The Wild West

As I move though this journey called life, I welcome challenges that help reveal my character and stretch my comfort zone.  At 9 am on March 11^th, 2016, I pedaled out of Idyllwild, CA with about 70 other cyclists to embark on an adventure that was sure to be a test of physical, mental, and emotional strengths.  The Stagecoach 400 mountain bike journey through Southern California was created by Brendan Collier of The Bicycle Hub, and combines some of the greatest terrain that Southern California has to offer.

I will rewind and give a bit of the backstory on how I came to arrive at the starting line of my first bike-packing “race.”  On Melissa and I’s journey from Seattle to Anchorage in the Summer of 2015, we crossed paths with a cyclist who was doing some serious long-mile days.  He was pedaling century plus miles daily on his lightweight rig with Revelate Designs bags.  It peaked my interest, and since I was seeking some change from the traditional triathlon training due to a nagging plantar issue, I purchased a full suspension mountain bike in November 2015.  I signed up for a local mountain bike racing series, and quickly discovered the Stagecoach 400.  I purchased two bags to carry some supplies and tested a few items, before showing up in Idyllwild.  In all seriousness, I knew the risks of the desert, as Melissa and I had hiked through this area along the Pacific Crest Trail in 2010.  With a thru-hiking background, I felt pretty comfortable with limited supplies. However, you can never fully prepare for what mother nature may toss your way.

The night before the grand departure, I slept in a tent in the State park, just one site away from where our 2010 thru-hiker site after detouring from the snow covered San Jacintos.  I awoke at 3 am a bit chilly, and was half tempted to just pack up and hit the trail, however, I new the grand depart rollout was a huge part of the experience.  As I ate breakfast at the Red Kettle with a few other excited folks, I was surprised to hear that a cyclist had indeed rolled out at 4 am to beat the incoming storm expected to soak the muddy singletrack around mile 80 near Lake Henshaw.

The anticipation is always the hardest part, especially since we were warned delays may be present after issues with SPOT trackers in the past. Cyclists, families, and fans awaited as the clock struck 9 am and Brendan led the charge as we had a neutral start to what would be my longest day of cycling to this point.  We made our first left turn to hollering school children, and I nudged close, receiving loads of high-fives.  This fueled my spirits as I knew things were about to get tough.

The first climb went unnoticed due to the excitement and before we knew it, we were zipping along on some fun single-track.  The second climb was not unnoticed and I was happy to be amongst some folks for small talk, before fixating my eyes on 4 inches of fat-tire rubber as it shredded the downhill.  Some pavement came our way, before our first beverage stop in Anza somewhere around 30 miles in.  I knew the area, as it was near the logistics site of the outdoor school I worked for called Boojum for a short stint.  The guys I was riding with had made the occasional wrong turn here and there, but we were all in it together.

The day passed and so did the miles, before I noticed a PCT trail sign near Warner Springs.  I recognized the creek wash, and we made a stop at the gas station near the Post Office where Melissa and I had picked up a resupply box six years ago.  The headwinds began to slow us to a crawl, and I was happy to sit on the wheel of a monster stud named Chris from Washington.  The rain loomed in the distance and before we knew it, we were being pelted with a driving rain as we topped out before descending to what would be some fun, but extremely muddy singletrack.  The darkness came and all I knew was we were getting close to Escondido where some food would be in store.

Indeed, I managed to buy a few gas station snacks, and popped across the street to eat some unsatisfying old pizza that had sat 3 hours too long under the heat lamp.   Chris said he wanted to make it to the coast, and I had the same goal, so we headed out for more dirt in the drizzle.  I managed to do a nose dive over the bars at one point, and aside from a muddy arm and bruised ego, I fortunately did no harm.

Somewhere around midnight and less than a dozen miles from Del Mar, Chris managed to snap off his derailleur which sucked up into his wheel, breaking 2 spokes and popping his tire.  He would not be the only one with a mechanical as we immediately encountered another cyclist who had done similar just 20 minutes prior.  I felt bad carrying on, but knew he was in good company.  The last ½ mile, before hitting the tarmac, took probably 30 minutes.  The dirt was like peanut butter that kept clogging the wheels from spinning.
The process was painfully slow and frustrating, but all part of the experience.  Within an hour, I bought a drink at the gas station and tucked in between two dumpsters in a concrete bunker where I would be sheltered from the wind.  My longest ride ever, 132 miles after 13 hours and 11 minutes of pedaling.  The surprising part was that is was supposed to be easy downhill riding from Idyllwild to the coast… right.  Garmin says 11,644 feet of ascent.  Wait, what? Jeesh!

Bright-Eyed Bushy-Tailed

About 90 minutes after lying down, I awoke fairly sore and hungry.  Two breakfast egg sandwiches later I departed just after 4 am.  A little navigation trouble early on left me a bit frustrated but the rising sun and sounds of crashing waves eased my worries as I rode over familiar territory along Del Mar, UCSD, and into downtown San Diego.  I stopped to wash the bike at the Marina at the edge of town, before hopping on the bike trail headed for Alpine.  My left knee was bugging me pretty bad, and I wanted some real food beside the muffin at the convenience store I had stopped in.  I set my sights on reaching Alpine as I knew if I stopped for any duration I might throw in the towel.  I honestly had some thoughts of calling my friend George and his wife Gabe and had visions of BBQing on the beach, and just calling off this whole cycling gig.

Alpine was welcoming as I took my sweet time in finding a quick chicken sandwich to eat, and called Melissa.  Hearing her encouraging words was fuel to carry on.  At this moment she was preparing to give her Master’s presentation at UC Davis.  It was difficult knowing I was not there to support her as she presented data from her months of hard work, while I was surviving on just 90 minutes of sleep somewhere near the Mexico border.

Leaving Alpine found me on an equestrian trail, I climbed into some open fields and quickly began to curse my iphone Gaia GPS app, as it took too long for the arrow to show me I was off course.  The maps I had downloaded were not very accurate and I struggled to sort out the track.  Somewhere, near Sweetwater Reservoir, I pushed my bike up a huge muddy hill, only to realize I was way off track.  I descended to find a viewpoint where I would make a video about the struggles of the past 2 hours.  Here I managed to spot 3 cyclists in the screen of the camera that would change my experience on the Stagecoach for the remainder of the ride.

I awaited the arrival (all of 7 minutes) of Mike, Jason, and Foon, whom slept about 3 hours longer than I had, and had caught up to me by midday.  It was so fun having some folks to chat with, and pace with.  I learned that Mike and Jason were using Stagecoach as a shakedown from the Arizona Trail next month.

We rode together, stopping for a lengthy lunch near Interstate 8, before heading into the hills just before darkness.  The next many miles are a bit of a fog, as I honestly just remember somewhere around 9 ish, I was pedaling with Foon.  By pedaling, I mean a lot of hike-a-bike, hopping on and off the bike, mounting and dismounting for technical rocky sections.  I remember looking up the mountainside and seeing the lights from Mike and Jason.  Foon was so patient as I expressed that I wanted to tuck in and just get a bit of sleep.  Foon said that once we crested the summit, we had miles of singletrack that would give me a second wind.  It was hard to think about a second wind, as I was nodding off hardly keeping my head upright.  We walked together for a bit, and after what felt like hours we reached the summit.  The backside wasn’t all downhill, but had sections of climbing and descent and as the fog rolled in, and the coolness set in, I knew it was wiser to descend than try and get some moments of restless sleep on the slopes of Cuyamaca Peak.

This is where I surprised myself.  A second wind came alright and before I knew it, I was descending Oriflamme Canyon.  A legendary jeep road with 2000 feet in 4 miles of some of the narliest rocky and rough roads a bike can handle. It was a little much for Foon as we punctured his rear tire.  A change meant we were at a standstill in dark windy chilly conditions, but fortunately it didn’t take too long and we were on our way.  I began to get really sleepy and we turned into a campground park and I headed for the shower stall where I could tuck out of the wind.  I had broken my longest ride record of just over 16 hours of ride time, 138.8 miles and 13,199 feet of climbing.

Here Comes the Sand (doo doo do doo)

Three hours of sleep has never felt so good.  It took a little bit of lolly-gagging for an hour to pack up the goods and rock ‘n roll, but a light tailwind helped us move along the tarmac for 7 miles or so. This had to the be the fastest average speed all course.  A left turn off the pavement, gave my tires a sandy massage.  This would be the case for the next 30 miles, Foon and I meandered the sandy course through the Fish Creek Wash, down the Devils Drop, and past windblown cliffs.  Fortunately, the sun wasn’t as intense as it could have been and the sand was fairly packed due to some rain that had moved through.  We made good time, by keeping the legs moving and finding the best lines possible.  I also let out a smidge of air, but the 3 hours sleep probably deserves the most credit.  The desire to keep moving was brought on by the fact that Foon had left camp with just 1 liter of water.  He is a monster and I never really worried as I had 190 ounces, which I spotted him a liter about halfway through, he turned down more later in the game.

As we were just about to exit, we had caught up to Jose, a RAAM finisher in 2015.  He was running on barely any sleep at this point, as he hadn’t even opened his sleep system yet.  We had a short stop and a convenience store and were excited to get to Borrego Springs where some real food awaited.  The dozen or so miles that stood between us and the “real” food were straight into the wind.

I set out a few minutes before the others and pedaled at my own pace.  The legs were a bit heavy, but enjoyed the 2 hours or so of desert views and personal time.  Upon rolling into town, Foon rolled in just 5 minutes behind me.  He is a true workhorse.  We ate some greasy Mexican food… not too many options available, and stocked up on some snacks from the liquor store.  I chatted with Melissa and told her how excited I was to be just 60 miles from the finish.

Foon’s prediction was spot on as he claimed it would take 12 hours.  We departed just after 4 pm and headed into the sandy Coyote Canyon.  The wind howled as a high wind advisory was in effect.  Mt. San Jacinto loomed in the distance and the sunset on the surrounding peaks was surreal.

The climb just went up and up and at times the gradient was ridiculously steep.  With the bike pointed straight up, I kept proclaiming there is no other way to make this happen except good ol’ hard work.

At one point, we trucked through a grove of willows with a creek passing through it.  Foon stopped to put on his water proof socks, which he gave a great gear review for.  Not five minutes later I hear, “These things suck!”  Enough said…

The energy levels were getting low around 2 am and I was having some trouble and started nodding off.  With the help of a little ipod and Foon cheering me on, I pushed and pushed trying to keep up with Foon’s gigantic engine and he would stand on his crazy 34 x 36 gear combo, compared to my 24 x 36 gearing.  The snow began to fall, and the excitement of being done was ever present.

This being said, a few more hills stood in the way before we descended the final pitch and put the rubber on the road once again, being welcomed by the Idyllwild town sign, and a mountain town of sleeping people.  Day 3 had 118 miles over 15 hours and somewhere in the neighborhood of 10,358 feet.

Mike and Jason had arrived an hour before us and we didn’t hesitate to eat a couple of slices of cold pizza at the Hub Cyclery. It was a surreal feeling… just hopping off your saddle after 400 miles, to simply give a high five to your riding partner and not have a single thought except sleep… no real celebration, no finishing medal, no announcer.  Just the pride of accomplishment and the stretching of a comfort zone, both of which will never fade.

Thank you

Thank you to all of those who helped make this experience possible, Brendan from hub Cyclery and the riders of the 2016 SC400, the staff and administration at Mills Middle School, my Uncle Carl and Aunt Donna

who prepared lunch for me on the way down, my family who is ever supporting, those who are not with us but inspire me tremendously, and the greatest appreciations to my number one supporter and soulmate, my wife Melissa.

See more photos at Google Photos Album