The Rut

 

I need to get out there. Time has softened to a monotone grey, but nature knows no different. The body can sense when the season is changing. It’s not any one thing, it’s a combination of things that let us know the shift has started. Maybe it’s the frozen digits on a crisp morning, the smell of pine warming in the sun, or a dusting of snow barely covering Autumn colors. After what has felt like The Endless Summer without any surfing I can tell it’s time to turn the page and start writing a new chapter.  For months I’ve been trying to create a multisport test piece but, instead of walking out the door, I end up going in circles. Rather than becoming frustrated by the privileged problem I call my friend Dave. 


I start out: “Dave! I don’t know what the problem is. I’m wanting to go self-contained ride/run/ride but I keep coming up with excuses of why not to go.” This is followed by a long pause. 


“Well, what routes are you looking at?” he asks. 


I begin to rattle off a tick list of great ideas: “CA 14ers, Wind River Range north to south, Continental Divide, high points of MT/WY/UT north to south.” Dave stops me mid-sentence. 


“You’re thinking too much. First: Leave from home and go point to point. You need to get out there and feel like a vagabond, the further you ride from where you start the better you’ll feel. Second: Check the weather.” He said matter of factly. 


“Thanks, amigo. Talk to you later.” And I hung up the phone. Dave has a lot of miles on his frame. He’s also a nearly retired attorney who has consistently gone on solo human-powered adventures while raising three wildly successful children. Normally he’s seeking out desolate roads in a foreign country with tight borders, but not right now. 


Within minutes of hanging up the phone, a northbound route is jumping off the map. In my excitement to get out the door, I forgot about Dave’s second piece of advice and didn’t check the weather. I reckon planning can only get a person so far and at some point, they’ve just got to start pedaling. 


***


SLC, UT to Evanston, WY via Chalk Creek 


Within minutes of leaving home, I ran into a good friend who’s a Cat 1 Cyclist/Pharmacist. As we pedaled up Emigration Canyon it was all laughs and smiles and tempo. We said our goodbyes and as I started to descend off the back of Big Mountain, where I’d usually turn around on a morning ride, I was immediately overcome with this sense of unknown. For the next 8 days, I’d be riding and running self supported through places I’d never been. 







***


Evanstan, WY to Alpine, WY

The weather gods were playing nice before playing their hand. 150 wonderful miles went by without much event. The ride was exposed start to finish and I blessed with strong Eastward cross and tailwinds. It was one of those magical days where flow state comes easy and 8 hours of riding goes by quick. Within minutes of finish, the thunder clacked and gumball sized raindrops started to pound the asphalt. 










***


Alpine, WY to Colter Bay Campground 


I woke to snow hanging on trees just a couple of hundred feet higher than the highway. Coffee didn’t do much. I figured it was just best to get out there and start pedaling. The road along the Snake River leading toward Jackson was absolutely stunning. Fall colors had just started to turn and at this point, the snow line had reached the road. The lighting just before the sun crept over the ridge was memorable, and very cold. 


Made it to Jackson and phoned a friend to link up for coffee. Again coffee didn’t help, but it was great to hear about her recent adventures. 


I got 3 miles north of Jackson and turned around. Found a second-hand store. And bought some very well worn fleece pants. I have no regrets about that decision as I write this. My cold weather quiver to stay warm while trying to sleep consisted of tights/base layer/wooly socks; usually more than enough for late August. Should have checked the weather. 


Just as I was about to crawl into my tent a gal rolled in on her mountain bike towing a husky in a bob-trailer. Turns out she grew up in Sultan, a town just up the road towards the mountains from where I grew up. She’s going to school in Fairbanks, AK. Did the Pacific Crest Trail from Canada to Mexico last summer and is doing the Continental Divide this summer. Albeit a brief interaction, it’s forever fascinating to me how meaningful these crossing of paths can be for endurance-oriented folks. We tend to be solitary. Lone wolves. So when you’re out there suffering or just returning from suffering, there is something very genuine about the interaction with someone who’s cut from the same cloth. 

















***


Colder Bay C.G. to W. Yellowstone


The stove broke. No coffee pre 100-mile day. Awesome. Let’s just start pedaling. 


As soon as I entered Yellowstone NP morale lifted a bit. There is certainly magic about this place. It seems like every road is along a river, the sky is mega, and there are subtleties in the colors and thermals like no-where else. 


Camping was chalk full where I intended to lay up at Canyon Village so I made my way to West Yellowstone. Immediately after starting my run off the bike it felt like very wild wilderness. I flipped early and ran right to the angler shop to buy some pepper spray. I reckon the guy who has a run-in with a brown bear and isn’t packn’ or have pepper spray is a punk.










***


W. Yellowstone to Mammoth


After a strong cup of joe at Free Heel and Wheel it was time to keep pressing North. I spent the next day in Mammoth as well to run Electric Peak. When I checked in to the campground the host said to watch out for elk. “They are bedding down near the biker/back packer camping,” she said. I’ve never seen the Rut but now I can say I’ve camped in the middle of it! It was a very intimate experience. The elk bugle call sounds like repeated sneezing through pierced lips. Highlights from camping in the Rut was the morning bugleing before the sun and my rain fly guy wire, the one that goes off near my head to secure the fly, getting kicked twice in one night by elk. 


The running was spectacular but felt very lonely and Grizzle presence was obvious with scat and bark pulled off trees. 


In my next life I’m going to make cologne made of 100% Elk pheromones. Looking for investors!

















***



The last day of a push should be the crux. There’s no coasting across the finish line. Think about any hard-fought battle. I think Thomas Paine was on to something when he said:


 “The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress and grow.”


This endurance stuff isn’t about punishing oneself. It’s a growth equation. Parts of it need to be challenging in order to have something to reflect on and grow.


So for the last day I phoned a friend who’s a park ranger and lives just outside the north entrance of Yellowstone. I asked her for a good run with a wee bit of vert. The ride from camp is 100 miles +/-, throwing in a 10 mile run with 4,000 feet of climbing didn’t feel excessive when I planned it the night before. But the mind is so much a part of the equation. Before I getting a glimpse of the peaks and 45 miles into a 100 mile day it sounded like a terrible idea. And then you see the topography and it’s like-- “I need to go there.” It’s not want, it’s need. The legs felt like rubber off the bike but improved as the miles went by. 


The home stretch into Bozeman was a classic race against the sun. There really aren’t many great cycling roads leading into this town. Coming from Livingston valley area it’s a not very direct if you follow roads best for cycling... or you can go full send for the last 8 miles on I-90 after the frontage road ends. I had a comical Super Troopers interaction before making it into town with a nice man wearing a terrible mustache. He had a speed trap set up on the opposite side of the median, chased me down driving in reverse, and was shouting from the opposite side of the freeway (me still hammering)... Told him I’d get off the freeway as soon as possible… 


Made it to Bozeman!










 


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