RAGBRAI and the end of Phase 1 - musings and explanations

Note: This post took two days to write. Originally I finished it in about 1.5 hours as started below, but then it deleted most of itself and it's drafts when I tried to upload it, so I rewrote everything but the intro the next morning at a wild-fire smoked filled rest area just north of the Idaho border. I was very proud of my original post, maybe that's why I had to lose it. Hopefully this rewrite does it justice.

I'm in sitting outside a gas station in a tiny town off I84, right on the border of Utah and Idaho. I've been driving for about 10 hours, and probably have 10 left before eventually reaching Eugene, but that will be after some sleep since it's already 10pm.

So obviously I decided to not continue the Divide this summer after RAGBRAI, and instead will finish it next summer after RAGBRAI. I'm going to go into pretty good detail why here, mainly because this blog helps me understand myself, and I will feel better after writing this all down. Read if you'd like, if not, just know that it was a difficult decision, that I'm feeling fine physically, but the timing wasn't right. Skip to the end if you want just the philosophy I've been thinking about.

If you've been reading this blog for awhile you know that I started wresting with this decision awhile ago when I was having issues with hand pain and the Divide being different from what I am hoping it would be. However, that was a passing issue, and I pushed through that. It was just a phase I needed to go through to get to a different mental state. Sometimes it's hard to recognize those transitional phases in the moment, but in retrospect it was obvious.

One secret to life, I think, is learning when to recognize when issues are transition like that, or actually a big deal that you should respond to. It's learning to recognize when you just need to climb over some rocks in your valley of life, or need a course correction to a different side of the valley, or if you'd hit the actual wall. (That metaphor will be explained more later on).

There are a many benefits that come from making either decision, but they aren't big enough benefits to rise to the level of reasons for either decision, and for the most part I knew about them before I left anyway. These are different from reasons. There really are only two reason supporting either decision, but I'll list the benefits first for clarity.

Benefits of coming home now and finishing the Divide next summer:

- I get to have more variety in my summer, and do fun things with friends and have Eugene adventures. Variety is good.
- I can get a lot of stuff done before school starts up again, like build a dog trailer and try and get juggling club going again, etc. Also, I can go to a dentist, which would be nice.
- This is almost a reason, but not quite: I got injured on RAGBRAI and had to get stitches in my right elbow and bruised my left ankle pretty good. Riding over road seams really hurts, so riding on the rough divide road would be hell for about 3-5 days. However, I could probably push through that and even maybe enter a new mental state... or it could just suck... but  I wouldn't have quit on this alone without at least trying.
- I can get a fatter front tire on my bike for the rest of the ride, and Mark might even join.

Benefits of finishing the ride now:

- I'm in really really good shape. I've done 2,000 miles of hard riding, most of which were loaded loaded and at altitude. I am healthy and feeling great. There is no way to be this trained up again for when I finish the ride next summer, because you only get this fit when touring.
- There are currently no fires or smoke issues.
- Logistically it's easier and cheaper.
- It's way more bad-ass.
- I'm not getting any younger, and this is a hard ride.
- I may be able to catch some of my new friends who are now ahead of me again, because I ride faster than they do.

All of the above are good arguments and benefits for either side, but not deciding reasons, so let's get to the meat of this:

The reason I'm coming home now and finishing the Divide next summer:

I used to think of life as a wide plain that you could go anywhere on, as long as you were willing to do the work and accept the consequences. Then my marriage imploded, I had a mental breakdown, I dwelled on suicide for a few months, went to lots of therapy, almost got killed when I was hit by a car, and emerged with a different world view: Life is a wide valley. You can steer to either side of the wide valley, but you can't leave it. Some things just aren't possible.

For example, I couldn't have not got divorced. Nothing I could have done would have stopped that. A future with my ex was not in my valley. Which is not to say that I regret it either, both our lives are better now and we are in better relationships. I think I could have steered to a better part of the valley in the years leading up to the divorce, but the divorce was inevitable and ended up being good in the long run.

Right now Andrea and I are in the the beginning stages of a wonderful, loving, strong relationship that we both hope will last a long time. We have worked very hard to build up the foundations and things are going well, but it's still a young relationship in many ways. Our relationship is in a stage where it still benefits from a lot of nurturing, and being gone for two months risks starving and damaging it.

We aren't having any problems right now (don't worry), but it has become clear to me while on this trip that two months away could be detrimental to what we are trying to build.  We both have a lot of damage from our old relationships that we haven't fully healed from yet, and being gone this long this soon is mucking with that healing process and what we are trying to build.

There is no way for me to finish this ride and not risk what we are building - that option is outside the valley of my life. I only have the option to steer towards our relationship, or steer towards finishing this bike tour. I can't escape that choice.

And, with that realization, I choose US. It's an obvious and easy choice once you accept that you've hit a wall in your valley and you can't have both. US, Andrea and Me, continuing to build a strong relationship, is completely the right choice.

Next summer it should be a lot easier on both of us for me to be gone, but right now it's just too soon. I'm grateful to have been able to realize that. It's been hard to realize because it's not for sure something that could cause damage, but I believe the risk is high enough that the risk/reward no-longer comes out in favor of staying away.

Well that seems cut and dry, doesn't it? So why is this still a hard?

Reason for finishing the Divide this summer:

It's hard because I'm not done yet. I'm not done exploring, adventuring, and experiencing. I'm not done thinking thoughts that take more than a minute, day, week, or month to think. I'm not done having a conversations with the heat, wind, and hills. I'm not done learning from the world. I still feel like I'm on the edge of discovering... something... My soul wants to keep going.  It *feels* right to continue.

But, logically, it's not the right choice. Luckily, for me, logical always eventually wins out over feelings, so I will find peace in this reality (and in fact, rewriting this the next morning, I'm more at peace with it when I wrote it last night.) In a way, I'm grieving the loss of the reality that I thought I was in. We both thought that this would be easier for us both, and both have realized that it's too risky, and now that my world view has shifted I'm grieving the old, errored world view.

I'm also hopelessly addicted to adventure. I don't want to go to sleep in the same town every night yet. There is so much more to see and experience, but I can have other types of adventure in Eugene.

And so this brings me to what is perhaps the most important part of this journey for me: The learning. What have I discovered so far on this journey, and now that I am finishing, can I continue this part of my journey even if I'm at home?

The Philosophy

It's scary that after a night's sleep, this part of my post is already harder to write. I'm already losing my connection to where I was, which is why I wrote it out last night. But, that's the challenge, I suppose. 

Some things can't be taught. In fact, one could say that understanding can never be taught, and a good teacher can lead a student towards understanding, but the revelation comes from within the student. The more complicated the subject, the harder it is to lead someone down a path towards understanding. When your subject is enlightement, a human teacher probably can't lead you. You have to open yourself up to the world as a teacher, but first you must learn to listen to it. (Yes, I know that sounds pretentious, but I don't have better words to use.)

What I have learned bike touring couldn't have been taught to me, and I can't teach it to you. I can't even put it into words here that make sense, because it's a feeling and awareness. What I can do is talk about the path I'm on, and maybe it will help you on yours. I certainly have been helped by different books, etc (more on that later).

Back in Steamboat Springs when saying goodbye to Casey, I wrote that I felt like I was on the verge of discovering "something," but I wasn't sure what it was. I think it had to do with what I'm going to write about next, and that discovery is still on the tip of my mind. I hope to catch it someday.

For years I've said that bike touring slows down time. I've said "Days feel like weeks, weeks feel like months, months feel like years. You have more experiences in a day than you have in a week of your normal life. Time slows down and you live. You really live.'"

I've always attributed that slowing down of time to all the novel experiences you have on a trip, but I realized on this trip that it's more than that. It's also due to a lack of distraction which opens up your mind to perception, as well as the mediation I get from riding.

I wrote a few weeks ago about all the non-verbal communication I've been having with the hills, gravel, wind, sun, etc. Long distance biking assisted mediation have really open up my perception, and it facilitate having thoughts that take a long time to have. I don't ride with music or any other distractions, and in these moments I am present and aware, I'm living in the now, and open to what the world is telling me, rather than distracted and numb.

(Side note, I'm a scientist. I know that having nonverbal, feeling-based discussions with a hills as you climb them sounds silly on it's face, but I don't have the words to describe what it really is, so please accept that much of what I'm saying is metaphor.)

I realized on this trip the first two steps to LIVING life rather than just going through the motions (and one day I hope to discover more steps.)

Step 1 is finding your bike touring. Find what helps you slow down time, and awaken to the world. Find a way to think thoughts that take longer than a day, week, or month to think.

Step 2 is finding a way to continue that slow-down of time even when not bike touring. I realized this should be my goal during a conversation at Brush Mountain Lodge with other travelers, who all are out here to have similar revelations. This mental state shouldn't just be something I visit every now and then, I need to find a way to make it always. I didn't really think it was possible before, and maybe it's not, but I plan on trying.

The world is so distracting. Facebook, Netflix, news, work, day to day life, etc. With a distracting, addicing phone in your pocket it's hard to think a thought that takes longer than even a second, much less a minute or a week or a month. This lack of deep thinking causes feelings of emptiness, hopelessness, anxiety, and numbness. It traps us in a cycle of reaction, pain, and panic. We feel out of control because we are blindly stumbling through life with our eyes closed and our soul asleep.

Without long, deep thinking we all get stuck up our own asses, lose our perspective, and get trapped in shallow cycles.

If you think deeply and listen to the world, you live in the world, but if you distract your life away numb your brain, you live in your own ass.  Most of society is living in their own asses right now, and that's why they act like they are surrounded by shit.

I've read three very influential books lately "Sapiens" is a history of humans on earth, and I read it before I left.  It talks about the cognitive, agricultural, and scientific revolutions, as well as pretty much the entire meta history of society. On the trip I re-read The Alchemist, which can be pretty over-the-top, but is a good philosophical tool and provides some useful vocabulary for having these discussions. Right now I'm reading Siddhartha, the story of a young man in India searching for enlightenment in the time of the Budda. I recommended all three.

I came across this passage in Siddhartha after I had the thoughts that I had above:

"Gradually, like humidity entering the dying stem of a tree, filling is slowly and making it rot, the world and sloth had entered Siddhartha's soul. It gradually filled his soul, made it heavy and tired, and put it to sleep."

I feel like, for now, my (metaphorical) soul is awake. I feel like I was able to take a big step back out to the edge of the cycle of the world and see it for what it is. I feel like most of the people I see are trapped in different cycles. I'm right on the edge of the world, and fear being pulled back in. I don't want to go back up my own ass.

So now, my goal, for life, is to find a way to live life with the awareness that bike touring has taught me is possible, even when not touring. To find a way to keep the frivolity and media of the world from putting my soul to sleep. To find a way to stay awake and continue conversing with the world.

It will be difficult. Just spending 12 hours driving in a car (cars remove you from the world in extreme ways) has already numbed my soul a bit, and I enjoy things like Netflix and want to find balance with it. I also don't want to check out of creating positive change in the world, however I see that the way that many of us are trying to create that change is just feeding the same toxic cycles and destroying ourselves.

(Positive change doesn't come from Facebook, friends, and memes are toxins. Memes are 1/2 second thoughts that replace your own thoughts and poison your mind and sedate it. Memes are butt plugs that trap you in your own ass.)

Rewriting this post, I already am having more trouble putting this into words than I did last night. I'm also not a "sit down and meditate" kind of guy, but I can try to minimize distraction. I can try to cultivate boredom. I can try to continue thinking.

And so that is what I will do now. I am going home to nurture a wonderful union. While there I will also try to continue having a conversation with the world, and when I come back here in a year the world and I hopefully won't greet each other as friends who've been apart for a year, but rather as buddies who have been traveling together and hanging out all winter.

When I return I will hopefully be in in the midst of thinking a thought that takes longer than a year to think. What a wonderful adventure that will be!

I'll see you all then.

William's Fork to Silverthorne and storytime

Today's ride was quick. I slept in a bit, was offered coffee by a nearby camper (and beer the night before), and had a pretty standard day of riding.  It was only 35 miles to Silverthorn, and I was in by 12:30 with 2:30 on bike, thanks to a killer tailwind and relatively easy terrain and some pavement. There was just one pass to climb and it was chill.

So here I sit at a Chipolte waiting for a pickup from Dan to end Phase 1 of my Divide adventure and head to RAGBRAI. I still have not decided if I will do Phase 2 this August or next August, but that is not what this post is about. This post is about: Story Time.

I've heard many great stories on the Divide, here are four or them.

Concerning Casey

Casey, who I rode with for about three days, left about 10-15 days before me from the Canadian border, and because of that had a very different Divide experience before I met up with him in Rawlins.

Casey was rained on for days, as opposed to rarely for me. He also dealt with much of the Divide "peanut butter mud" and sometimes would get completely stuck.  Roads that were just rough and rutted out for me, where impassable for him.  In fact, some of my worst roads where made bad while he and trucks were riding on them just a few days earlier.  Coming out of Helena he had to rider through a flood, and people were being evacuated by helicopter nearby as he was riding through wheel-deep water.

One time the mud got so bad that it got sucked into his derailer and broke it.  He thinks a rock got pulled through and it destroyed it. Luckily right at that time a van full of Mormon boyscouts pulled up and drove him to a nearby town and he was able to get his bike fixed.  The scout leader thanked Casey for giving him a chance to show his scouts how to help others.

So while my Divide was hard, Casey's was much harder at times.  The Divide is like that - you never know what kind of beast you'll get out here.

Casey, however, was undaunted. As he puts it: "I measure distance differently than you do. I measure it in bongs hits and pints of beer."

Very wise, my friend.

The Bulging Phantom

The day that I did Pine Creek to A&M Reservoir was a difficult one. I did 90 miles and was caught that night by a storm, and barely was able to hold my tent up.  However, the phantom had a far worst day, and quit the ride that night.  I never met him, but I know his story.

I first heard of him 10 miles into my ride. Wild Bill at Atlantic City told me that someone had left about an hour before me.  It had rained the night before, erasing all tracks, so only tracks that day were visible. All across the basin I followed the phantom's tire track, expecting to eventually see him at A&M, since there was no where else to camp.  I was going to tell him that I felt like I'd spent the whole day with him already, and that it was nice to finally meet him.

90 hard miles later I get to A&M campground and he's not there, but the two nobo rider from Wales were who I weathered the storm with.  This part of the story is pieced together from their accounts, and later from Casey's account, who met him in Rawlins.

The phantom arrived at A&M with a giant bulge in his front tire and it was rubbing on his frame. He was upset and frustrated. He switched the tire to his front wheel where there was more clearance, but he had lost part of his pump, so he had to borrow a cheaper pump from the Wales folks. He was upset at how cheap the pump was and was rude to them about it, and then took off to Rawlins into a huge storm.

Rawlins was 55 waterless miles away, and he'd already done 80 miles and it was atleast 6pm.  It was also straight into that storm that beat the heck out of us for four hours. The storm wasn't hiding either, it took up the entire sky and was full of lightning ground strikes.

He had gotten frustrated and lost his cool. He should have camped at the reservoir and calmed down, but instead he rode, at dusk, straight into a raging storm, with a bike that was about to fail, without a functioning pump, and probably without even filtering more water, because "he had to get to Rawlins."

He never made it.

Casey filled in the rest of the story for me. Either his tire failed again or the storm was too much, but partway to Rawlins he had to call a tow truck for rescue and pay over $200. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be in the middle of the basin, with a broken down bike, in that storm, and have already lost your cool.  He's damn lucky he had cell service. The next day the Phantom quit the Divide and went home.  He had had enough.

As Casey says: There are many ways to fail out here.

The Lightning Rider

This story was related to me at Brush Mountain Lodge. Back in 2016 (I think) the guy who finished 2nd in the race (I don't remember his name, let's call him Rider) had this happen to him.  I also don't remember the name of the pass or the town, so bare with me. This is a common Divide story, so if I get this wrong and you know it better, please comment.

A storm was brewing, much like the ones I often see on the horizon. Rider was climbing a pass, like we all do, somewhere in Colorado.  The last thing Rider remembers is stopping on the way up the pass to change a flat tire or some kind of maintenance. Several hours later he was discovered on the other side of the pass, riding in circles on two flat tires and very disorientated and confused.  He didn't remember how he got there.

Locals took him to a person who often helps Divide riders in this small town, and he was able to identify him as one of the racers and contact the race officials. The best they can figure is he was struck by lightning coming over the pass.

The next day Rider left town, saying he was feeling OK, and still finished 2nd in the race.

That, my friends, is a bad-ass Divide rider.

Bearly Pickled

This is another Brush Mountain story. It doesn't concern the divide, but is still a good story. That tagline is "That's why you don't do things because you are mad at women!"

This is a retelling of story told to me, so at this point consider it a folk tale, but again, if a commenter has better details, please correct me. I have no reason to disbelieve it.

A neighbor was upset at women and moved to Alaska, "because there are no women there." His therapy, other than isolation, was whiskey and fishing.

One afternoon he spent all day cleaning fish and drinking whiskey out in the backcountry, and passed out drunk in a pile of guts and what not.

He woke up the next morning under a bush with several scrapes and bruises, and with bite marks on his ass.  A grizzly bear had, of course, come for the fish and found him. He was so drunk the bear thought he was dead, gnawed on him for a bit, and then shoved him under a bush. If he hadn't been so drunk, the bear probably would have killed him.

Moral of the story: You don't need a bear bag, you just need whiskey.

Radium Campground to William's Fork Reservoir CG

The day started with a neat climb out of Gore Canyon and the Colorado River

Looking down into the canyon.

I'm not sure if the holes in these signs are gun shots (like usual) or some kind of bird/pecker damage.

Kremmling was a cool town.

Shortly after I hid from a hail storm in Kremmling.  One nice thing about being on a mountain bike, is when the shoulder goes away, I can still ride in the dirt.

Part of the difficulty of the divide is water-based. There is often too little, or too much, of it.

Looking Southeast

Looking Northwest

William's Fork Reservoir

Not  bad place to spent an afternoon.

Radium Campground to Williams Fork Reservoir

Well, I did 32 mile today to a sweet reservoir. Tomorrow I do 40ish into Silverthorne to end the first part of my journey and head to RAGBRAI.

I was going to spend this afternoon writing up all the cool stories that I've heard on this trip from other travelers, but I got distracted, so I didn't. I'll try again tomorrow.

Today started with a cool climb, I detoured 2 miles into a Kremmling, a small town about halfway through. Ate some food, hid from some storms, got rained on, got to the reservoir, explored a bit, swam, hid from the sun, and did other stuff that was not writing up those stories.

Steamboat to Radium CG photos

Steamboat's Ski Jump

I saw a morning fox, in town!

The ride out of town, it was full of other local cyclists.

I ended up riding with local Paul. He was a most excellent guide and conversationalist.

Paul was riding to this reservoir for a swim, for it it was about a 40 mile out and back. What a sweet day ride!

Damn, dam!

Goodbye Paul!

Climbing Lynx Pass 

This is an old Well's Fargo Pony Express stop. See sign above for a better description.

Sometimes you have to ford a stream.

Some random guy in a truck gave me a cold beer at the top of a pass! "Here, looks like you ned this."  Why yes, I did.

My beer view, not a bad bar.

The next bunch of photos is descending into Gore Canyon and the Colorado River.

I found the Colorado!

Home Sweet Home