An Overhaul (part 1) - It's Time

For over 30 months now, my beloved Black Mountain Cycles gravel bike has faithfully carried me thousands of miles on every sort of road in all kinds of conditions.  Daily commutes, weekend explorations, all day and into the night races, sub-24 hour and multi-day bike packing trips, Black Hills BackBone reconnaissance and attempts, and just tool-around town rides.  So capable.  So comfortable.  Such a joy.

I built up this bike from the frame precisely for that type of riding, selecting each component with a priority on function, durability and serviceability, and I maintain it with care and attention.  However, eventually regular maintenance is not enough.  After about 12,000 mostly rough miles, that eventuality is now.  Time for an overhaul.  A complete, everything-off-the-frame overhaul.  Each component I'll remove, clean, inspect, replace if needed, and consider for upgrade.  Let's see what's really holding up.

Tested and proven road worthy.  Time to refresh.

The Long Way Home

Work is stealing my summer.  Shifting shifts and over-the-top overtime soak up sunlight and drain energy.  Enough.  I'm taking the long way home today, even though it's 90+ degrees and I'm back at work at 3:00 am again tomorrow.

At the top of Tower Road, a paved climb the reaches Skyline Drive at it's southern edge.

Time for a mixed terrain ride, on concrete, asphalt, chip seal, gravel, dirt, trail and just plain bushwhack.  Whatever route and surface strikes my fancy.  Here's a photo essay of my 25 mile round about ride home from work today.

Little climb from the back side of the School of Mines "New Gym,"
at least that's what we called it when it opened in 1977.  I did not clean that today.

Rode a lap of the Robbinsdale CycloCross Race Course, my favorite cross venue in Rapid City.

Found this little gem cutting through some neighborhoods.

Another short cut led to a messy crossing of this drainage.

In-town gravel, much better than fighting afternoon traffic on the paved roads.

Skyline Drive, riding north shortly after the Tower Road climb.  Fast and twisty.

Detour to Skyline Wilderness Park on the Amphitheater Trail, basically a skinny dirt road.

Had to include a climb up M-Hill, here on Cowboy Hill Road, with a stop at the "M" and a cruise down Far West.

A little adventure just riding home from work.  All in town.  All on my Black Mountain gravel bike.  All better for another 12 hour shift tomorrow.

Great Bear Ride

The Black Hills BackBone crosses the state of South Dakota on some of the best gravel and dirt roads around.  But there are many miles of memorable paved roads throughout the Black Hills and into the surrounding prairie.  Here's a special road ride across the Northern Black Hills into Wyoming.

The Great Bear Ride starts at Bear Butte, at the eastern edge of the Black Hills outside of Sturgis.

The family of Pennington County Transport Deputy Cameron Duchenaux hosts the "Great Bear Ride," a 100 mile bicycle ride from Bear Butte to Mato Tipila (Devil's Tower) as a memorial to Cameron's brother Shamus, who died from Type 1 diabetes at the age of 21.  This year, they are riding to raise awareness and funds for a capital building project for the Head Start program of Rural America Initiatives, a local organization that "partners with at-risk and low income Native American families to strengthen the development of healthy, sober, self-sufficient lifestyles."

There are very few cycling events like this in the Black Hills and this one supports a valuable local cause. It is Saturday, October 1, with pre-registration and more information at ruralamericainitiatives.org and event day registration at the Bear Butte start.  You can ride the full 100 miles or form a relay team.  With water stations every 25 miles, it's easy to split the route for a team of four.

The finish of the Great Bear Ride is 100 miles later in Wyoming at Mato Tipila.

I plan to ride it and hope that you consider supporting it.  Several friends have already committed to ride, including some from out of town.  If enough folks express interest, I will plan a get-together of some sort on Friday night.  Look for updates on my FaceBook page.  Hope to see you out there.

A Path to the Light

"There is light, and beauty up there, that no Shadow can touch."

Samwise Gamgee

Lord of the Rings:  The Return of the King

My heart longs to ride to a remote, primitive campsite to join fellow bike packing enthusiasts for a short get-away on Saturday evening. But the world seems to conspire against me.

First, I misread the announcement for the gathering and actually ride out there last week. It's a nice ride and campout, but not the intended social event. Then, family happenings this week, some predictable and some not, detract me from organizing all the food, gear and clothing details. As the load on the week builds, work demands a string of 12 hour shifts, including a 3:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. shift on Saturday itself. It doesn't look good.

Limping home from work on Saturday at about 3:30 p.m., I drop everything to the floor and plop onto a couch. Dozing off, I jolt awake to find it now after 4:00 p.m. In addition to my bike being nowhere near ready to go, I'm tired, sleepy, hungry, thirsty and all around worn down. Decision time. The world hasn't won yet, but it's late in the game and I'm behind. I know that's exactly when it's time to go.

After a quick, last minute stuff check, I'm out the door by about 4:30 p.m. Of course, I know neither the weather nor the forecast. It doesn't matter. Tonight, I'm riding 42 miles on primarily gravel roads, mostly uphill, to eat a cold dinner, pitch a tent in the dark, and sleep on the ground. There's nothing else I'd rather be doing.

There is a light that no darkness can touch.

Spinning out of Rapid City on Nemo Road, I'm almost four miles up the initial five mile climb before noticing the dark clouds directly above, to the right and to the left. Those clouds are really dark. Behind me, the rumblings of thunder start and the wind arrives in force. I slow, then stop, and look up again. Reflexively, I cross the road and turn downhill toward home. The world wins.

But something stops me a second time. I turn around and look up, again. There. There to the West, and a little to the North. There's a break in the clouds. Yes, it's small, not much at all compared to the darkness surrounding me. But, it's there. A thought penetrates my heart. There lies your path. Ahead lies your destination. Follow this path to the light.

A big smile breaks out. Let's go. I restart my climb with hopes of reaching the light before the world crashes down around me. The darkness deepens and the winds howl, but it doesn't matter. I'm moving toward the light.

Moments later, a man driving a public utility truck pulls alongside, motioning me over. He's concerned for my safety, as he's en route to fix some downed power lines already knocked out by heavy rains and thunderstorms just a few miles to the north. I thank him and tell him that I am doing great. I say that my journey lies there, to that small patch of light poking through the mass of angry clouds. And I'll make it to that light, whether or not this nasty weather descends on me first. He looks at me a bit sideways, but leaves knowing that he at least tried to steer me home.

Over the next six miles on Nemo Road, the fast moving clouds and shifting winds confound any prediction of where or when all this violence will strike. But it certainly will, both near and soon. Throughout all this activity, the small patch of clear sky to the West remains. Promising. Unchanging. My hope lies with the light.

As I turn left onto Norris Peak Road, the first dollops of rain strike. Big, fat drops of cold water, leaving splotches on the pavement the size of silver dollars. I reach for my rain jacket, at the ready in my left rear jersey pocket. It stays there. The rains hold.

Just two miles later, I pedal west onto Bogus Jim Road, finally on gravel and more uphill. I'm right at the razor's edge of a major thunderstorm just to the north and another just to the south. I'm now riding pretty much due West, between the darkest of the clouds and directly toward that small patch of clear sky. I hope.

The miles pass slowly, with my weary body hauling a laden bike up a series of long hills. About six miles later, just as I finally crest the last of the climbs on this stretch of gravel, the sun in all its glory breaks out. I made it to the light. The darkness is decidedly behind me now. I made it to the light.

Peaceful evening ride once I found my way to the light.

Joyfully coasting down a short descent, I know that I'll make it to Black Fox Campground tonight. Oh, there's still 20 miles of mostly uphill pedaling on gravel, and it's going to be dark. But I'm going to make it. My path to the light leads me to my destination.

I believe there's a bigger story here. The path is the Bible. The light is Jesus. The destination is God. Follow the Bible to Jesus to experience God. Even then, while here on this earth, there still will be storms to weather and work to do, but your destination is secure. Be at peace.

2016 Pedal Power Camp Out, several hours before I arrived.  (photo by Jason Thorman) 

Black Fox Sub-24

The concept of the sub-24 is simple.  Some afternoon ride your bike from home to a desired location, camp and ride your bike home the next morning.  It doesn't have to be a monster ride.  Just pick out an interesting destination and route.  Two bike rides, along with a night camping, all in less than about 24 hours.  Sub-24.  Sweet little get-away.

A great destination for a sub-24 from Rapid City is the Black Fox Campground, about mile 176 on the Black Hills BackBone route at the intersection of South Rapid Creek Road (USFS 231) and Black Fox Camp Road (USFS 233).  This U.S Forest Service primitive campground is about 42 mostly uphill miles from Rapid City, making for a tough ride out and an easy ride in.

Planted at the northern edge of the central Black Hills, the Black Fox campground is also accessible for a sub-24 from Spearfish, Sturgis and other communities.  With paved, gravel and dirt roads in abundance, as well as some single track, one could piece together any number and variety of routes between the Black Hills population centers and the Black Fox campground.

All dressed up and ready to go.

This is not a secure, undisclosed location.  Endurance cyclist, bikepacker and all-around good guy Dave Kent informed me that fellow cyclist Robert Cota selected the Black Fox campground to host a unique event, the Pedal Power Camp Out.  Next weekend, he plans to reserve camp sites at the Black Fox campground and has invited folks for a "mass bike pack camp out."  For two nights, folks will ride into, out of and home from Black Fox from wherever to wherever, on whatever, and camp together.  It's a bikepackers rendezvous!

I learn of the Pedal Power Camp Out late in the week.  Not needing much encouragement for such a ride, I throw together gear and food on Sunday afternoon and finally, at about 3 p.m., strike west on Nemo Road for Black Fox.  No, I did not intend to scout a route for the big event.  I misread the invitation as being this weekend.

Uphill on Bogus Jim Road, leaving Pennington County roads for the significantly less maintained USFS roads.

Too busy and excited to check the temperature, let alone the forecast, I soon find myself spinning my lowest gear up sun baked Nemo Road.  My goodness, how hot is it?  My on-bike thermometer reads 104, then 108, then 110.  When I finally crest the initial 5 mile climb, it's 114 degrees.  Oh, man, here we go again.

Surely, higher elevations will mean lower temperatures.  So, I eagerly turn onto Norris Peak Road at about mile 10.  Surely is wrong.  I reach gravel at Bogus Jim Road and keep climbing on increasingly steeper and rougher roads.  Surely is still wrong.  A short descent onto U.S. Highway 385 offers some relief, but it's illusory.  The downhill wind just draws out what little moisture remains in me.  Then I'm back on gravel on Rochford Road for more climbing.  It's late afternoon and still over 100 degrees.

A primitive road off of Black Fox Camp Road (USFS 233)

During one of my frequent stops along this stretch, a couple on an ATV stop to make sure I'm okay.  Another example of folks on remote roads taking care of each other.  A few miles later, that same couple is loading their ATVs onto a trailer and the woman calls me over.  It's Deanne Cogdill of New Underwood, SD and she's full of questions sparked by my ChristianCycling.com jersey.  What a blessing.  Hope to ride with her soon.

Finally, a quick descent lands me near an access to the Mickelson Trail that Shaun pointed out a couple of years ago.  Eager for a change, and for the possibility of some shade, I hop on it for the final 4 miles into Rochford.  Much cooler riding on a rails-to-trails trail paralleling a creek.  I douse my steaming noggin under the water faucet at the Rochford Trailhead and then enjoy a Coke at the Moonshine Gulch Saloon.  It's Open Mic Sunday and local musicians are on full display.  And I'm closing in on Black Fox.

Ready for a sunset, and dinner.

The final 8 miles up South Rapid Creek Road (USFS 231) are a real treat, even though I'm hot and tired.  Good Black Hills gravel. Temperatures now in the mid-80's.  Steady uphill, without steeps.  Following a meandering stream up a valley lined with conifer-stuffed hills.  Maybe a big part of it is that I'm not chasing a race goal or a time cut-off.  I'm just riding into camp.  Best part of the ride.

Rolling into the Black Fox Campground, I find it empty, but for a couple of Spearfish teachers camping with their grandkids.  I enjoy talking with them for a bit, but they had not seen any cyclists all weekend.  I figure I missed the party, but not its spirit.  I set up camp, test some equipment and food for a makeshift dinner and call it good.  Very good.

Cruising down South Rapid Creek Road on the early morning ride home.

Up at first light, I make some coffee and pack up.  Am I glad that, at the last minute, I had thrown into my pack a polypro stocking cap, long sleeve top and glove liners.  The thermometer now reads 44 degrees.  That's right.  70 degrees cooler than the high temperature on yesterday's ride out here.  It's still 44 degrees when I ride out of camp at about 6:30 a.m. wearing every stitch of clothing I brought.

As it turns out, at my relaxed speed, it's a comfortable temperature that's slowly rising.  And it's a relaxed effort for the initial 8 mile gradual downhill to back to Rochford.  Cattle and white tail deer graze in the meadows as the sun gradually chases away the last shadows of the night.  But that's not all.  A herd of over a hundred elk purposefully move along an aspen grove.  At the first sight of me, they all bolt for cover in the conifers above.  No hesitation.  Just like that, they're gone.  Every one.

By the time I stop to take this, most of the 100+ elk in this herd had already skedaddled into the trees.

The few uphill stretches pass in the mild temperatures of early morning.  Mostly it's cruising downhill for the return trip to Rapid City.  I briefly consider a side trip to scout out some primitive roads and ATV trails leading east out of Steamboat Rock towards Black Hawk.  But, remembering the effort expended yesterday in the heat, I return to my senses and take gravel and paved roads home.  Good decision.

Early morning sun along Nemo Road, less than 10 miles from Rapid City.

Altogether, that was about 42 miles in 5+ hours out to Black Fox and about 42 miles in less than 3 hours home.  A long, hard effort out there and a short, relaxed cruise home.  That's a nice sub-24.

Now if I can repeat it all this upcoming weekend.  I'd love to share the experience with fellow bike packers.

Back in the Saddle at Odin's Revenge

Back to Odin's Revenge.  180 miles of the toughest gravel and dirt roads winding through the rolling hills and steep ravines of remote ranch country in central Nebraska.  Adventure gravel geeks of all sorts, seasoned and green, fast and slow, journey here to challenge themselves and each other.  Even more so, they look to the open western prairie for an experience to share with each other and with the friendly folks that put it all together.  Odin's Revenge represents the best of the gravel scene.

Finding my way, out there somewhere on the Odin's Revenge course.

Relishing a return to Odin's Revenge for the fourth time, I carry the unfamiliar weight of a DNF ("did not finish") from the 210 mile Gold Rush Mother Lode, just two weeks ago.  In addition to the emotional baggage, I know there's a physical one, as well.  I've ridden to work every day since without issue, but harder efforts on single track reveal the truth.  I have no power.  I still have not physically recovered from the heat of the Mother Lode.  Not sure Odin's Revenge is the place to do that.

So, I roll into Gothenburg with considerable concerns about the race ahead, while quietly hoping for a solid finish.  Seductive whispers of dropping the mileage down to the 60 mile "short course" creep into my thoughts during the six hour drive.  Such a decision would be easy to rationalize, but hard to live with.  I know, when it comes right down to it, I'm all-in for the full 180 mile course.

Chad Quigley, the Revenge behind Odin's, setting up the pre-race gathering at Walker's Steak House.

Nothing lightens the heart quite like the Odin's Revenge pre-race gathering at the Walker Steak House. Folks filter in over the next few hours, reconnecting with old friends and meeting new ones.  Some talk of rides in the past, but mostly of the day ahead.  What did Chad and Team DSG cook up this year?  Even more Minimum Maintenance Roads, or worse?  What about the heat, the wind, the rains?  Oh, what are you running for tires?  That may all sound like a bunch of Nervous Nellies, but, with this crowd, it's more like being excited to face whatever comes our way.  Anticipation fills the old dance hall, mixing with the aroma of sizzling steaks and cold beer.

Chad announces that he designed the course along the lines of the inaugural 2012 race:  two odd shaped balloons connected at a start/finish area, with a meandering southern loop of about 100 miles, followed by a northern loop of about 80 miles.  Racers must reach four check points along the way at miles 42.6, 69.6, 96.5 and 138.5, each with a time cut-off.  The finish arrives at mile 178.1, for those that manage to make it.  It all looks reasonable enough on paper.  Of course, those miles cover what most cyclists would not consider normal roads or, in some cases, roads at all.

If you're looking for sweet gravel, you'll find plenty at Odin's Revenge.  Just know that there's some other stuff, too.

Having finished the last three years, I recognize enough of the roads on the cue sheets to know that this course will be at least as difficult those in the past.  My game plan is simple.  From the very start, ride moderately, with just enough effort to complete the 100 mile first loop on time to get the cue sheets for the second loop. Then take a break, refuel, assess how you feel for the 80 mile second loop, and head out with an appropriate plan to finish within the time cut-off of 12:30 am.  No attack speed today.  This is all about finishing.

Back to the Blue Heron campground, I enjoy the camaraderie of several other racers preparing for the day ahead:  strongman Jeff Caldwell and his irrepressible daughter Piper of North Platte, NE joyfully spinning around on their fatties; gravel veteran Shane Buscher of Lincoln, NE; tip-of-the-spear racer Daniel Schneider of Colorado; Omaha JackRabbit guru Scott Redd of Omaha, NE; and the ever-smiling, fast-roadie-racer Lawrence Fitz of Champaign, IL.  Some familiar faces.  Some new.  All having fun.

That light must be an angel looking over me, as we prepare for the 6:00 am start.
(photo by Emilie Kenoyer)

As usual, I awake moments before the alarm is set to go off.  The forecast calls for temperatures in the upper 80's, with morning winds from the south, the direction we're starting into, and then shifting to be from the north late morning, the direction we'll be riding then.  So, warm and headwinds all day.  All the more reason to ride conservatively.

The start line at 6:00 am is a festive happening, with pictures and well-wishing all around.  It's easy to get caught up in all that energy, but I remind myself to ride conservatively.  Many, many unknown variables about the course, the conditions and, most importantly, my body.  Go slow.

Cruising past one of the very few structures out there on the southern loop.

Only twenty-five of the forty registered racers actually start and, at the first hint of gravel, most of them disappear over the first hill.  I feel much better turning pedals than expected, but resist the temptation to respond.  This in not the day to chase rabbits.  Let them go.  Let them all go.  Find your pace.  Keep it mellow.  You're in this one to finish.

I soak in the moment.  The slow awakening sun greets lazy clouds, light breezes and mild temperatures, as the low hills of the Platte River Valley roll by.  This is my favorite time of day and I'm doing my favorite thing at my favorite event.  So happy to just be here.

The difficulties of the hills pick up, both in pitch and in surface, but it's a kinder, gentler ride when not pushing the pace.  The hardest part of these early miles is riding alone.  Even at relatively small races,  I enjoy riding with others, off and on, at least through the first few check points.  Today, with my measured pace, that isn't happening.  I'm at the blunt end of the spear.

Topping another small rise, I spot Check Point 1 at mile 42.6, managed by Merrie Quigley and her enthusiastic crew of cowbell clangers.  Merrie's famous "protein balls" are always a special treat, along with the cold, crisp water served by Culligan Water man Gordon Sanders.  Notwithstanding my pedestrian pace, it's only about 3 1/2 hours into the race, almost an hour before the cut-off time.  I feel fresh and energized.

Now come steeper climbs, more deeply rutted roads and thicker talcum they call dirt around here.  This is much more work, particularly with temperatures and winds rising.  With each turn, the names of the roads evoke memories of challenging sections of prior races :  Cut Creek Road, Hansen Hill, Effenbeck Road, Cottonwood Road and the renowned Government Pocket Road.  But the climbs don't seem as steep, the ruts as deep or the talcum as soft.  Maybe it's the relaxed mindset, but I'm feeling strong.

I cruise into Check Point 2 at Potter's Pasture at mile 69.6, hosted by artiste Garrett Olsen and Jen Wilson.  Very upscale, with a party tent, cheese and crackers, and adult beverages.  It's a peaceful spot.  Sweet.  I lie down for just a minute, top off water and get back out there, with still almost an hour in the time bank.  That was nice.

Picked up this cool print from cyclist artiste Garrett Olsen, who volunteers every year at Odin's Revenge.

Not long thereafter, I find Scott Redd at the top of a hill on Gillman Road, taking pictures, of course.  Scott is a cycling aficionado who has ridden many gravel events, including this year's TransIowa, and is the creative force behind the eclectic Omaha JackRabbit ride in October each year.  Just a few uphill pitches and "it's all a downhill trend," he says as he gazes into a Garmin digital map he created last night from the written cue sheets.  We ride together the hour or so remaining of the southern loop, sharing our time and encouraging each other.  What a great way to spin into Check Point 3.

Cruising along the canal with Scott Redd, a strong rider and great companion as the day grows longer.

Sticking to the plan, I put my feet up in the convenience store at the Blue Heron Campground, inhale a bottle of chocolate milk and a can of Coke, study the cue sheets for the northern loop and assess the eighty-two miles ahead.  There's at least twenty miles straight north, maybe thirty, into the now stout wind on a variety of unknown, numbered roads, with stretches into uninviting places as "Roten Valley."  I also hear whispers in the air, cautioning of unrideable, even indiscernible, paths unworthy of the name "road," lying in wait to lure and entrap the unwary.

Whatever, dude.  I now have about an hour and a half in the time bank and I feel really good.  The slow, steady pace is working.  Let's see what's out there and get to that next check point, about 42 miles away.

The next 30 miles or so are the least pleasant part of the entire day:  generally uphill on a false flat or a real hill, directly into a headwind, temperatures in the low 90's, thick gravel everywhere and not nearly as scenic as the southern loop.  All pass from memory as I spin into the raucous, rocking venue that is Check Point 4.  Lane Bergen, just back from his 1400 mile bike ride along the Continental Divide, and his proud dad Matt, hoop and holler to the squawking squeeze box of musician Paul Siebert.  It's all quite the mix of sights and sounds, planted on an intersection of a primitive dirt road and a barely maintained gravel road in the middle of nowhere particular.  What a fun stop.  And, despite the difficult section just covered, I still carry a solid hour and a half in the time bank.

Matt Bergen at Check Point 4, as I take off for the final 40 miles.  Or so.
(photo by Lane Bergen)

Now, I know I'll finish this.  Whatever lies ahead in the final 40 miles will have to include at least 20 miles of riding south, some tailwind and mostly "trending downhill," as Scott would say.  After a quick few miles, my optimism for a fast finishing forty miles fades upon turning onto a series of "Minimum Maintenance Roads," where I am abruptly reduced to walking, dragging and carrying my bike, while attempting to navigate through waist high grass.  Fortunately, these parts of the "roads" are relatively short connectors and soon I'm back to cruising on gravel.  

I zone out for a couple of miles before noticing that a road sign does not match the cue sheets.  Oh, no.  This is not the time to go off course and get lost in unfamiliar, remote country.  I backtrack and eventually get back on course, losing maybe half an hour or so and a lot of enthusiasm for that fast finish.

Yes, this is the "road" on one stretch of Odin's Revenge.  Does that look like "Minimum Maintenance" to you?
(photo by Scott Redd)

But I carry on, now finally back on solid gravel roads, for the most part.  As the sun slides away with a glorious farewell, I'm determined to stay on course now that it's dark.  I stop frequently to ensure that the cue sheets and road signs stay true.  The miles grow longer, but pass.  I'm certainly ready to get off the bike when crossing U.S. Highway 30 and then the bridge over Interstate 70 to take the turn onto Willow Island Road for the final 6 miles.  Not even the chunky gravel here dampens my spirit.  I will finish this race, on this day.  

A truck approaches from ahead, flashing its lights and stopping for me.  It's Race Director Chad Quigley and his wife Merrie, out checking on the racers still out on the course.  He's the force behind the fabulous team that puts together this great race, taking care of everyone within the spirit of such events.  A few minutes later, Chad and Merrie drive off to find Scott Redd and Janine Copple, who apparently are somewhere behind me.

Eventually, the heavy gravel of Willow Island Road T-bones into paved highway 47 for a short coast to the finish line at the Blue Heron Campground.  The handful of volunteers, racers and crew still hanging around bring me home to a chorus of cheers and cowbells, right at 11:27 pm.  That's 17 hours and 27 minutes after the start and just over an hour before the final time cut-off.  While snapping my finish line photo, Emilie Kenoyer exclaims, "Craig, you're just beaming!" 

That I am.  Still.

There's a finish line photo of one happy camper.  (photo by Emilie Kenoyer)

  Epilogue:  Scott Redd and Janine Copple knew they had become too late to be labeled as "official finishers" on some list, but kept pedaling well into the night to finish the entire course at 1:21 am.  Such determination represents the spirit of these events.  And Odin's Revenge itself, created and nurtured by Chad Quigley and the rest of Team DSG, represents the best of the unsanctioned, grass roots gravel race scene.  Support them and others like them.  The experiences they help to create are worth having and sharing.

Cooked at the Mother Lode

I'm a finisher.  I have to finish what I start.  That's often a good thing, but not always.  I'll admit that there are more than a few things I never should have started.  But it doesn't matter.  I'm going to finish.

So, it's hard to start something, then leave it undone, for any reason.  That's why the Black Hills BackBone ride festers.  And why that's a DNF ("did not finish") last week at the 2016 Gold Rush Mother Lode perplexes and disappoints.

Nonpareil support chieftain Shaun Arritola briefs me on final preparations before the start of the 2016 Mother Lode.

The day does not pounce in ambush.  The forecast warns it will be hot and windy and it delivers:  81 degrees with steady 25 mph winds at the 5:00 am start.  The route also is no secret:  the same 210 miles of Black Hills gravel, with 12,000 some feet of elevation gain, that I rode last year.  But I finished last year and arrive this year better trained and more prepared.  And, for the first time at such an event, I even bring a support crew, the indomitable, ultimate get-it-done-guy Shaun Arritola.  I know it will not be easy, but I'm confident.

With the challenging conditions, I plan to ride conservatively for the 69 mile, mostly uphill climb to Check Point 1 at O'Neil Pass to make the cut-off time in sufficient shape to tackle the next segment.  Last year, even carrying a BackBone load of food, water and gear, I comfortably hit Check Point 1 with 50 minutes to spare.  With much less weight on the bike and some weight less on me, and a bunch of early season miles in the legs, I believe a similar result is very doable, even on this day.

Gravel royalty and friend Greg Gleason of Sioux Falls, always a great presence at a race.

Riding moderately, I watch most of the small field disappear on the first set of rollers.  Of the 30 registered racers, only 21 actually take the start, so I really enjoy the companionship of Joe Clark, of West Saint Paul, MN, during some of those early miles.  Joe is an experienced endurance cyclist of the wildly popular Minnesota gravel scene, including the storied Heck of the North races out of Duluth.  Unfortunately, Joe picks up a quicker pace on the steeps and, too soon, he's off the front.

Sand Creek Road offers some protection from the early sun and stout winds.

So, it's hot, windy and uphill.  But I know that, over the course of a long race, things change.  They always do.  Besides, I'm riding comfortably hard and feeling good.  Before long, mile 40 rolls by and it's just over 3 1/2 hours into the race, well ahead of the pace required for the cut-off and even ahead of last year.  However, at the same time, I glance at my on-board thermometer.  It's 105 degrees, at about 8:30 am, I'm cranking up a steep hill in brilliant sunshine, and there's still 170 miles to go.  Wowzer.

I coach myself with reminders that it's only 29 miles to Check Point 1 and, notwithstanding the conditions, I feel pretty good.  The next 10 miles take all of an hour, but now it's only 19 miles to the top, with about 3 hours to make it.  The slow, steady plan seems to be working.

Not steep here, but up.  Always up.  And only occasional shade in the building heat.

That last hour was slower, though.  Much slower.  The next hour is even slower.  I leap frog two others finding their way up this climb:  Kate Geisen of Illinois and Renee Hahne of Missouri, both strong, accomplished endurance athletes.  As the stops start, then grow more frequent, we check on and encourage each other.  We struggle in the oppressive heat, but each manage, in our own way.  On one nasty, endless, near-shadeless pitch, I can only move station-to-station:  ride to the next shade spot, rest and repeat.  After awhile, it turns more ugly:  ride to the next shade spot, rest, walk to the next shade spot, rest and repeat.  Then it turns to just walking when I can.

As I wilt, local endurance legend and Black Hills Expedition founder Jason Thorman spins by and then stops to walk with me for a bit.  He says he'll make it and knows I will too.  Thanks, Jason.  Soon he's back on the bike and up the hill, but not out of sight before he dismounts again.  I feel better, and worse, knowing that even Jason is walking chunks of this climb.

My comfortable time cushion shrinks.  The top of the pass looms, but is unseen, like climbing Mt. Denali with the summit in the clouds.  I still try to moderate effort to timely reach Check Point 1 in sufficient shape to continue, but I must timely reach Check Point 1.  I slip into survival mode.

The morning sun, when it's in your face, really shows your age.  But that don't matter.  (photo by Randy Ericksen)

Eventually hitting the pavement of U.S. Highway 85, I turn hard left and sprint the final quarter mile incline to Check Point 1.  Made it.  Less than 1 minute to spare.  So much for a big time cushion.  So much for the conservative effort.  So much for sufficient shape to continue.

Shaun rushes up to usher me to a pit stop extraordinaire.  A pop-up tent, with lounge chairs, multiple coolers, cold drinks, food, bike parts and tools, clothes, and my drop bag numbered for the Check Point.  I plop into a chair, remove my helmet and shoes and gasp that I only have about 10-15 minutes to cool off, if I am to have any chance of making Check Point 2 on time.  Shaun immediately grabs a 5 pound bag of crushed ice for my torso, another 5 pound bag of crushed ice for my neck and a series of cold packs on my head.  I pound ice cold water, ice cold sports drinks and ice cold, fully loaded Cokes.

All to no avail.  Fifteen minutes later, I do not feel any cooler.  Not one bit.  I am cooked to the core and all this is not touching it at all.  I consider the course ahead:  54 miles of long, exposed rollers, with precious little shade, no ranches, let alone towns, no cell phone coverage, and one remote Forest Service campground with well water.  Even at this elevation, it's still over 100 degrees.  One could get in real trouble out there, under these conditions.

Shaun encourages with his words, actions and spirit.  I hop on the bike, but just can not do it.  No power.  I return to the chair, the ice, the cold drinks.  The clock keeps ticking.  I keep pushing the cold treatment.  Another 15 minutes pass.  I still cannot cool down.  I am cooked.  I can turn pedals, but the pace I can maintain going up is nowhere near close enough to make that next check point.  And I'm not altogether convinced I would make it anyhow, even with unlimited time.  I pull the plug.

Roasted and toasted. Cooling off on USFS 805 on the slow ride back to Spearfish.

Almost two hours later, I rise and decide to ride the 40 mile course returning to Spearfish, which would make 110 miles for the day.  I feel fine, but the first little incline confirms my decision to withdraw from the race.  Pitches that I normally would ride at 10-12 mph were but half that.  Maybe.  I simply had no power.  The flats and down hills are fine, as everything else feels good.  With most of that 40 miles downhill, I cruise back to Spearfish for a soak in the creek by the City Campground.

Trying to process this experience, I do not think I was deficient in water, fuel or electrolytes.  I was not symptomatic.  I think that my body just could not process the heat at the effort I was trying to maintain and just slowed everything down.  I could still safely ride, but only at a pace too slow for this race.

But I don't know.  I just figure it's nothing that can't be resolved with a little more riding and a little more fitness.  I'll go with that.