GO in the face of NO

The Gold Rush is a GO for 2020.

NO, it won't be the same gravel family get-together as in the past. But Race Directors Kristi and Perry Jewett are grinding it out in the face of difficult circumstances.

GO support this event, this year. It's worth keeping. And so is the community it fosters.

Getting the party started at the Gold Rush Gravel Grinder.
(photo by Ridge Rider Racing, LLC)

Starting in 2013, the Gold Rush Gravel Grinder blazed the trail for gravel cycling events in the Black Hills of South Dakota, attracting enthusiasts of all abilities and experience. Sporting a self-supported ethos out on the remote road course, the Gold Rush offered popular post-race festivities in an outdoor city park at the finish, including live music, catered food, local micro-brews, vendors, unique awards and a smorgasbord of door prizes and raffles. Everyone left with a smile.

This year will not be the same. On May 1st, in a thoughtful and heartfelt message to race entrants, Kristi and Perry announced that the Gold Rush would not occur in 2020 as planned due to uncertainties with governmental licenses and permits. No gravel block party this year.

But not all is lost. Kristi and Perry created a "virtual" Gold Rush event. One can participate by riding one of the four race distances (45 miles, 70 miles, 110 miles, 210 miles) on any route anywhere and sharing pictures of the experience. Kristi and Perry will post "results," ship out event schwag, and even award door prizes and other prizes. They are doing what they can do, making the most out of it for everyone. Details at Gold Rush Info & Registration.

I'm registered and plan to ride the 110 mile Gold Rush route, solo and single speed, on the day and time as originally scheduled. Others may be out there then, too. But if not there or then, others will be out there riding their own "virtual" Gold Rush.

I encourage you to ride along. Keep the vibe alive.

In my first gravel race, I finished third place single speed (out of 3)
at the inaugural 110 mile Gold Rush Gravel Grinder in 2013.
(photo by Ridge Rider Racing, LLC)

The n+1 Struggle Is Real

A common cyclist joke:  How many bikes do you need?
n+1, where n = the number of bikes you currently own.

But it's not a joke. It's an addiction.

At one point in time, not long ago, I owned 11 bikes, including five different types of single speeds and two different fixed gears. I could always find a reason to add a new bike, but not to subtract an old one. I usually kept the old bike as a backup or loaner or, better yet, modified it for a new purpose.

After 30 years of living in conventional n+1 land, I commit to a new mindset and embark on a brave new journey to dramatically reduce my fleet. It isn't all at once and it isn't easy. Definitely the hardest to let go is my beloved classic Italian, lugged steel cyclocross bike. Letting Go. But I persevere. Eventually, my fleet bottoms out at three: a 2014 Black Mountain Cycles MonsterCross geared for roads, a 2008 Kona rigid 29er single speed for trails, and a 1991 Specialized RockHopper fixed for commuting.

One reward for subtracting all those other bikes is to add a custom built Jones 29 Plus LWB, geared for all purpose mountain biking and outfitted for bikepacking. Jones 29+ LWB - What It Is. None of my prior or existing bikes possessed the capabilities of the Jones 29+ LWB, especially for day long single track rides and multi-day camping. It is a big add, and a lot of fun. All is good.

Salsa Stormchaser single speed gravel hauler. (photo by Salsa Cycles)

Then Salsa announces the arrival of the Stormchaser for 2020. Introducing the Stormchaser.

What's so special about the Stormchaser? It's a rigid single speed bike designed from the ground up for long rides in bad conditions on rough unpaved roads, from a bike maker in this field for as long as anyone. There's no other production bike like it, in function or form.

It's singular. It's striking. It's simple. It calls to me.

But I don't need it. No, I really don't need it, I repeat to myself. My Black Mountain MonsterCross sets up readily as a single speed. Indeed, for the last couple of years, I have regularly switched it between geared and single speed, depending on my planned rides and races. It isn't difficult and isn't time consuming. The Black Mountain is a great road bike for me, both geared and single speed. I don't need another.

However, pictures and reviews of the Stormchaser flood the media. It beckons. My mind drifts. I start thinking that it would be nice to have two all road bikes - one dedicated single speed and one dedicated geared. Oh, yes, that would be nice. Really nice. So signals the Siren Song of n+1.

It's alluring. It's seductive. As I stray closer to those treacherous n+1 rocks, a persistent thought lurches me to my senses and steers me clear. I simply don't want one. That is, I realized that I did not want a Stormchaser, because I did not want a bike that I did not need.

My Chaser Of Storms - Black Mountain Cycles MonsterCross set up single speed.

The day may come when I acquire another bike. But it is not this day. This day I stay at n.

Everywhere A Sign

Sign. Sign. Everywhere a sign.
Blocking out the scenery. Breaking my mind.
Do this. Don't do that. Can't you read the sign?
Signs, Les Emmerson, Five Man Electric Band (1971).


I am just riding along, enjoying a quiet day on the Spearfish route of the 2020 Black Hills Gravel Series. Cresting a small incline, I turn to face a barrage of signs. Yellow "MINIMUM MAINTENANCE" and "TRAVEL AT YOUR OWN RISK" signs scream of danger, as do the signs of a steep downhill and a sharp turn. Even "SPEED LIMIT 25" signals trouble ahead. But it's the dark orange "ROAD CLOSED" and "BRIDGE CLOSED" signs that catch my attention.

No, I do not turn around. I check it out. As a seasoned cyclist who regularly rides solo on remote rough roads, I carefully ride down that relatively steep, rutted, loose, curving descent and bottom out at a short, narrow bridge spanning a small creek bed. A second "BRIDGE CLOSED" sign barricades about 2/3 of the width of the road, leaving a wide lane for a cyclist or pedestrian to pass. The top surface of the bridge appears intact, no construction equipment is present, and nothing seems amiss, other than another "BRIDGE CLOSED" sign. I slowly ride over the short bridge without incident.

However, the sight of that sign barrage lingers in my mind.

I know that road and that bridge were built for motorists, and those signs are there for the average motorist. I understand. However, not everyone traveling that road is a motorist.

Not that I don't appreciate a cautionary heads-up, but those signs are not for me, or for any reasonably prudent cyclist or pedestrian. I could have ridden that entire stretch of road, without the benefit of any of those signs. I know, because I have ridden much worse roads, in much worse conditions, with no warnings. Absent those signs, I would have readily recognized those conditions and adjusted to them.

With those signs, many cyclists and pedestrians probably would pass through carefully as I did. However, some may blindly obey those signs and turn back needlessly. Others may not believe the blanket admonitions and plunge forward heedlessly. That's the problem with top-down, dictated solutions that are one-size-fits-all, or even one-size-fits-most.

I encourage you to thoughtfully consider such limits, prohibitions and requirements sought to be imposed on everyone, whether out on a remote road or elsewhere. Reasonably prudent adults in a free society can assess the risk of a situation and decide how best to proceed. Over time, the individual decisions of large numbers of free thinkers always surpass the detached decisions of the elite few. The history of America proves it.


Sign. Sign. Everywhere a sign.
Blocking out the scenery. Breaking my mind.
Do this. Don't do that. Can't you read the sign?

Signs, Les Emmerson, Five Man Electric Band (1971).

Signs. Five Man Electric Band (1971). This YouTube video claims it was created in 1974-75.

Commit

commitment (noun) / ke - 'mit - ment
1a. an agreement or pledge to do something in the future
 b. something pledged
 c. the state or an instance of being obligated or emotionally compelled
Merriam-Webster dictionary


A commitment.

It starts with a commitment, i.e., a decision, an internal agreement with yourself, or a pledge to yourself, to do something particular in the future. And not just any decision, agreement or pledge, but one that obligates or emotionally compels you to actually do that something in the future. Probably at the expense of doing something easier or more enjoyable now. And even in the face of adversity. More to the point, especially in the face of adversity.

A commitment. Start with a commitment. Everything else follows.



Sometimes, you just have to commit.
(photo by Shaun Arritola)

That's how I started bike commuting. One year, many years ago, I simply committed to ride my bike to work once a week for a year. Just once a week.

Surprisingly, it was much easier and more fun than I imagined. But it was not without challenges.

Regardless of your commitment, or your intention, motivation, determination, stubbornness, or anything else behind it, you will be challenged. Something, maybe many somethings, will attack your commitment, including your bike, gear, clothing, work, family, weather, illness, injury, etc., etc., etc. How you react to those challenges determines whether you honor your commitment and, ultimately, defines you.

So, I commit to ride once a week and everything starts out great. But then, a work week somehow runs out with my bike still hanging in the garage. What to do?

What I don't do is worry about it. And I definitely don't think of ways to make it up the following week. I know that traveling that thought process creates a mindset that tolerates and excuses a failure to honor my commitment. Riding once a week is riding once a week. It is not the same to ride 4 times a month.

Rather than play the excuse and catch up game, I use that missed opportunity to redouble my mental efforts to ride the following week. One ride at a time. One week at a time. One way or another, I'm riding in the next week.

"The Death Star plans are down there. Cassian, K2, and I will find them. We'll find a way to find them."
Jyn Erso, Star Wars: Rogue One (2016).

When I started my once a week commitment to bike commuting, I had to deliberately and doggedly ink it on my schedule. For any given week, typically only one or two days were even possible to ride in, even after juggling. My commitment focused me to somehow work it in. It also focused me to actually ride that day, because I likely would not be able to ride in another day that week. It worked because I worked at it.

The day will come when you just don't want to ride in, maybe even with good reasons. If you really cannot ride in, or if you really need a mental break, you may need to miss that day. But I challenge you to recognize that feeling when it inevitably comes. Acknowledge it. Then challenge it. After a moment of honest reflection, I usually conclude that such a day is when I really need to find a way to ride in, after all.

"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come, when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shield, when the age of men comes crashing down. But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you, Stand, Men of the West!"
Aragorn, The Return of the King, The Lord of the Ring (2003).

Over the course of that first year, I learned that my commitment to ride once a week, and my working diligently to honor that commitment, built a solution-focused mindset. I found ways to ride into work, almost every week. And I eventually figured out all the logistical details that appear difficult from the outset and insurmountable from the outside.

My commitment grew into a habit, in a surprisingly enjoyable way. On my ride into work, I looked forward to a bonus ride during my favorite part of the day. On my ride home, I decompressed after another long day at the office. Along the way, I met interesting people, interacted with wildlife of all kinds, and experienced nature and community like never before. My bike commuting day became my favorite day of the week.

And it all started with a commitment to ride one day a week.

Fear No Evil

Psalm 23 King James Version (KJV)

23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Ride Today

A commitment grows into a habit that matures into a lifestyle.

Colorado cyclist Scot Stucky started the Icy Bike Winter Commuting Challenge in 2012 to encourage others to try commuting to work by bicycle during the colder months. His basic idea was to set a goal of bike commuting a total of 52 times during the time period of October 1 through March 31. That's an average of twice per week for 26 weeks. Several of his friends jumped on board, word spread quickly and a community sprang to life. Icy Bike Winter Commuting Challenge FaceBook Group.

Since 2012, the Icy Bike Winter Commuting Challenge continues to grow and the FaceBook group now numbers more than 1300 members from many states and countries. His friend Mike Prendergast even created a documentary film of their experience. A Winter Of Cyclists. Thank you, Scot and Mike, and everyone out there challenging themselves, encouraging others and holding each other accountable.

Spring snow on my ride home from work. This view cannot be seen from a car.

The Icy Bike Winter Commuting Challenge is over for this winter. I'm posting this now to encourage you to try riding a bicycle to work or for errands, while weather is less of an obstacle. Then, when it turns colder, it will be easier to keep going, rather than to start. And then you can join the Icy Bike Winter Commuting Challenge, too.

But wait, there's more. Just as the Icy Bike Winter Commuting Challenge ends, another community starts its own challenge. 30 Days of Biking. Cyclists simply commit to riding their bike, over any distance, every day during the month of April. I've completed this before and it's harder than you think, even for a daily bike commuter and weekend cycling enthusiast. But it builds a mindset.

Decompressing on a bike ride home from work.

Undertakings like the Icy Bike Winter Commuting Challenge and the 30 Days of Biking seem daunting when thinking of the overall commitment. But neither are difficult on any particular day. You just get on your bike that day and ride. Just that day. You don't have to think about tomorrow, the day after, or more. Just that day. Get on your bike and ride.

That's not a bad approach to most anything that seems overwhelming. Break it down to what you can do today and start that.

A commitment grows into a habit that matures into a lifestyle.

Exploring Fatbikland

There's a difference between knowing the path, and walking the path.
Morpheus, The Matrix (1999)


Recently, I rode a fat bike on snow for the first time. A Maiden Voyage To Fatbikland. Leading up to that event, a variety of experienced fat bikers shared their knowledge and wisdom to help me prepare. At the start, I believed I had a sufficient understanding of fat biking fundamentals for a successful race.

Well, yes and no.

Here are five things that I thought I knew before my fat bike race, but clearly did not understand.

Taking a short break on the initial 10 mile climb at the 2020 28 Below Fat Bike Race.

1. One Ring To Rule Them All
Tire pressure rules all. It's still hard for me to believe that fat biking on snow typically means single digit pounds per square inch of tire pressure. It's even harder to believe that a pound or two per square inch can make a tremendous difference in bike handling. It does. Even after experiencing it, I still struggle to process that concept. No matter. Next time, I will know the tire pressure exactly at the outset and adjust it precisely for the conditions. Tire pressure rules all.

2. Fat Bike Tires Float Like A Butterfly, Drag Like a Bee
It's amazing the snow you can ride over and through on a fat bike. But the cost is mammoth rolling resistance, compounded by riding what feels to be flat, or even empty, tires. Although there's seemingly nothing that I can't ride, there are limits of snow depth and compactness. And just to keep moving forward on solid snow demands serious horsepower and relentless focus. It all adds up to pedaling a tractor through a wet field. Temper your expectations of speed.

3. Gorilla Glue Grip
A bicycle tire 4-5 inches wide with tire pressure in the single digits provides serious traction. All that grip climbs the steeps and holds a line. But it takes some getting used to and doesn't help when wandering off the packed track into fresh, deep snow. With so many variables of snow, handling a fat bike well will come only after significant trials.

Even with a decent track to follow, it takes some work to stay on line.

4. Pogies For The Win
What's a pogie? Think of two large oven mitts that install over each side of your handlebars, enclosing the brake levers, shift levers and bar ends. Simply insert your hands into the openings to hold the handlebar and operate the levers. Inside the pogies, my hands stayed toasty all day in 20 degree temperatures, while wearing just a pair of thin polypropylene glove liners. Wow. Just wow.

I know that folks for years have raved about these for winter riding, but I never tried them until this event. I didn't have a good reason to ignore them, other than my winter gloves worked fine. Pogies are the next level. They also would be great for commuting during our six month winter here.

5. A Fat Bike Is A Bicycle
A fat bike is a crazy contraption, with capabilities and characteristics unique from other bikes. First and foremost, however, a fat bike is a bicycle. Keep it simple. Ride your bike.

For the 28 Below Fat Bike Race, Co-Race Director Kristi Jewett loaned to me her Fatback fat bike,

decked out for Snowmaggeddon. 

There's nothing like an all day race in the snow filled Northern Black Hills of South Dakota to reveal the capabilities and limitations of a fat bike, and of the rider. Exploring Fatbikland pounded me into a better understanding of things I thought I knew, but clearly did not. A hard experience is a tough coach.

Maybe I'll go back next winter. Now, spring awakens. Remote roads call.