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.

Dry Riding

My grandmother in New Hampshire is the only person in my family who understands what it's like to live in the grips of winter for six months, to wear snow boots for half a year without reprieve, to bask like a daffodil when the sun does occasionally emerge even though sunshine usually means bitter cold, and to gird yourself for spring because it's truly the worst season.

Truly. We've had above freezing temps during the day the last two weeks, for the first time since late October, and the mountains of dirty snow in town are melting at a glacial pace, exposing each day new fetid piles of poop from dogs, deer, and moose, degrading the already potholed roads, and leaving expanses of mud, grit, and barren brown ground. Ah, spring.

The switch always flips sometime in March or April, where I lose patience with winter. This year it happened early, because February was ridiculously deep, and because last weekend I skied the Middle Teton, and every time I spend twelve hours in ski boots without actually making a single good turn, ski season feels over.

We're all in the same boat, so Carolyn and Chrissy and I ditched work yesterday and hightailed it down to Idaho Falls for a road ride with Carolyn's friends. We started pedaling from a generic house in a generic suburb of IF and headed through farmlands for a few miles. I felt skittish on skinny tires, riding single file with five other ladies, cars buzzing past going fifty. I've only ridden a bike a handful of times this winter and only on snow. Road biking took some re-acclimation for all three of us even though we're all experienced, albeit lapsed, roadies.

Then we started climbing and it was all better. I went as hard as I could up the four-mile hill and felt like I was pressure-washing the cobwebs out of my legs and lungs. God I love road climbs. We regrouped at the top where the road turned to gravel. Deanna looked down into the canyon and noted with surprise that the road wasn't muddy. IF is dry but its foothills are still spotted with snow. We decided to drop in and circle through the canyon to make a loop back to her house.

Dry riding!

We were all so so so stoked to pedal down the empty rutted dirt road through vegetation on the cusp of blooming. I am so starved for speed and smooth cadence and rolled up sleeves and a sport that I'm still, even six years later, so much more comfortable in than skiing.

On the rolling, busy roads back to the subdivision, to my minor surprise the IF girls surged, sprinted, pulled hard through the wind. I love roadie fuckery and I appreciate it when I don't get in trouble from other women for that kind of behavior. We finished together and high fived then ate excellent Indian food because that's what one does when one is not in the valley. Now we're plotting a longer weekend ride and I'm dying for the snow to melt.