I Used to Do This

I wake up feeling antsy. And angsty. I've let too many sunshiney days go to waste. I have watched the evenings pass with beer in hand instead.

I don't want to go for a run, because for a couple reasons I don't like short runs here. I am particular. I don't like running trails that I'd prefer to bike, and the hard trails I want to run are populated with megafauna that I'm not tryna fuck with. It's too bad I don't have that perfect backyard loop like at Camp, or the miles and miles of steep ridiculous Pisgah trails to hurt myself on.

Oh well.

I decide to ride up to Targhee. The warm morning air feels heavy with moisture (like, fifty percent humidity, not real southern humidity) and black clouds are pushing north across the valley but here black clouds don't always mean a storm, especially not in the morning. I pack a jacket and go for it.

I feel fast. I love spinning. The road is quiet. It's opening day at the resort but no one is heading up because there's still six feet of snow at the top. Two trails are open to bikes.

The shoulder is so wide and the pavement is so smooth. I breathe hard but don't think hard. I feel like my thoughts are left trailing in a wake behind me. I can't hold onto any thoughts when I exercise. Bye, thoughts.

Daily rain showers have left everything so green, the greenest, the most emerald, jade, lime, verdant, in contrast with the peaks, still snow white. I look at flowers, look at the corpses of little birds and squirrels on the road, look at the rumps of what might be elk tucked down next to the creek, look at big boulders and think about the book Sylvester and the Magic Pebble. What if all those boulders were actually donkeys?

This ride feels like when I used to get out all the time in the mornings. Before I felt constrained by a nine to five schedule even though my job is flexible and there's no way my boss could fire me. Back when I was an athlete. Now I'm enthusiast. But this is why I was an athlete. Because I used to do this. I resolve to do this again. I haven't ridden to Targhee that many times, because I don't like out-and-backs, but it's a twelve-mile climb on a beautiful road that ends at 8,000 feet. How did I get so lucky as to live here? Why wouldn't I like this? A quick hour and a half in the morning and I'm a happier person. I will do this again.

I believe one is contractually obligated to take a photo at this vista if one pedals to Targhee.

Stud Run in the Bone Zone

In my relentless pursuit of novelty, I couldn’t resist signing up for the Angry Horse gravel bike race in Bone, Idaho. I registered for the 82-mile version, the Stud Run, because, I mean, why not. And I signed Cy up too, because misery loves company.

The "town" of Bone is tucked into the Caribou foothills east of Idaho Falls. As we drove through a wind farm at 5:30 a.m., the turbines turned sluggishly and I wondered if that boded well. Turns out, yes. Barely any wind until the race ended. 

The 82-mile race was one big loop, which as you might have noticed by now is something I find deeply appealing. It's made up mostly of excellent dirt roads. I started out at a very conservative pace, chilled to the bone and annoyed by all the roadies around me. The first forty miles swooped through farmlands. Rain from the previous evening had turned some sections into slick, churned up mud but it was never quite bad enough to be problematic; rather, the mud added interest to the ceaseless up-and-downs of the ag roads. I knew that the course elevation profile was mellow at first, with a series of long climbs coming in the second half of the race, and I was impatient to be done with the rolling terrain. It made my knees hurt and these roadies kept leapfrogging with me. When the climbing started in earnest I settled in happily. I love long climbs. Also the roadies dropped me. Whatever. 

With the elevation gain we emerged into a crazy beautiful new ecosystem of aspen groves, wildflowers, and lush fields with little brooks trickling beside the road. The landscape was so hyper-saturated with green that it felt like the plants were beaming their own light onto my face and arms. The temperature was perfect and the wind never picked up. Caribou Mountain, still snowy, stood sentinel in the distance and over one rise I saw the Grand Teton on the horizon. 

Words and photos do not do it justice. It was SO BEAUTIFUL out there in Bone.

Near the end of the race we dropped into a scenic creek canyon, then had to climb ten miles out of it to the finish line. It was a slog, and scary to get on a busy highway for the first time all day. Idaho Falls drivers don't give one solitary fuck about safe passing of cyclists. The cumulative miles wore me down and my upper body felt withered and weak, but I finished the race in much higher spirits than usual. I never descended into that dark place where I hate everything and want to quit for no good reason.

It definitely helped to have my perpetual riding partner at my side. I did not want to ride with Cy the whole race, because I think those kinds of couples are gross, but he has become a real endurance athlete and I could not for the life of me drop him on any of the climbs. He was actually putting time into me on everything but I'm wickedly stubborn and consistent if nothing else. This is the first race we've done in which he crossed the finish line before me. But just barely. 

In a pretty strong field of roadie women, I placed sixth. It's kind of a shitty finish but as I’ve come to learn in recent years, I can either choose to prepare for races or I can just wing them and accept mediocrity. And every time I opt for the latter.

Anyway, the Angry Horse was a nice run-up to the premier event of the season: this weekend's Teton Ogre Adventure Race. The race directors had us all convinced that last year would be the final chapter in the Ogre book, but apparently they love hosting the challenging bike-and-trek scavenger hunt as much as we all love doing it, so it’s back for 2019. I can’t wait to see where the Ogre will take us this year.