The Primal State (Vista 300)

Day 1

The day started early, coming from Central Time. I got up around 5:45am Eastern, departure was at 6:30. I had no trouble waking up, as a nervous excitement had been lingering since the day before. I drank my cold brew and loaded the bags onto my bike, making the final call to bring my wind jacket, even though I probably wouldn't use it. I still couldn't decide what shirt to wear - long sleeve, quick dry for sun protection or a regular cotton blend tshirt from the MS Gravel Cup for better air flow. At the last minute I decided neither. I'd just wear the one I had on - my tri-blend Rat Bastard Brewing shirt (gotta represent!). It's not a 'performance' shirt, but it's super comfy and dries reasonably well. I took the long sleeve to change at some point. Rolling up to the start I had a mild panic that I hadn't loaded the route onto my GPS, but it was in fact there. I had loaded it a week or two ago and forgotten. 

After a brief 'good luck', we were off. All eleven of us. (Plus maybe a couple that weren't on Track Leaders, not sure, I didn't count.) Riding up the first climb, my lower back was complaining about having slept in my car. I figured it would stop sooner or later, and eventually it did. About twenty minutes in, with no one in sight, I realized this was going to be a very solitary ride - compared to TNGA where you see a handful of riders at every resupply. Early on I got passed by Joe and Garrett. I would see Joe again at the first resupply in Tellico Plains at mile 47, otherwise I was alone for the rest of the ride. 

For the first hour I was zipping up the climbs with minimal effort. Two hours in, I thought, damn this is getting hard. Four hours in, I had settled into endurance pace and was feeling good again. The first several hours consisted of mostly smooth gravel roads, some pavement. I was making good time and calculated that, at that pace I could knock this thing out in under 48 hours, easy. Then I got to the sustained climbs. The gravel climb up to Indian Boundary started wearing me down, but I got to the camp store just in time. They had closed up, about to leave, but they were super nice and let me grab a few things. I had hoped for some substantial food, instead I had a Snickers ice cream bar, a pack of Combos, and a Coke for dinner. I ate and rested for a bit, then started up the Skyway - a 10 mile 3000 foot climb. 

The Ride with GPS map has two overlooks marked on the way up. I got to the first one pretty quickly, feeling good. A little while later I got to the second, thinking this isn't so bad, I have to be over half way up. Then I passed another overlook and another overlook and another overlook. Five miles later, all uphill, I thought, alright I'm ready to go home now. A couple miles later I finally got to the top of the ten mile climb, exhausted. At least there was a ten mile descent next. 

Day faded into night as I made my way down. I cruised on to the game check station at mile 120 where I refilled water, put on a fresh shirt and socks, and rested a few minutes. Originally, I thought I might stop for the night around this point. There was a campground coming up, but the night was young and I wanted to press on a while longer. I then realized that the next few resupply points would be closed when I passed them. I took stock of my remaining food. It wasn't quite enough to make it to the next major town - McCaysville at mile 178. I would either have to stop for longer than I wanted, waiting for somewhere to open or risk a major bonk.

Around 12:30am, mile 140, I stopped to sleep for a bit at a tiny trailhead on the side of the road. The first night is always difficult. I was sweaty and tired and the air was chilly and damp. I wanted a shower and a warm bed, instead I got an inflatable sleeping pad and unknown critters wandering about.

Day 2

I woke up chilly around 4:20am. A sleeping bag liner doesn't offer much warmth by itself, and I wasn't going to get any warmer laying there. I packed up and was rolling by 4:45am. About a mile later there was a right turn in the route but no road. Oh boy! Singletrack! Not just single track but hike-a-bike with big loose rocks. What fun! Thankfully, the steep section was fairly short, most of the trail was rolling to flat and a pretty easy ride. I saw a bunch of squiggles coming up on the route and thought, what the hell is that? Oh, it's Buck Bald. I watched it get closer and closer. 

I popped out onto a road and next thing I knew I was heading downhill. Wait what happened to Buck Bald? It's a short out and back in the route, and my GPS had skipped over it. But I could see the road on the map. I doubled back and rode up it anyways, pretty sure I knew what I was doing. I didn't want to miss that 360 degree view of the surrounding mountains or get hit with a three hour time penalty. I got to the top at first light, which was pretty cool. I could just see the dark hills against the less dark sky. Getting there about 45 minutes later would've been awesome. 

I pressed on, down and up, down and up. I made it to the convenience store in Harbuck around 8:15am. They don't open until 10am. I was down to half a Clif Bar and a few sips of water - I'm pretty sure half a Clif Bar is enough to kill a man on the verge of dehydration. I hadn't seen a good place to filter water from in a while, either. So, I could wait nearly two hours for them to open, or I could ride another fourteen miles and be in McCaysville before 10am. I checked the upcoming elevation profile - relatively flat - probably a lot of pavement from what I remembered on the map. Easy decision: onward. (Looking back at the map now, there's a Dollar General a mile off route that was open at 8am...)

When the clock tower struck 10, I had found Catz cafe, ordered, and sat down. I sipped hot coffee while still dying of thirst because that's what I do in the morning. The cafe had been converted from an old house, but the bathroom still had a tub in it with a hose/shower head attachment... it was awfully tempting. I ate enough to feel like vomiting, then hit the Dollar General to restock. Riding out of town was very uncomfortable from having eaten and drank so much, but my stomach had settled by the time I hit the singletrack. 

It was quite warm by this point and the humidity among the dense trees was stifling. I took off my long sleeve shirt, the relief was instant. I never ride shirtless, but I did for several hours this day. It was liberating. With proper fuel, fluids, and convective cooling, I felt like a new man. I was ripping up and down the trail, but it still took three hours to go 22 miles. Near the top of a long singletrack climb approaching a gravel road, I saw a small black bear run off into the woods. Shortly after that on the gravel road a deer saw me coming, yelped, and ran off the other way. I didn't know deer could yelp, but I thought it was hilarious. 

Next up was the Sylco backcountry trail. I had ridden it before in the other direction as part of the Cohutta Cat. And even with the recent controlled burn, it was worse than I remembered. It's an overgrown, washed out, sorry excuse for a trail, and we should really let it die already. 

I made my way to the Ocoee Dam Deli where I got a buffalo chicken wrap to go - got a bit messy trying to eat that while riding. Then I got a milk shake from Sonic in the next town over to sip on as I cruised the easy pavement. I was making good time again. I got to the convenience store at mile 250 well before they closed. This would be the last resupply, then just 65 miles to the finish. It was 9pm. It would be a long night, but if I pushed through, I could squeak in, just under 48 hours. Little did I know what was in store.

Riding the next section of pavement, a dark mountain ridge loomed on the left. Then the route turned left. I walked most of two miles up a ridiculously steep gravel road, thinking I would have a nice descent on the other side. Nope. More singletrack. It was a bit technical and slow going in the dark. And it went on. And on. And on. I made it to Chilhowee Campground around 1:30am. Still over 45 miles to go. There was no way I was going to finish under 48 hours, so I stopped to sleep a while.

Day 3

I woke up around 4:30am again, ready for the final push. The long climb and singletrack the night before had distorted my sense of elevation. Was I on top of a mountain or near the bottom? The gravel road away from the campground went up. I could look out in the darkness and see lights far below. But then I would come across a fairly loud creek - how did all that water get up here? The road kept going up. Surely I was near the top of the world by now. When I made the turn to go down, there was yet another road that continued going up. I was baffled (also sleep deprived). I hit a wicked descent as the sun was rising with a waning quarter moon shining over the misty valleys far below. At the bottom, I stopped for second breakfast, then rode on towards the last big climb. 

Even though my goal had been 48 hours, I wouldn't trade my experience. Finishing in two days is just an overnighter. The third day is when things get interesting - when you really start to feel the effects of sleep deprivation and the finish line is within your grasp, watching the sun come up over the mountains while your very being is reduced to it's primal core of raw power and will, driven to complete a single task. Nothing can stop you. Nothing else matters. For me, this primal state of being is the essence of ultra endurance racing. It's a high not easily achieved or sustained. 

My transcension was complete when I decided to drink tepid instant coffee after consuming several thousand calories the day before, far, far away from civilization or a restroom. There's nothing quite like wiping with leaves still wet with dew to bring you back to nature.

When I crested the last peak, I stopped for some celebratory Pringles. They had survived surprisingly well over the rough terrain. It was all (mostly) downhill from here - gravel, singletrack, gravel - down to the Hiwassee river. If I hadn't been so close to the finish, I would've stopped to swim. One last little bushwacking, creek crossing adventure and a short loop around Ocoee State Park and I was done - 316 miles, 53 hours 25 minutes.

TNGA '22

 

The Plan

The question I asked was how fast can I ride this course? After racing the Delta Epic, I know I can stay awake for 40+ hours. I've ridden TNGA twice, so I know the course. A hydration pack would mean fewer water stops and not running out of water on long stretches. I can carry thousands of calories worth of food pretty easily. Bibs are more aero than baggy shorts and gears are certainly faster than a singlespeed, right?...

The plan was to ride straight through with minimal sleep. I had plenty of food and water. I'd put in more miles last spring than ever. I was ready. Or so I thought.

The Race

I had gotten a good night's sleep, falling asleep early despite coming from central time. Canned Starbuck's Mocha wasn't all that great, but it got the job done. I was still full from a burger and milkshake last night, so I didn't eat much breakfast. This was a mistake.

The first 20 miles mostly consisted of me thinking, 'damn, this is harder than I remember'. But after a few hours I found my pace and settled in. Up over the mountains and down through the creeks.

Hot and humid is pretty bad, but temps hovering around the dew point are worse, in my opinion. Humidity is literally 100%, there's condensation on the leaves, grass, roads, etc. Everything is wet. Nothing will dry out. And that's where the temperature seemed to stay all day. Things that cause excess sweat and hold moisture become very uncomfortable - like hydration packs, long sleeve jerseys, and tight bibs with no air flow.

Several hours in coming down Addis Gap, it starts pouring rain. I was already drenched before that, but it still sucked. My brakes are typically decent enough, but when wet, they lost quite a bit of power. Like v-brakes would've been stronger. So I had a long descent with a death grip on the bars, in the pouring rain. My primary headlight charge port must have been open and gotten wet because it started freaking out. It turned itself on, I turned it off. Then the indicator light was flashing red three times, pause, flash again, over and over. I tried pressing the button in different ways with no luck. Oh well, I would deal with it later. 

I made the turn to start climbing Tray Gap, the highest point on the route, and things really started to suck. It's not a steep climb, but it does go on forever. I was still drenched, didn't have much energy, and wasn't all that hungry. I stopped to sit down for a minute and that's when the pain hit. My lower back was so tight I could hardly bend over. My gloves had been damp all morning but were really soaked from the rain. I took them off to discover my hands were quite pruny. I knew pruny hands would get shredded even with gloves, so I left them off to give my hands a chance to dry out. Turns out my gloves wouldn't be dry for another 24 hours... I wasn't having a good time at all and was 100% ready to bail when I got to Helen around mile 100.

I try to keep my drug use limited and strategic - it was still early in the ride, but an Ibuprofen and a shot of caffeine would certainly help get me over this mountain. A free taco at the top from some local mountain bikers was also a nice pick-me-up, though I was dreading the descent. I remember coming down Tray and Hickory Nut last time and really hating life for a short while. But this time it didn't seem as bad. 

I was starting to feel better when I caught up to some other riders at the gas station in Helen. I stopped to rest and refuel and decided I was feeling good enough to keep going. My primary headlight still wouldn't come on, so I was relying on my backup. 

The long paved climb up Hogpen was a drag as usual in the thick humid air. I cautiously rode down the back side in the fog with a dim headlight, then turned onto Hatchet Creek Rd towards Vogal State Park. It was only 10:30pm or so when I reached Vogal. I wasn't all that sleepy, but I was struggling, my body needed rest. So, I pulled off to sleep on a picnic table under a pavilion, just like my first TNGA ride. I was still drenched and a little chilly, so I got out the emergency blanket. I awoke a couple hours later to pouring rain and a cool mist blowing through the pavilion... so glad I wasn't out riding in that. 

Around 4:30am I woke up feeling rested enough. With the rain gone, I packed up and headed up Wolfpen Gap. I was looking forward to some good breakfast at Cooper's Creek Store just a short 20 miles away. It didn't disappoint - coffee and a breakfast burrito, and a fried pie to go. The next section leading up to Stanley Gap wasn't so bad, but everything was still damp. And I was still low on energy. Stanley was worse than I remember. I recall riding up a good bit of it but not this time. I stopped halfway and ate the fried pie. Then there was quite a bit of hike-a-bike to a false summit, a short drop, then more hike-a-bike. 

I was strongly considering bailing in Cherry Log at mile 165, but I didn't like the idea of calling up the sag wagon. Mulberry Gap was only another 5 or 6 hours away at mile 212, less if I cut out some singletrack. I could make that. For whatever reason, I thought that was a more respectable drop out point. 

I started struggling again riding up FS64 to Dyer Gap. I was thinking hard about the South Fork - Pinhoti 0 loop. If I was going to bail at Mulberry, I could just skip it and save quite a bit of effort and probably an hour of riding through that muddy mess. I finally got over Dyer Gap and into the next valley. I passed up South Fork, then circled back around and gave it a good hard stare. This is roughly the halfway point. My hands were hurting pretty bad even though I had my gloves back on. I had some pretty serious chaffage from the weight of my hydration pack and being drenched for so long. I was exhausted and tired of being sweaty and damp. There was no way I was going to make it another 175 miles. I could just skip this loop. But with some good food and a good night's sleep, I might feel differently in the morning. If I skipped it now, there was no going back. Damnit.

I conjured what energy I could and headed into the woods, bombing down South Fork splashing through the creeks, then up the Pinhoti, splashing through the mud puddles. I managed to knock it out in under an hour and almost had a good time doing it. Back onto the gravel road for more climbing but I was in familiar territory now, which seems to go by faster. I slogged up Potato Patch Mountain then started the descent to Mulberry. I was definitely skipping Bear Creek and Pinhoti 1-2. It's an easy ride back to Bear Creek if I really wanted to keep going. I stopped at the overlook and admired that cursed mist rising from the valleys. 

This would be my journey's end. I did feel better in the morning but not good enough. My hands were still tingly from nerve inflammation (and would be for several days). If I was a bit more stubborn I probably would've pressed on. I think I was probably in more pain the first time around and I kept going then. But, I knew what was coming up, and finishing just didn't seem worth the pain.

What Went Wrong

Long sleeve jerseys are good for sun protection, but another option would've been nice, something with better air flow. Also, I think baggy shorts are more comfortable on all day rides (what I wore last time).

Padded gloves were part of my plan to avoid Ulnar nerve damage this time, but I didn't think about them being soaked and unwearable for most of the ride. I'll have to find a hand comfort solution that won't succumb to saturation. Perhaps some handlebars with more back sweep.

The real killer was the hydration pack. While I didn't run out of water this time, the weight on my back, butt, and hands was too much. A few weeks ago, I was having second thoughts about it, but that's been part of my plan all year so I stuck with it. I need to find a good way to carry 3-4 bottles and maybe plan on filtering water on long stretches. 

Fresh brake pads would've been nice. 

Training could've been more specific. Riding gravel mountain roads is a bit different than anything around Nashville. Additionally, since getting sick in June (likely covid), I've been running and riding slower with a higher heart rate compared to a few months ago. I'm sure the heat is a factor too, but I didn't track my heart rate last summer so I can't compare.

As crazy as it sounds, I'm ready to go back. Most of my issues were gear related and should be easy enough to sort out. I have some other routes in mind too like the Vista 300 and maybe Cohutta Cat.

Goals

A couple years ago I had a goal to ride 365 hours - averaging 1 hour/day. I just barely reached it, riding a few hours on New Years Eve, going only 5 minutes over. The next year I started commuting to work. Tracking that time, I crushed my previous goal with 417 hours. And while commuting is certainly better than nothing, it was a bit of a false sense of accomplishment. I don't think my fitness improved with that additional time and may have even declined. Thirty minutes twice a day while trying not to sweat too much just isn't going to provide much benefit. This year I stopped tracking my commuting time/miles unless I take the long way home. I also haven't had a time or mileage goal... and it shows. I'm on track to hit 3500 miles (and 230 hours), down from 5000-6000 miles in previous years. The lack of races this year certainly hasn't helped. 

On one hand I feel like I shouldn't need a goal. I should just ride when I want to because I like riding. The problem is I also like being lazy on weekend mornings - sleeping in, cooking breakfast, having an extra cup of coffee. Weekend afternoons can get a bit trafficy, so I end up just going for a short ride around town. I think a well defined goal may just give me that extra nudge out of the door in the morning.

Time vs Mileage

Time goals are generally considered better as mileage varies with speed and terrain. An hour of hard effort on a mountain bike trail may only get you 10 miles, while an easy hour on a road bike will get you over 15 miles but less fitness gain. Time and the quality of that time will be the best indicators of training effort. (There are other ways to measure training effort with power, zones, heart rate, etc., but I like to keep things simple.) A time goal means no preference of road vs mountain. But having a goal that is only time gives you no incentive to ride hard.

Mileage goals give you an incentive to ride fast when your time is limited (after work). It's also more impressive to tell people you've ridden X,000 miles this year. The downside is that it incentivizes the road bike over the mountain bike. 

Even though time goals are (probably) better (and an actual training plan would be best), I've decided to aim for mileage instead. 10,000 miles would be awesome, but I think that's a little ambitious while working full time. I've decided to shoot for 7500 miles next year, or about 150 miles/week. My trail rides are, sadly, infrequent these days, so that shouldn't be much of a problem. I can either go for longer trail rides or just make up the miles with a longer road ride. This goal also ensures that I ride at least 7.5 hours/week, so the time goal is just kind of built in. 

I'm still not going to count my standard commutes, only the ones that are an hour or more, ideally 20+ miles. 60-80 miles during the week should be manageable with 70-90 on the weekends. That sounds like a lot even to me, but that's the point. Of course there's no reason to wait for the new year to shoot for a weekly goal. I managed to hit it last week, but a 70 mile ride on Sunday left me destroyed. This week I've been dealing with allergies and rain, so I'll fall quite short. But that's ok, it's a goal for most weeks.

The Delta Epic

 

After working a full day on Friday, Pete and I drove down to Memphis to meet Taylor, then on to Arkabutla Lake and the start of the Delta Epic for 300 miles of delta dirt. We got there a little early but not early enough for a nap like I had hoped. It was going to be a long night. 

The race started at midnight, and it started fast. This was a bad time to find out my head light doesn't turn on with a charger cable plugged in. The plan was to leave my lights plugged in through the night. I figured, at best, it would last 5 hours on its own. It was 7 hours till sunrise... After fiddling with that for just a moment I had to chase back up to the group, putting out way more effort than I wanted to this early. The group was cruising at 22-26 mph for the first stretch; the relay teams weren't afraid of putting the hammer down. Drafting in the pack was relatively easy. It was well worth the effort to stay with the group as it allowed me ride much faster than I could've on my own. 

Riding out of Tunica, we hit the levee around 1:30am for ~30 miles of soft gravel. Still, the group was riding at 20+mph; it was much harder to stay with them on the gravel. I contemplated dropping back, but everyone else was still hanging on. Eventually, we hit some firmer gravel and the pace slowed to ~17. No one attacked. The group was a bit smaller now, mission accomplished I guess. 

We rode through Friar's Point and headed on to Clarskdale at mile 72. I had planned to stop there to fill up on water, but with temps in the 40s I hadn't drank a whole bottle in 3.5 hours. No one else was stopping either. The next town would be Rosedale at mile 122. 

Shortly after Clarksdale, around mile 90, we hit a rutted double track road. A few people crashed into a particularly deep rut. The group split. I fiddled some more with my headlight trying to get it to stay on while charging. No luck. The indicator light was now red; no way was it going to make it till sunrise. I caught up with a couple other guys and we worked together to try to catch up to the main group. It was quite cold at this point, the roads were rough, and my fingers were too numb to dig around in my frame bag for that pack of Pop-Tarts I really wanted. If I slowed up, I risked being stranded with no light. I decided I could eat after sunrise.

Eventually we caught a group of 6-8 people, but it wasn't the group I was looking for. We maintained our pace in pursuit of the front group. Riding on another stretch of the levee, one guy dropped back; a short while later the other took off to get to his relay transition. I wasn't going to chase. I was cold, hungry, and had to pee, but Rosedale was a just a couple miles further. There was a hint of light in the sky, and somehow, my headlight was still going.

Seeing how I was on my own now, I thought I might as well have a cup of gas station coffee with my Pop-Tarts. Big mistake. The sun was rising, but it was still 40 degrees out. I got really cold, really quick. Shivering uncontrollably, I got back on the bike to warm up, favoring the aero bars as they offered both a warmer and more efficient position. I'd ridden through so much dust during the night that my vision was now blurry - not just out of focus but cloudy and dream-like. 

Riding flat, flat gravel roads cutting through cotton fields, I made my way towards Indianola at mile 180. This was the longest I'd ever been awake - 27 hours. I started singing to myself a bit around 8 o'clock, 'I.. have.. found.. some kind of temporary sanity in this..[explicit]' - Tool. I rode the next couple of hours without seeing anyone. Well, I thought I saw another rider ahead of me a couple times, but I'm not sure that it wasn't an hallucination.

After a quick stop in Indianola for some apple juice and a bag of chips, I was feeling pretty good. 10:30am, only 113 miles to go. I saw Taylor there; Pete wasn't far behind but I rode on. Memory gets a bit blurry at this point: flat roads, some gravel some paved, a slight headwind most of the time. Another rider caught up to me at some point and we rode together for a while until he slowed up on a rough gravel section. A bit after that Taylor caught me. I hung onto his wheel as he time trialled at 22 mph. It took a lot of effort to stay with him, but it was better than riding alone at 17 mph. We caught Brian a few miles before the Delta National Forest where Taylor would swap out with Pete. 

At the entrance to the forest, I stopped and ate while Pete finished getting ready. A few miles up the road, we ventured off route in search of a water spigot only to discover the handle was broken. I had a little over half a bottle left. It was a stretch but I could manage another 26 miles to the next water source. Except my math was off, it was 36 miles. 

I rode with Pete until we caught Brian and Peter. Pete took off in pursuit of another relay rider while the three of us, dehydrated and exhausted after 250+ miles, struggled to crawl along at I don't know what speed because my GPS had died. Peter dropped back. Brian and I eventually reached Satartia where there is a self-serve snack shack. I hadn't planned on stopping here with only 17 miles to go, but I desperately needed water and calories. A Coke and a Reese's took care of the later. We took off into the 'hilly' section of the route; being able to stand and coast was a welcome change. We rolled along with another relay rider to an uneventful finish just before sunset in Bentonia, 18 hours and 20 minutes since the start. Brain and I basically tied for 4th.

This wasn't the longest I had ridden, but it is the most I've pedalled in a day. And my legs were trashed. We ate dinner in Bentonia and stayed the night with Pete's friend in Jackson. I ended up staying awake for over 40 hours, something I didn't think was possible. That was the deepest I've slept in a long time. 

Road Less Traveled

I really wasn't looking forward to Memorial Weekend. I had no plans, no one to hang out with, and was already feeling the effects of isolation due to the economic shutdown. I don't need much social interaction, but working alone plus living alone with all bars and coffee shops closed and a lack of group rides and races was starting to get to me. Three days of solitude looked pretty rough. But, I had bought a new bike the previous weekend. So rather than steep in confinement, I embraced the solitude and planned some long bike routes.

Over three days I rode 195 miles. 55 of gravel on Saturday; 73 and 67 of road on Sunday and Monday. My legs haven't been that sore since TNGA; it turned out to be a truly great weekend. I'd been commuting on the Niner RLT Steel (a.k.a. the 7empest) all week, but this was the first weekend putting her through her paces. In short, it's a monument to modern bicycle engineering. It's not the lightest thing, but it's not meant to be. It's buttery smooth over the rough stuff, while the thru-axles, oversized bottom bracket and tapered head tube keep it rock solid on the descents. Dropping at 45mph, my heart might skip a few beats, but the bike is incredibly stable. Swap in some road wheels/tires and it rides better than my road bike. So much so, that the roadie may be for sale soon.

Speaking of TNGA, I haven't really been considering it this year (for no particular reason), and with all other races cancelled for the near future, I've set my sights on a new challenge. I'm strongly considering racing the Delta Epic in October. 300 miles of Delta gravel goodness starting at midnight on a Friday; all of the top times are under 24 hours. This is what the RLT was made for.

Cost of Cycling

Over the last few months, it seems like I've been spending a lot on bike repairs - chains, cassettes, brake pads, tires, tubes, headsets, bottom brackets (yes, just in the last three months I've replaced all of those things spread across four bikes). Even doing all repairs myself, the cost adds up. So, I decided to take a look at just how much cycling has cost over the last few years. Originally I was going to compare it to the cost of driving, but I realized that comparing bike related recreation/competition/transportation costs to car transportation costs isn't very meaningful, especially when your bikes are relatively much nicer than your car (even though driving was still more expensive). I've been tracking my expenses in a spreadsheet since 2011 but wasn't detailed enough prior to 2016 for this analysis. I couldn't find much online for comparison; it seems competitive cyclists either don't keep track or don't want to know how much their spending (or they don't post it online). At first I looked at the average monthly cost which came out to $145. Keep in mind, build cost for the road bike and single speed aren't included here, so this isn't the complete picture. Regardless, I think the annual costs offer more insight.

Year	Cost
2016	2845
2017	665
2018	1296
2019	2136

Digging into the details, bike costs include race fees, apparel, accessories, and outliers like two runs through TNGA - while there is no entry fee, logistical costs can add up to a few hundred not to mention the wear and tear and required gear.

2016 was a bit of an outlier. That was the year I built my full suspension, even while my spending habits were changing. In 2017, I was a bit more frugal, but as my income increased in the second half of 2018 so did my spending. I thought I was smarter than that, but that's textbook consumer behavior. I did take notice of it in 2019 when I bought rollers, a GPS (worth it), and fancy bike shoes (definitely not worth it). I also completely rebuilt the road bike - cables/housing, bar tape, chainrings/cassette/chain, wheels (the old rims had been worn out for longer than I care to admit), brake pads, and tires which I had quite an unlucky streak with - destroying three in less than a year.

Competitive cycling is quite a bit more expensive than I would've guessed; it's not just the initial purchase of a bike. It's deceptive since there are no direct costs with going for a ride. I will say that it's significantly cheaper when you can win consistently. Can it be done cheaper? Probably. Especially if you pick one discipline, but that's not as fun. I will say I've largely kicked the habit of upgrading components - just do it right the first time. It can certainly get way more expensive too.

As far as transportation goes, I bought my commuter bike in May 2017 for $70 (less than the cost of a campus parking pass), put a couple of new tubes in and rode it for a couple years. I just recently replaced the tires and brake pads. In general, I don't track my commuting/around-town miles and often use my other bikes, so I can't accurately analyze those costs. But, I think riding for transportation can be done cheaply when weight, speed, and performance aren't significant factors.

Part of what got me looking into this is that my commuter bike is starting to see up to 70 miles (5 hours) a week. At that rate, things will start to wear out, and I don't really want to put money into it (even though 8 speed parts are dirt cheap). It's also a tank and not something that makes me want to take the long way home. Despite my cost analysis, I'm looking for a new "commuter" bike. I use quotes because this will likely become my go-to bike for all urban rides, bar rides, maybe even long road rides and light trail rides. The main things I'm looking for in a do-it-all bike are wide tires, carbon fork, full hydraulic disc brakes, rack/fender mounts, and the ability to run single speed (difficult to find these days) because I know I'll get that itch at some point, and I'm trying to avoid reasons to upgrade in the future. At first I was thinking an aluminum frame, but the Niner RLT Steel has really caught my eye, just waiting for a used one in my size to pop up.

 

Isn't that beautiful?

 *Edit: After some more thought, it seems racing is expensive while cycling is only as expensive as you want it to be.

Snake Creek Gap

The coveted 2X50 belt buckle.

Lately, I've been thinking about the direction of my cycling career. XC races are fun, but there's always going to be someone faster, somewhere. And while I would like to get faster, I don't really like training for it's own sake. Improvement has always been a side effect of having fun. Endurance events offer a more personal challenge of pushing my own limits, but after a successful run through the TNGA last year, I'm left wondering whats next? The natural answer is to go bigger until I find the limit. But what does that limit actually look like? And is it a place I want to go?

It seems there are three modes of failure. Mechanical failure, which doesn't really count as that's not my failure. Bodily failure, which is definitely not something I want to experience. And mental failure, which doesn't seem likely if my body and bike are still working properly.

All of this is largely moot, because I found the ceiling last weekend. I was severely unprepared for the conditions and only managed to finish the race through sheer stubbornness.

The forecast called for low 30s at the start warming up to low 40s around noon, so I dressed for (dry) upper 30s thinking I might be a bit cool to start but warm up later. For the most part, it didn't really get above freezing. My GPS briefly recorded 37 at the sag stop but otherwise ranged from 26 to 32. My hands were pretty much frozen from the start. I brought my regular gloves and my cool weather gloves not sure which ones to wear. Usually my hands get too hot in any insulated glove, so I thought one of these pairs would work fine. I ended up wearing both, not that it did much good. A heavy snowfall persisted for the first two hours, topping off at 4 inches in some places. What's worse is that while it was below freezing, it wasn't cold enough/hadn't been cold long enough for the ground to freeze. So the constant rain of the previous week made for a very cold, muddy trail.

I was reasonably cold for the first 20 minutes or so but picked up the pace and was content until about 1 hr 20 min. Thinking back, a deep creek crossing at the 1 hour mark is probably what set off the downward spiral. At 2 hours, it felt like my hands and feet had been replaced with giant cubes of ice. A little while later, my legs were cold enough to not work very well. It's difficult to convey just how cold I was at this point. I had wet feet, was covered in mud and snow, was severely under-dressed, and it was still 27 degrees. Frostbite seemed like a real possibility. I thought a lot about quitting as I rode along. I knew the terrain only got worse from here. Admitting defeat really bothered me, but eventually, misery won. I was ready to bail.

When I first raced the TNGA, I thought of quitting, but I knew if I did, I would have to go back and try again. That was not the case this time. I was ready to quit, and I would not be coming back. I asked some other riders where the first bailout point was. "Mile 25", they said. Seven miles away. At this pace, that was almost another hour...

I trudged along. Getting off to walk some steeper sections meant my shoes ended up caked in mud slushy making it quite difficult to clip back in. After several more miles of not feeling my extremities, I wound up at the road crossing at mile 25. I was frozen. I saw one rider bail and several more roll through. I talked to the volunteers a bit, ate a granola bar, thought about waiting in the van for another hour or two before actually getting a ride back. The big sag stop was at mile 30. There were some sustained climbs coming up where I might have a chance to get warm. Shit. I guess I'll press on a bit farther.

I didn't get any warmer over the next 5 miles. A LOT of people bailed at the sag stop. I could tell the veterans from the rookies, as they had a change of socks, shoes, and gloves waiting for them. Volunteers offered a variety of things, including their personal gear, but it was too late at this point. I stood in front of a propane heater for at least 20 minutes, and while the feeling in my hands returned, my core temperature only seemed to drop. The longer I stood there, the more I shivered. My feet were still numb but didn't seem to be getting any worse. Though, I'm not sure I'd be able to tell. I didn't really want to keep riding... but... I'd made it this far. There was only 18 miles to go, though the terrain gets increasingly difficult. The last 1.5 miles are an easy downhill, so really it's only like ~16. And there's another sag stop/bailout point halfway...

I managed to stop shivering once I started riding again while my hands quickly went numb once more. Eight miles later, my front brake gives out. I'm sure the rear isn't far behind. I try my best to not use it, saving whats left for when I really need it. I down some Fig Newtons and Gatorade at the next stop and press on into the final, most technical stretch. A dense fog has settled in, saturating everything. I walk the downhills. They're sketchy on a good day; there's no way I could successfully navigate them with only a rear brake. I also walk up "The Wall" and what I believe is known as "The Gauntlet" - the rockiest section of the route. My GPS said I had a few more miles of trail when I popped out onto the last downhill. I was ecstatic even though I knew the laws of physics were about to break. My core temperature was going to drop below absolute zero. But it would all be over soon.

Waiting at the finish was a tent with a 150,000 BTU propane heater and all the chili and peach cobbler I could eat. I even managed to drink a couple of PBRs after warming up a bit. Time to complete the first event in January with minimal stops - 5:50; time to complete the second event in the wintry hell of February - 7:59.

What's left of my brake pads.

I take comfort knowing it's unlikely that anything will ever be that bad again. To be in a worse condition, I'd have to literally be dying on the side of the trail. I did manage to learn several things from this experience though: be prepared for temperatures to be +/- 15 degrees from the forecast (especially for endurance events); water bottles are useless on a muddy course, use a Camelbak; anticipate water crossings to maintain dry feet; the closer I get to finishing, the more determined I am to do so. Also, The Snake is expensive. These two races destroyed one pair of headset bearings, two bottom brackets, and both sets of brake pads, though I'm sure some of those were ready to go anyways.

So, will I go back? My immediate answer was, 'Hell No'. But it was mostly a lack of preparedness that caused my misery. The main issue is that below a threshold of about 35 degrees, I don't add more layers, I swap clothing systems. During the ride I thought about my warm pants, windbreaker, and snow mittens and realized I probably would've been too hot in all that. I may have to come out with my own line of light-weight mittens as gloves have never kept my hands warm. I also prefer platform pedals when snow and/or freezing temperatures are involved. I tried everything imaginable to keep my feet warm in cycling shoes last winter and concluded that it just isn't possible when you've got a hard plastic or carbon sole attached to a giant heat sink. Extreme cold days are rare in Nashville (it was 60 and sunny the following day, go figure), so I probably won't have the need to sort out these gear issues. To answer the question of racing again, I'll just have to see how I feel when registration opens in November.