Kokopelli's Trail GPX Track

I've through-ridden Kokopelli's Trail twice, both times self-supported. The first time took me 24 hours, and the second took 26 hours. Not very fast compared to the fast guys, who do it in 12-16 hours, but still fast enough to have a great, soul-searching adventure. There are very few things to compare to riding a bike in the desert through a full cycle of the sun!

Although Kokopelli's Trail is reasonably well marked, riding it with a GPS significantly simplifies route finding. While churning through the darkness of night after so many hours of riding, there's something very reassuring about looking down at the little line on a GPS, and seeing that you're still on the route. I've literally felt like I was riding in spirals a couple of times!

The last two times that I've ridden Kokopelli's Trail, I've used GPX tracks that I found online. While they worked, they weren't terribly accurate in places, and they lacked waypoints for water and other significant features. So, I sat down last week to clean up my tracks, add waypoints, and to otherwise prep them to post here on my blog.

Please note that I've included the short out-and-back deviation to the Westwater Ranger Station. There's a spigot by the maintenance shed, which is a crucial water source for most self-supported through-riders.

As an added bonus, I've also included a PDF profile of the entire route.

Simply right-click to download the file, unzip, and enjoy. There are two GPX files in the zipped file, one that's a single 7,000-point track (for newer GPS units), and one that's got 10 tracks of 500 points each (for older GPS units). Both files also have a bunch of waypoints.

Right-click here to download Toby Gadd's Kokopelli's Trail GPX files.

If you have questions, discover errors, etc., please post a comment below or contact me offline. Thanks!

Disclaimer: This is not an official Kokopelli's Trail track file. I'm posting my personal GPX file simply as an additional planning and research tool for your enjoyment, comparison, etc. It may contain huge errors that send you over treacherous cliffs to your premature death. Use at your own risk. Have fun, and be careful out there!

Lessons from the 2012 Colorado Trail Race

So much can be learned from racing the Colorado Trail Race. It's one of those experiences that changes conceptions about what's possible, both mentally and physically. Some lessons are immediate, while some take longer to process. I wrote a lot about this in 2010 (see here and here), and almost everything that I wrote back then applied to this year as well--especially the part about adaptability. Here are a few additional tidbits that have been rattling around in my head since I finished a couple of weeks ago. Nothing earth-shattering, but here they are:

Vaccination moment
During the four long rides that I’ve done, I have had what I term my “vaccination moment,” when the physical, psychological, and emotional stress truly sink in for real. This year it hit me on the top of Tennessee Pass, at the end of my second day. While I spent months before the race preparing myself for how hard it was going to be, I still found myself overwhelmed with how hard it actually was. There are two possible responses: quit, or keep going. Since I wasn’t about to quit, I kept going. Which is why I call it my vaccination moment: once I survive it, I’m capable of clawing my way to the finish. Overcoming a fresh and visceral encounter with desperation has a way of putting everything into perspective.

Riding position
During the 2010 CTR, my back, neck, and arms often burned so badly that I had to get off my bike and walk down hills. While I did some upper-body workouts over the winter, which likely helped some, I think that biggest difference was the fit of my bike. My previous bike was much racier, with lower bars and a longer stem. My new bike is a little more upright. Not a huge difference in riding position--but a massive difference in all-day comfort.

Eat before sleeping
I actually learned this in 2010, but I needed a little refresher this year. Often during the CTR, I didn’t feel like eating, especially in the first half of the race. During the day, I literally had to choke down food. Often I felt more like barfing than eating. Pulling into camp, the temptation was very strong to simply collapse into the sleeping-bag of oblivion rather than gag down another Powerbar. On one occasion, I neglected to eat before bed, and I woke up feeling truly horrible. Eating a bunch of protein and fat, along with some carbs, before sleeping makes for such a better morning.

Carrying good bivy gear is important
I carry a bivy bag, sleeping bag, pad, and lightweight down jacket. It's not the lightest setup out there, but it provides a crucial degree of safety. At any point in the race, even at 13,000 feet on Coney, I can simply climb into my bag and "stop the clock." Even if I were to crash hard enough to need a rescue, I would be warm and dry until help arrived. While I never faced such a dire situation this year, I did end up waiting for a huge electrical storm to pass before I could safely ride Indian Ridge. Idling at 12,000 feet in the hail, wind, and rain, it sure was nice to climb into my bivy and sleep a bit. Had I not had good bivy gear, I would have needed to either stay warm by riding (and risking electrocution), or faced getting dangerously cold--or possibly bailing from the race to seek shelter. When things go sideways, shelter is life. A warm and dry place to hide is worth every extra pound.

Full-suspension is awesome
In 2010, I rode a 1994 hard-tail Cannondale with a 60mm Headshock. This year, I rode a full-suspension Cannondale RZ 120-1, with a 120mm Lefty. Wow, what a difference. Rather than having to constantly search for a line and wobble my way down technical descents, I was able to just sort of point and roll. So much faster—and way more fun. Safer too.

Hotels
This year, I rode hotel-free. Not by design, but because I never rolled into a town at the right time of day. Which was pretty cool, since I learned that I didn’t need hotels! Yes, a shower and some fresh sheets would have been nice, but I really enjoyed spending more time in the mountains, rain and all. Plus, I was faster!

Disc brakes are nice
In 2010, a very wet year, I rode with V-brakes. With the wet trail constantly depositing a fresh layer of grit onto my rims on every rotation, I went through six complete sets of brake pads. Just the drop into Silverton burned through a fresh set of XTR Extreme Condition pads! By the end of the race, the sidewalls of my formally-new RhynoLite rims were pretty thin. But this year, my new bike had disc brakes--and one set lasted the entire race.

The satisfaction of self-support
I've written a lot about ultra-racing rules, even having gone so far as to create what I think is a solid set of detailed rules that preserve the balance between racing with as little supported as possible, while still recognizing that carrying supplies for 4-10 days isn't very realistic. This year, I had to put my rules to the test when I cracked a derailleur pulley on the Gold Hills section. Unable to pedal my bike, I had to decide whether to go back to Frisco, or walk and coast to Copper. As I was pondering my decision, a day rider came through and very generously offered me the pulley from his bike. But I stayed committed to my decision to Do. It. Myself., and walked/coasted my bike to Copper. It cost me several hours, but it was damn satisfying to not accept support of any type on the race. That which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger!

Learn how to ride--while riding
I have a public confession to make: I’m not really much of a mountain biker. Unlike most of the other CTR riders, who compete in several mountain-bike races every year in addition to many training rides, I generally get out on the dirt fewer than a dozen times a year. My actual riding is 97% commuting to work on flat bike paths. Which means, of course, that my mountain-biking skills pretty much suck. But I worked hard to develop my skills during the CTR--which actually worked! I was ripping stuff by the end that I would have walked at the start. It is possible to teach old dogs new tricks, even when the dog is dog-tired.

Fitness counts
It’s been said that the CTR is more psychological than physical, which isn’t untrue. But having a strong physical base really helps keep things from unraveling. I was a lot stronger this year, and I was able to ride much faster and confidently with the same effort.

Lightweight bikepacking bags are awesome
This year I abandoned the bright green panniers that I used in 2010 and 2011, and joined the cool kids with a frame bag, seat bag, and handlebar bag. Worked great. More thoughts on panniers versus bags here.

Check all the little details
Since overlooking the smallest detail can result in a DNF, Checking and re-checking gear is an important part of preparing for the CTR. This year, I almost failed because the little tube of glue in my Park patch kit was nearly empty. On the second-to-last day, I set about to patch a flat--only to find that the unopened tube was mostly full of air--with just one little itty bitty drop of glue. Fortunately, it was all that I needed. It’s impossible to check too many things.

KMC chains
In 2010, my 9-speed SRAM chain was toast by the end of the race, with at least 1% stretch. In 2011, I crashed when I broke a SRAM chain on the second day. But this year, my 10-speed KMC chain still had some life at the end, and it never broke. I don’t know what’s different about KMC chains, but I’m a fan.

Thoughts on quitting
In 2010, thoughts of quitting constantly plagued me (more on that here). For whatever reason, similar thoughts never arose this year. Maybe due to having more experience and confidence? Whatever the reason, it sure was nice to have more positive thoughts.

I didn't really do it alone. Thanks to:
My wife, Alix, is the best supported of all. Not only did she give me time to train, but she also dropped me off, picked me up, cheered me on, and vanquished some especially scary socks at the end.
Stefan Griebel, master of doing really fast things in the mountains deserves huge credit for the vision to start the CTR, and for continuing to organize the event. He's also got a healthy degree of patience with one particularly obsessed rider.
The Colorado Trail Foundation made it all possible by maintaining one of the more amazing trails in Colorado.

2012 Colorado Trail Race Gear

Here's my complete 2012 Colorado Trail Race gear list. It looks like a lot, but everything fit nicely. The key is to choose lightweight and/or compact versions of everything. All I carried in my pack was water, rain gear, and a few smallish items like sunscreen, lip balm, maps, etc.

I don't expect to make many changes for the next time that I race the CTR. While I do carry a couple of pounds more gear than some, I also have a higher safety margin--and never needed to consider bailing, even in the worst weather.

The photo below includes enough food to get to Leadville. The front half of the frame bag was empty, as was the gas tank. But I needed the extra space for food for the BV to Silverton stage.

Bike
2011 Cannondale RZ 120-1 (26" wheels, 2x10 drivetrain, tubes)
Continental Mountain King II (front) & X-King 2.2 (rear) with ProTection
bottle cage
water bottle
GPS mount

Luggage
pack
frame bag
handlebar bag
handlebar sling
handlebar dry bag
seat bag
gas tank
feed bag
extra tie-down straps
Spot pouch (on pack shoulder strap)

Camping
sleeping bag
pad
bivy bag
pile-lined stuff sack
small ditty bags for gear
stuff sacks for pad, bivy, and bag

Hydration
bladder (in pack)
Aquamira drops

Clothing (on me)
helmet
bike gloves
short-sleeve bike jersey
bike shorts
wool socks
bike shoes
Road ID allergy bracelet
watch
heart-rate monitor strap

Clothing (packed)
rain jacket & hood
rain pants
lightweight pile pullover
down jacket
long underwear bottoms
warm gloves
hat
bike shorts (extra pair)
wool socks (extra pair)

For Toby
sunglasses
A&D ointment
suncreen
lip balm
contact solution
contact case
glasses
glasses case
asthma inhaler
alcohol
toothbrush
dental floss
TP
wet wipes

Gear
small leatherman tool
camera
waterproof pen
3 sheets of waterproof paper
driver's license
cash ($200)
credit card
cell phone
cell phone case
bandanas (2)

Navigation
GPS (with lanyard)
GPS memory card
bike computer
Spot
backup maps, GPX files, etc., on phone
micro compass
maps (with detour cues)
profile (x2)
food cue sheet
calories cue sheet
services cue sheet

Lights
handlebar light
tail light
headlamp
velcro headlamp straps

Batteries
GPS (2xAA)
headlamp (3XAA)
bar light (2 AA)
Spot (3xAAA)
cell phone x2

Tool Kit
multi-tool
pump
brake pad spacer
chain lube
small grease rag
upholstery needle and thread
duct tape
zip ties
cord
spoke repair kit
tube patch kit
tire boots (2)

Spare Parts
brake pads
derailleur hanger (2)
spare bolts
spare derailler cable (pre-cut)
chainring bolts
seatpost clamp
cleats & bolts
4 quick links
4 extra chain links
spare tube

First Aid Kit
spare contacts
tweezers
oral thermometer
lighter
moleskin
non-stick gauze pads
athletic tape
band aids
antibiotic cream packs
emergency pain killers
Benedryl
Tylenol
Allegra

Colorado Trail Race 2012

The Colorado Trail Race starts on July 30, 2012, at 6:00 AM. If you want to learn more about the race, or to follow it in real time, here are some tools:

Trackleaders.com: This is the "official" tracking site that will show the locations of all riders. Almost every rider carries a Spot, which transmits his or her location to a satellite, which then sends it to Trackleaders. Please note that sometimes not every tracking message gets through, usually due to heavy tree coverage, failing to reset the Spot, etc. Until the race actually starts, Trackleaders shows some random locations, etc.

MTBCast.com: From time to time, riders will be calling in to report their progress, etc. You can listen here. Cell phone coverage is pretty thin on the CTR, so riders only call in periodically.

Twitter: I'll be sending text messages to Twitter, and you can follow me. I've also set up Twitter to forward tweets to this blog (see block to the right), and to my Facebook page.

Colorado Trail Race website: The "official" CTR site. No live updates, but complete information about the race.

Colorado Trail Foundation: Information about the Colorado Trail. Not race-specific. Note that the CTR doesn't use the same wilderness bypasses that the Foundation recommends; we race a harder route.

Here's a map that I made that shows the route:
Colorado Trail Race profile and map

Ultra-racing Rules

Self-supported ultra-endurance mountain bike racing is losing its soul.

In the 2012 Arizona Trail 300, at least twenty percent of the finishers rode in cars. In the 2011 Colorado Trail Race, at least twenty-five percent of the racers chose to ignore an official National Forest trail closure. In the 2010 Tour Divide, a whole group of racers drafted each other from Banff to Mexico. All of these were clear violations of specific rules--and yet violators often begged for leniency and exceptions. Race organizers were inconsistent with their responses, with the majority refusing to mete out disqualifications or relegations.

Yet those are just a few of the most blatant examples of major rule infractions. There are many other instances of racers dabbling in gray areas. All it takes is a glance through race-report blogs to find examples if riders sharing gear and food. Even “trail magic,” a term once reserved to describe serendipitous moments such as finding an unopened candy bar on a tough climb, is now regularly invoked to justify begging for water and dinner from other trail users. Bystanders have even gotten into the act, handing out goodies to their friends and stashing coolers full of snacks in remote locations.

As the boundaries that define the spirit of ultra-racing are trampled and distorted through ignorance and entitlement, the sport is quickly becoming a free-for-all, where the final results justify the means. One racer even tried to argue that, since ultra-racing isn’t sanctioned, there aren’t really any rules anyway.

But there are rules, and there always have been. When John Stamstad initiated the ultra-racing genre with his pioneering individual time trial of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route in 1999, he established a simple set of principles, predicated on the concepts of self-sufficiency, self-discipline, and equal-opportunity. Racing utterly alone against the clock, Stamstad rode a defined route exclusively under his own power, and without any sort of support. He ate and resupplied only at commercial establishments, and never bummed goodies from other riders. And in doing so, he brought the essence of other self-supported races such as the Vendee Globe sailboat race to bicycle racing. In other words, he defined, by example, the spirit of ultra-racing. While I don’t personally know Stamstad, this quotation from him says so much: “…angst is quickly replaced with the adrenalin rush of knowing you are facing the trail, the elements, and yourself and nothing else—the world is simplified.”

Those who have followed in Stamstad’s tracks have attempted to recreate his original accomplishments and vision. In so doing, the “first” organized ultra-race, the Divide Race, codified Stamstad’s vision: “The overriding principle is simply do to it yourself. All of the pedaling, pushing, bike wrenching, food buying (and eating…), water filtering, suffering, and all logistical figuring.” Simple enough, it would seem, both in concept and execution.

But the devil is always in the details. While race organizers have tried to keep the rules simple, with the idea that a few basic principles will be properly interpreted to address a myriad of unforeseen situations, more specific directives have often been added for clarification. Indeed, the Tour Divide and Colorado Trail Race have a growing list of rules, and many pages of FAQs, addressing such issues as visitation, cell phone usage, alternative routes, etc.

So, why can more ultra-racers be cutting corners, when the rules are getting more complicated and specific? That's a hard question to answer. My best guess is that, as more people are drawn to the ultra-racing format, incompatible preconceptions are brought with them. For an experienced cross-country racer who’s accustomed to fully-stocked feeding stations, bumming some food from a fellow racer may not seem like a big deal. Further, the competitive landscape changes the picture drastically. While Stamstad always focused on the “adventure,” many racers now focus on winning. It isn’t that Stamstad wasn’t competitive (he was!), but rather that the rules of the event became a huge part of the competition: instead of beating everyone at their game, he made a new game that was stricter and far more committing. The behavior of too many racers today seems to be about bringing the race to their level, rather than pushing themselves to new heights.

Ironically, in order to move ultra-racing forward, we need to look backward. Not to replicate the past, but to recapture the passion that drove the sport to discover new boundaries in the first place. We need to rekindle the adventure of exploration, to put ourselves in uncomfortable positions--to rediscover what it’s like to depend only on our own skill, strength, planning, and independence.

The following is a proposed set of ideas, principles, thoughts, and rules that I believe will re-focus the spirit of ultra-racing so that it can continue to advance. It’s by no means an original work, but rather a fresh compilation of existing ideas. A resurrection perhaps. Nor is complete and comprehensive, but rather something that I’ve been thinking and reading a lot about--and that I intend to keep working on. If nothing else, it will define how I ride and race.

First, some principles:

1. Self supported racing is just that—self supported. Do. It. Yourself.
2. Organized events are exactly that: organized. If you join a race, accept the rules. If you're an anarchist, then go do your own thing. 
3. Don't bring the race down to your level. If you find yourself unable to adhere to a rule, then quit honorably (or self-relegate from the race and start touring). Try again later, when you’re smarter, better, etc. After all, who truly deserves more respect: the guy who quit honorably, or the guy who cheated but kept going?
4. First, racing is a personal commitment to yourself and to every other rider out there that you will act honorably and with integrity. Secondly, it's to see who can go faster.
5. It’s OK to set higher standards for yourself, if you think that the race is too soft. Just don’t expect everyone else to follow your lead—although some will.
6. Ride in a way that doesn't jeopardize someone's ability to follow in your track. For example, don't do things give land managers and/or land owners reason to dislike racers.
7. A race means that you should try to ride fast and push yourself. If speed is totally unimportant, then tour the route instead.

Some specifics:

Move only under your own power

1. Don't get in a car or other contraption. Ever. Not even if you return to the same place that you started. It’s a bike race.
2. No drafting. Push the wind out of the way yourself.
3. No pacers or cooperative tactics. This isn't a team sport.
4. No devices devised to specifically capture wind energy.
5. Areobars, fairings, and other devices and strategies to reduce wind drag are acceptable.
6. No e-bikes, motors, etc. That would be a motorcycle race, because motors...

Follow the route (even when/if the route changes)

1. No shortcuts. Follow the published route. If you miss part of the trail by accident (even a mile!), go back and ride it--or DQ/relegate yourself.
2. No longcuts. If it’s not the route, it’s not the route.
3. Missing ten miles, and then adding ten miles elsewhere doesn't count.
4. If you're going to take credit for a ride, be prepared to provide proof that you rode it (GPS, Spot). Yes, people trust you. But they trust you more with proof.
5. If the route changes mid-race (fire closure, trail crew closure, road construction, washed-out bridge, etc.), take a legal detour that gets you back on track as soon as possible. Let the organizer decide whether it counted or not.

Ride unsupported

1. Nobody can bring you anything, anywhere, any time.
2. Don't beg/buy/steal/swap food, gear, water, advice from other riders, or from bystanders. “Do it yourself” applies to bringing the stuff you need, and the knowledge to use it.
3. There’s no difference between “inside” and “outside” support. All support is support.
4. There’s no difference between “unplanned” and “planned” support. All support is support.
5. Trail magic is unnecessary, and there are too many gray areas. Just keep it clean and decline. Trade words and memories, not Kit Kats.
6. No caches, drops, etc.
7. Traditional trail angels are OK, as long as they are available to all other racers and trail users. No race-specific angels. Don't accept food, showers, supplies, or lodging from strangers.
8. Fix your own bike (unless at a bike shop). If you can’t fix it, then push, pull, or drag it to a bike shop.
9. No mailing stuff ahead to anything other than an official post office. Once you are racing, nobody can mail you anything--although bike shops can order replacement parts if necessary to repair your bike.

You can’t ban bystanders, fans, etc.

1. If someone wants to meet you on the route, fine. You can’t control where other people are allowed to go. But don't encourage them, and remind them that you are supposed to be doing it yourself.
2. Bystanders can’t assist you in any way whatsoever, so you must refuse their offers of water, food, parts, and other supplies.
3. Pre-planned camera crews for "famous" riders are banned from many races for good reason. For a sport that's all about a solo challenge, having a crew following along will always change the dynamics. If in doubt, contact the organizer. Personally, I'm not a fan of crews--regardless of how careful they are.

It’s OK to buy stuff in towns, and at commercial establishments

1. Don't call ahead for services, hotel reservations, etc.
2. OK to buy food and supplies.
3. Eating in restaurants is fine. No trailside deliveries though, so don't call Dominos.
4. Having your bike fixed in town is fine.
5. Sleeping in hotels is fine, although camping is better style.
6. It’s OK to trade stuff in towns with other riders to avoid waste--but only if exactly the same stuff can be acquired in that same town.

Pre-race planning is good

1. Before the race starts, it's OK to read trip reports, borrow gear lists, create cue sheets, analyze GPX data, swap strategy secrets, etc.
2. Once the race starts, you're on your own.

Casual information-exchange acceptable, up to a point

1. If you’re riding an organized race with other riders, it’s OK to casually chat about the route and trade experiences--but mostly because it’s probably impossible to avoid it.
2. Following tire tracks is fine--just be aware that they might go off-route, leading to a disqualification. 
3. No "team" navigation. If you don't know where you’re going, read your own maps, GPS, etc.
4. No "team" tactics. While riding with someone who matches your speed is acceptable, it's not OK to form a team (either before or during the race) that cooperatively shares tactics, strategies, etc.

Gadgets are fine

1. This isn't the Tour de France--don't call friends or family for race-related information or advice.
2. Taking and making phone calls (or e-mail) is fine, as long the purpose is not to arrange for support, locate other racers, or otherwise seek a strategic advantage. In other words, it’s OK to talk to your boss or tell your kid at bedtime that you love him, or even tell your spouse that you saw a moose. 
3. Don't log into BlueDot.mobi, TrackLeaders.com, or other race-tracking sites. Not in towns or with smartphones. Need to find out who’s in front of you? Ride faster! Worried about someone catching you? Ride faster!

Don't break the law

1. If racers break the law, races get banned. We are often racing below the radar, and the minute we give land-use agencies reason to stress, they will shut us down. It’s already happened once, and the Kokopelli Trail Race was shut down for good.
2. Follow all NFS, BLM and other land-use agency’s regulations, restrictions, rules, laws, etc.
3. Obey trail closures, re-routes, etc. If the route changes mid-race (fire closure, trail crew closure, flood, etc.), take a detour that gets you back on track as soon as possible—with missing as little of the original as possible.

Respect the trail and other users

1. It's not a closed course. This isn’t the 24-Hours of Awesomeness. You are not any better than any other trail user, so respect the trail and other users.
2. Yield to uphill riders, horses, hikers, and other non-motorized users.
3. If you come across trash that you can easily carry, pick it up and earn style points.
4. Don't cut switchbacks, lock up the back wheel, etc. Trails are delicate, and racing doesn’t give you a license to trash them.
5. Close gates, if they are closed. Leave them open if they are open.
6. Don't hog resources that other trail users need. For example, don't sleep in outhouses unless you're truly in danger of freezing to death (yes, someone may actually need to use it for its intended purpose).

Follow leave-no-trace principles

1. No littering or abandoning gear. If you don’t need something, throw it in a trash can. If there’s no trash can, ride until you find one.
2. Poop in a hole. Racer-crap is nasty, so bury it properly.
3. Respect wildlife and livestock. They don’t care that you’re an epic racer; they were there first.

Don’t take performance-enhancing drugs

1. Race on your own merits, not the merits of a pharmaceutical company’s latest concoction.

Don't risk a life (yours or someone else's).

1. Don't become someone else's liability--plan for adversity, and self-rescue when possible.
2. Help anyone who might need it. Golden rule, right?

Don't be a jerk

1. Be kind to other racers, hikers, equestrians, etc. If people hate us, we’ll get banned from public trails.
2. It won’t disqualify you to give other racers something (food, gear, etc.) But it’ll disqualify them if they accept it.
3. Don't intentionally mislead other racers (navigation, resupply, etc.)

If you can't ride it now without breaking the rules, figure out what needs changing and try again

1. Be honorable and accept personal responsibility for your actions and decisions.
2. If you break the rules, disqualify yourself--don't wait or ask someone to do it for you.
3. If you break a rule, it OK to finish the course. Just disqualify yourself first.
4. A disqualification or relegation isn't that big of a deal in the grand scope of things, so take it like a grown-up. Just think of how good it’ll feel when you try again and succeed!

Support the route

1. Trails don't build and maintain themselves. Support whatever organization(s) maintains the trail that you're racing by sending them some money, volunteering for some trail work, etc. OK, this isn't really a rule--but it's good karma!

Conclusion

OK, that’s a whole lot of stuff. Based on previous rules discussions, I’ve probably pissed some people off, and inspired others. It is worth noting that MOST people still race with great ethics--but that more and more people aren't. Please feel free to add constructive comments below.

Colorado Trail Race: GPS/GPX Tracks and Waypoints

Edit: February 27, 2021

Jefe is now the official race organizer for the Colorado Trail Race, and he is now providing the GPX file directly at jwookieone.com.

Working on this over the many years was a joy. Best of all was the opportunity to give something back (or pay something forward?) to an event that meant so much to me. So long, and thanks for all the memories!

Cheers,

Toby

Gas or GU?

Does it cost more to commute to work by car, or by bike?

Seems like the answer would be rather obvious. Gas is expensive and cars are inefficient and heavy--while bikes are cheap, light, and efficient. Surely, then, riding a bike much be cheaper!

But fancy energy foods like GU and Powerbars aren't cheap. One packet of GU (100 calories) costs about $1.35 at REI. How many GU packets do I need to pedal my bike to work?

Time for a spreadsheet. According to my Garmin bike computer, I burn about 1700 calories on my 34-mile ride to and from work (I ride fast, since I'm training for the CTR). That translates into 17 GU packets, for a total cost of $22.95.Yikes!

OK, but what about driving. Between my Honda Element and Honda Fit, I get about 28 miles/gallon. Therefore, I burn about 1.2 gallons of gas getting to work and back. At today's gas prices, that's about $3.95.

So, it looks like riding is WAY more expensive than driving. Even adding in the cost of wear and tear on the car, maintenance, etc., I'd have a hard time stretching $3.95 anywhere close to $22.95.

But I don't eat GU packets for breakfast--or for lunch. How about if I power my bike commute with Cheerios and skim milk (the breakfast of Cat 6 champions)? That comes out to $3.62. Much better!

Lots of college students ride their bikes to work, and they're not exactly flush with money to buy GU. When I was in college, I ate a lot of Ramen noodles. My spreadsheet reports that commuting on Ramen only costs 76 cents. Yeah, WAY cheaper than driving! Maybe I should eat more Ramen.

Now that I've got my nifty spreadsheet, I'm going to plug in some more foods. Steaks, pinto beans, etc...

Plans for 2012

Here's what I've got planned for 2012:

Horsetooth Time Trial Series (April)
Yep, road racing. Since most of my rides and training already take place on roads and bike paths (I commute from Windsor to Fort Collins, about 34 miles round-trip), I figure that it will be fun to take my "Cat 6 racing experience" to the next level. Rather than endanger other riders by attempting to compete in a group race, I hope that entering a few time trials will safely assuage my competitive spirit. If nothing else, riding that hard is bound to be a good training! Thanks to Alan Shenkel, the husband of my wife's good friend Jamie, for the inspiration.

Kokopelli's Trail (May)
I really enjoyed riding Koko with a couple of buddies last year, so we're going to do it again. I originally planned on organizing an officially-sanctioned race for 2012, but instead I'm looking forward to just getting out there and riding the trail with a handful of friends. We are definitely not racing each other, rather just riding hard and hoping to make it the entire way in good style.

Colorado Trail Race (August)
Although I finished the CTR in 2010, last year's attempt didn't end so well. Still, I learned a lot, and I'm excited to get out there again. No time limits in 2012--just a good solid effort to finish quickly and safely. Now that I have more experience, I don't need to obsess over planning so much this time around, although I am looking forward to refining my gear and getting as much stuff into bike bags as possible. No more panniers, and hopefully not too much weight on my back.

Running
I run a fair bit for cross-training. So I'm also thinking that it might be fun to run a marathon or something in 2012. But I don't have anything planned yet. If I manage to run a rnough through the winter, this is more likely to become a reality.

No Offical Kokopelli Trail Race

Several people have asked me why I've decided not to continue my efforts to establish a legal Kokopelli Trail Race. While I originally stated that I didn’t want to discuss this issue publicly, people keep asking--and it appears that there are some misconceptions out there that need to be cleared up.

In a nutshell, I have decided that I don’t want to be in a position where I have to enforce or argue racing rules. I concluded this after the 2011 Colorado Trail Race, when it became apparent that a small (but significantly vocal) minority of racers simply do not share my respect for land-use regulations or racing rules. By organized an official race, I would be exposed to the legal liability of these people’s behavior, not to mention their vitriol and attacks should I need to make a call not to their liking. Since I like riding substantially more than fighting over rules and ethics, I have chosen to focus on what I love--which is time pushing my pedals, not time spent arguing on web forums.

Resurrecting the KTR undoubtedly would have been fun and rewarding. But at this point, I’m a lot happier being just a guy on a bike. If someone else feels like breathing life back into the KTR, you have my blessing!

Happy trails,
Toby

Failure!

This year’s Colorado Trail Race attempt ended in failure.

Here’s the short version:

Just before hitting the Gold Hills section, my chain snapped on a short uphill section. I launched myself off the trail into a pile of logs, banging up both knees. By the time I got to the start of the Ten Mile Range climb, my knees were still killing me, and there was no way that I was going to be able to finish the race in the necessary seven days. So, I bailed in Frisco (thanks Alix & Max).

Here’s the long version:

This year’s CTR attempt was very different than last year’s successful race, even before I started packing up my gear. Perhaps most critically, I had to finish the race within seven days. Last year, I had no serious time constraints—I simply hoped to finish the race, and I really didn’t care how long it took or how I placed. And I rode accordingly, even taking six hours in Silverton to clean up my infected hands by taking a shower and washing & bleaching my clothes at a Laundromat.

This year, I had an important business meeting scheduled immediately after the race, necessitating a seven-day finish—and leaving no surplus time for dealing with setbacks. Along with the external pressure of needing to finish in in time for my meeting, I also faced some internal pressure to ride faster than last year. With a better bike, and stronger legs, I figured that upping the ante a bit by knocking off a day or so was a reasonable goal.

A bit of the mystique of the ride was also gone. Last year, I really didn’t know what to expect—and launching into the unknown was a huge part of the attraction. I even went so far as to state that, “I wouldn't be attempting this ride if I knew that I could do it”

So, last year was more the adventure than the competition. Yes, the CTR was a race for me in 2010, but I really approached it as a race against myself—not as a race against the clock or my fellow riders. My focus on was on the “adventure”—a wonderful word encompassing a whole myriad of meanings, and the “race” part of the CTR was simply some added incentive, not the ultimate objective.

But this year, I was there to race. With so much pressure on racing the clock, my head was in a very different space at the starting line. Unfortunately, I broke my chain within the first three miles. I was slow to fix the broken link and adjust my derailleur, only to realize after I got back on my bike that had another twisted link to fix as well. Unpacked the tools, replaced the link, repacked the tools. By this time, I had probably lost almost an hour. Staring down the barrel of a seven-day deadline, and already falling to the back of the pack, wasn’t a greatest way to start, especially when I was putting so much emphasis on racing.

The next section went reasonably well. I rode perhaps harder than I should have; my heart rate pegging the dreaded no-zone for longer periods than I knew was good. But I made up some time by the time I got to Bailey. And, despite the extra effort, I managed to eat and head over Kenosha Pass reasonably quickly.

At the base of Georgia Pass, it became apparent that I probably wasn’t going to make it over to the other side unless I rode until midnight or later. I was just about an hour short, and I didn’t want to sleep too high, especially on my first night. I also considered the descent on the other side of Georgia, and my memory of it was that it was rough—not something that I wanted to face at midnight after having ridden for 80+ miles on the first day. So I bivied early, planning on waking up at around 2:00 in the morning.

I slept horribly. Despite my best efforts to tune it out, the seven-day pressure kept intruding into every brief dream. Restless stewing ensued. Frustratingly, worrying about time actually cost me more time, as I ended up starting out at around 4:00—with very little sleep to show for it.

The climb up Georgia Pass went by easily, and I topped out at sunrise. The descent turned out to be far easier than I remembered—mostly fast and smooth, with a very short rocky section at the bottom that my new bike soaked up with ease.

Shortly before the Gold Hills section, my chain broke a second time. I was standing up on a short climb, and the chain popped under my full weight. Somehow I ended up launching off the downhill side of the trail into a pile of freshly-cut logs. I remember thinking, “tuck and roll!” And then thinking, “and how the hell is that going to help me survive flying into a log pile?!”

Yep, it hurt. But after sitting for a few moments, waiting for the knocks to dissipate enough to figure out what really hurt and what only sort of hurt, I was pleased to discover that nothing seemed broken or severely smashed. After hobbling back up to the trail, things seemed pretty good. Even my bike, aside from the broken chain, seemed OK.

After fixing my chain and getting back on my bike, my knees weren’t happy. Especially the right one. But I figured that I just needed to slow down for an hour or so to let them recover—although I wasn’t looking forward to Gold Hills climb. But much to my surprise, the Colorado Trail was closed due to the same tree-cutting operations (pine beetle remediation) which had provided my earlier landing zone. The reroute took me down a smooth gravel road, giving my knees a nice break.

Regaining the Colorado Trial at the base of the Ten Mile Range climb, I started having some real worries. My knees were feeling worse, not better. And the seven-day window seemed impossible if I couldn’t maintain a reasonable pace. Nevertheless, I started up anyway, hoping that my knees would loosen and feel better.

At the top of the first climb, my knees were still killing me. Every pedal stroke hurt, and walking wasn’t much better. I stopped for a couple of hours, called my wife, ate, and chilled in the sun. When I stood up, my knees were even stiffer and sorer, probably from the swelling. While I could tell that nothing serious was wrong with them, and that I could likely keep on riding, I wouldn’t be able to move quickly for a day or two. As such, there was no way that I was going to get over Ten Mile and Kokomo by bedtime—which meant that I wasn’t going to be able to finish in seven days.

Race over.

As a relative newbie, with only ultra-endurance rides under my belt (CTR 2010, Kokopelli’s Trail 2011), I have been lucky to succeed both times. But, as they saying goes, one learns more from failure than from success. So, rather than let this failure get me down, I’ve actually been enjoying thinking about what happened out there, and why. Here are the main points that I’ve come up with so far:

1. Had I not been forced to complete the race in seven days, I expect that I would still be out there. Instead of quitting, I likely would have headed into Frisco for some ice, and taken the remainder of the day to reduce the swelling and get my head back in the game. But an eight-day finish simply wasn’t an option. I don't want to start another race with a time limit.
2. Needing to complete the race in seven days wasn’t good for my head, even before I crashed. With so much energy diverted to hitting an arbitrary time target, I found myself missing out on many of the pleasurable parts of the race—the mountains, the people, the adventure, etc. In truth, a little extra time to enjoy the ride wouldn’t have slowed me down much, but the pressure of finishing in time was simply overwhelming. Every setback, no matter how small, seemed to put completion in jeopardy, making me increasingly negative. Not without reason, it turned out.
3. Adventure trumps competition as a motivator, at least for me. Last year, I really didn’t care how I placed, as long as I survived and finished. I just wanted to push hard and enjoy the trip, which was wonderful and soul-enriching. In contrast, embracing the “race” this year made me to single-minded and obsessive. Not that competition is bad (it is the Colorado Trail RACE, after all), but I think it’s better as an incentive, not as the objective. I might feel differently if I were in a position to win the CTR, but that's not going to happen!
4. Panniers on full-suspension bikes suck. Really. While panniers worked very well with my old hard-tail Cannondale last year, they caused the rear triangle of my full-suspension Cannondale to wag, shimmy, and jiggle like a bowl full of Jell-O. I kept wondering if something was going to break—which might have eventually happened if I had ridden for more days. If I’m going to ride a full-suspension bike, I need a new gear setup.
5.  Full-suspension bikes are awesome on the CTR. I was able to ride faster and far more safely this year. Blazing down rough sections of the trail on my Cannondale RZ 120 was simply a blast! For that matter, climbing over roots and rocks was easier as well.
6. Gear matters. Last year, I had one mechanical: I dropped my chain at the start (weirdly, at almost the same place that I broke it the first time this year). I'm still trying to figure out why my chain broke twice this year, but I sure would have had a better time if it hadn't.
7. High-intensity training was great for power, but some longer training days are important too. I didn’t get many long days in this year, so I tried to compensate with more intervals and greater intensity. I suspect that this led to some minor digestive issues, as I had a harder time eating than I expected. I’ll definitely try to add more 2+ hour rides in the future. But I did have a lot of power compared to last year, so I’m not abandoning intervals anytime soon!

So, there it is. Toby 1, CTR 1. I don’t know if I’ll try again next year, since prepping for the CTR is such a time-consuming and absorbing effort. But a shot at redemption would be nice, not to mention the opportunity to apply some new lessons to the game.