Wandering Around Central Idaho

My original plan was to take a five day solo bikepacking trip starting in Ketchum, ID, heading north to Stanley, heading west toward Idaho City, then heading east back to Ketchum. A total distance of around 320 miles on dirt and paved roads.

Craters of the Moon

I started my trip with a quick visit to Craters of the Moon National Monument. The ranger at the visitor center told me there was a cave tour starting in 10 minutes and if I hurried I could still catch it. I approached an older guy standing near the trail that took you out to the caves...thinking maybe he was the tour guide? He wasn't. He had been there for the past two days as part of a stargazing group. He asked for some help lifting a 50lb counterweight for his telescope and I obliged. We got talking and he asked what I was doing out there. I explained my bike trip plans and how I was on my way to Ketchum. He told me I was going the wrong way, the drive to Ketchum was boring. He suggested turning around and heading back to Arco and then going north to Challis then west to Stanley. Oh and of course making a stop in Mackay (where he used to be mayor) and taking the mine hill tour he helped put together.

 Mackay Mine Hill Tour

Mount Borah

Bayhorse Ghost Town

Heaven

The old man's advice was good! It was a very scenic drive with some cool old buildings and a ghost town along the way. And Stanley? It was love at first sight. 

I found a camping spot near Redfish Lake and began organizing my gear for my bikepacking trip. All the gear in it's appropriate pack I settled in for the night. I had a bit of a headache so I took some ibuprofen and squirmed into my sleeping bag to enjoy this view and wait for sleep to come...

I woke up feeling horrible. The headache was much worse and I was really nauseated. Not the best way to start a solo bikepacking trip along a pretty remote route. I didn't feel good about venturing off alone while feeling like that. I settled on just doing day trips and maybe an overnighter, but where I wouldn't be more than a day away from my car if I got more sick. I still carried all or most of my gear as if I were on a multi-day bikepack trip. I also only slept and ate at places that would have been available by bike along the route. 

By the end of the second day I was feeling better in terms of no longer having a headache and being nauseated. But for the entire trip my energy level was super low. It took a lot more time and effort than it should have. I didn't get the trip I was planning for, but it was still well worth it. I ended up with five solid days to explore a beautiful part of central Idaho and take in the abundant scenery and solitude. Three days by bike and two by car and foot. 

At Least My Stomach Felt Good - The Wasatch Back 50

I knew I could ride 46 miles of singletrack. I knew I could climb 5000 feet. I knew I could finish the race. I lay in bed too nervous to sleep.

I'm increasingly drawn toward longer rides and longer races. The reason I'm drawn toward long casual rides is easy, they feel good. I don't know the exact mechanisms or reasons why, but I know it's about the only time I feel pain free and normal. The reason I'm drawn toward longer races is a bit more complicated. They do hurt and I know they're going to hurt and that's why I want to do more of them. I know that might sound odd, but I have my reasons for it - a topic for a later post. Along those lines I raced my first '50 Miler' mountain bike race last weekend, the Wasatch Back 50 in Heber, UT.

I arrived early after a fitful night of sleep. I wanted to make sure I was there in plenty of time to get checked-in and have everything setup and arranged for the long day ahead. I had all of my things together with some time to spare so I walked around the parking lot saying hi to some friends. In one of the conversations the idea came up of carrying along some Vitamin I (Ibuprofen). I'd heard of people doing that for endurance events, mainly running marathons, but I'd never actually considered doing that. I keep a small bottle in my car and decided to throw it in one of my jersey pockets.

People began gathering around the start area, loosely forming into their categories. I knew the Clydesdale's (210+ lbs) were supposed to line up at the back of the 50 miler crowd but in front of the 25 milers. I made my way to that general area and spotted a familiar face from the local Clydesdale community. We chatted briefly about what we've been up to since CX season and speculated on where some of our Clydes brothers were because we weren't seeing them around? As the categories ahead of us were being called up and sent off it became apparent that it was just going to be the two of us for the Clydesdale category. I knew I could beat him no problem in a CX race, but I had no idea on this one. I hadn't come into this race concerned about winning, my main goal was to try some ideas about hydration and nutrition. Nutrition and hydration are things I've been struggling with at the Crusher in the Tushar race. I'll be fine on a long training ride, but on race day my stomach turns inside out. Anyhow. I hadn't been concerned about winning.

New Plan: Win!

I had pre-ridden the course, but I accidentally rode the loop in the wrong direction. I kind of new what the race course would be like, but not exactly. I did know it started with a long switchback filled climb. It was going to be a long day so I settled in on my rival's rear wheel and let him set the pace. I was feeling great and could have easily climbed faster than we were, but I also didn't want to burn out. I figured I'd save the hard effort for the second lap. Toward the top of the climb there were a few technical rock garden spots that I didn't plan on riding with my fully rigid (no suspension) mountain bike. My plan was to run them CX style, which I did but which also allowed my rival (on his full suspension bike) to open up a small gap.

The long climb was over and the fast section had arrived. We were on the east side of the hill now and the terrain changed. Aspen trees replaced scrub oak and dark brown dirt replaced the light rocky desert soil. Dark brown dirt that was a lot softer than I remembered it being when I pre-rode. I was enjoying the downhill section and pushing as hard as I could to catch up and close the gap. Up ahead I could see a hard right turn. It had what I thought looked like a nice berm so I decided to rail it. However, it was in a shady spot and I failed to notice the top of the berm was a big pile of moon dust. I went down hard. My right hip hit the ground first and as the rest of my body followed, I could feel and hear my spine crackle and pop all the way up to my skull. The wind knocked out of me as well, it took what felt like minutes to get back up and riding again. Riding hurt and my lower back and right wrist were going up on the pain scale. I stopped worrying about closing the gap and slowed down my speed. At only 11-ish miles into the race and with the increasing pain I was more worried about being able to finish. Then I remembered the Vitamin I in my jersey pocket!

New Plan: Push through to the next aid station, down some ibuprofen and at least make it back to the start/finish area. 

The ibuprofen had started working and I was feeling pretty good as I pulled up to the start/finish area to begin the last lap. I switched out my water bottles, grabbed more food, downed another serving of Vitamin I and took off.

New Plan: Push hard and hope my rival is having a rough second lap. 

Two miles into the second lap my energy level instantly tanked. I didn't feel hungry. I didn't feel thirsty. My legs felt great. But overall my energy was just gone and I could barely keep my crank spinning. You know those nightmares where you're trying to run away from some monster, but you can only move in slow motion? It was kind of like that.

New Plan: Keep forward motion. Don't dwell on the suffering. Don't complain.

The Lap Two climb presented the opportunity of an additional hour, versus Lap One, for contemplating life, the universe, and why the hell I was even doing this race. It was quality time.

I made it to the top of the hill, but hadn't seen anyone else in a long time. I figured I was probably DFL again. I felt fine on the downhill sections and rode with abandon. If the trail turned up, then I was back to pedaling in slow motion. All in all I was actually making pretty good time now. At the final aid station I downed a Coke and some salty potato chips, had my water bottles refilled (they even put them back on my bike - the support and all around running of this race was excellent) and I headed off for the final stretch. The Coke, sweet nectar of the bike racing gods, worked wonders. I wasn't pedaling in slow motion anymore.

New Plan: Finish in less than 6 hours and 30 minutes. 

I pushed as hard as I could when I could. I outright stopped when I needed to eat. This part of the course had a lot of little bumps and I was tired, at this point I didn't trust my ability to eat and ride at the same time. My helmet snagged on branches two different times. Since not complaining wasn't part of my current plan and no one was around, when it happened the second time I yelled at the branch. Loudly and with much anger. The time was running out, but I was close to the end. I pushed my tired body as hard as I could for the last couple miles and crossed the finish line at 6 hours 28 minutes 25 seconds. Almost an hour behind my rival and almost overall DFL.

The good news is I didn't have any GI issues, my stomach felt fantastic the entire race. Obviously still some other things to figure out. The process continues...

1st Annual JayP's Backyard Fat Pursuit

'What does this feel like?'
'I feel like I'm trying to run in a swimming pool.'
'No, in a pool I would be able to see the end getting closer.'
'It's like trying to run on a treadmill in a swimming pool.'
'#$*%, !@%$, #$%*, *#!@, %^$*'

I'd lost all motivation to do this race the instant I signed up for the 60k. I had wanted to try the 200k, but didn't have the right gear and didn't feel prepared to pedal 30+ hours in potentially very cold weather - the cold being my biggest fear. If my Raynaud's flared up when I was in the middle of nowhere, what would happen? Would I be able to get my hands and feet warm enough before frostbite set in and if so how exactly would I do it? It's a question I'm still pondering. I still want to do a 100+ mile snow ride...but I also want to keep my fingers and toes.

'20miles!...in four hours.'
'Why am I here again?'
'I really should have brought headphones.'
'@#^%, %#$$, %^*$, %$^#, ^$!@'

Two years ago there were three of us venturing up to beautiful Island Park, ID for West-N-Back. Last year there were two of us heading back for the Fatbike Summit. This year it was just me driving up to JayP's Backyard Fat Pursuit. I arrived at Ponds Lodge a few minutes before the Friday night racer's meeting. It was nice to see some familiar faces from the previous trips and even a few people from Utah. My mood picked up that night as I sat around chatting with my fellow fatbikers.

'Man, even the downhill is work today.'
'Grey sky, green trees, white road. Repeat.'
'I just want to be done already.'
'Argh, my goggles are icing up again.'

I stayed at a cabin about 8 miles north of Ponds Lodge (the start and finish line) because it was the best deal, only $25 for a shared room! I didn't sleep much that night. I wasn't nervous about the riding, it was the howling wind outside. It was going to be really cold.

It had only snowed a couple inches overnight, but the wind had blown a pile of snow in front of my car. It took 40 minutes of shoveling and pushing to get my car out to the plowed road - it would've taken a lot longer if not for the generous help of a fellow cabinmate. The stuck car meant I was now running late and wasn't sure I'd get to the start line in time. I wasn't bothered by that.

'Haha, someone put pink flamingos on the side of the trail.'
'Mile 30...there's the checkpoint!' 

"Wes, give me your water bottle and I'll put some warm water in it."
"You've got this, you're doing great."

I pulled up to Ponds Lodge and went through the process of getting my bike ready: slide pogies over the handlebar, put food in pogies, seat pack on, spare warm clothes into the drysack then into the seat pack, lights, back up lights, GPS, tire pressure, check, check, check. Done with 10 minutes to spare. Damn. There goes that excuse.

'Okay, this is getting ridiculous I can't see anything.'
'Great, now there's ice between my lenses.'
'Keep it between the navigational becons.'
'Listen for the sound of the firmer snow [steer a little left or a little right]...ah, there it is.'
'One more hour to go...'

I crossed the finish line at 4:49pm. Total ride time 7 hours 46 minutes. Total moving time 6 hours and 36 minutes. Distance 39.4 miles with 2,224 feet of climbing. I finished 20th out of 34 starters with 4 DNF's. I did start getting some frostbite on the front of my feet...so it was good I didn't attempt the 200k this year.

It was a great event from the promotional and logistical perspective. The weather conditions made for a very difficult and cold race, but it was worth it. Don't get me wrong it was hell, but I'm okay with that. Having MCTD means a large part of my life involves dealing with pain and fatigue. Every race like this teaches me a little more about how to deal with them and every finish gives me the confidence that I've got this, I'm doing great.

Ten Year Anniversary

Next weekend marks ten years with MCTD. An event of extreme significance...to one person! Yup, I realize this pretty much means nothing to anyone else.

After being diagnosed I was desperate to find information about MCTD. What was it and what was it going to do to me?! There wasn't much available about MCTD so I started looking into Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus. I met enough criteria to be diagnosed with both and there was information about them so it would have to do. This is the type of stuff that stood out:

"Rheumatoid arthritis (RA) causes premature mortality, disability and compromised quality of life in the industrialized and developing world."

"There is no cure for RA." 

"RA continues to increase in severity and is unremitting."

"In all, 67% of the men and 57% of the women reported that they were no longer capable of performing their former normal occupational activities because of RA." 

"50-60% of patients had stopped working after a mean disease duration of about 10 years."

Fortunately the prognosis for RA has improved and that last one is no longer a valid statistic. And fortunately its now my understanding that people with MCTD tend to have a more mild version of RA. But I didn't know that ten years ago and 50% disabled after ten years was a stat that spent a lot of time at the forefront of my mind. I would try not to think about it, be hopeful and such, but that didn't work so well. It was a stat I couldn't forget. It was a stat that made me dread thinking about anything related to my future.

Ten years later. To feel healthy. To be able to do even the most routine activities. To be able to shovel snow. To be able to race my bike. Normally those things aren't much of anything. But right now, for me, they're everything.