For those of you who know me, I’m not really much of a “dirt” rider. For about three years, Rich has been trying to transform me int a mountain biker, and he hasn’t exactly been successful. Even in my running days, my favorite workouts took place around a track where pace, distance and all the metrics were measured out and easily calculated. Trails were places where you could roll and ankle and put yourself on the couch for a week or two, and so they were never my strong suit.
The same has been true for cycling: give me a TT bike with a power meter and I’ll hold a consistent pace for miles. The ride and fall and uneven surfaces of trails batter my epistemological understanding that to run over a rock is to invite your own demise (on a road bike that is certainly true.) On the dirt, though, you’ve got to run shit over or eat shit, a lesson I’m constantly encountering these days.
Last week, the California Coast Classic announced it’s going remote, which means we won’t be riding together from San Fran to LA (I sort of doubted we would, given the way things are going)— but this news both saddened and inspired me.
Saddened because I have never done a multi-day tour, and I was looking forward to knowing once and for all: can Rebecca pitch a tent for 8-days in a row?? (We may never know!)
But inspired because this remote event offered me a blank slate upon which I could be creative with how I can continue to ride and raise awareness while being “me”.
If you follow me at all on social media, you know that these months have been challenging. A lot of personal turmoil at home made the thought of any sort of competition unbearable. I stopped riding for a while, focusing on running (short distances) and most recently, roller skating. It was just something different, with no expectations or rules— a space where I could let loose, and just let myself be “me” with all my flaws and weirdness. It was exactly what I needed.
So, I when I received the announcement that I could still complete the CCC but on my own terms, I embraced it with both arms (and legs): this year, I decided to go wild and crazy and creative and to do something that will challenge and fulfill me while helping me to meet my fundraising goals for Team Carter 2020.
I’m going to ride on dirt. A lot. I’m going to ride in remote places that not many people have seen. I’m going to take lots of pictures. And video. I’m going to tell you all about it. And I hope that you follow me, so you can learn more about the beauty of the American West. Disclaimer: there might be tears, but there will also be “woots!” I hope you stick around for both.
Riding up Mt. Lola
Sometimes I think Rich is trying to kill me when he proposes we ride somewhere. My kind of ride is something like Emigrant Trail (outside of Truckee, CA) which rolls gently for about 20 miles roundtrip. I did that one day, and came home smiling, feeling confident that I am capable of riding on dirt and not killing myself. So, when Rich was like: “Let’s do Mt. Lola, it’s so much fun” I didn’t think to ask him if this was actually something I could do, or if my ability to make it back in one piece was, well, hypothetical.
Mt. Lola is located South of the Sierra Buttes on CA Hwy 89, just North of Truckee. The first few miles of the 14-mile round-trip ride are a rugged jeep trail lined with aspens and pines. For the first few miles, I’m kicking Rich’s ass because one of his shop boys borrowed his bike and lowered the seat and he didn’t have a tool to adjust the seat height when we left the trailhead.
About two miles, in, the jeep trail joins a single track trail that will take us all the way to the top. There are a handful of creek crossings, all of which I slog through (I’m a roadie, remember?) Yet, I pause often and take pictures. It smells like forest. The creek bubbles as creeks do. It’s peaceful and beautiful. The country here makes me grateful to be alive.
We ride through a meadow filled with mule ears (sadly, which aren’t blooming) but a handful of other wildflowers. The trail undulates up and down like a roller coaster. I decide that if riding on dirt is like this, it is OK. I will survive. Then, we enter the forest again and everything changes.
Rocky, roots, stuff I can’t climb over. I don’t fall, but I get off the bike to get over these obstacles… a lot. At a certain point, we encounter a mountain bike (Mountain-Biker-Dude) who is cruising downhill, who Rich flags down and asks for a tool to adjust his seat. Luckily, he has the correct tool.
As Rich works on his bike, Mountain-Biker-Dude says that we’re crazy to be up here on gravel bikes. I hear this and think: “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Are you riding those bikes to the top??” He asks, incredulously.
“Yes,” Rich says, and I kind of want to slip away and secretly ride back to the car (maybe he wouldn’t notice I was gone?) But when Mountain-Biker-Dude takes off again, it’s clear this isn’t a discussion: we’re headed up, and that’s that.
Beauty in Remote Areas
We ride by a waterfall. We weave up a steep climb in the pines until we emerge into a bowl of sorts where, above us, snow rests just below the crest of the summit. I’ve gotten off my bike so often, I want to cry from both exhaustion and embarrassment at how awful I am. I don’t cry, though, and I don’t stop. I just keep going— riding when I can, walking when I can’t. The final 400 meters to the top is steep. We hike-a-bike and then park the bikes in a grove of gnarled pines. The hike to the top sets my calves on fire.
The top is wide and open, and you can see for miles. This is where I ask Rich to film me for my first of many videos where I climb mountains I don’t think I can, but I do it anyway. The sign at the top says we reached 9,143 feet elevation, which is the closest to the sky and sun I’ve been all year.
On the way back down, we take a quick detour to the snow. And, as unlikely as it sounds, I initiate a snowball fight with Rich. It’s August. It’s hot. I lay in the snow and feel the child in me sigh—and say, “finally. It’s about time you let go.”
And then I realize: this is what the world needs right now.
Fun!
Abandon!
Play!
Laughter!
Creativity!
Joy!
Light!
Making snow angels in the height of summertime beneath the wide, blue sky, and feeling the light in my heart and soul grow simply by being here.
My 2020 CCC Challenge
To overcome anything in life is a journey: one unlikely step followed by another unlikely step. It’s the answer to the question: how do you eat an elephant? (Even if you really wouldn’t want to in the first place.) The answer is simple: one bite at a time.
Nothing is ever perfect. Life’s only promise is constant change. I’ve spent nights—years of nights—worrying about this, and clinging to what no longer matters. I may not end up where I want to be. I may not be “enough” to align with definitions of a former world. But, on one particular day in August, I climbed a mountain I didn’t believe I could. The journey was comprised of one pedal stroke, and one step, at a time. I experienced doubt, I experienced joy. At a certain point, the rest of the world fell away, and it was just me versus that trail. And really, that is the journey of all of us, in all our forms and shapes, sizes, and stories. You keep going despite of. Because of. For the love of. For the hope of. You can’t not.
And that is my journey: this unlikely off-road warrior who will explore sunsets and vistas previously unseen. I really, really hope you follow me. It won’t be an easy journey, but I have a feeling it will definitely be worth it.
And… there will be surprises like those unexpected snowballs.
(Love those.)
Follow me on this journey to a new understanding of life, myself while raising funds and awareness for #TeamCarter2020 and the CCC. If you feel so compelled, support me and this incredible organization which supports all the important dreams and lives.