Riding with a champion: Josh Tostado

We started in downtown Breckenridge on this cool and crispy bright sunny fall morning.  There were splashes of fluorescent yellow and gold dotting the mountains above us.  It is in that late summer/early fall stage here in the mountains at 9600ft, where the rainstorms, hail, snow, and sun are all as unpredictable as my day.  Before starting, Josh asked me “What do you want to ride today?”  I replied that I didn’t care, as he more or less owned the trails in and around Breck, and knew them all by heart.  I did mention my somewhat failed attempt at riding the Gold Dust trail the day before, when a rainstorm, turned hailstorm at 11,400ft Boreas Pass, numbed my extremities and sent me back down the mountain.  He said Gold Dust was one of his favorites, and so we were off. We hopped on sweet dirt singletrack not more than 40 feet from our cars, and wouldn’t encounter pavement for the next 4 ½ hours.    

We made our way through the rich piney forest on soft loamy soil, moistened by the previous day’s rain; trail conditions that mountain bikers dream of.  Already I could tell it was going to be a good day of riding.

You will be hard-pressed to find a champion of sport like the one I got the pleasure of riding with this past week.  He didn’t hesitate in agreeing to a ride with me, only days after winning the Vapor Trail 125; nor showed up with any pre-determined riding regiment.  In fact, regimented training isn’t what has made Josh Tostado into a 24-hour solo National Champion, and winner of the Breckenridge 100 7 times.  Rides like we would do are.  In the technologically-driven numbers game that has become cycling, where professional riders act more like objects of a computer program than real people, counting every mile, minute, calorie, gram, and watt, it is refreshing to meet a champion whose training consists of going on long bike rides in the woods.  He doesn’t go on road rides to get “distance miles” or do “interval training” for power.  He packs his Camelback full of essentials, and hits the trail.  

On our climb up to Boreas Pass, where the Gold Dust trail begins, he would show me some incredible trails, huge climbs, and epic high-mountain views.  At one point we were riding up doubletrack in a 100-year old burn zone that still hadn’t recovered, bare and sun-drenched, before stopping at a high point where you could see 50 or so miles in every direction.  During the climb I was able to keep up with Josh’s “I’m taking it easy today” pace, but once we hit the secret unforeseen moto trail that only someone who has been up here 100 times would know about, one that jumped off the side of the mountain in a downhill fury, twisting and snaking its way back into the thick pines, I quickly watched him disappear in joyful descending exuberance. 

In an ego-driven sport so rife with ultra-competitive racers who flock to the most popular events for their chance at glory, meeting a champion who says “I only do the races I want to do, the ones that are most fun” is inspiring.  He says he isn’t doing the 24-hour National Championships in Colorado Springs this year, an event he won last year, because he didn’t like the “vibe” last year.  For a defending national champion not to defend his title is unheard of, but respectable.  When asked why he isn’t interested in marathon nationals, in Bend, Oregon, or other “shorter” distance races, he readily admits that he doesn’t have the power, or speed for these races.  He even went as far to say that 100-mile races sometimes seem too short and fast for him; that he really finds his groove in 12- and 24-hour races.

We finally made our way up to Boreas Pass, chatting as we ascended to 11,400ft.  At this point the chatting would end, and the Gold Dust singletrack would begin.  This is a rock-and-roll descent, with short sections of climbing, that makes its way almost all of the way down to Como.  When I finally did catch up with him at the end of our fun-run I commented at how incredible that descent is, but how much I miss my full-suspension.  He responded, “A bike’s a bike,” and continues living out this sentiment day-to-day, race-to-race, on his 26-inch Santa Cruz Blur XC full-suspension, in a sport that has largely turned to 29-inch hardtails.  You’d be hard-pressed to even spot another 26-inch bike at any of the races Josh attends, but he says “It’s just what I like to ride.”

Here is a guy who waves competitiveness and ego to the wind in order to replace them with love and joy for the sport.  He doesn’t track his mileage or subscribe to the virtual racing world of Strava.  He simply wears a wristwatch to keep track of his time on the bike.  This isn’t to say that Josh isn’t competitive, as anyone who endures 24-hours in the saddle must be, but that he is more interested in feeling like he is “getting somewhere” when he rides or races, as opposed to simply competing against the man beside him.  When I asked him how hard he pushes during a race to keep up with the front runners, he responded, “If I see them go I’ll try to keep up, not let them get away.  And if I blow up, well, I blow up.  Not that big of a deal.” And what he takes away from his performance at races? “If I felt good, and feel good about how I raced, I don’t care whether I win or come in 15^th place.” 

An unconventional champion. 

We descended back down from Boreas Pass, after a tough (I was bonking at this point) climb back up the Gold Dust trail, hitting some old washed-out steep moto trails and other sweet singletrack on the way.  The odorous pines never get old this time of year, when any day now a blanket of snow might show up and trap this treasure of trails for the next 9 months.  But on this 60-degree sunny September day in Breckenridge the treasure was all ours for the taking.