Envy

Sometimes when I read blogs of fellow riders who live in 4-season cycling environments I am envious. I’m envious that they never have to take 45 minutes just to weatherproof themselves before they go out and ride during the December-March months. I’m envious that they never have to worry about numb fingers and toes and the ever-looming ominous threat of frostbite. And I’m envious that they don’t need a bike dedicated simply to the salty icy conditions and probably don’t even own studded tires.


Today I rolled 82 miles of snow-covered winter wonderland landscape. The miles were slow and arduous and mentally therapeutic. I feel bad for those riders who have never got to experience a day like today.

Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

On this day, I wish I could go back to this moment in time, even if just for a minute or so. I wish I could capture the magic that Christmas morning once was with my family. Memories are all I have now. It’s amazing how a day that was once filled with so much, can now feel so empty.

On this day, I will cherish the memories of my brother and do my best to create new ones with those he has left behind.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower.
We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears

-William Wordsworth

Have a Superfly Holiday!!!

The stockings have been hung from the chimney with care...while visions of bombing trails in 2010 danced in my head.

Some Rides...

Some rides separate the strong willed from the weak.

Some rides require a little more gumption than they’re probably worth.

Some rides are more beneficial to your mental fortitude rather than physical.

Some rides keep you asking the whole time; Why am I out here?…this is just silly, I am miserable, sitting at home on the couch seems like so much better of an option right now.

Tonight was one of those rides.

Finally, when some rides are over, you are left feeling like there was no other place you would have rather been.

Resurrection from Complacency

It’s been about a month since I’ve had anything to say that people would care to read about. Actually, I’ve had a tremendous stream of thoughts going through my head but haven’t quite been able to formulate the words to describe them.

My personality is such that I don’t do well when I don’t have some kind of ambitious and audacious goal I’m chasing after and looking down the road towards. However, thanks to some recent delivery of some fresh fish and a few new ideas, I believe I am officially coming out of the funk.

Despite my new found focus, I’ve still been searching for the right motivation and fuel for the fire. I stumbled across this video today which has really captured some of the feelings I’ve been having in a form that transcends words. My heart dropped the first time I watched it as it conveyed so many emotions I've been having so clearly.

Enjoy. This blog is finally up and running again.

Fly One Time @ Yahoo! Video

I'm going to try flying one more time.

2009 Iceman Cometh Report: The Season Dénouement

grass roots
Function: noun
Date: 1901
1 : the very foundation or source
2 : the basic level of society or of an organization especially as viewed in relation to higher or more centralized positions of power

The Iceman Cometh Challenge has become nothing short of a cultural phenomenon! Celebrating its 20th anniversary this season, the race boasted an all time participation high, seeing 4000+ racers voluntarily brave the 28 mile, rolling hill course and the Frankie Andreu described condition of “lactic acid up to your eyeballs”.


The ceremonial lemon pledging of the steed pre-race


This year’s race brought about much enthusiasm, excitement, and preparation for the race. I myself, hosted the second annual Ice Ice Baby ride designed to equip racers with the gumption necessary to face the arduous task of subjecting your heart rate to its redline for 1.5-2 hours. To win at Iceman, much less to even podium at Iceman, no matter what category you are in, seals your name in the races rich history. I am pleased to report that we had 7 riders this year that participated in the Ice Ice Baby ride and also stood atop the podium. I was very happy and content to report that I was one of these racers, finishing 5th in the singlespeed category. In addition, we had four participants that placed in the top 20 in the Pro field. The big wheeled steeds also proved dominant as the two Gary Fisher/Subaru racers JHK and Sam Shultz respectively claimed 1st and 2nd!

JHK and Sam Scultz atop the Pro Podium Photo: © Amy Dykema


What makes Iceman special is the races dedication to its grassroots foundation. What started as a mass start race of just over 30 or so racers has grown into a 4000 plus rider race while still maintaining that Mid-Western laid back vibe. Steve Brown, race promoter, can still be seen milling around the field talking to each rider and thanking them for their participation and commitment to the sport. It seems only natural that Gary Fisher is the main sponsor of such an event. The race oozes what Fisher Bikes is all about, bikes by the people and for the people.
The Mayhem!


Furthermore, if the event in and of itself is not enough, the after party is well worth the price of admission despite your race result. It’s a celebration of shared passion, oat sodas, big wheels, beards, and genuine laughs that will have you telling stories for weeks and months to come on your local group rides. I’m already dreaming about next year’s race! If you haven’t made the obligatory pilgrimage to the Iceman Cometh, see to it that it falls onto your schedule next year…it is well worth the price of admission.

MyNorth.com Video: Video: The Iceman Cometh Race Gets Perfect Day for 20th Year

Gratitude

Undoubtedly this has been one of the toughest years of my life for myself as well as my family. When I reflect on it, I can say that it has been filled with my lowest of lows but also my highest of highs.

In the midst of my grief I have been able to whole-heartedly depend on several members of my team for strength and stability. My gratitude for this community is immense and it is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Last week was our team banquet at Dick O’ Dows. My eyes welled up as I received this award from the team for my accomplishments this past season. I’m at a loss of words to describe my elation other than that this was one of my highest of highs.

Thank you Wolverine Racing Team!

Ice Ice Baby Officially Goes International!

Fresh off the plane from Deutschland, Sven Baumann planned his entire vacation to the states around making a pilgrimage to the weekly slugfest of the Ice Ice baby Series. Sven clearly displayed that he was a juggernaut force to be reckoned with early on in the ride with his audacious and powerful pulls and his attacks on the climbs that had the field seeing stars. His efforts paid off as he sealed his victory in the final mile of the Final Ice Ice Baby race after putting himself into the winning selection of a 5 rider breakaway. Thanks for coming out Sven! You’ve officially made this thing an internationally attended event!

Left-Right Bill Clikeman, Myself, and the German Victor


For all the other Ice Ice baby patrons, we will have one last ride this upcoming Wednesday that will be more focused around socialization and mental preparation for the Ice Battle to ensue. Also, stay tuned for further information on a post-Iceman Ice Ice Baby awards party and celebration.

My sincere gratitude goes out to everyone who came out to brave this season’s Velo Fight Club, you all made training for this event fun and exciting!

Ice-Weapon.

My sincere gratitude goes out to the generosity of Mr. Cullen Watkins for providing this B.A. steed! I will try my best to live up to it's potential.

A resurrection of the “Who cares I’m Flying Award”

Every once in awhile a racer snags a well-deserved “W” that warms your heart. Usually it comes from a racer that has been persistent in his endeavors and has persevered with his goals despite whether or not his efforts had led to instant gratification. Scotty Fab has been honing his craft for several years now. He’s dedicated himself to his team and his personal progression. This past weekend that dedication paid off as Scotty rolled across the line first at the Mad Anthony Cross race.

I can speak on behalf of the entire WSC when I say that this win was well deserved and that we are all proud of Scott.

So let’s all raise our mild manners to Mr. Fabijanski…you are the newest recipient of the “Who Cares, I’m Flying” Award and also one of my favorite racers to see win.

Ice Ice Baby!

When you’re a kid, virtually anything can become a finish line…a trash can, a stop sign, the end of the street, a telephone poll, etc. Your propensity to want to beat your fellow peers to a designated line is quite intense and it doesn’t take much coercing to get your engine revved and a race sparked. There is no such thing as unofficial or official, sanctioned or not, prize purses, race licenses, etc. It is a special time in life when measuring your speed, ability, and gumption against your friends and local click is highly valued and embraced. What is on the line…what are you racing for? All those elevated heart rates are for nothing more than territorial bragging rights accompanied by a wealth of stories to tell in your future. There are unspoken rules and undisputed respect that this all entails.

Everyone once in awhile, I find thoughts of resentment start to slowly seep into my psyche. I try to dismiss them quickly, but alas I cannot deny their presence. These thoughts of resentment are directed toward my most intense passion…the bike. It’s usually a cyclical thing; introducing it’s ugly self around October and November. Some call it “burn out”. Too much of anything, even good things, can eventually become destructive I guess. Usually when I start to recognize these feelings I try to take concerted steps to stop them.

Gary Fisher and a handful of other people, pioneered the great sport of mountain biking by simply pushing some clunkers up a dirt hill and riding them back down as fast as they could. It was a social endeavor; they were doing something new…creating stories and memories. Their focus wasn’t commercialization of the sport, nor was it training for a big audacious race event.

The Iceman Cometh is an annual celebration of mountain biking that takes place in November in Northern Michigan every year. Over the race’s history it has grown almost exponentially in popularity, attracting some of the most talented riders from all over the country. The race usually serves as an end of the season motivator but also as a way for all of us fat tire addicts to celebrate our shared passions of mountain bikes, but also the well-earned oat sodas that accompanies a season of dirt, sweat and gears.

Last season I decided to start a local group ride called “The Ice Ice Baby Ride” in preparation for the Iceman. The focus of the ride was not to simply train for the event but more importantly to take that ever-important step of ensuring that I don’t resent my two-wheeled companion. The idea was to get back to that kid-like mentality of racing your friends for the camaraderie of it but also the lactic acid induced bonding that comes from trying to best each other on a weekly basis.

The rides usually drew 10-15 riders of elite caliber. Much to my surprise, this season there has been a great deal of increased excitement and enthusiasm circling around this ride. I have seen an upwards of 30+ of the “who’s who” of Michigan Mountain Bike racers attending consistently the past few weeks. Best of all, being from the Midwest and all, it seems 26 inch machines have become the minority as big wheels have prevalently dominated. The ride is becoming known as a weekly ceremonial slugfest. Many participants have commented to me that it is the highlight of their week. I’ve received several messages the following work days after the ride from participants sitting in their cubicles dreaming about bombing down double tracks at 28mph guided by nothing but the glow of their high intensity lights and the shadows of storming riders all around them. These sentiments really alleviate any of those fleeting thoughts of resentment that resonate with me and recharge my velo batteries.

Just because we grow up doesn’t mean we have to leave behind that childlike enthusiasm to go fast for no other reason than the rush and elation it brings. Thanks to any rider that has showed up to this MTB territorial pissing contest…you have made my late season and delivered me from the banes of resenting my bike.

See you in November...Viva Le Iceman Cometh!

Where? Never heard of it?

One day prior to 24 hour worlds this summer a mandatory rider press conference was held to review rules and regulations, introduce the racers, as well as announce the location of the 2010 World Championship.

I was amazed at how many Australian racers represented the overall field. After a few days in Canmore I was actually beginning to feel like a minority being from America and being on big wheels.

Stuart Dorland, race director, saved the 2010 location announcement for the end of the meeting. With great pride, he finally announced that next year’s race was not only going to be void of North American Soil, but also not even in this hemisphere! As he started to announce “Australia”, before he could even finish the room erupted with a choir of surly Australians screaming “Aussie, Aussie, AUSSIE…OI…OI!” for about the next ten minutes.

Eventually the loudness settled down and Alan Smith turned to me and in a sarcastic tone belted out a boisterous, “WHERE?...Neva heard of it!!!”.

It’s that time of year again…

It’s a special yet mentally tormenting time. I have no training objectives other than trying to run over as many leafs as I can. I’m not monitoring my diet, and I’m not too worried about getting a set amount of saddle hours in each week.

The impending Iceman Cometh lurks just around the corner.

What are you doing to prepare for this years celebratory slugfest?


I’m simply ensuring my seasonal beard will be full, rich, and compelling come November 7th.

Stay tuned…

Critical Rediscovery

There I sat in a state of delirium. I was tired, confused, and medically fragile caused by an intense state of exhaustion and an overconsumption of dense electrolyte based sports drinks which led to a state of intoxication. My legs were past the point of lactic pain and moving quickly into a dead detached feeling. My triceps were on fire from railing technical descents. My nerves were non-existent, my gumption stripped from my being. I felt as if I was imprisoned by my own ambition to do something great. But worst of all I was sad. I was sad because I knew that from this point on I was going to have to move forward. I was going to have to accept my failed expectations and live with them. I was going to have to learn to live in the present rather than the future, and although it may not be true today…at the time, the present sucked! This was all my choice; I brought it all upon myself.

One of my most fond cycling memories comes from a few seasons back at the Superweek Pro Tour in Wisconsin. Fellow teammate Scott Kroske had a bad day on the bike. He was struggling with keeping the rubber side down all season, as he is notorious for. This day he found his carcass once again meeting the pavement in the Cat. 3 road race. As he circled around the course into the pits for some bodily/equipment inspection, colorful cuss words rolled off his tongue like a sailor. He was desperately trying to regain composure to enter back in the race while the SRAM neutral support mechanics quickly worked on his machine and got it back in race-worthy order. Scott continued to holler and complain about his misfortune. Jose Acala, SRAM mechanic and former WSC member, looked as Scott as he gave him his bike back and muttered some great words that will always resonate with me. He told Scott, “You know Mr. Kroske; there are easier, more safe sports you can try”. A few simple words managed to quickly put everything into perspective for him and he rolled onward to finish the race.

As I sat defeated in the Mountains of Canmore, embarrassed by my showing, Stuart Dorland of 24hrs of Adrenalin approached me. We spoke at great length as he assessed whether or not I was mentally and physically OK. I can’t really tell you too much of what we talked about that day but I do remember one thing. He suggested that the next 24hr race I do, I try it on a team rather than solo. His suggestion was not based on his doubt that I was not cut out for 24hr solo racing, after all I had qualified for the World Championships, he was merely suggesting that I reacquaint myself with how fun this form of racing can be when the pressure to perform is alleviated a bit. To be honest, I really didn’t think too much at the time about what he said, I was way too preoccupied with reveling in my sorrow and disappointment.

You are only as good as your next race.

As the conclusion of this season neared I found I was struggling to keep a sharp focus on my objectives. In fact, I really didn’t have any objectives anymore. Two weeks ago, I decided to try my hand at Crit racing once again only to find that I served as nothing more than a financial donation to the race, as well as colorful scenery to help increase the numbers of the pack. But alas, I raced anyway…because after all that’s what I do, I race bikes. It’s what I know and it’s what’s comfortable.

Upon the completion of the Labor Day Rock City Crit, one of Angela’s uncles who had come out to spectate, turned to me and said something no one has ever said to me after a bike race. He said, “Hey Tim, that was a good try”. I had turned myself inside out for 90 minutes, heart rate elevated and muscles quivering, only to do nothing more than roll in amidst the rest of the pack fodder and to donate $40 to the race promoters. “Good try?” it sounds like such a short coming. Good tries are for darts, or horse shoes, or something as simple as trying to toss a crumbled piece of paper into a garbage can. It seems to me that years of dedication, sweat, and tears culminated in 90 minutes of pain must be represented by something more than “good try”. I tried to explain to him that every rider in that Pro ½ field has dedicated more hours to their sport than the average professional baseball, football, or basketball player raking in 7 figure salaries. In the midst of my frustration, I realized that he was right, it doesn’t matter what the outcome was that day, and my performance was nothing more than a “good try”.

I can’t speak for all the other passionate people in the world, but I think I sometimes tend to put my craft on a pedestal simply because I feel it should be deservedly there due to the sheer amount of hours I put into it. My dedication should mean something, right? However, regardless of the numbers of my wins or losses, all of this really means nothing more than exactly what it is and what we personally perceive it to be.

As the season concluded I needed to shift my focus from ambitious and lofty goals to one simple thing: having fun.

So this past weekend, I decided to take Stuart Dorland’s advice and enter a 24hr race on a four man team with no other agenda in mind than having fun. On Friday, I quickly rushed home from school, as excited as a young boy on Christmas morning, threw all of my gear in a bag, and rushed to Grayling, MI to race the 24hrs of Hanson Hills.

My composite team consisted of three other talented riders from other teams. Ben Renkema of Kenda Pro Cycling/Spinergy, Nate Williams of the Bissell Elite Cycling Team, and Brian Bangma owner and racer of the Grand Rapids Bicycle Company.

Soon after the race started, the campfire was lit, the first moon lady was cracked, and the stories and jokes started flowing in between laps I realized that I had engaged in exactly what I needed at the time.

24 hours ended up passing faster than I ever knew it could and in the end the product was a team Victory in the 4-Man Elite Category as well as a wealth of fun. I didn’t take myself too seriously. I wasn’t too focused on lap times, I simply rode the trail to have fun and enjoy the atmosphere.

I rediscovered exactly why I love this sport at a very critical time. The race served as an optimal catalyst to erase any resonating failed expectations from this past season and recharge my battery for next season.

You are only as good as your next race. But for now, you may as well have fun. Even if it occasionally takes some reminding…that is what’s it’s all about…fun.

12 hours of Drummond Island

John Stamsted, a pioneer of 24hr solo racing, once said, “This form of racing is so hard that no one out there does it for the money, and if they did it would have to be extremely large sums of money before anyone would voluntarily make themselves suffer that long”.

I hadn’t been to Drummond Island in about 18 years. My memories of this land lie deep in tales of catching whopping perch and walleye with my father, and bears sneaking up on campers to help themselves to any of their food placed within a bear’s reach. Long before I ever swung my leg over a top tube and tried to beat another person to the line I formed my fond impressions of this island.

Years later…older, perhaps wiser, I decided to venture back up to Drummond, this time to race my bike in the Michigan Endurance Series 12 Hours of Drummond Island. I found it only fitting to invite my father and the rest of my family to help support me during the race as well as revisit the magic that I was exposed to so young.

There were other bigger races with more prestige and prize purse I could of choose this weekend, but this race meant something more than any cash prime or winning check could ever hold. This event was more of a family vacation that happened to have a race in it.

Race day brought about torrential rain and a bone chilling 52 degrees. As I kitted up in my warm protective car, Angela stared at me with a look of disbelief and doubting intrigue. “I’m just amazed at how excited and positive you can be to be racing in such terrible conditions”, she commented. The week prior to this race I had stayed with Ray D. up at the Buck-N-A cabin for a bit of a late season rest/training camp. In that time I realized that it’s a good thing to concede that “you can’t win em all” and that not everything works out according to plan. Mike Tyson once said, “Anyone can plan to win a fight until you get clocked in the jaw, it’s what you do after that, that matters”.

So I rolled to the line a few minutes before the start. I wasn’t too worried about any competition posing a threat. It was mostly a race against myself, the clock, and my ghosts of the past. The gun fired, I took the hole shot, and didn’t look back until about a mile in. John Cowan, Petoskey resident, fellow teacher, and all around great cyclist, stayed with my wheel and we began to trade pulls and converse at the same time. Unfortunately after a few miles of putting it down we realized we completely lost the course. We had to turn around and start from the back of the field! We ended up working our way back to the front by the end of the lap and wound up front running the rest of the race.

About three hours into the race my hands and feet were numb and my bike could barely shift anymore due to the amount of mud it accumulated. I wasn’t having fun at this point. I rolled through the pits, completely changed my clothes, switched my bike and was off. From this point on, I began to have fun. Although I was leading the race, I was still in a great deal of pain and discomfort. Just as I started to ask myself, “Why do I do this”, I began to embrace this feeling of suffering and drew from it.

Some may label it a sick attraction…why do we voluntarily choose to suffer? I’ve found there is something about persevering from point A to point B that no prize money or notoriety can ever take precedence over.

I ended up winning the race without much contest, and I began to question again why I choose this event. As I looked in the faces of my family I quickly became comforted in my reasons.

So why do we do this? It’s not for the money…it’s for something far more.

Looking Onward: Are you an Athlete?

Sometimes when we look into the future for so long we fail to embrace the present. This is an extremely potent danger that is at stake when we allow our dreams and aspirations to define us over a prolonged period of time. John Coyle, fellow teammate of mine, best describes this idea here.

I’m finding it hard to live without the dream. Last season I put my entire soul into one event, which ultimately resulted in greatness. This season, I attempted the same with different results. However, the feelings I had post-events are turning out to be very similar. When your entire focus for a year funnels down to one moment in time it is extremely mentally difficult to move on once this time has come and gone, regardless of the result. It’s an indescribable feeling one can only be familiar with if you have lived through it. Again, I always have to remind myself I choose all of this; none of it was a product of any uncontrollable circumstances.

When I wake up in the morning, I have plenty to do these days to keep me busy, but I am left aimlessly wandering. I still hop on my bike everyday, but my intentions are foggy and unclear. I am simply riding because that’s what I know to do. When I roll out the door, I certainly don’t know what direction I’m heading in because I’ve temporarily lost the ability to focus on the present rather than the future. It’s a habitual thing that has been intensely acquired over a two-year period.

A good friend of mine Scott, who now resides in Austin, TX sent me a pretty enlightening message two days after Worlds this year, which aided in my ability to see the present clearly. Scott, being a former Nationally Elite level swimmer truly understands what sacrifice means as he describes in letter below.

Thanks again Scott!


Tim,

You have officially become an athlete.

Contrary to what most people believe, an athlete is not a person who was blessed with certain DNA.

An athlete takes his approach to his competition with a life and death seriousness.

An athlete puts every single item that enters his body in one category : Fuel. Nothing more, nothing less. The thought of "that might taste good" is irrelevant to him. Only how much this will build and or fuel his machine.

An athlete puts his rest and recovery first, knowing that tomorrow's daily test will require every bit of strength he thinks he has, and some he didn't know he had.

An athlete brings himself to the brink of exhaustion on a daily and sometimes hourly basis. Riding with the ghost of him from last year nipping at his heels, wanting to take him down. But he has made gains from the past. The pain, the recovery, the lifestyle has given him a physical and mental edge. The ghosts of years past cannot hold this pace, this intensity is too much. There is a deep sense of satisfaction knowing just how hard it was to be able to ride away from last years ghost. It is not arrogance, but a sense that you have arrived, and are now proud of yourself from the depths of your character.

This changes an athlete. Some for good, some for bad. An athlete will go toe to toe with anyone. They may win, they may lose, but one thing is certain: if wants a piece of him, they are going to get the whole nine yards and will have to earn it.

An athlete does his job every single day, day after day. Tired, sore, sick, injured. There is a job to be done, and he will be damned if anything dares to get in his way. The creature comforts and excuses that most enjoy are viewed as a weakness. This spartan lifestyle has become just that : his lifestyle.

As the pain mounts and most start to fade, an athlete has a sick sense of enjoyment. This is where he lives, and most don't like this neighborhood. He is comfortable, when the pain starts, he wants more. Not because he is narcissistic, but he knows this is where others are in pain, and if they hurt now, the next level they will crack. When a worthy adversary can rise to the occasion and truly challenge him, he has mixed emotions of admiration, fear and anger. He asks himself "Does this guy have any idea much I will suffer to win?" He has seen adversaries with better tools repeatedly become casualties of his private war.

It is this process that you have dedicated yourself to over a long period of time that has changed you. You will never be the same.

Most will try to relate to your quest. But only those who have been in your shoes for years at a time will ever come close to relating. Most don't realize just how mentally, emotionally and physically exhausting it his to finely tune the human body into everything it is capable of. The daily grind alone will decimate almost anyone's spirit after a period of weeks, a few can maintain it for months. Only those who have a singular focus can handle it for years.

You left no stone unturned. You have reached a level of dedication that is nothing short of impressive. Many take this journey for various reasons, but the goal is the same. An athlete truly wanted to see what he is made out of, what makes him tick, how much he could endure, what looks back at him in the abyss.

You have answered those questions, and that is why you are an athlete.

-Scott

Reflections from Canmore

No excuses…no regrets.

I wrote this at 7:00am this morning because I couldn’t sleep with so many thoughts racing through my head.

7:00am Sunday Morning:
I’m not going to go into a detailed race report of any kind. I’m not looking for sympathies. I’m trying to repeat the mantra “no excuses, no regrets”. This race meant the world to me. There had not been a single ride I’ve done this season where I hadn’t thought about it. It served as more than just a race for me. At first it was simply a personal attempt at doing something great. However, it grew into more than that.

Many people have told me that I have been an inspiration to them threw this journey. At first, I didn’t know how to take that. However, I knew it served as motivation for me.

As for my family and myself included, I felt that this endeavor had served as hope for us all. I’m learning that the loss of my brother has affected me more than I can really begin to understand and that my grieving has only started. This race had been more of a distraction than anything when it came to dealing with all of this. I’ve experienced how a 24hr race breaks you down to your simplest being before. This race ended up doing that sooner than I had thought/hoped for/ and anticipated. I reached my breaking point and surrendered to it. I tried my best to not let the race take my fight out of me, but it did.

Retrospect can be a painful knife in your side. I never felt right from lap one and began to unravel from there. At several instances I started to realize that because of the state I was in and the toughness of the course that I was significantly risking my safety staying out there. I began to review priorities in my life and for the first time in a long time, racing took a back seat. Unbelievably this came at one of the most inopportune times in my life. When it was all said and done, I looked at it as “just a bike race”, which was the antithesis of my mentality going into this all.

Sometimes the journey can be more important than the destination. I think in this instance it is best if I relish in this idea. This journey helped me to cope with intense sorrow and the toughest year of my life. It also made me realize how many beautiful people are in my life that I am thankful for. It made me see clearly what priorities are most important.

This journey is not over; it simply got derailed a bit.

I am thankful that I have had a great support network through all of this and I hope that those of you who have been a part of this truly know how genuinely gracious I am for all of you.

So I guess I’m officially on vacation now with seven other beautiful people whom I love and cherish greatly. When it’s all said and done I am coming home a winner, I have won the love of a perfect counterpart to myself whom I now get to spend the rest of my life with by my side and go through many more journeys with. This was just one of them. Time to make the best out of failed expectations and try and see a way to learn how this will only make me stronger in the future.
I may have failed in my attempt but my journey was invaluable…No excuses…No regrets.

12:16 Sunday Morning
As a quick follow-up: I’m back at the race now packing up and have discovered many of the riders had pulled out including the front running pro rider. As a result, I still ended up 15th in the pro/elite. I can’t hang my head low. Just lining up was a battle of nerves for me.

She said YES!!!

Nothing like doing it big! We got engaged on top of a mountain!


Despite my race result I'm coming home a winner!

That being said, I know have a race to focus on. You can all follow it at: http://24wsc.com/

Words can't describe how much I appreciate all the positive messages, emails, tweets, and phone calls from everyone over the few days. I will try my best to do you all proud. I love you all.

Stay tuned...

Scenes from Canmore...

Everywhere I look, I feel like I'm dreaming. This is some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen in my life! I pre-rode the course in it's entirety today. It is extremely challenging and I have no doubt this race will be the toughest one I've ever done. It's inevitable...I will once again come face to face with my soul.
Stay tuned...

The Calm Before the Storm:

The Objective: Get away from it all, relax, and clear the mind.

The Destination: Charlevoix, MI

The Plan: Arrive late Wednesday night; get a big ride in on Thursday, preview the Boyne Marathon course than go fishing on Friday, race the Boyne Marathon on Saturday and head back home.

In short, we achieved three of the above descriptions.

As I ventured up north late Wednesday night I found myself cool, calm and collected. I have pretty much done all I can for physical preparation for the 24hr Solo World Championships. I have stayed safe, healthy, and put my time in. And although I know there is much to be determined/established in terms of mental and equipment preparation, I have found myself in a good serene place. As I reflected on my surprisingly relaxed demeanor, I quickly realized this is simply the calm before the storm.

We arose on Thursday, geared up and set sail for an undetermined adventure on the North Country Trail. The route started in Charlevoix, headed to Boyne Falls, rode trail to Petoskey, and then linked up with a group ride out of Latitude 45 later that day. I had been coming off an already epic mileage early week and today was simply the last hoorah for absurd hours in the saddle.

As we hit the trailhead, my riding partner Alan commented, “Do you think we have enough water? You know, there is a good chance we are going to get lost.” I simply let this notion roll over my shoulders and thought; we’re fine…it’s not that far of a distance. Inevitably, 20 miles into the trail we both were almost out of fluids and starting to panic as we were quite far from any form of civilization. Thankfully, a few miles later we came to a dirt road crossing with three houses off the road. One of which happened to have a hose lying in front of it, which we used to refill our bottles.

So often, when I ride the trails I am riding lines that are so memorized and engrained in my head. I compare lap times and use that to gauge where my fitness is. Essentially, the trail is used for a training tool. However, there are very few moments anymore where I just roll out on an undetermined/uncharted adventure. The North Country Trail served as a great way to simply explore the landscape of Northern Michigan and gain new perspective as to just how beautiful our state is as well as how fundamentally fun simply riding a mountain bike can be when there is no objective other than to explore. It reminded me in a comforting way, that even without all this racing and training, I simply love to ride my bike and this alone is my main reason I continue to do it season after season.

To further continue the calm before the storm, Alan and I headed out to fish on Friday just after we previewed the Boyne Marathon Course. After conceding to the fatigue onset from nearly 400 miles in 4 days, I decided it would be counter productive to race on Saturday as it would only burn me out more. Fishing became the focus for the rest of the trip. It was at this time, I officially deemed myself in “taper mode”. Admitting to “taper” can in and of itself is a bit mentally tormenting. Essentially what it means is that you are accepting that you have done everything physically possible to prepare for the race and now you are succumbing to the waiting game. It is calming and nerve racking all at the same time.

There was no time to change out of our bibs...we were too excited!


So this brings us to the adventure of Saturday morning. Allow me to simply give you the cliff notes as it is a bit of a long story. We got out on the lake early morning, pulled in two 4lb lunkers, and headed into shore to start the trek back home. Just as we were about 3 miles from the dock the boat engine started sputtering and quickly cut out. We immediately realized that despite the ¼ tank reading on the fuel gauge, we were bone dry for gas. After some failed attempts at flagging someone to tow us in we realized we were going to need to tie the boat onto a buoy and swim it to shore. So we tied the boat up, swam to shore, hitchhiked to town, bought some gas, swam back to the boat, and finally set out on our venture home. All in all, the debacle set us back about 2.5 hours…not bad considering.



I returned home with a calm, collected aura.

However, now I’m starting to feel anxiety weighing on me. I always have to remind myself that the reason I love these races is the sheer epic nature of them. A 24hr race truly brings about a full spectrum of emotions during the preparation phase, the race itself, and after the race. This experience really reflects everyday life: a spectrum of emotions, choices, and circumstances…how you react to these variables truly shapes who you are as a person. A 24-hour race breaks you down to your simplest being. Throughout most of it, you are fighting your body’s natural biological make-up. Lets face it, we are not designed to do this sort of thing. It is the most potent litmus test of mental fortitude and toughness. In retrospect, it’s like living a lifetime in 24 hrs.

If I start to dwell on the suffering this upcoming event will ensue, it becomes overwhelming and impossible to deal with. If I dwell on the potential jubilation that results from it, I will start to not respect the enormity of it all and could potentially go into it destructively over confident. Keeping a clear head, and a sharp view of it all is quite challenging but necessary. Once again, I always have to remind myself that this is the dynamic that attracts me to this unique form of racing. None of this is for the weak minded.

I have a lot to race for this season. When I reflect back to last years race, that was simply all about me. This year is much different. If I ride bell to bell and put my entire soul into this race than I will know that I have fulfilled what I came to do regardless of the result.

Stay tuned…