during my self-concocted training regime, I was never sure if what I had come up with would prepare me for the rigors of the divide.  So far, it was lookin’ good.  I surely wasn’t the fastest horse in the barn, but I was doing this thing with absolutely no pain or fatigue so far. 

To get back to my dorkdom, I had an awesome time riding through the shallow snowmelt creeks and fording one deep one.  I was super psyched that I had some riding buddies to take pictures of ourselves doing it, too.  Otherwise, we’d have only had the memory.   Suzanne, Bob, and Tom probably thought I was acting like a little kid, and I was.  I was downright giddy.  But they enjoyed splashing around too.  And in case you were wondering, that snowmelt is COOOLD!  Our shoes and socks got soaked through and through, but with the sweet heat of the sun overhead, our feet never stayed cold for too long.

Onward we forged, with myself just the merriest sonofabitch you’d ever see.  Soon, another rider caught up to us…I didn’t know who it was at the time, but watching the replay afterwards, I can see that it was Aidan Harding.  Per the now standard ritual, we all shared some words, then he left us in the dust.  I was left marveling once again at how these guys could effortlessly climb their way right out of my sight in such a short time.  I knew that if I was to ever do this again, I WILL make sure that I come back faster.

As we plowed ahead, it became obvious that Suzanne’s knees were really beginning to bother her.  She was definitely in some serious pain.  I admired her efforts to push on and keep pace.  She made it known that she intended to stop for the day at Butts Cabin, which was another first come, first serve cabin along the route.  Stopping there would mean an 87 mile day, with a two day average of about 100 miles.  Bob was leaning on staying there tonight as well.  I let them know that I would eat dinner with them at the cabin and then split, as I was still feeling spry and lusting for a bigger mileage total.  There would still be 2 hours of daylight left by the time we got to the cabin, so I figured I’d at least get over Cabin Pass and decide how much farther to go from there.  I was happy to hear Tom say he would join me.  But the knowledge that I was about to leave two good riding buddies saddened me.  I’d grown to enjoy their company immensely over these last couple days. 

About a mile from the cabin, two local yahoos in a pickup truck pulled over to talk to us.  The driver was a Canadian Bubba.  A man’s man.  Large guy, muscular…you could tell he loved to kill things.  “Ya’ll headed to the cabin?” he asked.  He told us it was just about a mile further, and that he didn’t think it was currently occupied.  He’d stayed there many times, and once, a grizzly had come and put his face right in the window.

Um…what?

“Oh yeah,” he joyfully explained, “This area right here has the highest concentration of grizzlies per acre of anywhere in North America.”

UM….WHAT!?!?

“Yep, a few days ago, a couple was mauled to death about two miles from here.”

UUMMM….

“They haven’t found the bear that did it yet.”

…….WWHHHHAAATTT!!!!?!??!?!?!

A hundred terrifying scenarios were suddenly swirling around in my brain…it was like a toilet was audibly flushing that evening’s plans right down the drain.  I’m gonna camp out in the middle of Grizzly Bear Central, unprotected, in an area where a man-eating bear with a lust for human flesh is on the loose!?!?  F.U.C.K. T.H.A.T.

As I struggled with this new information, Tom asked the driver, “So what do you think is the best protection against a bear, mace or a bear banger?”

The driver’s reaction was priceless.  This man was a hunter.  He’d killed bears out there, and he enjoyed doing it.  Watching his face as he processed Tom’s question was an event that still makes me laugh to this day.  In the space of about two seconds, here is what his reaction said, without him saying a word:

“What??  Mace or a banger??  What in the hell kind of sissy question is that?  You can’t kill a bear like that.  Where is your gun?  Kill.  KILL.  Shoot the bear and KILL him dead.  Are you some kind of pussy or something?  Jeez.  Well, it’s your funeral, son.  If you want to play fairy games with a grizz, that’s your business.  So I guess mace is what you want.  Bangers don’t hurt the bear.  I mean, at least HURT the bear if you ain’t gonna kill him!  HURT him!”

After the above sentiment danced all over his face for a couple seconds, he said with a glassy eyed look, “Mace.”  Then he left.  Fucking priceless. 

We reached Butts Cabin, which was ours for the taking.  There were signs of other riders having stopped there, as expected.  I REALLY wanted to get more miles in, but the bear killer had driven a mighty fear into me.  A couple had been slain and eaten two days ago!?  And that bear was still on the loose!?  And I was going to camp in his territory!?  No no.  No no no no no.  I couldn’t do it.  I could not move on after hearing that.  I would stay in the cabin with the others. 

They were glad to have me, and I them.  But I made them promise we’d get an early start so we can make up miles.  I suggested a 4:00 AM wake up time.  They unanimously questioned my sanity, and we bartered an agreement of 5:00 AM.

So began my second straight night of no sleep.  The cabin was plenty comfy…a wood burning stove  toasted up the place pretty good, and there were even thin little mattresses on the cots.  But the mosquitos were horrific, and once again, my heart was still beating a mile a minute, just like the previous night.  My eyes were sleepy, but my body was still pumped and ready to rock.  After laying there for two hours wide awake, I began to worry.  This shit WILL catch up to me.  And when it does, I’ll probably zonk out for two whole days and REALLY fall behind.  I HAVE to get some sleep.

Eventually, I was able to doze off, but never for long.  And even when I did, it was very lightly.  All together, I got maybe an hour and a half of light sleep.  I was wide awake when my watch beeped at 5:00 AM.

All the Day 2 pics:

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