6 // Living the Dream
Crusher in the Tushar
Progress isn’t linear, and regardless of what you’re striving to achieve, the voice of our inner critic can be so destructive. After pouring my heart out in my previous newsletter, I spent some time in a motel outside Grand Junction, Colorado. Imagine a desert scene from Breaking Bad; there’s a gas station, a Mexican restaurant, and the run-down truck stop motel, perfect for baking a batch of meth. I spent two nights here sitting with some of my lowest feelings yet. My inner critic was deafening. It sounds dismal, but I can’t tell you how liberated I feel a month after processing all that I felt that week, engaging with my focus, leaning on my friends and family, and riding my bike on some damn fun trails to pull me back up.
I said goodbye to my dodgy roadside motel and arrived in Beaver, Utah ahead of Crusher in the Tushar. Self-proclaimed to be ‘the toughest 69.9 miles on the planet’. And look, upon finishing the event, they can claim it… it was pretty damn tough.. Given my headspace, I was content and a little proud to feel like I had fight and focus, entering the final 20 km around the top 15. The contentment soon flipped as the second climb began to physically, emotionally and spiritually crush my soul. As I climbed, I could feel my belly expand and my elbows dissociating from my hands. It was like a concoction of heat stress and over-caffeination, with high altitude as the cherry on top. I soon entered survival mode just to get to the top of this beast, and watched so many places dwindle past as I was unable to respond. My inner critic started to drown me in thoughts of not being good enough or not deserving my place in this series… Racing, training and living out of a suitcase for months isn’t all sunshine, bears & mountain tops, but progress also isn’t linear. It’s okay.
The ‘Kessel Run’ - Grand Junction, CO
The mega-road trip
I packed all my things back into Jerry the next morning to start my next adventure. For the next few weeks, I felt like I was going on a ‘holiday’, having a small break from being a guest in people's homes to a few weeks of feeling free exploring new places. Ahead also lay a relay of Australians—Peta & Jarrod in Idaho, Ally in Washington, my brother in BC & Lindsay bringing in the home leg from Alberta back to Colorado.
Within about six minutes of catching up with Peta & Jarrod in Boise, the homesickness was already lifting, as the classic banter of Peta & Jarrod (IYKYK) made me feel like we had been transported back to a bike race back in Australia. Within a few hours, Jarrod had already re-gassed Jerry’s AC & Peta had stocked me up with toilet paper, fresh laundry & enough sugar to get me to Seattle.
Making it to Seattle with the luxury of air conditioning, I met with Ally, who was about to start her solo journey on the PCT. I hit the trails while she organised her first month of food drops. The MTB trails in northern Washington were incredible! It had been a while since I’d ridden proper ‘bike-park’ singletrack, which was so good for the soul. We entered the Cascades and spent a night at the ‘lion’s den’ outside Mazama, an infamous PCT pit-stop and essentially just a hippy commune for hikers. With Ally in her element and my eyes opened to the world of through-hiking, I said goodbye and felt goosebumps for the journey she was embarking on. We often have so much emphasis on ourselves that it’s important to stop and celebrate the cool stuff other people are doing too!
Next stop, Canada! I reached the rock-climbing mecca of Squamish and basically plucked my brother from a cliff face. We hustled our things and began hiking up to Garibaldi Lake to beat the setting sun. An evening shower in the glacial lake before waking up early the next morning. We had the wholesome idea of reaching Black Tusk summit by sunrise to have breakie. Upon reaching the summit, we were pretty much being carried away by mosquitos. Well above the tree line, we felt like we were in a scene from the Lord of the Rings (See vid approx. 1min 50 seconds in for reference). Honestly, these mosquitoes were relentlessly savage. Quickly aborting the ‘wholesome mountain top brekkie mission, we drowned ourselves in insect repellent and began the descent. I couldn’t really tell who was trying to out ‘Bloor’ one another, but the pace was on down the mountain. Instagram is probably this bizarre snapshot of beautiful views, wholesome campsites, trails & friends, but behind the scenes, it’s been hilariously chaotic. This hike included.
My brother, last photographed before being carried away by mosquitos and never to be seen again
The next few days were spent stopping at some of Canada's best. It almost seemed mandatory for every Canadian town to have world-class MTB trails, and after spending so much time focused on my gravel bike from Unbound to Crusher, I was like a kid again, playing on my Specialized Epic on all these trails. A week across BC, Mitch ticked over to his thirties, we howled at wolves across a lake, went white water rafting, saw plenty of mountains, and only had one argument. Not bad.
I borrowed Jen D’s husband, Lindsay, for the final leg of the relay. The smooth transition of Aussies throughout this road trip continued. With Jen cramming for her lawyer's bar exam in NYC and Lindsay’s VISA expiring, he was desperate for some adventure time. A night in a ‘pod hostel’ at Fernie BC, the most hospitable care from Stella, Willie & the Great Northern Cycle & Ski Store in Whitefish, Montana. Followed by a lap of Yellowstone National Park, spotting a bear with her cubs and a night camped luxuriously beside a gas station, I was ready to head ‘home’. The multi-week relay covered enough distance to get me from Sydney to Perth and back again, and I honestly need to give the Jeep a shoutout. Who would have thought from all those months ago, on the back of a tow truck, that this car would safely get me around two countries and 9 of their states? The weeks on the road, feeling free and slightly feral, emphasised the community I’ve been building in Boulder and had dampened the inner critic of feeling lost or not meant to be here. Comparison robs us of so much damn joy, and it’s so important to celebrate your own adventure.
A questionable route, but the slog was worth the views of Glacier National Park, BC
Leadville:
The mega-road-trip was probably a fairly unorthodox approach leading into the Leadville 100. Whilst I ticked through most of my sessions and spent some serious time on my MTB, many rides were sandwiched between long days in the car, nights in a tent or spent sleeping like a bat in the back of Jerry, whose seats don’t quite lay flat.. My homesickness eased, but I probably overdid the tourist aspect as I prepared for my first 100-mile MTB event.
Nonetheless, returning to Colorado, I did my best to recharge before the race. I spent a week in Leadville getting to know every horror of the course and fell in love with the surrounding trails and mountain peaks before heading back down to Boulder, where I could breathe, put out power and try to sharpen up (thanks to Allen’s e-bike motor pacing) before the day. With altitude, they say you either need to spend weeks there beforehand or take the last-minute approach. I had a scarcity of options, so I took the last-minute approach and arrived back in Leadville on the evening of the race.
The Bnb’s toilet hindered the morning ritual of getting ready for the race, as an overnight storm had switched off the pump that worked the flush. Anyone who has raced knows the importance of the pre-race-poo, and at 6 am Avery and I were manically riding around the streets to find a toilet without a queue. I was last into the corral for the 6:30 am start, with Logan patiently waiting to collect my jacket. I still feel so lucky to have found people who back me on this journey, and the generosity of people’s time feels special.
I wasn’t too stressed about starting in the back. The race is a bloody long one, not a World Cup XCC (not that I know what that feels like!). But I was wrong. By the time the literal shotgun had gone off and I had clipped in, the race leaders were already far down the road, being dragged along by the determined few on a mission to try and break the course record. It’s 6:30 am, it’s cold, you’re at 3000m, and you’re doing a max RPM test just to hold the wheel in front. Bonkers!
I settled into my rhythm and wanted to focus on my own objectives. I listed the climbs and feed zones on my top tube to help break up the day. I do miss road racing a little bit, where there are sprints, QOMs, breakaways and tactics that go into breaking up long days. Most of these ultra-marathon events have just been a matter of who can hold onto the men the longest, with un closeable gaps opening up from there. I make it to the top of Powerline and begin descending. Having descended it several times in the preceding weeks, I told myself to ‘not be a dick’ and just get down it smoothly without bunny hopping every feature imaginable like an overly-energetic rabbit. Bang. I hit a rock and have already punctured. I recover quickly to make it 100m further down before hearing that sound again.. I’m two plugs deep, two canisters down & my idiotic self decided against carrying a pump. I had two options. Wait for Avery, in the hope that he would give me a C02, or commit to a tube. Knowing the terrain ahead, I was reluctant to put a tube in. Within 10 minutes, Avery rode past with his face dropping, as he kindly scrambled back up the climb to throw me a C02, which honestly saved my day. I finally make it to the first feed zone, only 45 km in and 10 PSI in my tyre. I could sense Allen felt my mood and gave me a sympathetic ‘fark’. ‘Fark’ indeed. I carried on and ticked my way through feed zones, climbs and watched the entire women’s field descending Columbine as I worked my way up it. I was so far behind by that point… I was stuck in groups that walked up the mountain, and with the descending riders hurtling down, it made for a very slow ascent. The benefit of the slow ascent was I spotted an abandoned pump on the side of the track, and I nabbed it! A tactical move, as I felt my bad luck wasn’t over. The saviour pump got me out of trouble twice on returning home.
When I planned my nutrition for the day, I planned for up to 8 hours. Given what I can normally pace on an epic day, I genuinely thought that was achievable, and I had noted for ‘8+ hours = just pray’. And crikey, as I crept over 8 hours, I was praying. There was so much encouragement on course, and the hype to ‘BeAt 9 HoUrS’ was strong. All of a sudden, I was fighting just to beat this 9-hour deadline to receive a slightly larger belt buckle. Bike racing is weird. I love it. And hate it.
This is the only accessory I will wear from now on.
Being a part of the Grand Prix, athletes are encouraged to get involved in various activities at the events. I signed up to return to the Leadville finish to celebrate riders crossing the line before the 12-hour cut-off mark (which was naturally represented by the firing of a shotgun). It was honestly the highlight of my day seeing so many incredible people cross the finish line of this brutal course. As a now nearly-full-time athlete, I think this course is really, really challenging.. Let alone for someone who spends half the time on a bike than I do! There wasn’t a soul that didn’t look broken, but the sense of relief and accomplishment from such a diversity of people was truly inspiring.
I’m trying hard not to let a bike race dictate my worth, but it’s hard not to feel down after a couple of crappy ones. A lot of hard work, logistics, planning and uncertainty go with ‘living the dream’, and I’m honestly just exhausted doing this mostly on my own. Being sick with Covid post-Leadville has brought the most downtime I’ve had in months, and I think this time will replenish my seriously depleted mental matches and benefit the second half of the season. This ain’t over. Next up, Chequamegon MTB Festival!
UPCOMING RACES:
20th August: SBT GVL, Steamboat, Colorado covid :(
31st August: Rebecca’s Private Idaho, Idado!
16th September: Chequamegon MTB Festival, Round #5 LTGP
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Thriving.
