Perspective

I'm home and getting better each day. Thanks for the many calls and expressions of concern- I'm doing fine and recovering quickly. My biggest frustration is sleeping. It's uncomfortable on my hip and lower back and ribs, so each morning takes time to loosen up again. By mid-morning I'm getting around just fine. I use a cane when I need it and my mild pain meds are only needed in the morning as I loosen up.

 

It's important to note that two separate crashes took their toll. The first occurred about 70 miles into the race on day one, when a mud hole ate my front wheel and took me over the bars. My ribs ached in front and my breathing was more difficult from that crash, but I chalked it up to experience and figured it would get better. What didn't occur to me was that my difficulty coughing or breathing deeply was most likely the result of a collapsed lung. I couldn't lift my bike and lying down was painful. The same hole ate quite a few riders. It was a moment of bad luck.

 

But I wasn't going to stop if I could carry on. So onward I went.

 

The second crash did me in. It happened after midnight about twenty yards over the top of a long gravel road climb. My front tire had a slow leak of some kind and wasn't completely flat but it was low enough to cause a crash when I tested my brakes. I fell on my right side, as noted in my earlier entries.

 

I've had a week to think about my TD13 experience and what it means. It didn't end the way that I or anyone who knows me expected. This is only the third race I've scratched from in 25 years across many different kinds of events. Hopefully I can relate my perspective here and help myself come to grips with it in the process. I wish I was still out there.

It's important to emphasize that the risk was no surprise and that obviously I don't feel like my race was a success. But the experience was a success because I'm growing from it and I'm done second-guessing my choices. It was a race and I treated it like one, with choices driven by many factors. I had some bad luck at the wrong moments.

 

We hear and say that we grow more from failure than success. I believe it's failure that enables us to grow into ultimate success- I doubt that anyone good at anything ever got there without a serious struggle and moments of doubt.

 

In reflecting on why the Tour Divide matters to me, that idea rings true- that we prepare ourselves for the real tests in life through a series of smaller ones. You don't show up to your first real battle untested, yet magically ready for victory. It's hard to imagine your way to success, even though a positive self-image is crucial. Stress is a part of the growing process. TD, for me, wasn't the real test. It's just a bike race. I've got no idea what the 'real' test might be, but I believe that this experience taught me things that will come in handy whenever it comes. It won't be a bike race, but what I've learned racing bikes translates to other aspects of life. Discipline, organization, consistency, focus, perspective, and commitment are each involved. The simple answer is a love of adventure and an innate self-knowledge. But it's not that simple.

 

When was the last time you faced your fears head-on? That's what the TD was for me. Being alone in the woods was a fear, although I was able to moderate that by riding with others whenever I wanted company. You wake up day after day, in a place you found in the dark, riding into unknown territory, through weather changes and dots on the map that turn into tiny buildings. You do the homework you can, but at some point you saddle up and move out, putting faith in your self-knowledge and ability to stay ahead of whatever comes. There is fear in that.

 

Which is really the test- whether you can stay ahead of whatever comes. Whether you can handle the situation when everything goes wrong.

 

Because sometimes it does. As 'Frosty' in the movie "Chasing Mavericks" points out, sometimes your limits push back.

 

And that's where the learning begins. The key is building enough of a safety net with your experience to minimize the risk that whatever goes wrong lies beyond your potential to handle it. Which means you need a base of experience to know where to draw your lines. You have to set limits and follow them. That doesn't mean you can avoid any risk whatsoever. It means you manage the risk so that it doesn't manage you.

 

You can do the TD without any real experience- many have. But in doing so you have to adopt a different mindset and strategy, more like a bike tourist than a racer. I truly admire those who've done that and finished. I wasn't there to tour, even as I also wasn't there to try for a course record. I wanted to go fast, but within rules I'd laid out for myself. I wanted to test myself and grow.

 

A race like TD is more about yourself than anyone else. You can't ride anyone else's pace. Each rider has their own processes for managing risks and challenges. You have to be methodical and your approach has to be consistent. It can't be influenced by others, unless the changes you make are immediate and don't leave out important things you'd do on your own. You learn a lot and adapt during these events, but your core approach must remain sound and intact.

 

My race reminded me of that reality every time I decided to ride with others. At some point, you have to get comfortable with the idea that you would ride alone for a while, just so you can do whatever you need to do to succeed. I ride at a faster pace than most but allow myself to stop and deal with little things before they become big things. I ensure my daily rest is sufficient, which for me means about 7 hours of sleep on average.

 

Those details matter in TD. The fastest racers have their kit so sorted that stops are minimal. It takes them thousands of hours to refine to that level. The fastest racers train themselves to operate on minimal sleep, sometimes 2-3 hours a day for days on end. That takes time to develop and it also requires certain genetic traits that not everyone has or want to test.

 

What I learned this year at TD was that my basic strategy was working well for me. Besides a little more luck, I needed the confidence to stick to it and the focus to not miss details like tire pressure checks before every long descent. It only took one, which happened to be the third major climb that day, and the only one at night. What saved me from greater injury was that I always check my brakes early on each descent. At night, you lack the visual cues of day. I didn't account for that when it mattered.

 

We tend to define ourselves through a narrow lens of experience, all too often limiting our expectations to previous experience. When our lens is so narrowly focused it diminishes our potential. Potential by definition is that which hasn't yet been tapped. It's hard to measure unless you have some sort of scale. Science provides scales for all sorts of potential. We don't have scales for the combination of physical and mental potential.

 

So we define them for ourselves.

 

It's true that after my final crash, I had to fix my bike and ride it 20 miles to a decent campsite. Ian McNabb and I agreed that getting off the mountain was key to having a chance to continue after some rest. I had no intention of scratching. He took his time down the mountain so I could follow safely. It was easily the most difficult physical event of my life, but only one thing occurred to me- it had to be done. Being heroic or tough was the furthest from my mind. Getting to Lima or someplace near it was my sole focus. I will admit that it was important to me that my effort honored those I was there to pay my respects to- our wounded warriors. That drove me onward. Those true heroes regularly endure far more than my meager challenges.

 

And as I process my experience, it occurs to me that I am barely scratching the surface of their typical experience. My small few days in the hospital reminded me that life is full of challenges and our attitude toward them shapes what we take from them. It is important to focus on the positive.

 

I was fortunate to be exposed to our Wounded Warrior programs in previous jobs. One thing that always struck me was the overwhelming positive attitude so many of them possess. You feel it in their presence.

 

Admiral Mike Mullen has been one of my personal mentors and heroes over the years. He spoke an important truth - that our Wounded Warriors may have had their lives altered forever, but they still have dreams. Often, their dreams are new ones shaped by new perspective. We should do whatever we can to help- out of gratitude for their willing sacrifice.

 

I have been lucky to live a life blessed by the fulfillment of many dreams. There is reason to be optimistic about what lies ahead.

 

Including my return to slay the Tour Divide dragon one day. I am already planning for it.

 

I hope that my experience encourages you to chase your own dreams in the knowledge that nothing worth doing comes easily. Plan well. Prepare well. Face your fears. Expect the unexpected. And when it comes, stay calm, do the next right thing, and count your blessings. Go for it!

 

Thanks for reading. And find a wounded warrior program to express your gratitude for the truly selfless sacrifices they've made on our behalf.

 

www.warriorproject.com is a good place to start.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Sometimes you're the windshield

And sometimes you're the bug...

My TD ended today with a small series of events that could have turned a lot worse. 

Overall, I'm okay just not physically ready to complete the race after another crash late last night that was caused by an unusual front flat tire. It occurred just after cresting a 30-mile, near-8000 foot peak climb; my bet is that the tire slowly bled off enough air so that when I got aboard and rolling over the top, I did my usual brake check at maybe 15 mph. 

I think a small rock impact at the same moment broke the low pressure sealed bead and an instant front flat pretty much destroys directional control. 

Down I went. 

The results were my next challenge. My rear derailleur hanger broke as designed and the front tire obviously needed attention. A few other broken bits littered the ground. 

This was above the snowline after midnight and it was very cold. 

My body situation was unclear but obvious that I'd created some problems in my right side. My right hip got stiff and I had road rash in various places. 

My right front rib issues oddly disappeared but instead I had some new aches in my ribs and back. Strange. 

The first order of business was getting off the mountain. Tuns out my riding companion that day spent 5 years as a mountain guide in Antarctica. 

You can't make this stuff up. 

So we got my kit together and decided that we had to press on down the mountain. There are no houses for many miles on that road. It was after midnight so no one was likely coming our way. 

Got a tube into the front wheel, and I overcame the struggle to replace a stubborn rear derailleur hanger.   Got the chain back together as I'd expected to have to convert to single speed when the rear hanger was troublesome. 

This took at least an hour maybe 90 minutes. By that time my hip got stiffer and we for pretty cold as we weren't moving enough. 

But I knew I had to ride about 20 miles down to the nearest campsite and below the snowline.  Sometimes you just get on with it because you have to. 

The second miracle was that I made it and my light did too. It evaded damage in the crash.  

I set up my tent outside a forest service campsite outhouse and bedded down about 4:30 right at first light. Slept until about 7:30 then two trucks pulled right up to our sleep sites outside the outhouse. No questions or anything about our obviously odd situation.  They left. So it goes. 

The plan was to get into Lima MT for breakfast and a chance to reassess. 

It was obvious that plan wasn't going to work when I could barely walk and couldn't throw either leg over my bike saddle to ride. 

Miracle three appeared as three men rolled up in a truck from Washington state on a fly fishing trip. I waved at them and said 'I'm hurt and need help.'

Without hesitation they got me and my bike into their truck and took over. We made instant friends and they spent the day waiting to help a guy they'd never seen before. 

Who says there are no good people left?

We arrived at Barrett Hospital in Dillon and a swarm of awesome professionals took care of me. 

This is my first time ever as a patient. X-rays and a CT scan revealed a few issues. 

My right lung was collapsed- maybe from the crash on day one?  That could explain a few things. I broke two ribs and fractured my pelvis in three places. 

And I shredded some expensive gear doing it. 

So I'm here for a couple days on a new adventure - maybe I can set a new record for eating the most hospital food ever. 

They'll feed me after I get to the bigger hospital in Butte. 

Hey that's backward on the course- I don't have to drop yet!

Don't worry - I'm only kidding. 

But I did get 900 miles on one lung- just think, with two I could be in Colorado already!

This has still been one of the most amazing adventures of my life. It tested and taught me a lot- about things I hadn't expected. I have many more stories to share and will soon. 

Don't be sad for me- I just got the chance to do something really awesome and I had a ball doing it.  

Well, except for that biking down the mountain part. That was pretty hard- maybe the hardest thing I've ever done. 

I'll be back. 

I'll update my healing progress as this unfolds. Thank you for the positive energy and support. I felt it.  It helped. 

I never did see a bear. 

-d2g

So far so good

Greetings from Eureka Montana!  The race has been the time of my life even with a few challenges mixed in. 

Had a hard time finding my legs on day one as my stomach was nervous but was happy to make my minimum goal of Sparwood and ahead of schedule too. Weather was changeable if you didn't like it then ride a half mile for something new...  All in all a good day.  144 miles with route finding and about 6000 vertical feet total. 

Here's a panorama of Spray lake in light rain. 

What's not to like about a day starting next to the largest truck in the world?

That thing ROLLS!

Long day today, harder than yesterday with more vertical but 10 fewer miles at about 130. I'm playing out strategy of finishing with longer miles to come as my body adapts. 

We spent a lot of time crossing creeks or just riding down the spring thaw...  We rode this one about a mile. Some crossings were knee-deep but still rideable. 

Yes that's our route.  About a foot of water moving over a rock bed. 

Saw Billy Rice today!  What a machine. Here's a pic of us near Cabin Pass. 

I felt stronger today and tested myself on the late, hard and very long climb over Galton Pass. It's no joke. 

The joke was on us with the hands-down hardest steepest section I've ever pushed a bike up. NO ONE on earth could ride this 200 vertical foot mud wall. Crazy. But fun.  Check out this tiny section. No kidding- you physically push your bike up the wall while scrambling for traction. Nuts. 

The guy ten feet behind him is too low to see. This went on for about 20 minutes. Then the real climb began up 2000 more feet. 

Eddie in the photo is from Quantico VA. He's nearly deaf and had a major mechanical issue with his drive side crank arm separating from the spindle. He's praying to make Whitefish tomorrow for a bike shop on Monday. That's how this race goes. 

I've had two issues to mention. 

Yesterday at mile 68 I went over the bars into a mud hole as we descended along a power line. I saw the guy who was right behind me tonight and he said it looked scary. I couldn't tell I just saw mud.  At least three other people did the same thing in the same spot probably more I just haven't heard.

So my right side ribs took a shot but it reminded me of youngster year boxing at Navy. The coach said the only way to an A was to draw blood. I did OK.   

My ribs were sore yesterday and better today until the mud wall. Tomorrow is a new day. 

The crazy one was today. Riding along a dirt road- I'll leave rough out because that would be repetitious.

Riding down the Grizzly Highway and next thing you know my left leg isn't helping any more. I look down and there's my left crank arm hanging from my show. 

This being a family show, that's the arm the your pedal connects to. Important unless you only have one leg. 

Seems the carefully torqued bolts vibrated loose. That's what tools are for. 

Fixed and rolled onward. I saw many other issues out there but the rules limit rider assistance which is hard for me.  People were having a hard time today and that will increase daily. 

Got a warm reception at the border since my only items from Canada were empty food wrappers and mud. It's pretty common around here and hard to identify country of origin. 

Loaded up on gas station food for tomorrow and aiming for another longish day if all goes well. I'm finding my groove and sticking to the plan- although I didn't really plan beyond today.  I'm not telling. 

The goal is to finish as fast as I can. So each day I will do as many miles as make sense for various factors- food being a huge one. I talked myself out of an extra 20 miles tonight but soon that won't work. The field will thin over the coming days and my aim is to remain moving forward.  And hopefully up my daily miles too. 

Relentless forward progress. 

I'm loving every minute of this. 

Ask me next week...

Next update in a couple days. 

Thanks for the support. 

Check out warriorfoundation.com and help them out!

Ride on- d2g