Yak Attack, Part II, The Prelude

“You don't have to be a hero to accomplish great things---to compete. You can just be an ordinary chap, sufficiently motivated to reach challenging goals.” ― Ed Hillary



It’s the middle of the night and I’m lying in bed, kept awake from a cough that’s persisted since coming down from Everest base camp a few days ago. To make matters worse, I think I’m starting to feel the onset of dysentery that’s had Romney bedridden for the last 24 hours. We ate the same thing, after all, so why wouldn’t I be? Good timing for her, since she’s accomplished her objectives and will be heading home in the morning. For me, however, I’m a little over a day from beginning one of the harder bike races on the planet. Hopefully, all of my discomfort can be chalked up to nerves.

When I look at my prep for the Yak Attack race, in comparison to what I’ve done in the past, I can’t help but get nervous. I’ve trained a fraction of what I used to when I raced bikes all the time. Yet here I am, about to mix it up with a bunch of serious racers on training schedule that’s featured about an hour a day on average. My head tells me I can pull it off, but until my body follows suit, I won’t really know.

I probably shouldn’t worry about fitness, since the Yak Attack can force you out for any number of reasons. Besides the obvious mountain biking obstacles, like crashing and equipment failures, you’ve got third world cuisine, strange diseases, dodgy water, Spartan accommodations, and many days, and more importantly nights, at very high altitude any one of which can force you to be carries off the mountain by a yak, such as what happened to professional racer Jeff Kerklove last year.

Not that I’ll see much of it from my perspective of eating everyone’s dust, but the race itself should be outstanding. There’s even a chance someone could beat the locals (Yuki, from Japan, comes to mind though I wouldn’t bet on it). The field is loaded, with 11 countries (at least) represented, that includes a professional adventurer followed by a film crew as he tries to tick off all the hardest challenges in the world, a stack of professional riders, a slew of eccentric, adventurous types, the crème de la crème of Nepalese cycling, and another bloke named Steve Edwards. We did a group ride the other day and everyone is flying. I know the the Yak Attack is more about adventure than racing but with all the talent here there’s no way it won’t be heated.



My only objective at the moment is to survive day one. I’m not feeling very good and I don’t think I’m the only one. Once the race settles into a rhythm it should be easier. We all suffer well or we wouldn’t be here. I think it’s the waiting around that making everyone crazy.

Anyway, it’s good to be back in Nepal with a goal instead of just touring. It’s not mountaineering but, in a way, more adventurous as the Yak Attack is a new kind of adventure with an unknown quality. The last time I was in Nepal one of my heroes, Sir Edmund Hillary, died. If you read this post from then you’ll see it was an oddly serendipitous thing. Now I’m back with what I hope will be an Ed-worthy adventure in store. My goal, like Ed, is simply to “knock the bastard off”. That said, if I can break 30 hours it’ll mean all of the prayer wheels I’ve been turning haven't been for naught.



This is so strange. This is a man who was profoundly influential on my life. The first thing that inspired me to climb was the book High in the Thin Cold Air, by Ed Hillary. On the cover was Amadablam, the mountain that inspired me to climb mountains. In fact, I was writing a blog on this topic, still unfinished, just this morning. I read everything that Hillary had written prior to ever lacing up a pair of boots. Hillary always reminded me of my dad. And here I am, in Nepal, Hillary's true home (he was the New Zealand ambassador and did a ton of work on the schools here) and most likely even drinking Everest beer, with Tenzing on the label, when he dies. Life can be poetic in the oddest sense.

This will likely be my last post for a while. We might find an internet connection over the next 4 days. Then we hit the mountains and will be limited to 10 kilos of stuff, which must include enough gear so we don’t die of exposure at 18,000’. When things get grim, I'll focus on one of my favorite quotes from Sir Ed.

"I don't remember much about those seven days (stuck in a snow storm on Cho Oyu) except that somewhere around day 4 or 5 George (Lowe, Kiwi not ours) came over, stuck his head inside my tent and said, 'You know, Ed, some people wouldn't think this was fun."

vids: the first is from our training ride this week, courtesy of nepali tea traders. the second is from 2011, which i'd heard about from andre, 60 years young and back for his second yak attack. it's a little tedious but starts picking up at minute 18:00. "i never want to see another mountain bike race in my life..."

Yak Attack, Part I

It’s time to head to Nepal for The Yak Attack, one of the “5 toughest races on earth.” I don’t feel in top form, though not too bad for a guy who hasn’t taken a day off of work in 16 months, and hope I' ready for

Experience Nepal up close and dirty, no luxuries!

Just you, your bike and 400km of some of the most brutal terrain on earth.

From the hot and dusty lowland foothills,

To the snow covered, oxygen thin, Thorong La pass (5416m)

The race, however, hasn’t been on my mind at all. I figure it’ll reset my de facto adventure mode, making it the easy part. The crux of this endeavor has been how to get away from the grind for two consecutive 2-week periods without being connected to the world. We’re about to find out.



The Yak Attack looks like an amazing adventure and I’m getting more and more psyched as I read quotes like these:

"Its not a race of man versus man, its man versus nature and nature has the upper hand" - Phil Stasiw (UK) 2007.

"This is totally raw mountain bike racing" - Steve Rysedale (UK) 2010.

"This is the toughest race I have done, its the sh**s, I love it !!!" - Henri Lesewitz (Germany) 2012.

Perusing the web site will give you a pretty good taste, from the above video to Sonya Looney’s great race reports, to a this video odyssey that looks most excellent if you can understand German.

Here are a few other links where you can follow the action

Rider profiles and latest news

Stages

Updated race reports will be spotty because most of the race lacks connection.

Along with the race I’m going to chronicle the entire trip, beginning with a short visit with my brother in India and followed by a trek up the Khumbu Valley. These, along with some race training, a bike review, and perhaps some “normal” blogs will fill the time between now and the race reports. They’ll often by launched while I’m incommunicado so if your comments don’t post it’s because they’re waiting for me to sift through the spam.

26er vs 29er

If you’re one of those who still isn’t sure what size wheels to ride on the dirt you must check out this video. I’ve been a 29er convert since the first time I got a leg over one because it just felt right. I was never sure whether or not it made me faster but I was certain that it’s more comfortable and, hence, more fun. There’s no doubt you can feel some advantages with smaller wheels but you’re never really sure if it’s faster or just feels that way because you’re covering less ground on each revolution. In this video professional racer Christoph Sauser sorts it out once and for all.

the most definitive comparison in wheels size is best tested rigid, which will leave you wondering why anyone would ever bother making a 26 inch single speed.

A Tour Divide Fundraiser

This week’s psyche has a fundraising aspect. Buy a copy of the just-released book on the Tour Divide (“the world’s toughest bike race”) and you’ll help support the daughter of a racer who died during the 2010 challenge. The TD is a fully self-supported 2,700 mile dirt adventure along the Continental Divide from Banff, Alberta to the Mexican border. The Cordillera will no doubt become a requirement for any true adventurer’s bookcase. From the bikepacking web site:

For those of you who have missed it the Cordillera is an anthology of the best Divide Racing art, literature and poetry out there. It is a book about ultra-racing along the Divide and I'm sure that everyone who visits Bikepacking.net will find it fascinating.

The Cordillera Volume 2 is a professionally bound soft-cover book with work by Jon Billman (Outside Magazine), Paul Howard (Two Wheels on my Wagon / Eat, Sleep, Ride), Dan Koeppell (New York Times), Eddie Clark (Mountain Flyer) and many others. We also have pictures from Aaron Teasdale and original artwork by Trevor Browne in this year's book.

We have a great story and interview of Kurt Refsnider this year which details the incredible discovery he made on Baffin Island of the bikes and gear left by Divide bicycling pioneers Mike and Dan Moe. It's a story that you'll never forget and there's more information about it in the Cordillera than anywhere else.

The Cordillera is a non-profit effort. All proceeds benefit worthy bikepacking causes and last year we raised over $1,000 for the Adventure Cycling Association. This year all proceeds go directly to the college savings plan for Linnaea Blumenthal. Linnaea is the four year old daughter of Dave Blumenthal who died after a crash in the 2010 Tour Divide race. Purchasing a copy of the Cordillera is a great and tangible way for the bike-packing community to show support for a fallen racer's daughter.
The Cordillera will be available on Amazon.com next month but if you purchase it directly from the printer you'll get it in a few days and twice as much money will be donated to Linnaea's college fund. Here's the link:

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/the-cordillera/15659154?productTrackingContext=search_results/search_shelf/center/1

To follow this year’s tour check out the Tour Tracker here.
Here’s a link to the main Tour Divide Page. Here are some photos of the course.

Sedona’s Big Friggin’ Loop

“If you had only one day to ride in Sedona which trails would you do?” I asked, not expecting a definitive reply since it’s rumored to be one of the world’s foremost mountain biking destinations. In the middle of an answer filled with qualifiers I interrupted, “How about the Big Friggin’ Loop?” to which eyes squinted, sizing me up, before deciding I might be the type who would try such a thing alone and then, answering, in decidedly non-qualified fashion “fuck yeah!”

I’d heard about The Big Friggin’ Loop earlier this year. Unfortunately I couldn’t get away to ride it with the group but I knew, from the first description, I was going to try it sometime. And, as long as it had approval from the locals, it seemed worth trying alone. It’s exactly the kind of ride I’d concoct on my own and, in fact, has similar ambitions to my Park City link-up; a circle around town with samples from each separate trail system.

The distance was tamer but the technicalities promised to be greater. As Big Jonny at The Drunk Cyclist so eloquently waxed:

At a “mere” 37 miles, a few hardened heads even bailed on the idea in wait for the longer distances of later events. But there’s an exception to this need given the Sedona area. Riding there isn’t the smooth roller singletrack one might anticipate for a long ride. It’s a hop-scotch full of premium obstacles on sublime singletrack for its entirety. A core workout if you will, will you? There’s no real significant place on the route where one can settle into the aero bars what with the ledges upon rocks upon curvy things with more rocks and abrupt turns with no flagman. Chutes and Ladders and Vortexes. Questionable drops and descents. Questionable traction on uphills. Herkenham by authority of Chad? River crossings and the like. That’s the gist, and the gist is good. By the time it was over, I didn’t want anymore.

The route finding seemed tricky, with or without a GPS (see above link), but, given you were always above town, if things get grim you can point your bike down hill and will back in civilization in a matter of minutes. I bought a map and studied it for a route, sans GPS, that would most likely be the BFL course. A few beers later and I was 100% certain I had it nailed. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Below is the course I chose, where it went right and where it went wrong, in an attempt aid you in trying this adventure solo. That said, I highly recommend trying to make the race. It would have been nice to have some local knowledge out there.

Part I: Broken Arrow Trailhead to Bike & Bean

I began my ride on the system the organized event ended on for two reasons. First, I didn’t know how bad the river crossings were and wanted to ask someone and, second, I thought I’d get some miles in before having breakfast at the Bike & Bean.

Broken Arrow was tough for me out of the gate. It would have been nice to warm-up a little longer. It’s both climbed steadily and was technical and my slow pace had me slightly concerned. Very ride able in a downhill direction; I was off my bike too much going up. Regardless, it was a nice trail with gorgeous views. At Chicken Point I dropped into Little Horse and flew down it to Llama, which turned out to be one of my favorite trails of the day. After Llama I wanted more to get more riding in before breakfast so, instead of heading down the Bell Rock path I chose to ride Templeton out to Slim Shady and took it back. The latter might be my favorite trail of the day; it’s always technical but still flowy and fun.

slim shady follows a creek bed with a perfect blend of rocks, single track, and slick rock.

This first section was five star riding, with the only difficult place to navigate being the start of the unmarked Slim Shady trail. If you ride in from Llama via Bell Rock it’s easier to catch the Slim Shady start at the Bike & Bean, which I’d recommend.

a great shop with fantastic coffee. highly recommended pit stop in the middle of your ride.

Part II: Cathedral Rock system to Airport Loops to Euro Café

I was pretty confident, riding Templeton under the Cathedral Rocks on a fast flowy trail, that things were going to go without a hitch. It took me a little while to find Red Rock crossing, which seemed barely crossable so I can see how this bit can be dicey at times of the year (I think there’s a place to cross on the road but I didn’t find it). Then I hit my first sandbag of the day.

I asked a ranger where the Old Post trail started. She didn’t know but thought if I went up Ridge I could get there. My map showed something else but, as I was ahead of schedule I decided to give it a shot. This was probably a mistake.

don’t take this trail in this direction

It was pretty obvious right away that I was on a trail not ridden much and generally in the opposite direction I was going. Unlike the well marked paths I’d been on the soil was loose, steep, and lacked many tread marks. The trail leveled after a while and came to an intersection with trails not on my map so I kept climbing. At one point I made another mistake (I think) by taking a trail heading left up a ridge. This was very narrow, often without room to get between trees or rocks and a lot of exposure, and had very little wear. Certainly, this was a downhill trail. I was walking way too much of it, and getting a little irritated, but figured I’d be heading down soon enough.

steep, exposed, but mighty pretty

When I hit the top even the downhill was hard, and was made even harder when I saw my intended path, the Old Post Trail, far below. It looked fun and fast.

supposed to be down there

Eventually I connected back with the Ridge, which felt paved by comparison to whatever I was on. As much as I was irritated by this trail and my route finding skills I would ride it a lot if it were at home. I’d just do it in the other direction.

Then I got lost again. And again. I’d heard from Reed that his favorite trails were unmarked behind the airport, which is where I was. Being Reed’s favorite meant technical and down and, I figured, I’d probably just come up one of those. I decided my rule would be to follow the trail marked with the most tire tracks from now on. This didn’t help that much as I ended up doing some circles. There’s a lot of unmarked and well trodden riding in this area. Luckily, all of it was good so being lost was pretty much just fine. I finally popped out on route 89A, out of water, and went looking for somewhere to rehydrate.

Even though I got lost the riding in this section was almost all excellent. The ride was still getting 5 stars, assuming a 5-star scale.

how can a self-respecting cyclist not stop here?

Part III: Dry Creek to Jim Thompson

After lunch I headed into the Dry Creek trail system where I also knew was going to offer similar challenges as the airport area; a network of unmarked but fun, well-ridden trails. Well, some are marked but I was trying to avoid Girdner (the main trail) as much as possible, because I heard it was sandy this time of year, and was looking for a new trail the guy at the shop recommended. I didn’t find it and, after some time, found Lizard Head and began heading towards Chimney Rock.

Here things got a little ugly. I turned left onto the Chimney Rock trail (cause it made sense on the map), which was an often un-ride able climb to a Wilderness sign. Since you weren’t supposed to ride in designated wilderness I knew I was off route. But I kept going because, hell, I was walking at this point anyway so I wasn’t breaking any rules and according to my map I was very close to a trail junction. Luckily the trail began descending, quite steeply, back down towards the legal Thunder Mtn trail where I figured things would improve. Not so much.

Thunder Mtn doesn’t seem to get ridden a ton. It was hot, dusty, quite technical and very very slow. I’m pretty sure you could out run even a good cyclist on this section as it winds around up and down over rocks. It was uncomfortably consistently. I wanted it to end.

looking down on teacup

My map showed a skull and crossbones on the next trail, Teacup, but it felt sublime compared to Thunder Mtn. Teacup did end up throwing the techie stuff at me (along with exposure) but it’s a beautiful trail nonetheless.

there are a few sink holes around sedona. these are deep holes with abundant life but no way in. fascinating geography.

This was followed with the slightly less technical, but still engaging, Jordan Trail that finally (must have been getting tired) ended at the Jim Thompson trail head.

riding the delicate balance between alcohol and caffeine

Here is where this year’s BFL would end and, as the river crossings at Huckaby were still impassible, it’s where mine was slated to stop also. But the lure of the Jim Thompson Trail was strong as I’d assumed it was named after the pulp author who’d often written about the southwestern US. “Life is a delicate balance between alcohol and caffeine,” he famously penned, and with my coffee buzz well gone I was looking forward to a cold beer at the end of the ride. It just made sense to end on this trail. There was a road section back to the car either way but I could get there from both the beginning and the end of Jim Thompson, so on I went.

A few minutes later I began to have second thoughts. I couldn’t find any tire tracks on the trail and whenever this had happened today things went south. Big Jonny hadn’t sounded sorry to be missing this section of the original BFL so it got me wondering why the trail wasn’t ridden more. Then, perhaps in a dehydrated state, I began to second guess the trail name. Was I mixing Jim Thompson up with author Jim Harrison? And wasn’t the lobbyist, Presidential candidate and sometime actor Jim Thompson from Arizona? That guy’s an asshole. When my noir sentiments were replaced with “a Ruskie don’t take a dump without a plan,” the latter Thompson’s line from The Hunt For Red October, allure of Jim Thompson began to fade. I turned around, rode out to pavement, and headed towards the car. It was time to balance out the caffeine.

Overall, I’d say the BFL is one of the best rides I’ve ever done. Only the Lizard Head to Teapot section, and a little of Jim Thompson and a bit of the Ridge-ish line, was truly unpleasant and none of it was that bad. The rest was faaaaantastic. For sure with more experience in the area you could improve the loop but it’s not a ridiculous thing to try and on sight. Go do it.

Recovering From Relaxing

Ah, it feels sublime to be tired and sore when you’ve gotten that way from activity. And when I get time to relax pretty much all I do is exercise. After ten days of gettin’ after it I lied in bed til nearly 8am, deciding after numerous false starts that my aching muscles needed a few more moments on snooze. Phase one of my year is in the books and now it’s time to play a bit while I decide what’s going to come next.

near lee's ferry.

the type of nav reading that makes me happy.


My schedule over the last ten days, generally, had me up by 5:30 and working ‘til it was warm enough to head out. Then climbing, riding, hiking, running, or driving until it got dark, followed by dinner and, finally, more work until my eyes would no longer stay open—usually by around 10.

my mobile office.

trails around sedona.


I think it’s safe to say that I don’t relax like most people. I’m not getting out as much as I once did so, when I’m on the road, I try and cram in as much into each day as possible. Over the last ten days I’ve ridden six new (for me) trail systems, gone to six new climbing areas, driven 2,000 miles, done one national championships race, and managed not to fall too far behind on work. In fact, it’s due to work I’m home now because there was more on the agenda. My computer died Tuesday night, prompting cancellation of this weekend’s little Grand Canyon sufferfest, and forcing me to high tail it home instead.

room with a view in tucson.

putting on my best special agent dale cooper impersonation at mom's, in salina. 'once a day, every day, give yourself a present...'


So now I’m back at the morning ritual: sitting on the computer, slowly sipping coffee, Finnegan by my side asking repeatedly if I’m ready to get outside yet. Today he’s going to have to wait longer than normal. But with temperatures on the rise, some good winter fitness in the bank, and longer days ahead I will be making this up to him. I don’t think he believes me.

Suffering In The Elements

This week’s Psyche post goes to Bob Banks for the birthday challenge he did in celebration of my last birthday. This monumental bit of suffering during terrible weather is going to help me get through the next month, training straight through what are generally bad spring conditions, to get ready for a race I’ve done nothing for so far. Any day the weather blows (chance of rain everyday in the extended forecast) and I’m not in the mood to get outside I’ll reference this gem of an epic. Bravo, Bob.

To start, bike ride to Romero from house. Got up at 5:45a and it was pretty bad looking outside. The weather report said rain wasn’t supposed to start until Friday night and I was hoping to get the climbing done right after the bike ride. After some coffee, pullups/etc, I got on the bike at 6:45a and within 10 minutes I was completely wet. No climbing during this challenge. The bike ride hyper sucked. It was long, cold, painful and windy, and cold and wet and cold. The Pukester had planned on meeting me Friday afternoon. For some climbing, and when I got to the top of Romero at around 9ish, I checked my phone to see a message from him saying, “Pretty wet out there.” I sent him the attached picture of me at the summit area, soaking and miserable..."

Banks, are most readers here are probably aware, is the guy who’s always supported my birthday challenges and done plenty of grueling ones himself (check here and here). According to his report this one ranks up there in grimness factor. Oh, yeah, here’s the set up:

Bob’s “50th Manny Challenge” Report:
• 50 miles running
• 50 miles SS mountain biking (over 50% on trail)
• 500 pullups / 500 pushups / 500 ab exercise
• 50 boulder problems (10 V5 or harder)
• 10 mile ocean paddle
• 5 Olys
• 5 glasses wine
• 5 hard boiled eggs
• 1 fritter

Ok, let ‘s get logistics out of the way first.

The idea of this Challenge was supposed to be incredibly difficult, maybe too difficult (by design), and I prepared very well for it. After some specific training, which was mainly starting to go bouldering again, I thought I had a decent shot. The weekend before the event I planned a high-altitude test run of a shitload of exercise at the cabin and I did better than I expected. Bitchin. Figured I was ready to take on the challenge after some much needed rest days.

Manny is one of my nicknames. The Pukester is another of our friends. Click through to read the rest, then get outside no matter what it’s like out there.

Breaking The Chain

“For every cyclist on the planet, that moment when you’re out of form and you’re struggling to get back up, that’s the hardest part of cycling, whether it’s November, January or June. You feel every pedal stroke.” – Mark Cavendish



My travel schedule has meant that I’m even later than normal at getting my base miles in. I’ve had a few good rides, and some time on the trainer, but anytime you plan to take your fitness to the next level on the bike you know there will be dog days ahead. And that’s where I’m at right now. I see a lot of heart pounding, gut wrenching, blurry-eyed, dying-a-thousand-deaths style rides in my immediate future. And even though they’ll be moments out on the road where I’m questioning my sanity, I relish the thought of the weeks ahead.



I did manage to get a leg up on my training with a decent adult fitness camp with the lads last weekend. I say adult in reference to our beverages, of which there were plenty. But something’s got to ease the pain of those first hours en masse and it might as well be Oly.



No chain, as in riding so strongly that it feels as though your bike lacks a chain, is the goal of every cyclist. Moments like these, always fleeting, are the main motivation for getting back into shape. To fly up a big climb effortless, to chase down anyone who attacks the pack, to explore a trail not caring about the terrain ahead because you know you’ll be able to handle anything it dishes out; these are the reasons we choose to suffer.



Conversely, my chain feels like someone’s taken a few lengths out of it. In fact, I broke one last weekend by pedaling squares where it should have been circles. But fitness will come. Little by little I’ll add links to my chain until next time, the break will be metaphoric.



wildlife and wildflowers: pics all courtesy of Reed “The Big Engine” Bartlett