Looking Back at 2013

Looking forward by looking back.  I’m not always great at looking in the rearview mirror.  When there’s so much on the road ahead, who cares what’s behind you?  Well, in the case of my last year, I find it important to sum it up, learn from it, embrace it, be thankful for it, and use that to move forward.   When I look back at all the amazing things I was able to do in one short year, from the people I met and relationships built, to the journeys took, to the physical feats accomplished, it puts a smile on my face. 

The year started with me just having been upgraded to Pro by USA Cycling and obtaining my pro cycling license.  I knew it would be a growing year on many fronts.   I decided to race in as many different events, from XC to Ultra-endurance, in both singlespeed and geared, as I could get my hands on.  

March

After months of cold weather in Boulder, I had an intense desire for some warm weather riding.  Somewhere along the way I discovered Utah’s ICUP race series, which holds early season races in St. George.  On extremely short notice, I threw my stuff in the car and made the 10-hour drive to St. George (through a nasty nighttime blizzard in the mountains).  There is no other feeling in the world like stepping out into warm, dry, sunny, 80degree weather in March.  I was in heaven instantly.  The ICUP race was a blast, and I surprised myself with my level of fitness that early in the year.  I spent the next 3 days camping and riding in the warm sunny desert, and came back to Boulder recharged.

Post by Ergon International.

April

This was the biggest and most journey-filled month of my year.  I completed a month-long road trip; something I had been dreaming about doing for years.  The goal/reason: to mountain bike in as many new and cool places as I could find in warm weather while Colorado was enduring a late winter.  Through the warm and sunny desert southwest, to southern California, up the coast to Norcal and through the Sierras; it was a trip of a lifetime.  I still look back on that one month and can’t believe how many amazing places I went, unforgettable rides I had, and people I met.  Oh ya, I also did 3 XC races along the way.

Spring 2013 | My new trip on Spring 2013

May

The start of my “official” season.  I had already competed in 4 races, but all were looked at as training, experience, and to see where I stood.  In the middle of May was my first singlespeed race of the season at the Firebird 40, then 2 weeks later the Gunnison Growler 64 in which everything seemed to come together.

June/July

100-milers-a-too-many.  Only 5 days after the Gunnison Growler I was in Ohio getting ready to race my first ever 100-mile race, the Mohican 100.  It was a great experience.  Being my first ultra-endurance race, I undoubtedly had a lot to learn, and mistakes were made, but I left feeling overwhelmed by what I had accomplished.  I didn’t get the result I had wanted, but it was a great growing experience.  And hey, 15^th place overall on singlespeed for my first 100-miler ain’t bad.  Two weeks after that I was in Michigan for the Lumberjack 100.  This was when things fell apart.  I think my body and mind had had too much from months of travelling, working, racing, training, etc. and it wasn’t my day.  This was actually a turning point in my summer, when I decided to enjoy riding more and forget about training for a little while.  Two weeks later I was back at it at the RME Snake River race at Keystone Ski Resort.  The race was “only” 54 miles, but with a ridiculous amount of climbing (~9500).  I finally got the win that I needed to boost my morale and get back on track.  Two weeks after Keystone was the big one that I had been looking forward to all year, the Breckenridge 100.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t my day.  It was the hardest race I've ever done, breaking me down both mentally and physically.  That was the end of my string of ultra endurance races for the year.  Because of financial reasons I decided to forego the Park City Point to Point.   In these two months of racing I learned invaluable lessons that will hopefully help me in the future.

September

The Boulder/Front Range floods changed everything for cyclists on the Front Range.  The epic flooding left ALL of the roads in the Boulder foothills damaged badly or completely destroyed.  Trail riding options were little to none.  Basically all of my training and riding was literally washed away.  September is usually a month when I plan on getting out for all those pleasure rides, high country adventures, and daily rides without a training plan in mind, after a long season of racing.  It also turns out to be a hugely productive time when I can normally get stronger after a summer of wearing myself down.  Unfortunately this year I spent much of the autumn inside with no riding options available.  It was a hard time, but not nearly as hard as losing your home and belongings.  Like those that lost everything I was intent on rebuilding and coming out stronger.

In Retrospect

2013 was definitely a learning year.  Sometimes I learned from the pain, and other times from success.  I learned that I love the 50-60 mile distance, where I can exploit some XC-racing speed along with some endurance, and struggle with 100-milers.  I learned that too much travel, especially without any support financially or from a team, will wear you down mentally and physically.  I learned that relationships inside and outside of this sport are the key to happiness and success.  I am fortunate to have met some amazing people inside the sport in my short stint as a mountain bike racer, and will hopefully use these relationships to better myself and give back to those that have helped me get here.  I am also very lucky to have a group of friends and family that, although sometimes not understanding why I do it, give me their support regardless.  The most important thing I learned from an entire year of racing, riding, traveling, working, training, stressing, winning, losing, hurting?  I am more motivated to ride my bike and dream about it now more than ever.  My love and passion for mountain biking continues to grow so big, and I’m going to use that to make 2014 the best year yet.  Cheers.

 

Breck 100: Short and Sweet

… Well, it wasn’t exactly short, or sweet, but my write up will be.  Considering I’m now 3 weeks late, I’ll keep it to a minimum.  No reason for too much reflection.  They say hindsight is 20/20, but I think my rear view mirror is still fogged up.  That must be the case, because I’ve already convinced myself that it would be a good idea to do the full 100-miler again next year.  I couldn’t have been further from that standpoint on Sunday, July 14.

The weekend started by ripping my bike off the roof of my car at the Denver Airport, and ended in hypothermia.  When it rains it pours.  Literally. 

Driving into DIA on Saturday morning to pick my parents up for a joyous weekend of mountain festivities, fully prepared both mentally and physically, with all bases covered, I was wrongly directed to the West terminal.  You should never go to the West terminal.  A second later I heard a “Whhhhappp!” coming from my car.  I thought I had been rear-ended, but the only thing in my rearview mirror was an 8-foot height restriction bar swaying back and forth.  Shiiiiit!!  I literally went numb.  I had just hit my bike, and had no idea how badly it was damaged.  On a side note: seriously DIA??  8 feet??  Shaq couldn’t drive his convertible Lexus under that thing.  Upon further inspection it turned out that my $200 Easton EC90 seatpost had taken the brunt of the impact.  So here I was, completely shaken and in search of new seatpost less than a day away from the biggest race of my life.  One was found, thanks to the LBS.

 4 am Sunday morning came rather quickly.  There’s nothing like starting your 27^th birthday in the cold, dark morning.  Before I knew it we were heading out for the biggest test of my life.  The climb up to Wheeler Pass at 12,400ft went well, and I was in 6^th or 7^th place overall, topping the pass with Jeff Kerkove on my wheel.  I let him go and started my descent down the super sketchy and narrow, wet and slippery Wheeler Trail.  I could barely hold onto the bike but finally made it to the bottom without getting passed.  I lost about 5 or 6 places on the long section of bike path, spun out the entire time, but regained a few of them on Peaks Trail heading back into Breck and the Start/Finish area.  I came through still feeling fresh and ready for Loop 2.  A bunch of people were telling me I was inside the top-10, so that gave me motivation.  I noticed my legs feeling a bit sluggish as I started Loop 2, but it wasn’t until hitting Little French Gulch, or it hitting me, that I really started feeling the pain.  It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I had to walk a lot more that I wanted. 

Little French. So Much Pain.

   

But I knew there was a big downhill coming, then the West Ridge section of the Colorado Trail and another fun and fast descent.  I figured whatever my body was going through would wear off and I’d be on my way.  Upon hitting the West Ridge climb the 2^nd Place singlespeeder was right on my heels, and although struggling to climb at my usual pace, I was still able to put a couple of minutes on him by the top.  This was about the halfway point of the race and I was still leading.  I hoped that my energy and strength would come back and I could actually start racing again!  On the descent down the CO trail I was passed by Charlie Hayes, who remarked “are you feeling alright?”  Apparently he was alarmed that he had passed me on a downhill.  So quite to the contrary of regaining my strength, I continued to fall deeper and deeper into the black hole of pain and tire.  Upon finishing Loop 2 I was completely spent and had been struggling for hours.  I had also lost 3 places in the singlespeed field.  I basically went out for the last 34 miles just looking to finish, with all hope of regaining positions thrown to the wind.  I had nothing left.  I finally made it to the top of Boreas Pass and was actually starting to feel good again.  Either that, or my body had just completely given up and I was in a state of numbness.  Whatever the case, I was now hitting one of my favorite sections of the day, the Gold Dust trail.  The skies began to open up about halfway down to Como, where you turn around and climb Boreas Road all the way back up to the pass.  By the time I started the climb it was a full-on rain, and it didn’t let up for the rest of the race.  When I made it to the pass I was mildly hypothermic and hadn’t been able to feel my hands for about 30 minutes.  I stood at the aid station just trying to get some blood back into them before descending another 10 miles in the cold rain.  The descent was absolutely brutal.  I was trying simply to hold onto the bike as my body shivered feverously.  I descended the last section of singletrack like an old lady in a walker, stiff as a board.  I rolled through the finish completely shaken and hypothermic, caring not to talk to anyone or rejoice, but only to warm my frozen body.  I had just finished the hardest day of my life, and arguably the hardest 100-mile mountain bike race in the country, and all that mattered was getting into a warm shower. 

I finished 5^th in singlespeed; a huge disappointment considering my aspirations, preparation, focus, fitness, and standings early on in the race.  A ton of thoughts have gone through my head since.  Am I cut out for 100-mile events?  Did I train properly?  Did I go out too hard? What could I have done better?   Was this race just too damn big for someone only doing their 3^rd 100-mile race and only 6-weeks after their first?  That last question is one that I am comfortable answering with a “maybe”.  Surely it was way more than I had ever done, and especially made harder by doing so on a singlespeed.  I’m not there yet.  That being said, I’m glad that I suffered like I did, and have that experience to throw into the memory bank.  What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.  If I can figure out this 100-mile race conundrum, I feel confident that I can do really well.  Only time will tell.

Wintspiration

I need to update this more frequently.  But not always at 2 in the morning!  Some people will be getting up for work a mere hours from now, and I’m just winding down.  But honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way!  I work nights so I can enjoy my days.  Speaking of enjoying my days, what have I been doing with them?  Shortly after my last post, in which I had suddenly been too tired to continue a ride, I spent a couple of days in pure rest mode.  Probably more rest then I’ve gotten in months.  It was something natural that came over my body that I just had to listen to.  I wasn’t sick, but was running on low energy for about 3 or 4 days.  Normally I would push through and get out and ride regardless; this the infection that many cyclists have, always feeling like we are regressing or “losing it”, but in this instance I decided to let it be.  Since then my riding has been mostly mundane.  I need to find the inspiration somewhere to get back out and start hammering again.  I know it will come, and I will find it, but for now it’s a slow process.  That’s okay though, because there is so much in the way of mountain biking right around the corner, and I will surely get my fill. 

The first thing on my definite schedule is the Sea Otter Classic in Monterey in April.  I’m so excited to be getting back out to California again!  Not so excited about taking my licks from all of the top MTB Pros that will be there, but so it goes.  Everybody has to experience it.  It will be a UCI-type XC race, which I am not at all used to.  In the last couple of years the UCI has reworked what it considers mountain bike races, switching from backcountry, singletrack epics, to viewer friendly, technically challenging, fast and furious courses with minimal climbing.  These courses are best-suited to the big-power guys.  I am not a big-power guy. Before that, there are a couple of Pro XCT stops in southern California in March.  If I can swing it, I’ll also try to be out there then.  If not, some trips to Moab and Sedona will probably be in store.  Then, in May the real racing begins.  There is the Rocky Mountain Endurance Series season opener in mid-May, followed by the Gunnison Growler a week later.  After that, everything becomes a blur!  I kick off my foray into the ultra endurance scene with 100-mile races in Ohio then Michigan only two weeks apart.  Then Marathon Nationals, Breck100, and more!  Whewww! I hope it all works out.

In my immediate line of sight, there is this thing called Stout Month.  In its 20^th year of existence, the heavy hitting dark beer extravaganza at the Mountain Sun Pubs is something to behold.  Let me preface this by acknowledging my own skepticism toward both the epicness and the appeal of having over 10 stouts on tap at all times.  Big deal.  Who even wants to drink this much stout, right?  Well, apparently every beer drinker in Boulder!  The talk was not cheap!  It is truly something special.  The influx of amazing beers and variety of our constantly changing tap wall has made me change my mind.  Every day something new hits the wall that I have to try!  More than anything, it has been the guest taps that I have enjoyed the most.  We have gotten all of the best stouts, some of which are extremely small-batch, from local Colorado breweries.  New Belgium Lips of Faith, O’dell Lugene Chocolate Milk Stout, Renegade Peanut Butter Cup, Avery The Czar, Avery Tweak, Great Divide Oak-aged Coffee Imperial, and more from Ska, Strange Brewing, Telluride, Equinox, Cooper Smith, Left Hand, Elevation, Wynkoop, Boulder Beer, River North, Gravity, and more.  This in conjunction with our personal rotation of 40+ in-house stouts.  It’s a stout explosion.  But that’s not the only thing exploding.  Facial hair also explodes in odd forms and variety this month, as it is tradition for Stout Month to coincide with Chop Month.   

Mine was a small explosion.  More like a fire-cracker.

More bike goods to come, as they come funneling in, including my new 2013 singlespeed race bike build!  Cheers.

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.