The Omaha JackRabbit - A Lesson in Sleep Deprivation

On a dark, rural highway, cold wind in my face.  Fresh smell of alfalfa, rising into my space.  Up ahead through the corn fields, I see a shimmering light.  My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim.  I had to stop for the night.

It's 10:00 pm on a pitch black, cold October night when I putter onto a gravel back road outside Blair, Nebraska, seeking a manicured acreage hosting the start/finish/campsite for this year's Omaha JackRabbit.  No street lights, no yard lights, no movement, no activity.  All I have is an address that looks like a foreign zip code chicken scratched onto a napkin.  With over 39 hours passing since I last slept, things are getting more than a little fuzzy.  I spot a solitary light.

A helpful night man explains where to drop off equipment, where to set up camp, where to park, where to get something to eat, where to go to the start in the morning, where to, WHAT?  I process none of it.  Confuzzled, I simply ask, "Where do you want my car parked in the morning?"  He says, "Follow me."  When he stops, I stop, turn off the engine and fall asleep.

Ere the sun rises over harvest season in middle America.  (photo by Rob Evans)

Bright lights and excited chatter jolt me awake.  Somehow, it's already 6:30 am and I'm parked in the middle of a grassy open space filled with vehicles, bikes and racers readying for the 7:00 am start.  So much for my well-oiled pre-race routine of bike, clothing, gear, water and food checks, let alone hot breakfast and coffee.  Oblivious to the conditions, I throw on a standard mid-summer clothing kit, grab my bike and make it to the start line, just as Grand Poo-Bah Scott Redd briefs the racers on the day ahead.  Turning to the registration table, I sign the waiver, pick up the first set of cue sheets and realize I must return to my car for my helmet, among other things.

I've already missed all the pre-race social activities that I enjoy so much at these grass roots gravel races:  the Friday afternoon pre-registration at a bike shop or restaurant, the Friday night gathering around a campfire at a campsite, and the Saturday morning pre-race meet-ups and re-connects.  Now, as the flock of blinking red lights disappear into the pre-dawn darkness, I miss the start.

Yes, that's the road we take and the bridge we cross.  Early signs of a creative course design.  (photo by Rob Evans)

Alright, so I start this race with a chase.  By the time I turn pedals, however, the last of the blinking red lights are only occasionally visible, as the racers ahead crest one of a multitude of undulating hills.  I power up the first little hill.  Boy, that hurts.  Worse, the drop down the other side feels like jumping into a mountain lake.  It is cold.  30-something degree cold.  I have gear for this, but it's back at the car, neglected in the dark scramble just to get to the start.  My mid-summer clothing kit will have to do, but I am cold.

One room school house, taking a well deserved rest.

Over a series of small hills, I aim to catch at least one straggling blinking red light.  But the cold slows my descents and fatigue slows my climbs.  Although just a few miles from the start, I feel like I've already ridden a hundred hard miles.  I simply have no power.  Lack of sleep turns my race into a ride.  I choose to enjoy my day for what it is, a mellow bike ride through rural Nebraska back roads during harvest.

Flushed from the corn field on my right, a rooster pheasant nearly takes me out here.

And what a nice ride.  The Omaha JackRabbit is a 125 mile bicycle race winding through the best gravel and dirt roads north and west out of Blair, Nebraska, which itself is about 30 miles north and west of Omaha.  A product of the creative minds of bike aficionado Scott Redd, his sidekick Pell Duvall and a bevy of cohorts, including Jayme Frye and Mike Wagster, the JackRabbit rolls up and down about 85 miles of rough rural roads, piling up a grain cart full of elevation gain, before plopping onto a Missouri River flood plain for 35 miles of pancake flat, but pretty beat up dirt roads, and finishing with some climbing back into the surrounding river bluffs.

Why, we've got both kinds, country and western.

The challenging, scenic course reflects the passion and care that Scott, Pell and crew pour into this event.  To select interesting roads and then patch them together for us to enjoy takes countless hours that only a servant's heart could bear.  They charge no entry fee, but just ask racers to respect the land, the folks living and working here, and each other.  They say there is no support, but the friendly faces at the start, check points and finish say otherwise.  They also provide food, drinks, campfires and camping at the start/finish.  These are folks to support.  Thank you, gentlemen.

V Road, one of 25 miles of Minimum Maintenance Roads.  When dry like this, they are great.  (photo by Rob Evans)

So, I am blessed to be here, to ride to honor their service and to enjoy the fruits of their labor.  As I ride, much slower than expected, the day gradually warms.  I soft pedal into Check Point 1 at the City Park in Uehling to find kindred spirits Jayme Frye and Mike Wagster, handing out the second set of cue sheets.  After an engaging chat that is far too brief, I reluctantly bid farewell, but don't go far.  At the edge of town, I spy a convenience store.  Time for that hot breakfast and morning coffee.

Harvest season in the Great Plains.  (photo by Rob Evans)

It's only about 91 miles to go, but I am moving slow and am in full tourist mode.  With cue sheets to the finish, lights for the night and provisions for however long it takes, I'm in for the long haul.  The hills seem to get bigger and steeper, but the farmland scenes and activities are nothing less than a living, breathing modern Norman Rockwell painting.

Corn.  To infinity and beyond.

I stop for pictures, for critters, for views.  I even stop to talk with a truck driver waiting for his semi-truck trailer to fill with corn.  He says that he can haul 1,000 bushels, which is the capacity of the grain cart unloading into his trailer and which the combine can harvest in about an hour.  Considering the army of farm equipment swarming the land, that's a staggering amount of corn coming in.

I'll let this little guy pass.  Many, many combines, tractors and trucks all over the back roads today.

Eventually I coast into Check Point 2 in Decatur, about 41 miles to go.  Volunteer Kerrie tells me that a group of three riders left just moments ago and I could probably catch up to them.  As much as I enjoy riding with others, I know that nightfall looms and temperatures will plummet.  So, I choose a nice, long, warm convenience store break, complete with GodFather's pizza, hot chocolate and more clothing layers.  Not my typical race fare, but then again I stopped racing before sunrise.

The next 35 miles are flat, but not always fast.  The gravel roads are in pretty good shape, but most of the dirt roads are rough, a few miles sporting washboards created by large tread farm equipment.  These hardened washboards are 2-3 inch wide, and about that deep, making it tough pedaling to ride even 5-10 mph.  But those sections are relatively short and soon I'm climbing out of the flood plain back into the river bluffs.

Those last 6 miles were not without drama.  Cruising a rare downhill at maybe 25 mph, I round a corner to go eye-to-eye with an enormous raccoon loitering in the middle of my line.  With no instincts to swerve or brake, I unload my best attempt at a bunny hop over the snarling beast, fully expecting at least a rear wheel collision.  He must have moved fast enough, though, as he scampered off.  The few downhills after that I took much slower.

2015 Omaha JackRabbit Finish Line, marked by Pell Duvall and captured by Scott Redd.  Thanks, guys.

Popping over one last hill, I finish cold in the dark, just like the start.  Scott and Pell enthusiastically greet me and invite me inside to warm up, recover and hang out.  It's a good day on the bike, with a good night ahead.

My take-away from a sleep deprived gravel ride:  you can ride a long way without much sleep and have a lot of fun, but it's going to be low energy and slow.  Enjoy it for what it is.

Scott Redd and Pell Duvall:  the indomitable force behind the Omaha JackRabbit.

Off the Bike

Notwithstanding all the fun scouting remote roads all over a wide swath of western South Dakota to create the Black Hills BackBone route, I'm still processing the simple fact that I did not ride it all this year as planned.  Last weeks ride off the map south of Jewel Cave helped.  And I'm really looking forward to the upcoming Omaha JackRabbit, put together by bike aficionados Pell Duvall and Scott Redd.  But a bit more of a respite is in order.

Enter Paul Matson, one of my best friends from Yankton High School and one of the best friends a person could have.  Paul is a medical doctor living in Portland, Oregon, with a propensity to return to South Dakota occasionally to share some time.  Usually there's some hiking involved.  This year, he flew into Rapid City several days in advance of pheasant hunting in parts further East.  Great timing.

Now, there's a hike for a couple of old friends.  Old Baldy Mountain.

We set out Monday late morning for Old Baldy Mountain in the Northern Black Hills.  It's a bit of a drive from Rapid City for a relatively short 6 mile loop, but we aren't in a hurry.  Although I submit that any route is a scenic route, we take a variety of back roads, including portions of both the BackBone and the Gold Rush Mother Lode.  Nice drive.

Paul enjoying the view atop Old Baldy Mountain.

 Mid-October in the Northern Hills is past prime time for the changing of the colors of the aspen and birch stands.  But this fall has been mild and we find a few pockets of trees holding onto their golden leaves.  The trail is mellow and the miles pass.  We greet a solitary hiker, who enthusiastically tells us of a herd of 20 or so elk that had just crossed the trail ahead of us.  We see no elk and no other hikers, but relish the fall air, the scenery surrounding us and the simple experience of a nice hike.

Still a few golden leaves left.

Dropping off the summit, we somehow venture off the loop trail circling back to the trail head.  Instead, we hike several miles due north before emptying onto School House Gulch Road (USFS 222), north and west of Iron Creek Lake.  So, we end up on more remote roads, hiking a few miles east to Tinton Road (USFS 134) and over 4 miles back to the trail head.  Something more than double the 6 mile loop.

Getting a little dark by the time we found our way back to the trail head.

A little off the marked trail.  A little off the planned route.  Maybe just a little off.  Thanks, Paul.

Onward

With riding the Black Hills BackBone in a single ride now firmly pushed into the future, I set out for fresh gravel.  Something new.  Something different.  Something so far off the BackBone route that it has not, and would not, even be considered for that.  Something just to ride and explore, just to ride and explore.

There are many of these rough, gutted crossings on Red Canyon Road (Fall River Co 15), which was mostly dry today.

I knew right where to go.  A large swath of Black Hills removed from the recreational centers of the North and the tourist draws of the Center.   The SouthWestern most corner of the Black Hills, where the iron grip of the dense pine forests that give these hills their name slips and slowly gives way to the rolling, hard scrabble edge of the prairie.  I'm going south of Jewel Cave National Park to the railroad town of Edgemont and back, on whatever roads look interesting.  Just what the doctor ordered.

Starting with the typical Black Hills forest gravel.  It doesn't last long.

OK.  One more forest gravel photo.  Just over this hill, and around that corner . . .

Now, the view starts to open, as the land hardens.

Now we're rolling.

Ridge line that must have been the fire break for a relatively recent forest fire.

 There's great gravel and dirt roads out there, with plenty of primary and secondary roads for a variety of longer rides.  I'll be back for more of those, and to chase down more of the sketch roads and skid trails I merely sampled today.

The One Ride Still Ahead

Last year about this time, I dreamt up the odd idea of creating a bike route that crossed the entire state of South Dakota, from North to South, along the spine of the Black Hills, on the best remote gravel and dirt roads I could find.  Call it the Black Hills BackBone.  Make it public and make it happen.

A rough outline soon took shape and details filled in as I researched roads and resupply possibilities by pouring over county, U.S. Forest Service and even internet satellite maps.  Eventually, I posted the proposed BackBone route and set out to check it all out.  Here are links to my prior posts on the Route Overview, Cue Sheets and Maps and GPS.

A vague idea took hold and eventually took shape, over miles and time in the saddle.

Over the course of 2015, I rode every bit of the Black Hills BackBone route, in various bits, pieces and chunks, up, down and sideways and through all kinds of weather.  I have found, considered and rejected many possible re-routes and add-ons.  The course is a keeper.  I like it.

The view forward, from Flag Mountain Road, about mile 185 on the BackBone.

However, my plan was not to just re-con the route, as much fun as that was.  It was to ride it all, from border to border, on a single, continuous ride.  That's still my plan.  But my time window this year is closed.  No excuse.  I didn't get it done.

So, it's getting pushed to next year.  And the course record remains open.

Bikepacking the BackBone? - Part 3

What would it look like to bikepack the entire Black Hills BackBone route?  I'd probably try to roust a few friends to make it a rolling multiple day party.  Honestly assess my riding capabilities and interests, as well as those of everyone else.  Ensure that all are up for about the same number, pace and difficulty of daily riding hours, about the same type of rest and food, and about the same type of overall ride.  Then just ride, camp and have a good time.

Nothing quite like sharing a campfire.

After riding every bit of the BackBone route, in bits and pieces of various combinations, and after riding much of the Black Hills portion loaded for bikepacking, I think I have a good sense of what would be fun for me.  I'd shoot for three days of riding, two nights camping and a shuttle to the start and from the finish.  Plenty of daily riding, hopefully with some time at nights to relax.

The first day would pretty much need to cover the 133 miles from the North Dakota border to Spearfish.  There's just not much out there for camping between those spots, other than the ditch and an occasional tree.  That's a long day on a loaded bike, especially with the stark exposure and remoteness.  But the gravel is relatively fast and the rolling terrain is relatively mellow, so I think it sounds about right, as long as the weather doesn't get too crazy.  If it turns out to be a bit too much, one could pull into the Belle Fouche Reservoir campground about 20 miles or so before Spearfish.

All in at the geographic center of the United States.

The second day would cover much of the Black Hills portion of the BackBone route, about 90 miles to Custer.  That's a long day on a loaded bike, too, due to the steeper climbs, significantly greater overall elevation gain and rougher roads.  But the route stays on primary and secondary USFS roads, or county roads, so the gravel is still good, the exposure is more reasonable and there are alternative camping spots along the way, if needed or desired.

Typical Black Hills gravel on the BackBone.  Look for over 100 miles of riding like this.

The third day would start with some climbing in the Hills, before dropping to the rolling southern prairie stretching to the Nebraska border, for a total of about 83 miles.  Depending on the willingness of the shuttle driver to negotiate remote gravel roads to get to the finish, one may need to ride another 20 miles back to Oelrichs.

Southern exposure to the Nebraska border.

That's how I'd bikepack the Black Hills BackBone.  How would you?

There are always other ways.  With this daily plan, although the riding itself is remote, the overnights are at the good sized tourist towns of Spearfish and Custer.  One could camp nearby to maintain the "out there" experience, maybe just topping off water.  Alternatively, both towns have campgrounds right in town, for the option of more substantial resupply or meals or connecting with family or friends.  One could even bypass the whole carry-it-all-on-the-bike thing and have the camping gear stashed or delivered by shuttle.  A "credit card tour" is also possible, simply by staying in a motel, cabin or house of a friend.  Many options, depending on the experience desired.

If I were riding this trip solo, I'd probably just bikepack it, while enjoying a substantial dinner meal, and maybe breakfast, in Spearfish and Custer.  But I can see a great group ride, traveling light and meeting up with non-riding family or friends for dinner and campfire at night.  May have to carve out a couple of long weekends next year.

 

Nice way to end the day.

Bikepacking the BackBone? - Part 2

What about bikepacking the Black Hills BackBone route?  In my last post, Bikepacking the BackBone? - Part 1, I left off at Buffalo Gap, after riding about 63 miles of the route from Deerfield Lake.  Now, it's decision time.  Continue to ride the known Black Hills BackBone route on rolling prairie to the Nebraska border and on to Edgemont to camp or turn west to climb back into the Black Hills to explore unknown-to-me back roads?  Either way, I'll camp and then check out some gravel and dirt north of Jewel Cave National Park on a round about way back to Deerfield Lake.

Only one room at this resort.  Very exclusive, although some assembly is required.

Having confirmed the fun potential of the Black Hills portion of the BackBone route as a bikepacking ride, I turn back west, into the Hills.  Riding west on 7-11 Road, I now climb into a growing headwind.  Progress is slow, but steady, but really slow.  Eventually I reach paved Highway 385 and opt to ride some pavement up through Wind Cave National Park Visitor Center and Elk Mountain campgrounds.  At the outpost of Pringle, I return to gravel and dirt roads heading west and north to eventually camp near Highway 16 between Jewel Cave National Park and Custer.  100+ miles of gravel and dirt, all told, with an unknown, but healthy amount of elevation gain on a loaded bike.

Day 2 starts with a nice gradual climb up Lightning Creek Road.

Temperatures drop into the 30's overnight, so I don't mind the early morning climb up Lightning Creek Road (USFS 288).  After about 6 miles primarily up, I reach a ridge line with views of Crazy Horse Monument and other big rocks to the East.  Then it's back to climbing west on Custer Limestone Road (USFS 284) to Antelope Ridge Road (USFS 283).  Nice Black Hills gravel, virtually no traffic of any kind and great country to ride through.

An early morning wake-up climb to a ridge line with Crazy Horse Monument views.

Spinning past Cooper Ranch Game Production Area, I see some of the results of the Jasper Fire, which consumed over 83,000 acres of forest in the year 2000.   These primitive roads pass through high rolling hills with large swaths of grass, aspen and occasional pine trees.  Every few miles, around a corner or up the next ridge line, the more familiar thick pine forests reappear, only to disappear again shortly thereafter.

Not much of the forest left here, 15 years after the Jasper Fire.

The number and variety of back roads explode back here in the West Central Black Hills.  The primary USFS roads are pretty well marked with upright signs showing names and numbers.  As are most, but not all, of the secondary USFS roads.  Lesser developed roads, if a sign is present, may have numbers with additional digits, or decimals, or letters.  Or maybe a just a name.  Or maybe not.

No sign here.  Somewhere in the vicinity of Wildcat Draw.  I think.

Lots to explore.  Lots of opportunity to get lost.  I bring a collection of maps and a compass, and ride whatever looks interesting.  More than once, my seemingly well defined road dwindles to little more than a cow path, before abruptly reestablishing itself or intersecting with something more developed.

Fall colors from the new growth forest.

These roads would be even more fun riding without lugging all this bikepacking gear along.  On the other hand, it's reassuring to know that I have gear, food and water for at least another night, if I really get lost.

Pointing north en route to Deerfield Lake.

Late in the day, I reach my Camaro at Deerfield Lake.  Just short of another 100 miles, but more miles of rougher "roads" than Day 1.  I cannot recreate the exact path I rode through these parts and I'm not sure that I'd want to.  But I know there's great riding out there.  And I remember enough of the best.

Bikepacking the BackBone? - Part 1

What about bikepacking the Black Hills BackBone route?  The route itself and the distances between water and food are pretty well mapped out, so one could start with the number of days to cover the 300+ miles of rough roads and divide it up.  Three days at about 100 miles each seems like a nice, gentlemen's trip.  But is it?  For the 93 miles of Black Hills gravel from Spearfish to Buffalo Gap, there's a lot of elevation gain on rough roads to pull a loaded bike.

It's 0 dark:30 spinning out of Deerfield Lake.  There are no mountain lions in the Black Hills, right?

So, I decide to find out.  Early Tuesday morning, I leave Deerfield Lake heading south on Williams Gulch Road (USFS 691), about Mile 193 on the BackBone route.  My destination is Buffalo Gap, where the route turns to prairie after 63 miles of Black Hills back roads.  From there, I would either ride the route on rolling prairie to the Nebraska border and on to Edgemont to camp or turn west into the Black Hills to explore more mountain roads.  Get up Wednesday to check out some gravel and dirt north of Jewel Cave National Park on a round about way back to Deerfield Lake.  Two long days, one night.  Let's ride.

The snow is long gone since my last ride through here, but the scene remains.

 Over the past few birthdays and such, I've been accumulating some bikepacking gear.  Some stuff, like the tent, sleeping bag, pad and stove, are simply updates of familiar backpacking gear from the 70's.  Other stuff is bike specific, like the Revelate Designs bags to carry it all.  Wow.  The Sweet Roll handle bar bag holds the tent, sleeping bag and pad, the Terrapin seat post bag holds food, clothes and tool kit, the Tangle top tube bag holds a water bladder, pump and miscellaneous small items, and the Gas Tank top tube bag holds food for on-the-fly feeding.  And there's still two usable water bottles, one for Perpetuem and one for Heed.  Water for 6-8 hours.  Food and gear for 2 days.  It's pretty sweet.

Rolling south on Williams Gulch Road in the pre-dawn darkness, I can just make out a slow moving herd of large mammals meandering across.  I stop, but lose track after counting 20 some elk.  The harem passes.  OK.  Where's the king?  A short gap.  Then he arrives.  A mammoth bull with a majestic rack.  He stops mid-road, turns his head directly at me, maybe 20 yards away.  As I reach for my camera, he bolts into the darkness.

A ridge line on Custer Limestone Road.

The skies gradually lighten.  The secondary National Forest Service roads can be rough and there's plenty of climbing, but my loaded Black Mountain Cycles monster cross bike handles it well.  I barely notice the Revelate Designs bags, other than the very obvious additional weight of all that gear.  I spend most of my time in the smallest gear I have on, a too-tall 34 x 26.

Always a good sign.  Heading out of Custer toward more back roads.

Soon I'm in the tourist town of Custer and stop for donuts and coffee at the local bakery.  Thinking the same, three guys pull up in dual sport motorcycles, loaded for the long, remote haul.  They are a father, son and son-in-law team from Idaho exploring back roads and trails throughout the Black Hills.  They strike up a fast conversation, asking all sorts of questions about travel by bicycle and answering my questions of their similar travels.  We compare notes and maps and just enjoy the simple company of kindred spirits.

The ubiquitous prairie dog is easy to overlook, with all the big mammals and big views.

South of Custer, the day warms, the wind picks up and the hills taper into the prairie.  The miles flow too quickly over one of my favorite roads anywhere, Highland Ridge Road (NFS 5) traversing Wind Cave National Park.  As Buffalo Gap approaches, I conclude that the added weight of the camping gear makes those 63 miles harder than normal, but the concept is doable.

Decision time.  Continue on the known Black Hills BackBone route to Nebraska and beyond to Edgemont to camp?  Or turn west to climb back into the Black Hills for some unknown-to-me back roads?  Which way should I go?