Time to Ride

It's been such a long time, I think I should be goin', yeah.
And time doesn't wait for me, it keeps on rollin'.
Donald T. Scholz, Boston, Long Time (1976).


A relentless winter grudgingly surrenders to a dank, dreary spring, sequestering for months all but the most enthusiastic cyclist. Piling on, cynics smirk that the summer solstice marks the beginning of shorter days, as if the best of summer has already passed.

Don't buy it. Brighter days lie ahead.

Now is the time to ride. With a friend. In a group. With family. Solo. Before work. After work. On a day off. At an event. At a race. Just ride. It's fun and will stoke the fire for the next one.

The gatherings add up to relationships. The experiences add up to a lifestyle. It's always worth it.

Brad Kurtz and grandson Ayden Kurtz enjoying the day riding the 2019 Black Hills Gravel Series #1 - Spearfish.

Now is also the best time to help others discover the magic of riding remote gravel and dirt roads, away from the distracted drivers on pavement. Invite someone new to your next ride. It usually doesn't take much of a ride for a newcomer to start asking for other good places to ride.

Outside major urban centers, lightly traveled back roads exist most everywhere. Here in Western South Dakota, the Black Hills National Forest offers a treasure trove of remote gravel and dirt roads for the adventurous cyclist. With an embarrassment of riches, choosing where to ride can be confusing. Where does one start?

The best source of ride information is the gravel family itself, a friendly and welcoming lot. Ask around. Search social media. Enthusiasts love to share their enthusiasm and many document their rides digitally. In Spearfish, Rushmore Bikes has posted social media notices of its Wednesday night gravel rides for some time. Cyclists regularly post rides and events in FaceBook groups like Black Hills Drop Bar Dirt, Gravel & Cyclocross Riders. Even national websites like ridinggravel.com post local events on their calendars.

Out here, another great ride resource that continues to build is the Black Hills Gravel Series, which are great routes almost anytime of year. I've ridden some of the Spearfish and Sturgis routes in the dead of winter. Since 2017, Lucas Haan has published gpx files and/or cue sheets for something like 8 different routes of about 10 miles, 14 different routes of about 25 miles and 13 different routes of about 50 miles. As far as I know, those routes are still out there.

Of course, part of the allure of riding remote roads is experiencing new country that interests you. What better way to explore than to create your own route? Better yet, brainstorm routes with a riding buddy over a coffee or brew.

Well, how do you do that? Most start digitally. Not surprisingly, I almost always start analog. That is, I pull out a hard copy U.S. Forest Service map of the Black Hills National Forest or the voluminous South Dakota State Atlas published by the South Dakota State Department of Transportation, which shows all public roads by county. I follow roads and near-roads, looking for interesting ridge lines, creeks, drainages, peaks, areas of former wildfires, small towns, abandoned towns, historical sites, or just anything different. Maybe I'll look for a spot on the map where I haven't ridden, just to find a way to get there. Maybe I'll look for an obscure connector between two better known roads. Maybe I'll just look. Then, when it comes time to ride, I simply piece together some of those roads to make a route of the desired distance and difficulty. Of course, I'll make a hard copy and bring it along.

Whether a route is digital, analog or by the seat of your shorts, it's all just pedaling a bicycle.

Time to ride.

Every Rider Has A Story - 2019 Gold Rush

Listen to any cyclist at the 2019 Gold Rush Gravel Grinder and you'll hear a compelling story. On that day, 300 some cyclists willingly rode from the comforts of the tourist town of Spearfish on messy gravel roads into the cold, wet, and wind of a nasty spring squall in the Northern Black Hills of South Dakota. Whether striving to ride the 70 mile Gold Dust, the 110 mile Gold Rush or the 210 mile Mother Lode, all pedaled into that weather, on to those roads and up those Hills. Their reasons were their own, but they shared a kindred spirit.

To see what's out there. To see what's within. To face the day as it unfolds.

Since the race, I've started to hear some of the stories of other riders. Everyone endured an endless winter that curtailed planned training. Everyone overcame obstacles just to get to the start line and then to actually start riding this thing. Everyone was cold and wet. Everyone had mud everywhere. Everyone suffered out there in those conditions. Everyone has a story to tell.

Irrepressible Robert Cota cheering on all the riders spinning up some early rollers on Homestake Road west of Spearfish.
I second that emotion. (photo by Randy Ericksen)

In a day of stories to be told for years to come, however, the most compelling story I know is the ride of Lucas Haan. 

As most cyclists around the Black Hills know, Lucas is a free-thinking engineer/beermeister who infuses boundless energy, enthusiasm and creativity into hosting the Black Hills Gravel Series, as well as spearheading a variety of other community-based cycling endeavors. He's a force of nature making our cycling community better for everyone and seems to know by name everyone in the Black Hills who has ever pedaled a bicycle.

Lucas also is a talented cyclist who registered for the Mother Lode, despite being a novice to endurance racing. Analyzing like a School of Mines engineer, Lucas obsessed over the details of the course, learned hydration and nutrition, tweaked his new Black Mountain Cycles MCD, and planned a full slate of training rides leading to the June 8th race. Like everyone else, however, weather, work and family commitments conspired to truncate the number and length of those rides. Race day crept closer.

Now, cyclists are notorious sandbaggers about their claimed lack of training, but I seriously doubt another registrant for the 210 mile Mother Lode could say this. Shortly before the race, Lucas had not yet completed a 100 mile bicycle ride. Not this year. Not last year. Not the year before. Not ever.

That's nuts. Who does that? Who signs up for a race like the Mother Lode right out of the endurance racing blocks?

Just two weeks before the race, Lucas finally recorded his first century: a paved road hammerfest with some local fast guys. Lucas avowed that they took a few long breaks and that he was a little tired, but otherwise felt good to go for the Mother Lode. That's not exactly a conventional training plan, but it certainly revealed some latent abilities.

Lucas Haan on the wheel of Christopher Grady in the early miles of the 2019 Mother Lode.
(photo by Randy Ericksen)

On race day, Lucas steamed onto the gravel with the lead group and steadily powered up the 70 miles to O'Neil Pass in under 6 hours. That's a strong start for anyone. Although his Scandihoovian motor burns very hot, even Lucas was a bit chilled at TrailsHead Lodge in his lightweight wind jacket. Seeking solutions, he ate some grub and bought several chemical foot warmers, before dropping into the Central Hills for that big 100 mile loop that eventually climbs back to TrailsHead Lodge.

Lucas insisted that the sun came out for some of that loop, but I think that was just his disposition working to convince his hands and feet that it really was getting warmer. In any event, after dark the temperatures plummeted into the low 30's for his final climb back up O'Neil Pass. Some racers saw snow. At TrailsHead Lodge, Lucas saw newspaper as insulation and created a makeshift puffy jacket for the frosty descent in Spearfish Canyon. The rookie goes old school.

Lucas cruised into Spearfish shortly before midnight to become a Mother Lode finisher on a brutal day. And his time of 18:49:49 earned third place in the Under-39 age group.

Amazing. Simply amazing.

Congratulations, Lucas. I can't wait to see what's ahead for you.

Lucas Haan celebrating his finish of the 2019 Mother Lode.

Here is a sampling of Randy Ericksen photographs of other cyclists out there braving the elements in the 2019 Gold Dust, Gold Rush and Mother Lode gravel races. Each has a story to tell.

Wet, wind and cold, right from the start of gravel on the Mother Lode.

Lead dog Nate Keck avoids the spray of wet gravel on the early miles of the Gold Rush.

Homestake Road rollers introduce Gold Dust riders to wet gravel.

Zach Stone taming his bucking bronco on the Gold Dust.

On the Gold Dust, Erik Lindquist suppresses his ever-present smile for the mud-covered, gravel grinder look.

This spring's latest look - mud splattered white.

On the Gold Dust, Casey Bergstrom flies off Cement Ridge in search of more mud.

Climbing into the clouds toward O'Neil Pass. I'm shivering just looking at that damp cold.
This photograph captures the day. 

Finally, here's a link to Randy Ericksen's album for more pictures from that day. 2019 Gold Rush Photos by Randy Ericksen.

Arrogance at the Mother Lode

Our mission was called a "successful failure" in that we returned safely but never made it to the moon.  Commander Jim Lovell, Apollo 13 (1993).

Last weekend I started the 210 mile Mother Lode, bailed at the top of O'Neil Pass, and endured the route back to Spearfish. So, essentially I rode the 110 mile Gold Rush in difficult conditions, but it doesn't feel like a successful anything. This race will fester until I learn something meaningful to apply long term.

Grossly under clothed for the conditions, here just a few miles from the start of a 210 mile race.

(photo by Randy Ericksen)

One could argue that my first mistake was registering for the 210 mile Mother Lode in the first place. However, I enjoy this course running through the Black Hills back country that I regularly ride. I also love to hang out with the people drawn to this event and to support our local folks putting it on. And I completed this race in 2015 with much tougher time limits, as well as the 110 mile Gold Rush on a single speed in 2013 and 2018. This event is right in my wheel house.

Maybe registering single speed for the Mother Lode was a reach, but I think not. I've ridden a lot of single speed over the past 20+ years and, more significantly, all my miles for the last eight months have been single speed, whether pave, gravel, dirt or commute. I think switching to gears shortly before the Mother Lode actually would have been harder.

I wish I could use the excuse of inexperience of riding in bad weather. No sale. Along with a long history of rides, events and races in questionable conditions, I have commuted by bike to work almost every day, year around, for the past 11 years in Rapid City, South Dakota. I have the gear, experience and temperament for riding through much worse than what hit the Mother Lode.

So, what happened?

Arrogance.

Before the Mother Lode, I grabbed my bottomless bottle of optimism, filled up a mighty mug of arrogance and chugged it. The weather didn't seem that bad at the start in town and the forecast looked to improve. I didn't want to carry a bunch of seemingly unnecessary, heavy, bulky cold weather gear all day and into the night. I've ridden harder events in worse conditions. Confidence slid into hubris. I started very light on clothing, basically a summer kit and light jacket, and brought embarrassingly little else along. Horrible decision. It cost me the race.

In my Jeep, I left behind practically a warehouse of cold, wet weather clothing: waterproof shoe covers, waterproof socks, waterproof insulated gloves, waterproof over mitts, tights, thermal tights, rain pants, long sleeve wool jersey, long sleeve thermal jersey, thermal jacket, balaclava, and even a helmet cover. If I had my 45NRTH Wolvhammer boots along, I could have ridden through a blizzard with all that gear.

I can't believe this list as I write it. Why did I leave any of that behind? What was I thinking? Inexplicable. Simply inexplicable.

I'm left with arrogance. Simply believing I know everything and can do anything. It made for a miserable, borderline dangerous day on the bike and a bitter disappointment.

Added a light weight rain jacket shortly after the first picture, but that was all I had to add.

So, here's a little play-by-play. By the time we hit gravel at the 5 mile mark, I'm already wet and chilled. Some prairie rollers exposed to drizzle and Wyoming winds then turn chilled to stone cold. The gradual, more protected climb up Sand Creek Road stabilizes body temperatures for awhile, but the occasional exposure to those Wyoming winds steals hard earned heat. With numb hands and feet, I pull into the 36 mile aid station at just over 3 hours, about the same as last year.

Ahead stands a short, steeper pitch on Moskee Road and some exposed rollers, but I know the long, gradual, protected climb up Grand Canyon Road follows. So, I hunker down with the objective of somehow making Grand Canyon Road and then warming up during the 20+ mile steady climb to O'Neil Pass. It looks to be about 6 1/2 hours to the top, comfortably within the 7 3/4 hour limit.

Nice plan. Made it to Grand Canyon Road. Made it up O'Neil Pass. About 7 hours. Never warmed up. Not even a little. Despite climbing steadily for 2 hours, primarily downwind or out of the wind, I only get more wet and more cold. A deep, penetrating wetness from a soaking drizzle, compounded by low temperatures, occasional wind, and grossly inadequate clothing. Spinning the final rollers near the top, I can barely hold the bike steady and barely operate the brakes.

At the 70 mile checkpoint at TrailsHead Lodge, the sun finally pokes through the heavy blanket of clouds. At first, I am elated, hoping that perhaps I could dry a little, or at least warm up. But that brief burst of sunshine brings the opposite result. I realize that, right here, right now, is likely the best weather I'll see for the rest of the race. And right now, I am still shivering and shaky.

From O'Neil Pass, the Mother Lode turns south for a 100 mile loop into the Central Black Hills that winds back to TrailsHead Lodge for the final checkpoint and then drops about 40 miles down to the Spearfish finish. That 100 mile loop showcases some gorgeous back country on fast, forest gravel roads that are not particularly difficult. However, there is virtually no development and often no cell phone coverage. That's not a hundred miles to ride solo when shivering hinders you from operating a bicycle.

After a raucous internal debate with wild emotional swings, I eventually decide to cut short the Mother Lode. At such a time, I am grateful for the unexpected company of a friend, Matt Bergen, an Odin's Revenge race director there to support his son Lane. Thanks, Matt. That helped a lot.

With my race over, I enjoy a sloppy joe sandwich prepared by the good folks at the TrailsHead Lodge and start to ride the route back to Spearfish. That long, cold descent confirms my decision. On the final 14 mile, steady descent on paved Spearfish Canyon Road, I actually stop three times to walk to warm my feet enough to feel cold. The last walk takes over a half mile for that to happen.

Eventually, I plop into my Jeep still stuffed with all that gear staring at me. Just sitting there, staring at me. I hear them mock, "How was your race? Did you have fun? Can I go along next time?"

I start the engine, crank the heat and strip off wet clothes. Shivering eventually gives way to shaking my head.

Questions, no answers. Disappointment, no solace. Anger, no outlet.

Eventually, on the drive back to Rapid City, I process the experience enough to realize that my own arrogance doomed this race before the start. That's something I can work on.

A Life of Passion

Headlines scream from every conceivable media outlet around the world. 11th climber dies on Mt. Everest this year! After briefly identifying the climber, the stock article quickly moves to more general issues of the numbers of climbers on the mountain and the cost of such a climb. Media commentary amps up controversy. Lost in the fog is the life of the individual.

So, let's burn off the fog and see the light of a life of passion. How do I know? Chris Kulish was my work colleague for 15 years, a fellow associate working his way to partner in the largest patent law firm anywhere near Colorado. He also was my friend.

Chris Kulish after summiting Mt. Everest. (photo by Chris Kulish)
This picture appears in print, broadcast and on-line media reports around the world.

Chris excelled in the rarified air of complex electrical engineering patent prosecution. If you're thinking that's pretty specialized, you are right. Very few individuals are capable of thoroughly understanding state of the art electrical engineering applications and then translating that technical know-how into the arcane world of patent prosecution. Even fewer do it well. 

When Chris started with the firm in 1987, he immediately bolstered the promising electrical engineering patent practice. Through the 1990's, both Chris and the firm grew and prospered. However, the unrelenting workload eventually took its toll. Chris left in 2002 to seek an environment more conducive for carving out blocks of time to pursue his passion of climbing.

Although we rarely worked together directly, I enjoyed regularly talking with Chris. For example, the interplay between patent prosecution and litigation provided limitless questions for his inquisitive mind. Almost always, our discussions resulted in him offering a fresh insight that moved forward my analysis of a pending project.

While an exceptional patent lawyer, Chris was exceptionally passionate about climbing. All kinds of climbing. That's what he did. That's what he was about. That was him.

So, we never just talked about work. Sometimes, we didn't talk about work at all. Chris loved to share stories of climbing big mountains and big walls, such as Long's Peak in Colorado and El Capitan in California. He climbed as much as he could during those years, but yearned for time to pursue bigger peaks on longer expeditions in more exotic locales. I know that, due to work commitments, he reluctantly turned down several invitations to join friends on expeditions to the Himalayans.

But Chris kept at it. He kept climbing. He kept working to keep climbing. He lived a lifestyle to be able to keep climbing. He spent a lifetime climbing. He lived his passion.

Reaching the summit of Mt. Everest not only fulfilled a life long goal, it also propelled Chris onto a very short list of individuals who have climbed the highest peak on each of the Earth's seven continents. The commitment of time, energy, work and skill to accomplish such a feat is staggering. That's a lifetime living his passion. That's a life to celebrate.

Rest in peace, Chris.

Sunshine On My Shoulders

If I had a tale that I could tell you,
I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile.

John Denver, Sunshine On My Shoulders (1971).

Soaking in the late afternoon sun, I roll toward the last checkpoint of the last Odin's Revenge.
Such a memorable day is possible by riding other days that were not so ideal.

If truth in advertising laws applied to calendars, March would show 93 days this year. This long, cold, lonely winter seems to relish revealing momentary glimpses of spring, like Lucy repeatably offering to hold the football for Charlie Brown. Then another snow dump abruptly plants us flat on our backs.

Throughout this never ending March, you keep going out there. Sometimes it's fun to be outside in harsher weather, but not always. Sometimes you just go out there because that's what you do. In any event, you know winter won't last forever and you want to be able to ride well when the weather finally improves. So you go.

In the midst of a long, wintry ride a few weeks ago, the sun burst through the persistent clouds to briefly brighten my day. At that moment, this old John Denver song popped into my head and made me smile. I sang it, off and on, sometimes loudly, for the rest of the ride, well after the sun disappeared under its covers. It changed my ride.

This day on this road will come.

I later learned that John Denver wrote that song while enduring a lingering winter. How appropriate. Here's his story, as recounted in Wikipedia:

"I wrote the song in Minnesota at the time I call 'late winter, early spring'. It was a dreary day, gray and slushy. The snow was melting and it was too cold to go outside and have fun, but God, you're ready for spring. You want to get outdoors again and you're waiting for that sun to shine, and you remember how sometimes just the sun itself can make you feel good. And in that very melancholy frame of mind I wrote 'Sunshine on My Shoulders'."

Time for some Sunshine On My Shoulders.

Go ahead. Sing along.

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a day that I could give you
I'd give to you the day just like today
If I had a song that I could sing for you
I'd sing a song to make you feel this way

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a tale that I could tell you
I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile
If I had a wish that I could wish for you
I'd make a wish for sunshine for all the while

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost all the time makes me high
Sunshine almost always

Songwriters: John Denver / Michael C Taylor / Richard L Dick Kniss

Cheerleader In Chief

The subtitle to this blog refers to "the people and rides to make it happen." One such person who has made many things happen for me is my Mom. Among other things, she always has been my Cheerleader In Chief.

From an early age, I played sports, especially football, basketball and baseball, the conventional sports in small town middle America at the time. Because Dad was almost always my coach, he took me to practices and games. See, 2018 post, The Best Coach I Ever Had. But not always. If Dad didn't, Mom did. And Mom was at every game year round, regardless of the sport, regardless of the weather, and regardless of anything else. She was always there, sharing every victory and defeat, every high and every low, with the right words and the right presence. Always.

Decades later, my wife Colleen experienced first hand the depth of Mom's involvement with my sports. Thirty rows up behind home plate at a Colorado Rockies baseball game, Mom quietly called balls and strikes on every pitch. Sitting beside her, Colleen expressed surprise at Mom's knowledge and accuracy. Mom gently patted Colleen's arm and said, "Dear, I've seen a few baseball games."

Carol Ann Rist, Salutatorian, Centerville High School 1954.

Carol Ann Rist grew up on a small family farm near Centerville, South Dakota, surrounded by a legion of cousins, aunts and uncles. With essentially no high school sports available to girls, Mom excelled in the classroom, graduating Salutatorian, played in the band and performed on the sidelines as a cheerleader. After high school, Mom graduated with a teaching degree from Augustana College, where she also was a varsity cheerleader. After college, Mom generally stayed home with her growing family, but occasionally substitute taught to keep her teaching credentials current.

Through it all, Mom kept everyone balanced and grounded. In a culture often dominated by athletics, she required from us a healthy dose of household chores and emphasized academics. From the very beginning, Mom spent countless hours reading to us, allowed us time to read ourselves and demanded that we attend to school work before "extra curricular" activities. You always knew that school came first. And it did.

Mom further insisted that we take piano and dance lessons in elementary school and that we played in the band or orchestra through high school. She steadfastly made sure we practiced and took us to years of lessons, rehearsals, recitals and concerts. Although I never developed a passion for creating music, I enjoyed playing and hanging out with a completely different crowd from sports. None of those experiences or relationships would have happened without Mom. And even back then, I attributed my footwork as a quarterback, point guard and shortstop to both Dad's coaching and Mom's dance lessons.

In addition to inspiration and encouragement, Mom also ran interference for me with Dad, who generally preferred that I work in the family business, if not playing sports. Mom appreciated the value of investing significant effort into academics. More importantly, she understood what it meant to me, so she created time and space within the family dynamics for me to study. My academic goals and achievements directly result from Mom's influence on me and on the rest of my family.

She has always been my Cheerleader In Chief.

Thank you, Mom.

Carol Ann Rist, Student and Cheerleader, Augustana College 1954.

Augustana College Homecoming 1954.

Mom also kept us well-dressed, at least when off the field.
Craig, Candace and Cyler at Dad's International Harvester office in Grand Island, NE in the mid-1960's.

Mom still going to baseball games well into the late 1970's for Chris, my youngest brother.

Mom and Dad still in the stands, sporting team colors and supporting me in 2016
at the 40th year celebration of the 1976 Yankton Bucks State Championship in football.
Being Mom never ends.

Gravel Family Love - Stretching The Notion Of Rideable

Not many folks actually enjoy riding a bicycle in the cold, wet or wind, let alone all three. To watch the number of enthusiasts plummet, add steep hills, sloppy gravel roads, and no coffee shop in sight. But it's not just the possibility of physical discomfort that keeps folks off gravel roads in poor conditions.

Recently an experienced cyclist told me that he decided against riding on messy gravel because his new carbon "gravel" bike would get muddy, and maybe even scratched. Another experienced cyclist expressed unease that the mud threatened his recent investment of a costly new drive train. Those sentiments are understandable and, depending on the equipment, may even be prudent. I've seen derailleurs, chains, pedals and even carbon frames utterly destroyed by muddy gravel.

Rim brake steel Black Mountain Monster Cross, running single speed, after the 51 mile Black Hills Gravel Series #3.
No drive train issues. No brake issues. Never stopped to clear mud. Just rode. Garden hose cleanup about 15 minutes.

Newcomers flocking to the gravel scene bring along their cycling experiences and preferences. By riding primarily pavement, dedicated roadies may be unaccustomed to the havoc inflicted on frames by gravelly bits, wet and dry. Indeed, the type of carbon frames, forks and wheels popular on uber road bikes may not hold up well on gravel. Maybe it is a better idea to leave those for pavement.

By avoiding muddy single track, even experienced mountain bikers may be unaccustomed to the level of drive train abuse dished out by messy gravel. It is not uncommon for a muddy gravel race to break expensive components, notably rear derailleurs, chains and pedals. Maybe for gravel it's a better idea to install components that are more durable or perhaps replaceable without financial pain.

Cyclocross racers certainly can encounter crazy bad conditions, but their equipment must hold up for only 45-60 minutes. At the higher levels, cyclocross races even provide a pit area for bike swaps and crew that is accessible each lap, which typically lasts less than 10 minutes. So, cyclocross may be a good start for equipment analysis, but dependability is measured differently for an unsupported, long, remote gravel ride.

Other than being in the wrong gear all the time, single speed worked great at the Black Hills Gravel Series #3.
When geared, I run a simple 2x9, with XT top pull front derailleur, LX rear derailleur and bar end friction shifters.

Choosing the appropriate equipment and adopting the right mindset can greatly expand the range of what one considers to be rideable conditions. Stretching those ranges is a good thing.

Last Saturday, the hangover of overnight snow greeted almost 100 cyclists at the Black Hills Gravel Series #3. The roads were a muddy mess. The sun never appeared for more than a few minutes at a time. The temperatures hovered in the forties. The soggy, often rutted remote roads on the Scenic Route demanded about 5,000 feet of climbing over 50 miles, but offered no warming huts, no aid stations, no convenience stores and no cheering crowds. To even consider such a ride, one had to bring the right equipment and the right attitude. Despite the difficulties, or more likely because of them, those cyclists understood that sharing such an experience can be empowering, enriching, rewarding, memorable, and fun.

Sometimes, crappy conditions are just crappy. Sometimes, crappy conditions create something special. Almost 100 cyclists ventured out last Saturday to discover what the day would bring. I loved being one of them.