Training: May 6th – May 12th

A fun week riding and running, mostly in Boulder!

Next week, I’m off starting Monday, schlepping along all the gear I’ll need to make it from Denver, to Salida by Saturday, where the Dirty Double Fondo race will take place – 200km of Gravel Grinding, with some nice elevation gain/loss built-in. My kind of race!

The course follows half of the GDMBR, so I’ll already be intimately familiar with Part #1, and I’ll be pre-riding Part #2, just to make sure there aren’t any surprises. Wind will pay a BIG factor in this race – if it’s windy, we’ll be at a standstill in the middle of South Park, all going 4mph. Hopefully. My race strategy, as always, will be to destroy the hills, and not stop for a resupply, although there’ll be TWO towns in the course. Unheard of. My guess is that I’ll be a lot less than fresh for the race, but I’ll grit it out and after being basically fully loaded for the first part of the week, the race will feel absolutely heavenly.

I’ll also be bringing along some winter climbing gear, as there’s about a dozen 14er’s between here and Salida, and I aim to get up to the top of at least a few of them, before the race, and then afterwards, before I need to get back home for – of all things, band practice. The day after the race, there’s plans to go mountain biking in the Gunnison area, as my teammate is thankfully, bringing my Kona with her, when she meets up with me to do the Dirty Double. Killer week, no?

I’ll even be bringing along my laptop, so when I’m not cycling, or climbing, I’ll be working! We’ll see how well this works out, because it if works out well, this’ll be me for the next couple of months. 

Rough Draft of my plan is to take a late start on Monday, and take dinner in Georgetown, find a place to tuck in for the night, right before the Loveland Pass climb and climb up that in the wee hours of the early morning. Stop at the top and… hike the ridgeline that makes up the Continental Divide to Torreys, then Grays (if I have time) and make it back to the pass, and fly down to Summit County – regroup and figure out the next move. The next move may be to tuck into Frisco and get up early to do another climb – maybe Peak 1/2/3, or ride to the base of Decalbron and do that the next day. Then, get to Harstel, and do Part #2 of the Dirty Double, to Salida and find a place to spend the night and have a nice off day, waiting for my teammate and eating all the food. We’ll see how it goes – the weather may finally start cooperating.

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Adventures in Sensory Deprivation – Anti Epic 160

4/5/13 – 4/6/13, 292 miles

I’m on mile #162 of – on paper at least, a 160 mile race. In other words, pretty near to the end of the ordeal. The clock is ticking off hour number 11 on riding these long forgotten gravel roads south of Denver – and when I say, “South“, I mean, a good 60 miles south. Better sounding then, “20 miles North of Colorado Springs“, I guess – because who knows really where Colorado Springs is, relative to anything, except Pikes Peak?

I’m staring down a small, one-lane slot that makes up the overpass below I-25. Bleary-eyed, a little sunburned. My crotch is something akin to being on fire, as my pair of bibs are very well over their guaranteed freshness date, having seen thousands upon thousands of ill-cared for miles in the (only) 9 months I’ve had them: the stitches in extremely important places are now only memories, stripped out like the fillings in my teeth from today’s ride, the only evidence of both being the holes left behind. My bottles are empty – I’ve been eating roadside snow for the better part of 3 hours. Stomach is full of nothing but rocks.

I’ve picked up quite a bit of speed, as the last few miles have been downhill – the last 75 miles before that have been achingly undulating – but the direction has been mostly up – 7,000 feet of, “up?” Much to my chagrin and complete blubbering of basic chart reading. At present, I’m going about 25 mph, racing directly towards this hole in the wall. On the other side, going a little faster, but a little farther off, is a giant, F-250 red pickup truck. We’re both approaching this slot, not wide enough for both of us – barely wide enough for the truck at a reasonable speed! – and one of us is going to have to give way.

Christ“, I think, “I’m playing a game of Chicken with a local in a 3-ton full-cab.“.

Surely, the truck will give way to the bike. A head-on in the center would render the cyclist (ME), dead and the truck – well, a quick sweep of the wipers and I’m just a little bump in the road. “Perhaps like last week” (I imagine the driver thinking out loud) “when that errant alpaca got loose on S. Spring Valley Road – and, well the speed limit is 50 mph and those undulations of the grade can be gradual – but they can also be pretty abrupt! biff. Unfortunate – and worthy of some ‘plainin’, but certainly the fault of the lesser object in the way.

I do my best impression of this sometimes stubborn, vicugna pacos, opening my eyes just a little more than seems normal and careening my neck to center in with the slot.

I do a cost/benefit analysis.

Squeezing my tiny little brakes weighed in grams with the force of forearms cross-trained at the bouldering crags, little nibblets of rear tire tear off and join in the surface texture, joined by the sound of the skitching tires. The truck continues hauling through. I give them a thumbs up as dust kicks up around me. “Good job!“, I yell.  The driver neglects to give a second glance.

Welcome to the end of the 2013 AntiEpic Gravel Grinder. You have just earned 6th place. Now, go home.

Photo by Ben Welnak

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Training: April 21st – Aprile 28th

I realize that if I don’t write anything here, it looks like I’m not doing anything! Which is hardly the case – I’m just not doing anything overly exciting. To me. But, bikes get ridden, trails get run. I guess I’ll try to list my non-epic errands I do, to get ready for (mis)-adventure: 

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2013 AntiEpic Gravel Grinder Preflight

Photog by Ben @

I signed up to do a 150 mile Gravel Grinder months ago (it seemed soooo important to sign up, early!), and it’s going down this Saturday. I’ll be riding my Surly Crosscheck as a Single Speed to the starting line of the race the night before, racing the race, and then riding home – which is excellent training for what I’ll be doing later this month. So I’m looking at a 200+ mile ride on Saturday, with a little prologue to a secret camping spot I hope to find.

I have no intentions of flat out winning this (as I, uh, never do), but I’d like to make a good showing and have some fun, as I myself have pigeonholed myself as Mr.,  “boy, those cyclocross races are just so short! I’m MUCH better at longer stuff!” and if I suck at longer stuff speed-wise, it’s just sort of official I’m slow, which is probably the case. But dude, I’m still looking at almost 300 miles in 2 days, so there’s that.

In reality, I could probably manage about 15-ish mph pace packing food and water and not much else. If I look at the previous results from 2012 and the easy math I’ve given myself (150 miles, divided by 15 miles an hour is… 10 hours!), puts me finishing in second place. Which, I think only goes to show how faulty my math is. First place was won last year by, you know: someone that actually competes in athletic trials and tribulations on a regular basis, so I don’t think my time would be any faster, rather my 15 mph guess is (characteristically) unrealistically high.

The first single speeder (fixed gear, no doubt – chapeau) finished last year in ~13 hours, or 11.5 mph. Aaron Weinsheimer, whom finished the 2012 Tour Divide a few hours before me (ahem destroyed my broke, single speed ass on the flats), finished the AntiEpic about the same time, too. Aaron’s on the roster for this Saturday again, so it may be a good person to pace with, and shoot the sheet, as I’m guessing I’ll see Aaron again at another Gravel Grinder later this spring at his hometown of Salida.  

So that’s my guess – I’ll finish the course between 10 and 13 hours, probably more near 13 hours, after which I’ll pass out, attempt to find food, water, and make my way slowly home.

Double Dare

Waking up at 2:00am on the Sunday of the weekend St. Patrick’s Day festivities in a drinkin’ city seemed a strange way to begin a trip. I needed to go from the North side of Denver, through the South side, without incident. And then far beyond.

Plan: ride the bicycle from the back door to the Barr Trailhead ~90 miles away in Manitou Springs, CO and immediately begin the 13 miles hike up to the summit of Pikes Peak, for a winter ascent of a Colorado 14er, before it ain’t winter no more (mere days away). And of course carry all the gear that’s probably going to be needed. Which is really unrealistic, so just take what’s absolutely necessary. Which probably means, a different pair of shoes.

Then, take a few winks and ride back home, in perhaps a bit more scenic (read: more difficult, mountainous, less boring) route.

Out of the door by 3:00 am and traffic seems to be surprisingly tame. …not sure what I expected. (CHAOS!). I am tired. Sleep was a nice idea, but the alarm, sorry: alarms went off about the same time I finally dropped off to slumber land.

A ride  through Denver without incidient, and onto Sedalia, to pick up CO 105, which should take me to Palmer Lake and from there, Monument, CO to pick up a bike path? Trail? Something – through the Airforce Academy and – wait. Can you actually do that? Aren’t there security checkpoints? Too late to check that out…. (details)  And into Colorado Springs to pick up supplies (FOOD, large amounts of FOOD) and to the trailhead.

CO 105 turns into one of those picturesque lazy roads, filled with faux ranches that don’t ranch nothin’, and rolling hills, with a nice ever-changing front-row seat to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Well, it would, if I could see anything. The sun won’t make an appearance until past 7:00am, and by 7:00am, I’m at Monument – finally for the first time seeing the object of today’s energetic excursion: the summit of Pikes Peak, the summit itself glistening with a billion ice crystals, just peaking through the nearby foothills. Hmm, a little more snow than I had anticipated. I anticipated actually: none. I can see Pikes Peak from the house, and it looked more green than white. Damn atmospheric perspective…

It doesn’t take long for Pikes to once again become hidden behind (much) lesser peaks, and I pick up the Santa Fe Trail, and I roll closer to the range. It’s a dirt track, which will work. Work better than the Interstate, which is illegal, but not below me.

I switch off my lights and there’s runners milling about the trail.  I pass a sign that says something about the air force academy, but I’m trying to make time, so ignore it. What could it possibly say?

The trail gets a little to exuberant in its changing of directions. I make the decision to exit, as I have no idea where I’m going (first time down here), and I see a road, and maybe that road takes me to the frontage road that parallels the interstate. It’s gonna be a long day, and “Conservation of energy” is the word of the day. Days.

The road turns out to be the main entrance to the academy and I pass the checkpoint entrance going the wrong way, and then straight into an exit onto the Interstate and well, that won’t work. I backtrack a bit, but don’t want to deal with going through the gate, or backtracking too much, or checking… I dunno: a map, or  talking to the guard – whatever it is, I gotta do.

I spot a random two track that goes south – my direction, so I take it. For a few miles. It dead ends into a barbed wire fence and a sound barrier between the interstate and a random neighborhood, on the outskirts of Colorado Springs. I retrace just a few and hop the fence, directly into someone’s back yard, which is a no-no – especially here, where people are apt to be a little more gun-lovin’ The fence has a sign I read once over the fence. “No tresspassing, airforce property, penalty of-“, blah blah blah. I gotta get out of this yard and back on a road, before a neighborhood dog sounds the alarm.

And I do.

Grab some grub at an Albertsons. Horrible selection, what was I thinking going to an Albertsons?! I pass some more familiar grocery stores – three, in fact, on the way to Manitou Springs, which is just up the road. It’s now 10:00 am. The trailhead is buzzing with people – trail runners, mostly in their trail running groups talking trail running things, with their garish, trail running outfits on. This sport seems to be in its “Loud and ugly” fashion phase, I don’t know what to think about it. It’s such a simple activity (put on shoes, run – preferably not on pavment), and Minimal is the Mantra, but there’s a million ways to Personalize the Experience(tm).

And so then I put on my own trail runners (a modest pair of Montrails), some running tights, a pair of running shorts, a long undewear top, and a light, wool hat – all black: as I just look goofy overly accessorizing. I look goofy by default, so its hard for me to pull off anything too loud looking. There’s trail runners around me that are workin’ it. I admit. All kinds.

 I change out of the bike gear outside and behind of the bathroom area, as the queue of people requiring it is an always evolving mass that doesn’t quite reach a critical level. It’s like being in France at a grocery store. For already being up for 7 hours  – most of it in the sensory deprivation state of pitch black and below freezing,  it’s just too much information to take. Funnily Colorado Springs – a fairly major metropolitan center…. for the Front Range of Colorado is spitting distance and trail heads do tend to be a little whacky close to population.

I begin to go up the trail.

The trail starts out as a never-ending set of switchbacks for miles. I’ve hiked 14ers that have far less total mileage than these switchbacks to the top. It’s completely mobbed with trail runners. And all of them are going down. Like racing down. Bounding down. Young ones, old ones, portly and svelte. I either missed the time where it’s allowed to run up this trail, or there’s a secret trail everyone else is taking up that must be many times more important to run up, that you would never, ever run down. My entire time to the summit, I’ll pass three other people going up, and no one that goes all the way to the top. This is madness, to me. 

The Barr trail, once up the switchbacks (pray), is what you may call, “casual”. “Why didn’t I bring the bike?”, was the question I kept asking myself. I stripped off my top and became the Shirtless Man, for all the trail runners. A few hours from the start of the hike, and I’m at Barr Cabin, mile #6.5 ish. I start drinking my energy replenishment drink (a 20 oz Coke) and mill about the outside of the cabin. I peek in for a touch, and try to make small talk to the two cabin-watchers and a guest. I am not quite at 100%, but not completely gone, as I at least know I’m not making much sense, every time I talk. “I better just keep going…” I think to myself. So I say, “so long!”, and they reply back with, “Have fun trail running back down”, and I don’t turn around to correct them, as I’m still planning on going up. Not many people today decide to keep going up.

 From the cabin to the A frame shelter at treeline, I pass one guy (of the three). He’s complaining about lack of fitness, so he’s stopping at treeline. “Bah”, I think. Mental fatigue has already set in. I know I’ll be hallucinating, soon.

The wind is picking up. It begins even to lightly snow. Off and on – you know, how Colorado normally is above 7,000 feet, most of the time. The trail though, is largely lost through drifts caused by the winds. The summit is obvious enough and I’m dumb enough to just start going straight up, instead of taking the second stretch of endless switchbacks. The snow is in poor condition: just these windpacked areas, with a thin top coat of newly-fallen powder, a thick, almost icy crust and then corn crap underneath. It’s classic, “you’re going to start an avalanche” conditio
ns, but there’s some many boulders, that I tell myself that’s not going to happen. Which… is how people die. (BAH!)  And the snow isn’t all that deep. It’s actually pitifully scarce. This winter was bad for precip. and this summer is going to be a rerun of The Shit is on Fire, show, unless it starts dumping down and that show gets canceled. 

500 feet from the summit and the days activities are starting to take a little hold of me. I am well over hour #14 of almost constant moving, knowing full well that the summit is close but isn’t that close, and afterwards, I still have to get down. Then it really starts to snow.

I get to the top of my own route and summit. “Cripes, what am I wearing?”, I think to myself. I have running tights and rain pants on, trail runners, and my top is two polypro undershirts, and a rain coat. And a hat. Not even gloves: little underglove things . It’s winter, I’m over 14,000 feet and it’s snowing.

I don’t dilly dally long at the top. Tried to take a photo, but every time I stop for more than 30 seconds, anything wet (shoes, gloves, hat, etc) freezes, so I just bail at properly documenting the ascent, to the chagrin of my future-self, as I type this out. From the summit though, I know where the trail ends, so I can hopefully follow the true trail downwards and not get lost.

This plan works for about 30 meters and the trail has been erased. The wind and snow pick up and I realize that visibility is starting to lessen to now less than 30 meters. Sometimes class 1 hikes near cities can get a little fun. I modify the plan I use to summit (go straight UP) and start simply to go straight DOWN and do that thing that happens when you don’t know where to really go: cliffed out. Cliffs to the left, to the right and directly below. The wind lulls and I’m treated to the beautiful rock cliff formations of pink Pikes Peak granite. I skirt gingerly over the rock bands and bound down where I think slipping on the snowy parts won’t take my too many several hundred feet down, in a slightly over my comfort level speed. Of all the times to not bring an ice axe. I’m literally in a text-book example for saving yourself by self-arrest. I’m keeping that damn thing in my commuting bag. Just, everywhere from now on.

The cliffbands chill out. Finding myself on more alpine than cliff face, I breath a sigh of relieve, but two new problems present themselves. First, no trail and I, uh, I’m not quite sure what drainage to go down – there’s TWO choices and if I pick the wrong choice, I’ll end up in the wrong county (albeit with much hilarity to whomever picks me up, hitching), and also, I’ve got a half hour of daylight left to make the right decision. Dark is going to equal much lower temperatures and, well, that’ll be some good times, right there. “What am I doing?” I incredulously think to myself. “Well, exactly what I wanted to do!”, I audibly answer to myself.

And it’s true. No one does a century bike ride, only to hike up a 14,000 foot peak  thinking, “Hey, you know what, this should be 100% without incident!” And I go to the task of finding the right drainage down with aplomb. There’s two strategies: find the trail and follow the trail, or find the A Frame shelter that’s at treeline and go towards it, as the trail also skirts the shelter. And there’s only two real ways to go: North or South. South looks like a general avalanche path, but north has a strange ridge I have to go up, and over to gain the other side of the drainage. Why anyone would put a shelter at the bottom of an avalanche path is beyond me, so I start climbing to the small gain. Small trees are starting to make an appearance in my path, and they trap snow and the postholing ensues. I turn around to see if I can spot any sort of remnant of trail. From the high vantage point though, I see clearly the A frame shelter, close to where I started out making my way to the South, well to the North. Or at least I think I do. I’ve been thinking I’ve been seeing the A frame shelter all over the place, but I’ve been hallucinating boulders to be buildings. I’m not tired enough to be scared of my own mental failings, but it’s almost playfully fun to watch my visual cortex short out.

The A frame proves to be very real, and I find the trail at treeline and from here, it’s three hours of slogging back. It feels like eternity. I pass no one. The last endless array of switchbacks come into focus and I contemplate running down them, like all the fresher people 8 hours ago. I try, but I’m also at hour 16 or so of Constant Movement and nothing in my body quite wants to give it a jolly go down. Especially in the dark, so I relegate myself to simply walking it.

Colorado Springs comes into view, with all its glimmery lights and then houses and structures of Manitou Springs, but nothing seems to get bigger – it just stay the same tiny, model-like size, even as I’m quickly losing altitude.

Everything in my vision is turning into something else. Rocks become injured animals in my path. Tree branches are elk antlers. Snow and ice patterns on top of the rocks become horrific, spider-like alien creatures.  I’m waiting for figures in the shadows to come out,  try to jump me, rob me, and then kill me. Aspen Tree groves become impenetrable wooden fortresses that have instantly sprung up out of nothing. It’s all entirely incredible.

And it finally ends, as the trail finds its beginnings.

And luckily, I also find my bike, locked up to a somewhat hidden utility box of some sort, in fine shape. Of any 14er trailhead, I get the least good vibe on this one – CO Springs is just too close and kids here are too bored. I wagered that St. Patricks Day festivities would help keep these people inside, hungover, sleeping, and eating pizza. It’s now 10:00pm and I make the decision that sleeping about 8 hours is what I now need to do.

Consuming far too little calories for what I need to be in the black on that front, I sort gear and fix up the sleep kit and pass out, fairly illegally, at the back end of a little picnic area, next to the public bathroom and the trailhead. I need to get up early enough to escape being found out by the local police authorities, who are inevitably going to be making a round to check up on suspicious activity in the trailhead parking lot (lots of car break ins), but not so early that when I get up, there’s no where in my path to get some food.

I opt for six am and get up, highly refreshed. The police do come by at around 6:45, but don’t even notice, as I’m about to roll out. I keep forgetting that sometimes when one isn’t in a car, one is invisible. I don’t fit the description of a car thief, or a ramble-rouser free camping anyways. Things I’m wearing match – and I don’t smell of booze. I start on up the road towards Woodland Park.

And at Woodland Park, there’s The Hungry Bear – a teddy-bear themed breakfast joint, that’s also biker friendly, incidentally. Like, Motorcycle Enthusiast, friendly. In my travails, I’ve noticed that such establishments also don’t mind catering smelly  bicyclists and the people are usually nice, as well. The only weird looks I’ll get are from the motorcycle enthusiasts themselves – however real or weekend-warrior they are. And usually it’s the form of transportation I’ve picked, rather than my odor or savage looks. I guess once you take on a motor, you never go back. I digress.

I order $10 of food and barely am able to finish it. Target hit. I’m off, up HW 67 to some sort of connector, up near Pine, CO, that I’ll figure out later. I’m not sure how it works out – but it’s a goal for the day to uh, figure it out.

HW 67 is a picturesque and lazy scenic ride – I think it may be the best road in the Front Range to take a loaded bike on. Mountains you never knew existed poke out of the canyon’s various phantasmagorical rock formations and then are hidden again once you turn a corner and the canyon’s steep walls block the view. Fisherpeople playing hookey are dressed in their fisherpeople uniforms gettin
g shit for bites. There’s uphills and downhills and burn areas. Ice, and snow on top of the ice sit on top of the shallow river. You cross the Colorado Trail: singletrack that beacons you to Durango – about 500 miles away. The road turns to dirt and and the only vehicles that pass are 4wd. It gets a little coountry, as most permanent structures are in disrepair and everything else is a propped up RV or something.

I take a hard right and the key to my escape of this drainage area (and into the one to the north) and I’m climbing out of the canyon and over whatever it is I need to climb out of, to get onto, “Pleasant Park Road” (nice name, huh?) and home. The houses get massive again, as the income level dramatic rises to meet the road.

The final grunt up makes today’s elevation gain over 6,000 feet, which is a tidy sum, for weary legs – and a little bit of surprise. I’m not one for exact planning. The wind today has been blustery and coming from the wrong direction (towards me), which doesn’t make the climbing any easier, or funner. But, you get what you get and I’m happy to be outside.

Rocketing down Pleasant Park to High Grade wasn’t as fun as I had hope, and I get this strange feeling that I’m not very high in elevation as I thought I’d be. Usually, when making a trip UP this hill, I feel quite lofty, once making it to the top. The perspective thing, again. A few more downhill turns, and I’m back on the plains, back on the bike path and closing the loop of my ride just yesterday. All that’s left is to go from the Southern ‘burbs of Denver, to the Northern ‘burbs and to home.

Hitting the wall is a funny thing to do on the easiest part of the track, but that’s exactly what’s happening. Pedaling is slow and the landscape around is hyper familiar and nothing seems very eventful. I get acquainted with traffic and instantly hate it, with the burning fury of a thousands suns. Everyone in a motor vehicle seems overly aggressive. It’s close to rush hour.  Cycling is such a more civilized mode of transportation. Cars here just seem far larger than utility would find it reasonable and my mind begins it’s usual loop of, “happy I live a car free lifestyle” and general prejudice for motorized travel. It’s not exactly useful, or productive to think this way, but when tired, the mind does what it does. I’m just happy the hallucinations are over. I spend my time waiting for lights to change, announcing the names of the SUV’s I’m stopped in back of, in an overly dramatic voice: “Chevy TaaaaaawHOOOOO!”, “GMC YoooKON DINAWWWWWLEEE!” 

My thoughts turn to food, as I have a caloric deficit to work on – part of why I’ve hit this wall. I make it home alright, and start my food intake – after a shower, with half a pie. Less the 48 hours from when I embark, I’m back home to overly familar settings, a little sad I guess, that I couldn’t play outside just a little bit longer. Spring will come soon, and then summer, and this little trip will seem to be just like a warmup for some quite longer adventures, I’m sure.

Gettin’ there.

Hikin’ down and hallucinating, lost, snow and wind

Gettin’ home. Climbing! Wind!

Switchback Magazine #10

Part 1 of an 8,000 word essay by Bryan Schatz (with illustrations by Matthew Burton) on my riding/art/tom-foolery leading up to and through the Tour Divide can be found in the latest issue of Switchback Magazine #10:

Pitch black and frozen in the snow- choked Rockies north of the border, and all Justin Simoni could think of was making it to the cabin.
He’d felt the frigid air trying to penetrate his clothes, watched puffs of his labored breathing illuminate and disappear in the night sky; he’d seen the Grizzly tracks stomped into the snow.

Bryan has also now made Part 1 available on his own site – I encourage you to check out the print/digital download from Switchback – I got my copies at the Tattered Cover, here in Denver.  

Part 2 is now up on Switchback’s site

As always, I want to thank the people involved, especially Bryan Schatz for his interest, curiosity, and in getting in touch with me for the sit down interviews, as well as taking on the Herculean effort of shifting through the hours of recordings we conjured up.

I also cannot (will never be able to) thank enough all the people who have helped me on my wanderings, races and (mis)adventures, for without their help, I’d never be able to take on these crazy zen-like experiments on the bike, on foot, or in my head.

January Hill Walks

Cross racing season ended for me around December with the State Championships, where I managed to do fairly OK, as I did for most of the races I entered. 45 minutes of racing is certainly not my sweet spot. I felt like a marathon runner, doing a 100 meter dash, which is somewhat close to reality. Some hilarious photos of “Bearded Man, in a Skinsuit” though, like this one:


Although, my teammate walks away with the best, “in a skinsuit, racing cyclocross photo”, as well as winning the Big Air competition,


Cyclocross was tons of fun, but pricey and it’s gotta be said: them Boulderites sure take their racin’ seriously. Lots of things, learned though. I opted not to travel to Nationals, although I “won” transportation to it – I sorta felt like I’d just embarrass  myself – there’s some fast people I don’t want to fall onto.

Since the beginning of the New Year, I’ve been working on some new outdoor regiments, adding some hill walking, trail running and bouldering to my usual mix of, “Ride all over the place”. Been fun to re-re-revisit climbing and great to get back into the mountains. The problem is now, how to fit everything in, without going crazy. There’s reasons I’ve started trail running and hill walking. And climbing – they have to do with future summer projects, which I’m not quite yet ready to announce. Lots of days of doubling or even tripling up “practices”.

So, for example, run up and down a mountain, and then visit the rock gym (riding there, of course). Or, cycle to something, run up and down it, hit the rock gym. Or, ride the 20 miles with a heavy pack to the meetup spot – and oh: top out the hill 2,500 foot hill climb right before, grab a ride to the trailhead, walk up and down something, ride the 20 miles home, with a slightly lighter pack – You get the idea. Pretty killer for endurance, and hell if I want to be on a trainer at all this winter.

My running is getting better, fast, as I hoped it would. My cardiovascular system should be, how do you say, “well developed”, and only my muscles need somewhat of a re-tune for the specific types of forces they’re needed. I’ve never been a super strong runner, and I doubt I ever will. A half marathon is still scarier than taking on a 100 mile trail run. Not saying I’ll ever do either, in any “official” race. Blech.

Climbing is also getting better, fast, but I’m assuming I’ll hit some sort of plateau. I was a pretty ridiculous rock-jock half a lifetime and 35lbs lighter ago, so it’s been a rediscovering of old ways of understanding problems, which is in of itself an interesting experience. But again, my interest is to simply become an adequate dude on the moderate route, rather than be something to excel towards – no multi-pitch big walls in my dreams. But there’s a reason I’m going to the gym, and it’s under wraps. For now.

Some photos of some hill climbs:

Solo on Greys/Torreys – cold day. Drove to the trail head. Shameful.

Cold day.

Group trip up Mt. Yale, having since shaved for the New Year:

Mt Yale - Summit

Casual hike up Mt. Sherman, this is pocketing the little bonus side trip of Gemini Peak:Gemini Peak

The next thing on the calendar looks to be a 150 mile gravel grinder in early April, so Feb/March may see my attempt to put in some long rides. I’d like to win something like that ride, although it’s a little unclear to me how fast I can go for 150 miles. It was a surprise to see how fast I could go for 50 miles. I know a 150 mile distance is well within my abilities, it’s just still a retune for me to do it fast, rather than be in the mindset that I need to do it fairly quickly, but still have legs to do the same thing the next day (and the next, and the next). Funny thing, this endurance thing.

Reasons to Love Denver

I’ve lived in Colorado for almost 14 years straight; and Denver for most of those years. I could move anywhere, but for over a decade, I’ve been here. What keeps me around?

Happy to be able to help Randal Bellows III with this photo shoot, doing something I simply love to do: riding around on my bicycle, in the city.

Mile High Urban CX Chaos EXTREME!!!

Denver finally hosted its own CX race, in my old neighborhood, even – I’ve lived on both 36th/Marion and 35/Brighton.

I got to the scene late – even though my race was at 1:20pm or something (1: I can’t count, and 2: I sleep in), and found myself sprinting to the start line still in my jeans, with pockets filled with loose change, my phone and my keys, as well as a fixed-geared bike. Well, whatever – I rolled with it (just didn’t, you know, COAST). The below video does a pretty nice job expressing the atmosphere of racing in the industrial side of town, next to the train depot. It also does a nice job making me look as if I’m competent at racing – you’ll spot me with the blue/white/red jacket, black Surly Cross Check (fixed) – mostly running, and the big beard, poking out of my grey helmet. 

Thanks for everyone that put the race together, and thanks to Icebreaker for sponsoring our team’s table, which was set up at a hairpin turn, perfect for good faith-heckling and beer handouts – as well as the unofficial single speed skidding competition (it is an urban race, after all), which garnered me the new nickname, “Si-MONEY