Bikepacking Pack List

How you bikepack or bicycle tour is a personal preference based on style and values. However, the contents of what to pack are pretty universal. To help get more folks out on multi-day bicycle adventures, Mary Lytle (@maryroselytleart) and I created this pack list resource. 

This resource includes a list of items I use for my packing adventures, big and small. Typically, I will bring everything listed for bicycle tours, including 2-3 "extras." For faster/more technical challenges that require minimalism, I pair down this list by sacrificing camp shoes, cooking kit, a few first aid items, and all "extras."

Consider

Research your route to understand what type of climate and environment it travels through. The nightly temperatures will dictate how warm a sleeping bag you need. A chance of rain or insects will tell you what type of shelter to bring. The frequency of resupplies informs you how much space you need for food and water. 

Are you a glamper, minimalist, or somewhere in between? Your availability will dictate how much time you can spend on the route. If you have to cover a lot of distance in a short time, a set-up on the more minimal side will be practical. On the other hand, if you have 5-days to complete 100 miles, you may have time and the ability to carry more stuff (a fishing rod, coffee set-up, camp chair, etc.). 

Bikepacking can be equipment-heavy, but most people have some basic camping supplies. Take an inventory and use what you have. If having the proper equipment is a barrier, check if your town has a local gear exchange/library or borrow gear.

How to pack your stuff

• For optimal handling, store heavier items low and toward the center of your bicycle. 

• Leave space around your cockpit for things you want to access while riding. 

• Pack layers such as a rain jacket and gloves toward the outside of your bag so you can access them quickly without emptying all the contents of your bag. 

Tip

Before your trip pack your bike with everything you plan to bring. Then, take your bike for a test ride; climb a hill, roll-off curbs, and check for any extra movement, loose items, weird noises, or bags/straps rubbing against your tire. Make any needed adjustments.

Story Guide: The Ausangate Circuit, Peru

Situated 100 miles Southeast of Cusco, Peru, is Nevado Ausangate, a sacred mountain in the Peruvian Andes protruding 20,905 ft in altitude. Circumnavigating this jagged glacial-covered mountain is a historic trail system used for trading by one of the few remaining pastoral societies in the world. The Quechua people, who call the high tundras and river valleys at the base of Ausangate home, sustain their cultural way of life by living off the land, herding alpacas, weaving, and farming potatoes, and trading via trail systems with villages at lower elevations. 

The trail system around Ausangate is well known among the hiking community and draws hundreds, if not thousands, of trekkers worldwide. Some opt for a more supported experience with guides and mules portaging their equipment, and other adventurous souls complete the route in a self-supported fashion. 

The Ausangate Circuit has been on my radar and bucket list since I started visiting Peru in 2019. Route guides and stories by Cass Gilbert, Ryan Wilson, Mark, and Hannah Watson describe a demanding ride around the mountain with stunning views. My desire to ride in such an otherworldly landscape muted the reality of long hike-a-bikes at high altitudes. Still, it took doing two month-long dirt road tours in Peru for me to work up the courage to take on the Ausangate Circuit. 

My partner Adam and I started our ride in La Paz, Bolivia, with the plan to follow the Ruta del Las Tres Cordilleras from Bolivia to Peru and end our tour with the Ausangate Circuit. However, after some figurative and literal roadblocks, which included: not being able to secure the post-dated visa exit stamp the route requires, having to navigate a series of landslides that eventually became too dangerous to continue forward, and both of us ultimately developing Covid symptoms, we decided to abandon our plan and re-evaluate the entire trip. After we sat out our symptoms quarantined in a hotel, we decided to give our recovering bodies more of a break from the high altitudes by traveling down to the Amazon. We spent a week in an eco-lodge in a small village deep in the Amazon, hiking through and learning about the rainforest and all it provides and birding to our hearts' content. When we returned to Cusco, we spent a couple of days riding mountain bike trails just outside the city limits, then felt good enough to start the Ausangate Circuit. 

While there are many ways to ride Ausangate, the circumnavigation felt most natural and exciting to us. The circuit route alone is 37 miles with ~5,600 ft elevation gain, not including the ride to and from the Circuit or the optional Rainbow Mountain Add-On. The total distance is somewhere around 92 miles with 12,600 ft of climbing. Still, on paper, that may not sound like much, but the Ausangate Circuit part of the course exists at altitudes between 15,000 and 16,600 ft and requires a lot of interpretive navigating, riding, and hike-a-biking. Sometimes the trail is obvious and easy to follow. Other times, the route is merely an alpaca track or completely non-existent. 

As someone who loves to follow a clear and established route, when the trail was non-existent, the Ausangate was a welcomed challenge to look up from the computer and read the landscape. The pampa is the grassland that exists at the high altitude of the Andes. When grazed by alpacas, its surface is equivalent to that of a golf course, so choosing lines over the rolling terrain is relatively easy and fun. But, of course, this method has its fair share of consequences. For instance, to avoid following an alpaca track that would lose too much elevation and require a hike-a-bike straight up the side of a hill (which happened a few too many times), we stayed a little too high for too long, requiring an 800 ft hike-a-bike straight down the side of a mountain to regain the trail. I'm still not sure which I'd prefer, but alas, that is what it's like to ride the Ausangate Circuit. 

As for the climbs, they were rideable to a certain point, after which we would settle in for the long and demanding push, lift, and pull of our 50 lb. touring bikes up the last 600 to 1,000 ft to one of the four mountain passes on the route. Of course, the reward of so much effort was riding the glorious singletrack descents on the other side. They were thrilling and worth every minute of pushing. 

Perhaps the most intimidating element of riding the Ausangate Circuit is figuring out how to acclimate to riding at altitudes between 15,000 to 16,600 ft. If you do not acclimate properly, gaining too much altitude too quickly can result in mild symptoms of altitude sickness (headache, nausea, dizziness) and life-threatening symptoms (a build-up of fluid in your lungs or brain). So, properly acclimating is key to taking on the Ausangate Circuit. 

Having toured the altiplano of Peru twice before this trip and getting mild altitude sickness once, I had a fair idea of what would work for us. After our week in the low altitudes of the Amazon, we acclimated to 11,200 ft for a couple of days in Cusco before taking a cab to Pitumarca, a small town situated at 11,700 ft and approximately 25 miles south of the start of the Ausangate Circuit. From there, we climbed to and camped at 13,000 ft. The following day we climbed to approximately 14,200 ft. and stayed at 14,200 ft for two nights. After two days of acclimatizing to 14,200 ft, we climbed up to 15,000 ft and set up an early camp at the start of the Circuit. From then on, we climbed over the passes during the day and camped as low as we could at night (beneath 15,300 ft). 

The temperatures at these altitudes are essential to consider. We completed our tour in late June, which is within the dry season, but also Peru's winter, which meant we enjoyed dry and sunny weather during the day and were contending with freezing nighttime temperatures. We brought our warmest sleeping bags rated down to 10 degrees Fahrenheit, wore all our clothes, and were still cold at night. On some nights, the water in our bottles froze by 9 p.m. To help us sleep more comfortably, we each purchased six rolls of alpaca yarn in the small village of Chillca, located just before the start of the Ausangate Circuit. We unraveled the yarn and bundled the sweaters' worth at the bottom of our sleeping bag each night, and it did the trick of keeping our toes warm. 

While the Ausangate Circuit may not be the easiest route in Peru, it may be the most convenient tour to incorporate into a trip that also centers on some of Peru's more popular tourist experiences of Machu Picchu, The Sacred Valley, and the city of Cusco. But, consider yourself warned. This route is not for the faint of heart and requires a certain level of respect and preparation. To assist the hearty souls who want to get after it, I include a brief guide to show how we approached our ride below.

Route Guide

Routes

• Ausangate Circuit: https://ridewithgps.com/routes/40598659

• Route to and from Ausangate Circuit from Pitumarca: https://ridewithgps.com/routes/40598642

• Rainbow Mountain (Add-on): https://ridewithgps.com/routes/40598879

Highlights 

• An impressive 360-degree perspective of Nevado Ausangate and its remarkable glaciers

• Camping next to aqua blue lakes

• Amazing star-gazing and Milky Way viewing

• Abundant glacial streams and rivers

• Cute alpacas

• Friendly dogs

• Observing shepherds weaving in the pasture

• Getting dropped by traders crossing the landscape on foot in traditional dress

• Learning about the methods of growing chuńo potatoes in the Ausangate Valley

• Glorious Singletrack descents 

Tips

• This route is best-ridden (and more rideable) in the counter-clockwise direction.

• Avoid camping directly next to streams. The temperatures can be extraordinarily colder near the streams at night.

• This route is best done in the dry season: Late May to September, which is the wintertime. Water can freeze at night. A zero-degree Fahrenheit sleeping bag would be best. 

• Knowing Spanish will be very useful to your overall visit to Peru. However, your Spanish won't be as applicable on the Ausangate Circuit, where most people speak Quechua. Knowing a few words in Quechua and their proper pronunciation would be helpful so that you can communicate with the locals along the route, even if it's just Allianchu (pronounced: Eye-eee-anch-ooo), the word for "Hello, How are you?". 

• Chewing Coca leaves or drinking tea from the leaves helps soothe mild altitude sickness symptoms. Bring extra leaves to share with locals along the route. 

• While this route (as we road it) requires that you carry up to 4-5 days' worth of food without resupply and cold weather gear, it is helpful to have as minimal set-up as possible due to the strenuous hike-a-bikes. 

• If you come from lower altitudes, spend 2-5 days acclimating in and around Cusco before heading to Pitumarca. There are loads of fun mountain bike trails just outside of the city. You can also hire a local guide to take you on a ride in the Sacred Valley.

Itinerary

The itinerary we followed uses all three routes: route to and from Ausangate from Pitumarca, Ausangate Circuit, and Rainbow Mountain Add-on. Our schedule was a casual and safe way to ride the Ausangate Circuit. It allowed time for us to sleep in until it was warm enough to leave our sleeping bags, cook a nice breakfast and do some stretching in the morning. Then, we would complete a portion of the route, including all the hike-a-biking, and get to camp an hour or more before it got dark (at which point it got frigid). We were on vacation, after all. We also acclimated very well following this itinerary. Use it as you see fit. Everybody is different, so follow what feels right for you. 

• Day one: Ride 12 miles from Pitumarca to Acclimatization Camp 13,000 ft.

• Day two: Ride 22 miles. Camp in Chillca (14,200 ft)

• Day three: Day off to acclimate in Chillca (14,200 ft)

• Day Four: Ride 8 miles. Camp near Campamento (5,100 ft)

• Day Five: Ride 9 miles (high pass 16,600 ft). Camp near Azul Cocha (15,000 ft)

• Day Six: Ride 9.5 miles (high pass 15,600 ft) Camp near Campamento gratis (15,000)

• Day Seven: Ride 12 miles (high pass 16,000 ft) Camp near Anantapa (15,380)

• Day Eight: Ride 11 miles to Rainbow Mountain (high passes 16,200 and 16,300 ft) and 19 miles back to Pitumarca. 

Resources

• Peru: Ausangate Circuit and Rainbow Mountain by Mark Watson

• La Ruta de las Tres Cordilleras by Michael Dammer

• Ausangate Traverse, Peru by Cass Gilbert 

• A Goodbye to Peru through the Ausangate Circtuit by Ryan Wilson

Ruta del Jefe is back for 2022!

I am excited to finally share that Ruta del Jefe is back for 2022 and its is fully permitted and vaccinated!

Ruta del Jefe is a weekend of adventure, education, advocacy, and community in the Sky Islands region of southern Arizona on March 4-6, 2022.  

With a limit of one hundred participants, an educational format, five route options, and a fundraising goal of $30,000, RDJ fosters a fun, intimate, and welcoming environment for connection, inspiration, and personal challenge. 

Registration opens the week of November 21, 2021. Learn more about Ruta del Jefe by visiting www.rutadeljefe.com.  

Education

The event seeks to create lifelong advocates for the region by hosting talks by local Indigenous, conservation, and humanitarian aid organizations to give participants a greater context for the land they will be traveling within.

Advocacy 

In addition, RDJ hosts an optional participant-led fundraiser that benefits the following organizations; Indivisible Tohono, No More Deaths, Cuenca Los Ojos, the Appleton-Whittell Research Ranch, Save the Scenic Santa Ritas, and the Arizona Trail Association. The fundraiser encourages participants to take an active role in learning about and advocating for the Sky Islands region leading up to, during, and after the event among their family, friends, and social networks. 

Adventure

Participants have the option to choose between the following self-supported rides: a 135-mile adventure ride which largely follows the Sky Islands Odyssey East Loop, a 70-mile adventure ride, a 55-mile gravel ride, a 28-mile gravel ride, and a 12k run/ride. 

Community

RDJ takes place at the Appleton-Whittell Research Ranch (AWRR) in Elgin, Arizona. The AWRR protects 8,000-acres of semi-arid grasslands from human impact as much as possible and measures what happens to a place and its plant and animal populations over time. As the venue for RDJ, the AWRR provides permitted access to an intimate and beautiful location for participants to camp and ride the surrounding dirt roads.

Festivities such as a bird and bikes ranch tour, live music, scavenger hunt, happy hour, yoga, and delicious vegan meals by Ruchikala bring people together throughout the three-day weekend. 

Registration

RDJ will require proof of vaccination to attend the event. 

Registration spots for RDJ sold out in under 10 minutes last time it was held in 2020. Therefore, to make registration more equitable, RDJ will open registration for the following groups at the following times on a first-come, first-serve basis. 

• November 21, 2021 - People who identify as BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, person of color). 25 person limit. 

• November 22, 2021 - People who identify as LGBTQ+ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, non-binary). 25 person limit. 

• November 23, 2021 - Subscribers to the Sarah Swallow Dispatch. 25 person limit. 

• November 24, 2021 - General registration. 25 person limit.

If you identify as BIPOC and/or LGBTQ+, you can sign-up to receive a priority registration passcode by filling out this short form.

BIPOC Scholarships

Understanding that systematic racism and other injustices have created more significant barriers to participation in outdoor recreation events among Black, Indigenous, and people of color, RDJ seeks to increase access and reduce barriers for up to ten participants who identify as BIPOC. 

Recipients will be given free registration to Ruta del Jefe (including meals and camping) and will not be required to fundraise or pay the donation portion of the event fee. 

You can apply for a Ruta del Jefe scholarship by filling out this form. Applications are due by November 17, 2021 at 11:00 p.m. MST.

About

Ruta del Jefe is presented by Sarah Swallow and Specialized Bicycles with support from Rapha, Ride with GPS, Ombraz, and Campfire Cycling. 

Learn more about these event partners' role in creating a financially accessible and charitable event by reading RDJ's transparency statement.  

Gallery: Biketouring in Crete

On the Greek island of Crete, one does not measure success by the mileage you travel per day. Instead, success in is measured by the elevation pedaled over its steep mountains; the feta cheese and fresh seafood devoured; how much raki you drink after your meal, the snorkel sessions taken in the Libyan Sea, and the number of goats counted per day.

Having attempted many European bike vacations over the years, Adam and I found Crete to be our favorite location for beaches, bikes, and food in Europe this far. To top it off, we found the Creten people to be the friendliest and most passionate in all of Europe.

I was pleased with the route I managed to link together for our bike tour in Crete. When I have more time, I would really like to write a route guide for this bike route. In the meantime, enjoy some of our photos and check out the route we rode while listening to Horos Tou Zorba (Zorba’s Dance) by Mikis Theodorakis (whose recent passing was honored throughout Crete during our visit.) Feel free to email me if you have questions about riding there in the future.

Coaching with Durango Devo

This past spring and fall I had the opportunity to coach my first two seasons of youth cycling with Devo here in Durango. One Thursdays I coached the Exploras, a 5th-9th grade all girls group that is bikepacking and fun focused. On Tuesdays, I helped coach a high-schooled age co-ed mountain bike group.

Devo is Durango's largest youth cycling program and the foundation of our huge cycling community. On weekdays in the Spring and Fall, between 4:30 and 6:30 p.m. hundreds of kids of all ages, in groups coming from all different directions, flood the trails. It is a very cool and sometimes scary thing to witness when you are out on foot or solo on a bike during those times... 

Devo's mission is to develop each individual, in a team setting, as life-long cyclists. Founded by Sarah Tescher and Chad Cheney in 2006, Devo has grown into a program with 600+ kids, 100 coaches, and groups for every age, ability, and interest. 

What I like about the Devo program is that it groups kids based on age rather than skill. To me, grouping kids this way seems more fun and to build community around cycling rather than making it a constant competition at a young age, which, more often than not, seems to end in burnout. Some of Devos' most famous alumni are Tour de France stage winter, Sep Kuss, and multi-world champion and olympian Christopher Blevins. Both athletes credit their success to the cycling upbringing they had through the age-based Devo program. 

Co-founder Sarah Tescher now travels around the country to consult with existing youth cycling groups and to help other communities start their own local Devo program. If you are in a place that doesn't have a youth cycling group yet, consider looking into Devo’s Secret Sauce Seminars.

Spending time riding with the youth of Durango's cycling community has been good for me. I have been lucky enough to coach with Sarah Tescher and other folks who have been coaching Devo since the beginning. What I know is that I have a lot to learn and I couldn't ask for a better crew of coaches to learn from. So far, the kids teach me patience and remind me what a pain in the butt I to my coaches as a youth/teenager. In addition, riding with Devo is also making me a better mountain biker. Watching the kids push themselves to try new things has inspired me to get outside of my comfort zone on my mountain bike rides around town, and I am pleased to report I am clearing more obstacles than I ever have. Having had grown up in a place where I did not have access to a youth cycling program, I try to remind the Devo kids what a privilege it is to have access to such a program. There is no doubt that many of these kids, having this life-long experience, will be leaders in Durango, if not for all of us in the future. I am grateful to play a small role in preparing them for the future and learning more about myself through the process.

The photos above are from our seasonal Exploras trip which we did in John's Canyon in Bears Ears National Monument and a couple of bloopers from the season mixed in. We had eighteen girls on the trip where we rode bikes, camped, splashed in puddles, played games and went on an epic scramble!

Volcanoes, Waterfalls, and Puffins: My Travel Journal from Iceland and The Rift Gravel Race

I signed up for The Rift, a 125-Mile gravel race through the highlands of Iceland, in what feels like a different time. In December 2019, I was gearing up for a season on a Specialized all-women's gravel team, promoting my gravel race, Ruta del Jefe; and directing the new Radical Adventure Riders gravel team and gravel squad. 2020 would be a year of gravel events, and then the pandemic hit, and my priorities shifted. 

I withdrew from most of the races I registered for except for a couple; The Rift and SBT GRVL. I kept my registration for SBT GRVL because Adam, my Dad, and so many of my gravel pals are signed up. Located in Steamboat Springs, Colorado the event will double as a reunion with family and friends from all over the country. 

I kept my Rift registration because I was most intrigued by the location and route. Traveling to Iceland for a gravel race seemed like the perfect opportunity to get a taste of Iceland's landscape, gravel, and weather conditions to see if I could ever bike tour there. 

After more than a year without traveling, I decided to book my ticket to Iceland even though I did not have companion to join me yet. I planted the seed with some family and friends, and soon enough, my sister Margaret signed up for the trip. Traveling to Iceland with Margaret, who is two years younger than me and lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, would be a truly unique experience for both of us; it would be our first time traveling together and our first time in Iceland. 

Two-and-a-half weeks after finishing the Tour Divide, I heaved all my heavy bike baggage on the plane to Iceland. I was surprised to realize that packing to fly for a five-day trip and a one-day gravel race required more gear than packing to fly for a one-month bike tour. After all, I would be traveling differently than I usually do on this trip. Typically, I only experience places I travel to by bicycle, but since Margaret is not the bike fanatic I am (yet), we would be traveling like most other tourists in Iceland; by car and by foot. 

Margaret and I met in the Denver airport after nearly two years without seeing each other. When we reunited, it only felt like yesterday that we were sharing a bedroom as kids, an apartment in college, and more recently, sitting in my parents' kitchen chatting and laughing with other family members during one of our brief reunions. We effortlessly picked up right where we left off. 

We arrived at the Keflavik airport outside of Reykjavik at around six in the morning. After retrieving our rental car, we refreshed our manual driving skills by transporting ourselves without stalling to the notorious nearby hot spring resort, The Blue Lagoon. At the Blue Lagoon, we soaked our weary travel muscles in a steaming hot aqua lagoon as people from all over the world slowly walked, whispered and floated; faces covered in mud masks and hands filled with a complimentary cocktail or juice. We marveled at the oddity of it all, shamelessly partook in the whole experience, and got a refreshing post-travel rest and shower before making our way to see the recently erupted Fagradalsfjall volcano. 

I closely followed photographer Chris Burkart's images and videos from when the Fagradalsfjall erupted in April, so naturally, I imagined that we would be able to hike to see molten red lava billowing from a volcano. Not so. The only indication that we had arrived at the volcano was Google Maps and hundreds of cars parked in fields on either side of the road; the fog was so dense we could only see 200 yards in the distance. However, we weren't deterred and hiked our way up to the bottom of a massive lava field. As we wandered further and further along the lava field, we slowly came to terms with the true scale of this eruption and how far the lava had traveled from its source in a few short months—miles. This day was not our day to see a volcano, but the lava fields were mesmerizing. 

The first time I rode my bike in Iceland was the second day we were there. Having managed our jet leg so well the first day, we ruined it by sleeping until 10:00 a.m. the following day. Waking as if we had squandered half the day, we rushed to make a plan to maximize what was left. We decided to take the ferry to Vestmannaeyjar to see the largest puffin colony in the world. The goal was to meet to catch the 1:15 ferry. I would ride to the ferry port, and Margaret would drive. By the time we decided on the plan, it was 11:30, so I rushed myself ready for a 25-mile bike ride that would include dirt and paved roads. Looking back, I don't know what I was thinking when I thought I could complete this ride in an hour-and-a-half; perhaps it was the jet lag, or the 24-clocks, that little nibble of an edible, or just my perception that this part of Iceland was easy. 

Within five minutes of riding in the wind, rain, and on the washboard dirt roads, I realized that I would need to engage in a flat-out time trial to meet Margaret at the ferry in time. I was riding as hard and fast as I could, but I knew there was no way I was going to make it in time. I thought that if I could get to the road that goes directly to the ferry, I would have the opportunity to intersect Margaret or hitch-hike the rest of the way with another ferry-goer. When I finally reached the road, there were so few cars passing that I could not commit to stopping to hitch-hike, so I kept pedaling as hard as I could hoping there was a chance that the ferry was running late but also stuck my out my thumb when a car passed by. Of course, no one picked me up until Margaret rolled up behind me. She was running late too. We made it to the ferry in time but exhausted from the stress of rushing, we asked the ferry attendant to switch to a later ferry. Thankfully they accommodated us, so we could slow down, catch our breathe and check out some nearby waterfalls. This day was by far the most fun day of our trip. We ended up seizing the day and saw it all, even the puffins, despite the continuing wind, rain, and fog. 

The Rift

The forecasts for race day were temperatures in the low 50's, steady rain, and constant wind. Figuring out the right clothing combination to keep me from overheating and from getting hypothermia during a 125-mile ride was the one thing that kept me up the night before the race. The dilemma was whether or not to wear leg warmers. The temperatures were undoubtedly cold enough for leg warmers. Still, my experience in similar wet conditions on the Tour Divide was that wet leg warmers on my knees are a bother, and I wound up riding all of the wet, cold days in New Mexico without any knee anything on my knees. My instinct was to go without, and so that was my plan. However, when I showed up at the start of the race and saw all the other riders with covered knees, I abandoned my plan and put the leg warmers on. Thankfully, Margaret was there to provide an objective and sisterly perspective by reminding me to follow my gut. At the last minute, I took the leg warmers off and toed the line.

I have to admit, as I lined up at the start of The Rift among the likes of the accomplished Sarah Sturm; the women's road national champion, Lauren Stevens; and retired cyclocross champion, Meredith Miller; I could not help but wonder what the hell was I doing there. I looked back to see if I could shimmy my way backward through the riders packed like sardines but ultimately succumbed to my position and fate. 

Within the first 10-miles of the race, everything in my body protested the speed and exertion I was attempting to maintain. As it turns out, riding between 100 and 150 miles a day for 21 days is not ideal training for the high intensity of a single-day gravel race, or at least the start of one. I felt no benefit from the four interval rides I managed to squeeze in during the two weeks between the Tour Divide and The Rift. 

After spending another 10-miles or so getting passed by what felt like the entire field, I swallowed some humble pie and shifted my focus to settling in and just riding the ride as if it was just another day on the Tour Divide. For the first time, I took in my surroundings. Clouds of fog laid eerily over an otherworldly landscape. Black roads of lava rocks and sand rolled steeply over hills and through deep rivers of glacial melt. Occasionally the fog would clear to reveal the surrounding cone-shaped mountains highlighted in neon moss. Rarely have I ever been in such awe. 

Thankfully, my clothing choice panned out— wearing what I had worn during my Tour Divide ride: shorts, a merino t-shirt, and a rain jacket. I was perfectly content with what I was wearing and did not have to stop to delayer or layer up once. 

Jaimie Lusk showed up right around the time I was pulling myself out of the hole I buried myself in. Hailing from Oregon, Jaimie was riding a steady pace and even offered that we could ride together. Flattered but not hopeful, I picked up my pace to hang and chat with her for a little while. That little pick me up may have been all that I needed, for, in a few miles, I started feeling a lot better. I settled into a faster rhythm, left Jaimie behind, and eventually caught a group of riders. This group included Meredith Miller, the retired professional cyclocross racer.

When I was racing cyclocross in Ohio (over ten years ago), I watched Meredith in admiration as she dominated the UCI3 races in my local cyclocross series. The Rift course was probably the most cyclocross style gravel course I had ever ridden-- steep hike-a-bike hills, technical off-camber, rutted descents, sandpits, and river crossings. I thought it was pretty cool to be riding such a course on the wheel of a cyclocross legend and marveled at Merediths' grace on the lines she chose. 

The first time I stopped on course was at the halfway checkpoint and aid station to fill my bottles, stuff my face with some potato chips, drink half of a Pepsi and grab some stroop waffles to-go. I thought I was moving through the station pretty fast until Jaimie showed up after me, hopped off her bike, refueled, and was back on her bike before me. Jaimie was no longer giving off her friendly and chatty vibes. Instead, she seemed focused and determined at the aid station, which signaled that she was racing and that maybe I should pick up my game a little. So, I hopped back on my bike and pedaled to keep Jaimie within reach. 

In 5-miles, we would have the opportunity to stop again to put on some dry socks and clothes at another aid station. I couldn't decide whether to waste time stopping or to keep going, so I decided to leave it up to Jaimie, who was still in front of me; if she stopped, I would stop. If she kept going, I would do the same. As we approached the dry-clothes zone, I watched ahead as most riders rode through a river that was calf-deep and stop at the station to swap their socks. Jaimie did not stop. It was on. I pedaled past the station and eventually caught up to Jaimie's wheel and said with some sarcasm, "no dry socks for us!" to which she replied, "It wouldn't make any difference." She was right. Had we swapped our socks, they would be soaked from the rain in minutes. Jaimie's determination motivated me again and pushed me into another good rhythm. I left Jamie behind again, this time though it felt like it was for good. 

I kept a steady pace throughout the second half of the course and only stopped briefly at one other checkpoint. Battling a headwind for the second half of the course, I rode solo and with small groups while they lasted. A solid 20-mile section of severe washboard roads took my neck and back from feeling bad to terrible. Every bump was torture. Even though I was limping my way to the finish line, I was feeling pretty content, considering I managed to hold off Jaimie and Meredith. This feeling didn't last long, though. Out of nowhere, Jaimie, drafting off a wheel of a tall Viking-like fellow, blew past me, going twice my speed.

I was stunned and faced with the dilemma; to chase or not to chase. In races in the past, this is the point where I typically roll over and give up. Usually, this happens well before the last 50-miles, so I can somewhat justify it, but this was with only 10-miles to go. I had to try. Digging deep, I jumped on Jaimie's wheel. I knew that if I could hang on to this frantic pace through the dirt, I might have a chance of prevailing on the pavement. I hung on with all that I could. When we reached the pavement, our group of three formed a swift-moving echelon through the wind during which I was able to recover some of my energy. I was conscious of how long I worked and how long I rested.

Eventually, the echelon started losing its momentum, and Jaimie took off in an attack. I chased after her and was back on her wheel within a minute. We rode side by side for a bit until Jaimie admitted, "that's all I got." I was shocked. I had worked this hard to keep up for "that's all I got." Then, sensing that I was through too, Jaimie offered that we make it easy on each other and ride it in. At this point, I felt like I was committed to racing, and I needed to see the effort through. It didn't matter what place we were racing for, it was a game, and there is nothing quite like an excellent game to bring out my competitive side. As we approached the final climb, I stood on my pedals and hammered over the top. On the other side, I dropped into my aero bars and did not look back. Seeing double, I crossed the finish line to see Margaret's smiling face despite looking like she had been waiting in the rain for hours. The race was finally over. 

If Jaimie wasn’t out on the course to push me, I would have had a very different race. Having other women to race around has been a massive motivator to push myself in a way I never would otherwise. Imagine if there were as many women as men out on these gravel race courses. What an experience that would be! 

When I went to Iceland, many folks asked me if it was a job requirement for me to participate and perform in gravel races. While gravel racing is definitely trending, and my sponsors certainly appreciate the occasional participation, I am not required to do gravel races. Instead, I have the privilege to do any type of riding I want to do. Sometimes, that is doing the Tour Divide, bike touring in another country, riding my mountain bike in the San Juan Mountains, or doing route research in Southern Arizona. Sometimes, that is signing up for gravel races. You don't have to consider yourself a racer to sign up for gravel races. I sign up for gravel races to challenge myself outside of my comfort zones, in new environments, prove to myself that I am strong and capable, and to learn lessons that will help me improve as a cyclist. It doesn't really matter where I end up. All that matters is that I do my best while pushing my limits. The Rift was an opportunity to take on such a challenge in a new place, bookended with a memorable vacation with my sister Margaret. And yes, I would love to return to Iceland someday for a hut-to-hut style bike tour to ensure I had a place to dry out every night. 

The Bike That Flew

This story was originally published by Rapha.

On the way to competing in the Tour Divide, I hit a devastating bump in the road. Facing the prospect of having to bow out of the race, I wasn’t willing to go down without a fight.

It was four days before the scheduled start of what would be the most daunting ride of my life. For the past two months, I had dedicated all of my energy to prepare my mind, body, and equipment to spend between 25 and 32 days testing my stamina in what is considered the most challenging mountain bike race in the world, the Tour Divide. With a completion rate of 40-50% of the riders who embark on the ride, finishing this ride is no small feat and not guaranteed. Due to border closers caused by covid, the race would start at the Roosville, Montana border crossing with Canada generating a total course length of 2,500 miles with over 150,000 ft of climbing along the Continental Divide terminating in Antelope Wells, New Mexico. The route travels through five states; Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico, and follows primarily dirt roads with a mix of pavement and single track thrown in. The rule for the race is to travel through the course completely self-supported in as short of time as possible by relying on services and resupplies that can only be found in the small towns along the route. Packed up, I would be pedaling a 57 pound mountain bike with drop and aero bars laden with a bivy, sleeping bag and pad, layers of clothing, spare batteries and parts, tools, 3 liters of water, and capacity to carry up to 2.5 days worth of food. To prepare for such an undertaking required the help and support of my partner Adam, and many friends, family members, bike mechanics, therapists, and sponsors.

The journey began with a three-day drive from my home in Durango, Colorado, to the start line in Montana. Adam and I were wrapping up a long day of driving and looking for a place to camp for the night south of Seeley Lake, Montana, when we drove over a large bump in the tarmac at 60 mph. The entire truck bounced like a sea-saw that caused us both to cringe when we heard a snap and saw something in the rearview mirror. "What was that!?" I yelled. "It was a bike..." Adam answered. "Was it your bike??" I asked desperately. "I think it was your bike..." he responded. We stopped the car, and I got out to confirm that my Tour Divide bike lay one hundred yards down the road. I ran toward it hysterically like it was a loved pet that had just been hit by a car in front of me.

I picked up the mangled bike in disbelief. The handlebar tape, seat, derailleur, and pedals were shredded. The hoods were shifted and ripped. All the top straps of the frame bag had ripped off during the impact. At first, it seemed that all the damage was superficial until I noticed what would be catastrophic for my ride, a fully cracked seat stay on my carbon frame. I dropped the bike back on the ground in nauseous shock and walked back to the car without it. My race was over. Everything I had done to prepare was a waste of time, money, and energy. In a fit of rage, I kicked the car door. Adam picked up the pieces of my bike and put them in the back of the truck. There was no point in continuing toward the border, so we turned the car around and headed back in the direction of home, stopping in Missoula, Montana, for a sleepless night. I was completely numb and unable to accept how my reality had suddenly and drastically shifted. As Adam started YouTubing various ways to fix carbon bikes with supplies purchased from a hardware store, I realized I could not give up on my dream of completing doing the Tour Divide so quickly. So, I texted the one person I knew in Missoula, Russ Roca of Path Less Pedaled, and first asked if he knew anyone who could help mend my frame bag. Russ put me in touch with the folks of Bedrock Sandals, who offered to meet me at 8 a.m. the following day.

I then asked if Russ had any leads on anyone willing to fix a cracked carbon frame. It was a more significant task with a low likelihood of a positive outcome. Russ did not know of anyone, but he generously offered his bike for me to ride. I thanked him for that and his help thus far, but I knew I was unwilling to ride someone else's bike on such a long journey. Then, Russ followed up with another text, "you might want to try contacting Pursuit Cycles in Bozeman. They are a carbon manufacturer and don't do repairs, but you could at least ask." I immediately sent an email to Pursuit Cycles explaining my situation. It was 1 a.m., and I felt like I had done everything I could for the night, so I laid down and tried to get some sleep. That night I dreamt of my bike fully working and of riding and finishing the Tour Divide. Unfortunately, I would wake between these dreams to the reality of a broken frame and shattered aspirations. 

When I finally woke the following day, I checked my phone to find an email from Carl at Pursuit Cycles saying they would do their best to help, considering the monumental ride I was trying to take on. I would need to travel three and a half hours southwest to Bozeman and have my bike stripped down to the frame, but they believed they could successfully repair my seat stay. Just like that, my reality shifted again. I now had hope, and my adrenaline started pumping again. We stopped by the Bedrock Sandals office, and they repaired my frame bag in under ten minutes, then we set out for the drive to Bozeman. Upon arrival in Bozeman, my friend Adam Sklar of Sklar Bikes removed all the parts from my frame in under twenty minutes. I was able to drop my frame off at Pursuit Cycles by 2 p.m., and they promised it to be ready by 7 a.m. the following morning. With only three days until the start of the race, it was looking like I would be able to do the Tour Divide after all. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I waited for the repairs to be made as I spent the rest of the day celebrating with new and old friends over good food, beverages, and a bike ride (on a loaned bike). 

The next day, I picked up my repaired frame and then took it to my friend Mason, who owns Alter Cycles, to build it back up before opening the shop that morning. A few hours later, I installed the bags back on my bike and securely placed it inside the truck for the final drive to the start line. I was going to do this ride!

I ended up completing the Tour Divide in 21 days, 4 hours, and 10 minutes, four days earlier than my goal and eleven days earlier than my time limit. In every way, I exceeded my expectations for the ride, physically and mentally. Within the first few days, I realized that I could ride so much further than 100 miles per day. Those early days were all about learning what my limits were; how far I could go, how much sleep I could sacrifice, how many days I was willing to wear a single dirty chamois, and if I was motivated enough to chase after first place. I learned that I could go anywhere between 100 and 150 miles per day depending on the elevation and the terrain; I have little desire to ride in the dark; I love sleeping between six and eight hours a night; I could tolerate wearing a dirty chamois for about four days; and that while I was tempted at first, I was unwilling to chase down first place because that was not what I was there to do. I'm sponsored as a lifestyle athlete, after all, not a racer. I was there to do the best ride I could do, challenge myself to meet my goals, stay healthy, happy, and have fun while doing so. I feel like I accomplished all those things due to several reasons:

• Before the ride, I took as much pressure off myself as possible by setting a goal (25 days) and limiting the amount of time I would be willing to be out on course before calling it quits (32 days). I had not ridden one hundred miles per day for more than three days in a row in over six years. I also did not pedal over 65 miles in one day to train for this event. Therefore, I had no idea how my body would react to this undertaking. I also overestimated how difficult the route would be compared to the more technical and steep terrain I was training on in Durango, Colorado. Essentially, I underpromised and over-delivered, which set me up to feel accomplished the entire time rather than setting too hard of a goal and not meeting the expectations for myself. 

• I was incredibly grateful and amazed that I could even do the ride considering my bike had broken only a few days before starting. I felt like I had an entire village of support behind me -this did not feel like pressure; it felt like jet propulsion.

• I am no stranger to living on my bike for months on end. I know how to take care of myself during these long rides. I know when it's time to get a hotel, do some laundry, or call my parents to get a little emotional boost. 
  

With rides like the Tour Divide, I feel like there is the perception that you have to suffer to be successful. I can't entirely agree with this, especially if you are like me and it is your goal to finish and not necessarily win. Sure, there are some moments of suffering: like being at an altitude of 10,000 ft in the pouring rain, cold and soaked with lightning bolts crashing down; having my handlebars break 1,000 miles into the ride, and needing to pedal 300 miles to the next town to replace them without riding in the drops; outrunning a rapidly spreading forest fire, riding through fresh cow dung for ten miles; hike-a-biking without pants due to saddle sores; getting stuck in peanut butter-like-mud; riding through a 30 mph headwind and crosswind for 50 miles through the Great Basin, or my stomach rejecting a Chipotle burrito and having it come out both ends at the top of Boreas Pass resulting in a bad case of hemorrhoids. But, just like the reality of my bike frame being broken and fixed, these all were just moments in time that pass. My suffering on the Tour Divide was not any different from anyone else's doing the Tour Divide; in fact, it was probably a lot less. In these most challenging moments, I would repeat the mantra to take each moment at a time, each day at a time. I would think about how grateful I was to be there and all the people who helped me get there. I would envision myself finishing and the emotions associated with that accomplishment. Finally, I would focus on my surroundings: the abundant wildlife that one can only see during the waking and waning daylight hours, the exhilarating thunderstorms, vibrant sunrises and sunsets, the aromatic piñon and sage, drenching downpours that the earth so desperately needed, and the awe-inspiring double rainbows that followed. 

There is no doubt in my mind that I had my crisis-of-the-ride when I discovered my bike frame was cracked. The experience forced me to consider how much I wanted to do the ride and how far I was willing to go to make it happen. When my bike frame broke, and my handlebars eventually cracked, I doubled my commitment to finish the Tour Divide instead of quitting. Those crises' affirmed that I was doing what I loved to do, and I did not want to stop doing it. I could not have done it without the incredible support of my community. I am forever grateful, and I share my success with everyone who helped me get to the start and the finish. 

Listen: Bikes or Death Podcast, Ride Buddies with Sarah Sturm, My TDR Playlist

If you are looking for some entertainment to plug into your ears while you go about you daily life or bike ride, please check out some of the recent conversations I have had. I was interviewed by Patrick Farnsworth of the Bikes or Death Podcast, recorded a really fun conversation by my professional twin, Sarah Sturm, for the Ride with GPS Ride Buddies Podcast, and am sharing my Tour Divide Playlist. You can find all of these with brief descriptions below!

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Bikes or Death

In this interview I share how I was introduced to bicycles, and the cycling community, at the young age of 12 when I started working for a bike rental company in Ohio. I wasn’t a cyclist at the time and had no idea that one day I would be a sponsored Adventure Cyclist. In this podcast I share how I have carved out a cool career for myself that allows me to pursue the things in life that bring me joy and share them in a way that is authentic to myself.

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RWGPS Ride Buddies Episode 2: Sarah Sturm and Sarah Swallow

Pantless hike-a-bikes, epic journeys and so much laughter. In this second episode of the Ride Buddies conversation series, Sarah and I connect over our many similarities (name, sponsors and Durango-living), dissect the merits of different race formats, and swap hilarious stories of recent adventures.

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My Tour Divide Playlist

Aside from listening to the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy and the Hobit, these are the sounds that kept my legs spinning and the good vibes flowing during my Tour Divide ride. I hope they will have the same affect on you!

Tour Divide Recap Interview Between Sarah Swallow and Jambi Jambi

In this final video of our Tour Divide coverage Jorja Creighton and I dive into the many questions we received through Instagram about my experience on the TDR. We discuss expectations, maintaining mental health, hygiene, what worked and what didn’t, collaborating with one another, and more. Watch or listen to the video to get the whole scoop!

A Guide to My Tour Divide Route POI Map

If you are curious about how I planned my resupply points along the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route for the Tour Divide, look no further. Prior to the ride I spent hours cross referencing resupply resources for the GDMBR and importing them onto Ride with GPS, my go to navigation and routing platform. I also added some POI’s that I am particularly interested in such as summits, creek crossings, dispensaries, and laundromats. After using this map throughout my ride I have got to say that it is pretty darn accurate but keep in mind that water levels could change every/.throughout the year of course and some businesses may change their opening hours. The video above outlines how I researched the POI’s and plan my resupplies along the route. I do this before every ride I go on. Now, with this process outlined, you can too! Lastly, I have divided the entire route into six different route segments making them a slightly more digestible file to view, download and upload. Check those out in my Great Divide Classic Collection.

How To Follow My Ride on the Tour Divide/Great Divide Classic

My race begins at noon MT on June 11. You can follow the race and where I stack up against the rest of the field (look for my initials, SS) at this link: http://trackleaders.com/tourdivide21

If you would just like to follow my dot on a map, you can do so at share.garmin.com/sarahjswallow

Jorja Creighton will manage my Instagram account and provide entertaining content and updates that I send to her throughout the race. Follow along on at https://www.instagram.com/sarahjswallow/

To donate to my Gofundme campaign to increase accessible outdoor opportunities for teen and pre-teen girls, click here: https://charity.gofundme.com/o/en/campaign/sarah-swallow-tour-divide

If you would like to check out the route I am following click here: https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36276801

See you on the other side!

My 2021 Tour Divide / Great Divide Classic Detailed Packlist

In one week, I will be starting one of the most intimidating rides of my life. I would be riding the Tour Divide Mountain Bike Race in any other year, but because Canada is closed due to Covid, this year's event is called the Great Divide Classic. It's essentially the same, less than 250-miles of riding along the Canadian Rockies and follows the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route by Adventure Cycling Association. All totaled, I am looking down the road at a 2,500-mile ride with 150,800 ft of elevation gain from the border with Canada to the border with Mexico along the Continental Divide on dirt roads, single-track, and pavement. 

My Philosophy 

My bikepacking set-up 2018-2020. Photo by Jorja Creighton.

Preparing my equipment for such a journey has felt like learning how to bikepack all over again. Why is that? I believe that it is because when I am touring and only riding 35-50 miles per day, it doesn't quite matter if I bring my sandals, a super deluxe tent palace, town clothes, swimsuit, snorkel/mask, a 5-star cooking set-up, etc. (you get the idea). When there are anywhere between 10-14 hours of daylight, and I am going only 35-50 miles, I have all day to go as slow as I want to get to where I am going. 

In contrast, the Tour Divide or the Great Divide Classic (whatever we want to call it) is a race. Just to be considered still in the race, I must maintain over 95-miles per day every day. My goal is to ride 100-miles per day and finish the route before I need to abandon the ride, which, at a minimum, will require that I ride 85-miles per day every day. So, for the first time in seven years, and when I started bike-touring, I have had to re-evaluate every little gear decision I make to feel like I can ride that amount of distance loaded with everything I need day after day. If I pack too much, my bike will be cumbersome to ride, hard to pedal up mountains, and pretty uncomfortable. If I pack too little, I could be equally miserable. I could not be prepared enough for the elements; rain, hail, cold nights, hiking through snow. I could be sleep-deprived and find the experience unbearable, leading me to abandon the course due to not having fun or being unhappy. 

My gear and bike set-up for the Tour Divide/Great Divide Classic is my interpretation of a healthy balance between an efficient race set-up and a comfortable home on wheels for about a month. I believe that this set-up is light enough for me to travel the distances I want to travel while still feeling like a human. I'd go so far as to call this a luxurious race set-up. After all, I am a lifestyle athlete for a reason, not a racer. Only time will tell if these decisions, speculations, interpretations, and financial investments pan out to my benefit. 

Itemized below is a detailed breakdown of my bike set-up for the Tour Divide/Great Divide Classic in 2021. The race begins on June 11. You can follow the race on http://trackleaders.com/tourdivide21. If you find this breakdown of value please consider donating to my Gofundme campaign to increase accessible outdoor opportunities to teen and pre-teen girls through The Cairn Project. Any amount donated gets me closer to reaching my fundraising goal of $8,000. Click here to donate. 

Bike Specifications 

This is my bike for the Tour Divide 2021

I am riding a Specialized Epic Hardtail Pro mountain bike with the stock Rockshox SID 100mm travel fork and 29" Roval Control Carbon wheels. The front wheel is laced to a SON Dynamo hub which fuels my Sinewave Cycles Beacon headlight. With the help of many friends and mechanics, I have modified this bike with Enve 48mm Gravel drop bars and Specialized aero bars. I also converted the drivetrain to a SRAM AXS electronic shifting system, which I find incredibly reliable and efficient but requires that I swap out and charge a small battery every 400-miles or so. The gear ratio I am running is an 11 x 50 tooth cassette with a 34 tooth front chainring. I may spin out on some faster pavement sections, but my knees will be happy on the climbs. The tires I have chosen for this ride are Specialized Ground Control tires which may be on the nobbier side compared to most, but it's a tire I have run for many years and I trust on all terrain. 

I am using a Brooks Cambium C17 saddle; a zero offset seat post, and a 60mm, -20 degree stem, to accommodate my bike fit. 

Bag Overview

My front bag system is made by Porcelain Rocket. It includes a minimal harness, a Dyneema stuff sack, and an outer pouch. I used this system on the TAT six years ago, and I have yet to find a better alternative. Inside the stuff sack, I keep my shelter and sleep system. Inside the outer pouch, I store my eating utensils, backstock of electrolytes, mushroom coffee, protein powder, THC and CBD edibles, and my water filter. I try to keep this bag filled with lighter stuff to avoid adding more weight to the handlebars.  

I am using a custom frame bag by Rogue Panda Designs out of Flagstaff, Arizona, which includes an elastic zipper that allows me to stuff it to the gills and still be able to close it. In the large main pocket of my frame bag, I am carrying my tool kit, bear spray, and the majority of my food. In the frame bag's smaller side pocket, I store baby wipes, a clear pair of Ombraz sunglasses, and my wallet. 

The seat bag I am using is a Gearjammer bag by the wonderful folks of Oveja Negra in Salida, Colorado. My Gearjammer stores my spare tube, toiletries, sleep clothes, a pair of shorts with a chamois, puffy jacket, and rain jacket. I have also added a bungee cord to the Gearjammer to hold my Thermarest pad. 

My cockpit bags include a Mag Tank 2000 and Jerican by Revalate Designs (Anchorage, AK), an Eco-pack Snack Hole by Swift Industries (Seattle, WA), and a Chuckbucket by Oveja Negra. I store my multi-tool, headlight, sunscreen, and bug spray in the Jerrycan. Inside the Mag Tank 2000, I keep my point-and-shoot camera, phone, headphones, and additional snacks. The Chuckbucket holds my battery pack, electronic accessories, and a bug head net. There is room for more too. Lastly, the Eco-pack Snack Hole stores a 26 oz water bottle. 

Holding my 64 oz Kleen Kanteen is a Manything Cage by King Cage (Durango, CO), mounted to my carbon down tube using King Cage universal support bolts. 

The Nitty-Gritty Details

Tool Kit

• Leyzne Micro Floor Drive

• Blackburn Wayside Multi-Tool

• Dynaplug with extra plugs

• Wolf Tooth Pack Pliers with two 12-speed chain links

• Leatherman Squirt

• Silco Valve Extender

• Pedro Tire Lever

• 2 x 2032 batteries (for my shifters)

• Presta valve adapter

• Finish Line Dry Lube (inside a wet-lube bottle)

• Zip ties

• 4mm, 5mm, and 6mm spare bolts

• Derailleur hanger

• Superglue

• Tire boot

• Patches

• Extra set of brake pads

Electronics

• Garmin 1040 Plus

• Garmin Inreach Mini

• iPhone

• 15,000 mAmp Anker Battery Pack

• Ricoh GRII Camera

• Princeton Tech Headlight

• Energizer 2 x USB wall port

• SRAM Etap battery charger

• Spare SRAM Etap Battery

• 2 x micro USB cables

• camera cable

• iPhone cable

• Headphones

• SD Card Reader for iPhone

• Not pictured: Sinewave Cycles Beacon Headlight, Light and Motion Taillight

Toiletries

• Buzz Away Bug Spray

• Tom's Toothpaste

• Tweezers

• Ibuprofen

• Benadryl

• Dr. Banners Soap

• Toothbrush

• Chapstick

• Dermotone Lip Protection

• Aloe Up Sunscreen

• Earplugs

• Tea Tree Oil

• Floss

• Spare Hair Tie

• Honest Wipes

• Bandaids

• Not pictured: Deva cup

Eating Utensils 

• Snow peak Spork

• Opinel No. 7 Knife

• Handkerchief

• Can opener

Water

• 64oz Kleen Kanten

• 26oz Purist Waterbottle

• 3 Liter Kataden Befree Gravity Filter

• Aquatablets

Sleep System 

• Mountain Laurel Designs FKT Bivy

• Western Mountaineering Summerlite Sleeping Bag (32 degrees)

• Klymit Inertia Ozone Sleeping Pad

• Thermarest Z-Rest

• Western Mountaineering Flash Down Booties

• Bug head net

Clothing

• Ombraz Dolomite Sunglasses

• Ombraz Classic Clear Blue-blocker Glasses

• Rapha Merino T-Shirt

• Rapha Randonne Shorts

• Ridge Merino Briefs

• Branwyn Merino Bra

• Bandana

• Randy Joe Fab Linen Cap

• Merino leggings

• Merino long-sleeve shirt

• Topo Designs Wool Hat

• Rapha Women's Classic Shorts

• Rapha Explore Hooded Goretex Rain Jacket

• Rapha Explore Down Jacket

• Showers Pass Rain Pants

• Showers Pass Merino Socks

• Showers Pass Merino Gloves

• Specialized Prevail II Helmet

• Not Pictured: Specialized Rime 2.0 Mountain Bike Shoes

Backstock

• Four Sigmatic Protein Powder

• Four Sigmatic Coffee Latte Mix

• Ultima Electrolyte Powder

• Ripple 1:1 CDB/THC Powder

• Wanna THC Gummies

• RonsBikes Puff Pouch

Update: My Gofundme Campagin for the Cairn Project

Thanks to so many of your generous donations, I am just $500 short of my goal of $5,000 to increase accessible outdoor opportunities for teen and pre-teen girls through The Cairn Project, and I haven't even started the ride yet! The support and tributes to the women in your life fill my soul with gratitude and inspiration—what an incredible way to kick off my journey next week.

I'd love to keep this momentum up, so I am increasing my goal to $8,000. $8,000 will fund nearly two grants for two different outdoor programs for young women and girls. If you have the means, please consider donating any amount to this effort. Click here to donate. Thank you!

To learn more about why I am fundraising for increased outdoor access for young women and girls, I invite you to read my personal story, How Finding what I Loved to do Outdoors Changed my Life Trajectory.

How I Am Preparing for The Tour Divide

I committed to doing the Tour Divide on March 7, 2021. Before my decision, it was in the back of my mind to consider because my friend, Arya, had committed to doing it. With Covid still in the air, my perspective of traveling in poorer countries in flux, and Adam, my primary adventure companion in school full-time, it finally seemed like an optimal time to take on the Tour Divide. As I write this, I am wrapping up only my fourth week of focused physical and mental preparation. I spent the first month converting my bike, figuring out most of my gear choices, wrapping up projects at the Ranch, saying goodbye to my Arizona friends, moving back to Durango, and taking a week-long Wilderness First Responders course. As I look back to my free-as-a-bird lifestyle down at the Research Ranch this winter, my only regret is that I had not used more of my time there to start this whole preparation process then. But I don't regret having had the time to replenish myself, for, without it, I likely would not have had the capacity to consider taking on such a significant challenge. 

The Tour Divide will likely start at the U.S. Canada border this year in Roseville, Montana, which means instead of being a 2,667-mile course with 152,000 ft of climbing, the route I'll be riding will be 2,400-miles with 133,000 ft of climbing. Having done the Canada section of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route (GDMBR) twice in the last five years, I like the idea of getting closer to places I have not yet ridden, sooner rather than later. Don't get me wrong. I am also counting every single mile and foot of elevation gain to help me finish before my allotted time frame of thirty-two days. I have created this specific allotment because that is the amount of time I feel like I can commit to this goal. I am registered for The Rift in Iceland on July 24, a 140-mile single-day gravel race. I will be traveling there with my sister, Margaret, the week before the race. It will be our first time getting to travel together, and I cannot wait. Thirty-two days allows me to have a week of recovery between wrapping up the Tour Divide and traveling to Iceland. It's not much time to recover and also train at an anaerobic level to be competitive at The Rift. While I would always like to do the best that I can and see where I end up, I am more motivated to do The Rift because the route looks so cool, and I might even get to see an active volcano (a first for me). 

Let's get mathematical for a second. 2,400-miles with 133,000 ft over thirty-two days is an average of 75-miles per day and 4,200 ft of elevation gain on a loaded bicycle. That is a limit that feels very doable for me at this point in my preparation. I will be pushing myself toward finishing in twenty-four days, which means I'll need to average riding 100-miles and 5,550 ft of elevation gain per day on a loaded bicycle. This twenty-four-day goal feels a bit more intimidating and the reason why I do feel the need to "train" as much as my psyche typically resists such a construct. 

My Suffering Is Nothing Special

My first training ride was almost my last and the end to this whole lofty Tour Divide idea. I had traveled out to Paradox Valley to mess around and micro-dose on mountain bikes in the desert with the legendary Max Cooper and his Colorado gang for two days. I had only been home in Durango for a total of 4-days since moving from Arizona and doing my WFR course. Still, I pushed through the desire to be a homebody to venture and spend time with these friends since the opportunities have been few, yet are always worth the while. I also thought that it would be a great idea to ride home solo from this hang as a good training ride for the Tour Divide, so that's what I did. As my buds hung at camp on our last day, I put my Stumpjumper on the bike rack and pulled down my Epic touring bike, packed it up with more than enough food for two days and enough water to get me to my water cash. I then rolled away from camp on my own to see if I could "handle it." 

Twenty miles into my ride that day, I had reached the most significant question mark on my entire route. I was looking for some trail that would take me from the Paradox Valley in Bedrock up 2,000 ft to Davis Mesa. Max had heard of this trail. When I told him I planned to take it, he relayed a rancher story who took his cattle down the trail one cold winter day. The trial was iced over in some sections; 12-cows slipped over the exposed trail edge and landed on an isolated ledge. As Max told the story, there was no possible way to rescue the cows, and there they stayed and eventually starved and died. I don't know why this story didn't set off alarm bells for me; perhaps it's because I was putting a little too much faith in the new RidewithGPS heat map feature, which highlights ways cyclists (and possibly hikers?) have logged trips before. Someone has done it, which means I can probably do it too, I thought. 

When I reached my cue to turn onto the trail, I did not see a track, I saw a ditch. "Perhaps the trail is a little further, and I didn't route to the right access point," I thought, so I carried on. I was definitely on a trail, but this was not a mountain bike-worthy single-track trail, as evident by the loose and abundant rocks askew. I carried on further, pushing my bike up-up-and-up. "This trail has got to get better eventually, and it won't last forever." Yet, the higher I got on the trail, the more I lifted my bike over-head and over boulders, the steeper and more exposed the path became. When I approached evidence of a rock slide across the trail, I realized I had gotten myself into a serious pickle.

I thought of the twelve cows and looked around. "Where could they (or I if it came to it) possibly land?" I had spent so much time coming this far on the trail, and my stubbornness persisted. I felt like I could see the top, and if I could get through this next series of sections safely, I could make it. So, I slowed things down, and I put on my helmet. I test walked across the slide to see if the footing was secure. It seemed to be. I drank some water and proceeded to remove all of the bags from my bike. I first took my bike across the slide with the extreme focus to not fumble my steps and then walked back to do the same with my bike bags. I continued this pattern for another half-mile and 800 ft of elevation gain until the trail finally leveled on top of the mesa.

That evening I proceeded to ride another 40 more miles into the dark to my water cache. When I reached my cache, I was so tired that I camped in the closest spot I could find secluded from the road. I then fell asleep three times while preparing my dinner and eventually woke around 1 a.m. to finish it up. In the morning, I realized that not only was this spot on a hill but cow and deer dung surrounded it. But, at the time, I was in high spirits for what I had accomplished the day prior. If only I could carry that energy through the 35-mph headwind forecasted as I climb to the Rocky Mountains that day. Not so. Within 3-hours of my ride, I was so physically uncomfortable, miserable, and exhausted that I texted Adam in tears. "Hey babe, I'm struggling out here. The headwinds uphill are killing me, and my body feels wrecked from yesterday. It's making me not want to do the Tour Divide." To which he offered to pick me up. I was still quite far away from our original meeting point and had no option to keep pedaling as far as I could so as to cut down the amount of time and distance Adam would have to travel, but I took him up on his offer, and we planned to meet in a few hours. 

As we drove the final 30-miles of the ride, I could not and would not finish; I processed what had gone wrong in my failed first training ride and questioned whether or not I was even cut out to do a ride like the Tour Divide. Adam encouraged me not to make any drastic decisions for a few days and shared the meaning of a mantra which has stuck with me ever since. "My suffering is nothing special." On the Tour Divide, I won't be the only rider suffering in a headwind uphill. Also, when it comes to suffering, there are so many more people around the world actually and legitimately suffering, especially right now. What a privilege it is to be able to choose to suffer in such a small way. 

Within a few days of being home again, I was invited on a small group tour in the Dolores Canyon with a crew of folks I had never met before. The Dolores Canyon Tour seemed like a fun opportunity for redemption from the Paradox Valley tour, so I agreed to go. Before the trip, I took my packed bike from my solo tour the week before and shed it down to the necessities. I got rid of the front panniers, used a lighter and smaller bag upfront, got rid of my cooking set-up, and only carried enough food for 2-days. I had been bothered by how heavy my bike was on the last tour, how much extra food I had brought, the extra water I had carried, and how much my bike bags felt like they dragged through the wind.

Riding with a fun motley crew of strangers through the dramatic red sandstone walls of the Dolores Canyon and diving in its deep swimming holes reminded me of my love for living on the bike. I felt strength and rhythm in my body and legs again. I was satisfied by how comfortable my more minimal set-up was.  This trip was also a reminder that my "failed" Paradox Tour was merely an essential step in my preparation for the Tour Divide. It was simply an uncomfortable moment in time, like those bound to occur on tour, which will inevitably pass into times like the Dolores Canyon Tour.

Training Philosophy

I came away from the Dolores Canyon tour with a renewed focus on my original goal. But, 100-miles per day every day for twenty-four days is still quite a challenge, and I needed to figure out how to prepare my body for that to avoid the level of discomfort I felt on the Paradox Tour. To keep these anxieties at bay, I have done two major things: I scheduled a bike fit, and with Adam's coaching, constructed a basic daily training plan that seems attainable for how much time I have. The bicycle fit ensures I am in a position that will limit my chances of injury while also being comfortable and optimal to ride all day, every day. The loose training plan primarily serves as a guide keeping me accountable for riding five days a week. I've been taking two days off each week. I typically spend my weekends which are supposed to be my "big rides," touring loaded. During the week, I have one day of mashing on my road bike in a hard gear or going for a strenuous mountain bike ride. I have another day of climbing on my touring bike on one of the long gravel climbs in the area and another day of long-slow-distance (LSD) on whatever bike feels good. I do core and kettlebell workouts twice a week, yoga twice a week, and a little stretching throughout the week. My fundamental goal here is to get my body used to riding every day and strong enough to be as comfortable as I can be until I have settled into my touring fitness. I've been pretty amazed by how much time and energy this level of training takes up. Often, I have been too tired to do much else in the day. I can't tell if it's my body adapting to all the exercise or if it's my body reacting to lower doses of caffeine since I recently stopped drinking coffee for the first time since high school. 

Variety is Key

Variety and riding with friends is the key to my motivation. For example, I have ridden my touring bike, full-suspension mountain bike, gravel bike, road bike, and even my e-bike on all sorts of rides for training. I also schedule and say yes to ride dates any chance I get. As a result, I build more connections, have fun, and stay accountable to and through this goal. 

As I write this, I am starting to switch gears. My body seems to be adapting, and I am beginning to have more energy again. In these last few weeks, I will be focusing more on the mental aspect and getting myself in the best place I can be before I leave. This mental piece looks like wrapping up loose ends for work, i.e., applying for event permits, creating content for Jorja (who is taking over my social media account for this journey), writing blog posts, and communicating with my sponsors. It also means spending quality time with my sweetie, seeing our therapist, working with my life coach, going to my naturopath, and my dentist. Lastly, I still have some studying to do on the route and its resupplies. 

It Takes A Village

It has taken a village to get me ready for the Tour Divide, and I do this for a living. The majority of people who will be riding the Tour Divide are average (and privileged) folks who have full-time jobs and even families. I already admire their determination and courage to take on such a committing challenge and cannot wait to meet some of the fellow riders out on course.

How Finding What I Love To Do Outdoors Changed My Life Trajectory

My earliest memory of my love for the outdoors happened on a trip to Kings Canyon when I was 7-years old. My parents packed the van with their six kids and drove the winding road up to the National Park. Along each curve, one kid after the other grew car sick and dropped like a fly. This car-sickness was not uncommon for our bunch, but I was proud to have made it to the top without losing my lunch. At least, until that night when the sudden urge awoke me. I left our family-sized tent, did my business outside, and went back to bed. When I woke the following day, my left eye had swelled shut from a mysterious insect bite. After a quick check-up with the park ranger, my parents handed me a pair of sunglasses and marched all six of us (ranging in age from ten years old to one year old) on an 18-mile hike up the Roaring River. The memories from this trip that stayed with me through my youth and young adulthood were not so much the car sickness and the allergic reaction. They were the smell of the pine forests, the cool crisp air in my lungs, campfire smoke, massive pine cones, and the sound, force, and mist from the whitewater river.

A year after this trip, my family moved to Maineville, Ohio, for my Dad's job. Maineville, at the time, was a small township located in the countryside outside of the suburbs of Cincinnati. We moved to a bigger house on 8-acres of flat and forested land. Surrounding us were fields of corn and soybeans, ash forests, and mossy creeks flowing to the polluted Little Miami River. The first year we lived in Ohio was the first memory I recall struggling with my mental health. I had moved from a cul-de-sac surrounded by my best friends with no limits of outdoor space to explore and play to feeling alone in a hot and humid place that I had very little interest in. Don't get me wrong; I was highly privileged. I was fortunate to grow up in a big family with loving parents. I went from being homeschooled to going to private catholic school starting in the 5th grade, and I got to play team sports such as basketball, volleyball, and eventually field hockey. Despite this privilege and frustratingly so, I still found myself struggling to belong and to have the desire or focus on imagining, let alone pursuing any goals. Life seemed pretty clear at that age. Go to school, get a degree, get a job, find a husband, have some kids, and maybe continue to work. I couldn't say I was too excited about what I perceived as my only option, and as a result, I started to look for thrills in alternative ways. 

When I was a freshman in high school, I was suspended from school for leaving a mixer (a co-ed dance) to drink beer between the field hockey field and the nunnery with some new friends. Having learned what we had done, the vice principal prescribed an in-school suspension where I was to sit in silence and do my homework in a 100 square foot office with one of the schools' nuns throughout each school day for one week. The office had clear windows facing the school hallway, so my punishment was on display for the entire school to see. I was also required to see a psychologist as part of the discipline by the school to ensure I did not have any addictions. I was grounded from seeing friends for a month. I recall hearing about the whispers of my behavior from the community at my parent's church. I felt their judgment as I approached to take communion on Sundays. From this moment, I was labeled the trouble-maker in my class, even though this was the most severe altercation I had while at school. If a backpack wound up missing at school, I was called to the vice principal's office to see if I had stolen it (I had not). 

This label lived with me throughout high school, and I took it on as my identity. By doing so, I had resolved that that was who I was. Someone who wasn't cut out for school, who partied hard, had promiscuous sex and wasn't afraid to try most drugs I was offered. My idea of what my future could hold had merged from a degree, job, husband, and kids to early pregnancy, jail, or worse. It makes me sad to think about how little I cared for myself during this time in my life, but I am also so grateful that I found a way to turn things around by finding what I loved to do outdoors. 

When I graduated from high school, I could no longer lean on field hockey to help me stay in shape. I knew I liked to exercise, but I had always resented the pain, discomfort, and monotony of running. My Dad had been a runner his entire life, having completed over 20 marathons throughout our childhood. His knees, however, eventually stopped serving him, and so he found a new activity. He had chosen cycling just a couple of years before I graduated from high school, and my Mom had picked it up a bit too. So, one day I rode my Mom's Lemond road bike on a road ride with my Dad. I loved how low impact cycling was on my body, how I could see new places, and how it was a great excuse to ride to ice cream with my Dad. For a hardened high schooler, it seems so innocent looking back. 

Eventually, I started venturing out on my own to new places, and it was then where I found places that sparked my childhood memories for my love of the outdoors. I found pine forests, rushing rivers, campfire smoke, and pine cones within two hours of my home in Ohio. Once I saw these places, I kept going back. Then, I would go a little further: in Ohio, Indiana, West Virginia, and Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and North Carolina. 

Over these years, my love for cycling coincided with my realization that I love to work with bicycles as well. I worked a part-time job at the Loveland Bike and Skate Rental since I was 12-years old for 8-years. I decided to work at bike shops and eventually managed those shops. I started becoming more focused and driven to graduate from school and did so with honors (for the first time in my life) and a bachelor's degree in history. When I graduated from college, I decided to follow what I knew I loved to do and opened my bike shop, Swallow Bicycle Works. After five years of operating SBW, I signed my first contract with Specialized Bicycles and rode my bicycle across the country on dirt roads following the Trans America Trail (TAT). The rest, at least for this story at this time, is history. 

I share this story because I want to illustrate how finding what I love to do outdoors literally changed my trajectory in life and why I am choosing to fundraise $5,000 for The Cairn Project to increase accessible outdoor opportunities for young girls. If I had been able to learn that the outdoors was a place that could provide me the sense of purpose, inspiration, freedom, and adventure I had been seeking as a youth, I probably could have saved myself, my parents, and teachers a whole lot of trouble. I am fundraising for The Cairn Project because I believe they make a difference in the worlds of young girls who are less privileged than I was, where opportunities and chances to be outdoors are few. If you can, please support this goal by donating to The Cairn Project. $5,000 will fund an entire grant to an outdoor organization that helps get more girls outdoors. To donate, click here. Thank you!

Tour Divide Preparation Video: Why, Expectations, and Q & A

I have teamed up with my friend Jorja Creighton of Jambz Distribution to bring you some fresh new content from my Tour Divide journey. In this video I share a little bit about myself and answer some questions about my expectations and preparation for the TDR. A lot of the work Jorja will be doing will be shared via my Instagram account, especially while I am doing the ride, but we’ll have one more video to share about my gear and set-up before I leave. Stay tuned!

The Tour Divide and The Cairn Project

On June 11, 2021, I will line up on the Tour Divide's unofficial start line for, according to the race’s website, is the “longest – arguably most challenging – self-supported mountain bike time trial on the planet”. The race follows Adventure Cycling's Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, which stretches 2,745-miles of dirt roads and single-track from Banff, Alberta, to Antelope Wells, New Mexico, over 200,000 ft of elevation gain through the Rocky Mountains. This endeavor will be by far the most challenging I have ever embarked on, and I do not take it lightly.

📍The Great Divide Mountain Bike Route travels through the unceded ancestral territory of the following Indigenous nations: Blackfoot, Stoney, Tsuut’tina, Ktunaxa, Salish Kootenai (Flathead), Sashone-Bannock, Eastern Shoshone, Cheyenne, Apsáalooke (Crow), Núu-agha-tʉvʉ-pʉ̱ (Ute), Jicarilla Apache, Pueblos, Diné Bikéyah, Shiwinna (Zuni), Chiricahua Apache, and Janos.  

As a young person, I grew up with a limited view of what I could do in life. I thought I had two choices: get married, have kids, or get married, have kids, and have an office job. While there is absolutely nothing wrong with going these routes, it wasn't a direction that excited me at a young age. As a result of this mindset, I struggled with motivation during my youth. I was a hard worker, but I was not satisfied, and I was frustrated by it. It wasn't until I found an activity that I loved to do outdoors that I started feeling more confident and passionate. Since then, I have learned to trust myself and forge my destiny by creating a life where I can do what I love to do. 

For this challenge, I am teaming up with The Cairn Project to fundraise $5,000 to provide outdoor opportunities for more young women and girls. I have had the incredible privilege and opportunity to make my passion for adventure cycling as my work. I want to help create accessible pathways for more young women and girls to pursue a similar lifestyle, adventure goal, or profession. I never knew this life of mine was possible or even an option. If young women and girls could feel inspired by what I do and see that they could do it too, or to get exposed to what they love to do outdoors at an early age, I think it could make a positive impact on their lives, and the lives of others around them. 

Over the next few months, I'll be fundraising for The Cairn Project by sharing my story as a young girl and how I found purpose in life through riding my bicycle as I prep my mind, body, and equipment for one of the most significant endeavors of my life.

In the meantime, you may be curious to know how someone who has sworn off bikepacking races for the past six years has landed on this ambitious goal. Numerous factors have influenced my decision. 

Like so many others, riding the entirety of the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route has always been on my bucket list since I watched the Ride The Divide film in a movie theater in Cincinnati, Ohio in 2010. At the time, I recall thinking that I could never do something like that. Then, five years later, I rode my bicycle 5,000 miles in three months from East to West across the U.S. following the dirt roads of the Trans America Trail (TAT), a dual-sport motorcycle route. The TAT was my fourth bike-tour. 

"So why race it? Why not just tour it?" asked Jon, a fellow bikepacker camping at the Appleton-Whittell Research Ranch during his ride on the Sky Islands East Loop. I always imagined doing a slow tour on the GDMBR with my parents or a sibling who wanted to make a cross-country trip; because of all of the support and infrastructure, it seems like the most accessible off-pavement route to tour on. Until one or all of them are ready for such an endeavor, my interest in touring and moving slowly through a landscape for over a month lies in places that are new-to-me in every sense; terrain, culture, and food. I love that type of stimulation and challenge from bike tours. 

I am approaching the Tour Divide as a solo challenge for myself. Adam, my number one adventure partner, will be tied up in grad school for the next year, which means I’ll be doing a lot more of the bike tours that fuel my soul on my own for a little while. My friend, Arya, planted the seed by committing to do the Tour Divide this year. I haven't seen her in over a year. While we both intend to travel at our own paces, just knowing she is out there gives me a tremendous sense of comfort and motivation. 

After six years of touring and experience, I want to see if I still have a challenge like this in me. I think I do. The challenge is to finish in under 32 days which is all the time I have to spare before I fly to Iceland for the Rift Gravel Race. My goal is to have fun and to stay healthy while doing it. 2,745 miles in 32 days still requires averaging 86 miles per day of riding. Part of me hopes to do this a bit faster than that, but I'm keeping expectations low because I have no idea how my mind and body will react when faced with such a highly rigid daily expectation. I could see myself losing motivation, needing to slow down to enjoy my surroundings a bit, and possibly not finish the whole route. Or, I could settle into a good rhythm, find that sweet blissful spot of pedaling all-day every-day and end up riding more miles than I think I can do right now. Of course, I hope for the latter situation and am doing everything I can to prepare myself to be in the best possible shape before I start. 

I'm not going to lie. Telling people I am doing this has been terrifying, but it is also holding me accountable to this goal. It's nothing new for me to feel questioned, doubted, overly ambitious, or "crazy" for believing I can do something like the Tour Divide. I realize that these feelings are more my internal saboteur and that learning how to work through those voices is one of the first challenges of this entire endeavor. 

I am excited to share my experience preparing for the Tour Divide over the next couple of months. Please help me kick off this daunting journey to the start line by donating any amount to my GoFundMe campaign through The Cairn Project. Thank you so much!

COVID plan: I will be getting my jab in Durango on Friday, 4/9. I hope that due to the improved COVID situation in the United States, the border with Canada will open before the event starts (it is currently closed through April 21, 2021). If the border does not open, and the Tour Divide's grand departure does not happen, I intend to do the ride, at the same time, with the same goals, starting from Eureka, Montana. 

Goodbye Arizona

The temperatures are getting warmer down here in southern Arizona. The leaves on the cottonwood trees were yellow when I arrived in November, dropped their leaves in December, and have now grown back green and lush. There are shoots of green grass sprouting up everywhere. New-to-us bird species pass through the yard, such as hummingbirds, Little egrets, and Vermilion flycatchers. The Morning dove's songs are constant, an indicator of warmth. Western rattlesnakes are emerging from their holes to bathe in the sun. The pollen is off the charts, flowers are blooming on the cacti, and I am allergic to everything. It's time for me to say goodbye to this place until next winter and return to Durango, Colorado.

As I write this post, we are packing up our belongings and saying our goodbyes. Goodbye to the view of the Mustang Mountains from the dining room table. Goodbye to our feathered, furred, and scaled neighbors who provided constant entertainment and curiosity. Goodbye to the long exploratory day rides with friends and the afternoon bike rides around the ranch bathed in golden light. Goodbye to the Sonoita characters, to Cristina, Ben, Suzanne, and all the bicycling visitors who shared a conversation and a beer over sunset at the ranch.

With Covid cases on a significant decline in the region, visitors could return to the ranch over the last couple of months. My parents came and so did some close friends. Many of the visitors were bikepackers passing through along the Sky Islands Odyssey routes. Due to having so many separate lodging buildings, camping options, and outdoor conversing spaces, the ranch provided an opportunity to meet new people and to spend time with loved ones in a safe way outdoors. I appreciate these interactions more than I ever did before Covid.

At the Appleton-Whittell Research Ranch, we have laid a solid foundation for the future of more cycling infrastructure and opportunities at the ranch, so stay tuned. Incorporating bicycles into the daily operations and outreach of a non-profit wildlife sanctuary that used to be closed to the public before 2018 is a slow process but certainly one of the most exciting ones to me. I'm looking forward to returning in November to pick this work back up and to share this place with more of you.

Over the last few weeks as we have been cramming in last-minute experiences for ourselves by venturing off the ranch to do some new-to-us rides in different parts of Arizona. One of the days, Hubert, Sean, Adam, and I tackled a single-day ride on the Arizona Trail from Picket-Post Mountain to Kelvin, a 36-mile ride on 100% single track with over 3,500 of climbing (and we were riding it in the downhill direction!). This ride follows an incredible and remote section of the Arizona Trail and one of the few consistently rideable single-track sections of the entire trail system. It was so cool to see the number of people from all over the world, thru-hiking and bikepacking this section. The Arizona Trail is truly a gift to Arizona and the world! Our ride's biggest challenge was that we just so happened to time our ride with the first major heatwave of Spring with temperatures reaching into the low 90's. Even with nearly 4 liters of water per person, the tole of a big day on challenging terrain and sun exposure resulted in chaos by the end of the ride. We all ran out of water with 5 miles to go, Adam abandoned the final climb of the route by bailing to the railroad tracks, and Hubert and Sean ended the ride with a medium case of heat exhaustion. We were lucky that their conditions improved eventually, and we did not have to call in support. This was a humble reminder that the heat in Arizona is no joke, to only stop in the shade for breaks, drink plenty of water with electrolytes, and cover up as much as possible. After some time to recover, we cooled ourselves down by floating the swollen Verde River the following day.

We also visited Sedona for some more mountain biking, which was my first time being there. Wow, is that place stunning and swarming with people. The single-track was incredibly fun and the perfect amount of pucker for my developing mountain bike skills. The crowds of people made me feel like I was in some weird natural amusement park. The landscape of red sandstone bluffs, cliffs, and slick rock immersed in evergreen cedar and pine forests, dotted with prickly pear and agave, was something out of a Jurassic Park or Star Wars movie set with tourism helicopters flying overhead. I didn't have the time to help plan these trips. Instead, our crew relied on the incredibly informative and hilarious graphic guides by the one and only Cosmic Ray and his Arizona guide book, Fat Tire Tales and Trails: Arizona Mountain Bike Trail Guide (New Mighty Moto Locals Only 23rd Edition). Cosmic Ray just recently passed away, and while I never had the chance to meet him, our crew honored him by staying true to his recommendations for route choice and flow direction. We were sure to quote all the salad bars we found ourselves in, too (according to the "G-narly G-lossary of Arcane Trail Jargon" in Ray's Book, salad bar means turfing it into the shrubbery. "The shmorgy of shred").

While the last few weeks have been hectic, I'm savoring these final moments and looking forward to slowing down a bit in Durango. I didn't get to see everyone and do everything I wanted to during my stay in Arizona. Still, I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity to spend time here, especially during such a challenging year. I am confident that the winter of 2021 and 2022 will bring more opportunities to be together, to share a ride, a sunset, and a conversation.

I'll be changing my focus back in Durango. I will be assistant coaching for Devo Exploras, a 6-8th grade all-girls bikepacking group, and fundraising through The Cairn Project to create more opportunities for young women and girls to get outdoors. All the while I will be preparing my mind, body, and equipment for the Tour Divide Mountain Bike Race in June.

While I will miss the beauty and the solitude of southern Arizona, I am looking forward to being back in Durango, having fewer splinters daily, taking baths, being around trees, floating down the Animas River and not driving an hour and a half to the grocery store for a while. Thanks as always for reading my ramblings. On to the next chapter!

E-Bikes: My Initial Impressions

I got an e-bike. It's true. Why not? Some of you may be concerned, saying to yourself, "What is the world coming to? What has the impact of isolation done to Sarah Swallow?"

The Controversy 

E-bikes, also known as pedal-assist bikes, are certainly controversial within purist cycling circles. From what I understand from the conversations I have had with people on different sides of the debate, is this: some people feel like e-bikes are equivalent to motorbikes, and if you allow e-bikes access to non-motorized trails, it could lead to more motorbike access on those trails. Others feel like e-bikes on mountain bike trails create dangerous situations because e-bikes can travel at a higher rate of speed and can more easily cause collisions between cyclists. Another segment feel that e-bikes degrade the wild experience of traveling through the backcountry, exclusive to people who can get there under one hundred percent human power. Others fear e-bikes could create the racer-joe-on-a-bike-trail experience that we've all had, where we will be enjoying a slow pedal, a deep conversation, and the surrounding beauty to the cry of "on your left!" and a swooshing sensation that you can hear and feel. The shock sends your hands momentarily off the handlebars and your bike into the ditch. That's what some people think e-bikes will do to their peaceful experience in the backcountry. 

Much of this debate is explicitly related to e-mountain bike access in the backcountry, where I am about to share my experience riding an e-gravel bike. Regardless, my experience riding my e-bike has led me to an initial opinion about the arguments I outlined above. I find e-bikes closer to real bikes than motorbikes by a long shot, but I cannot yet speak to what we should do for access on non-motorized trails. I don't want to open the door to more gas-powered motorbikes damaging trails, but I am confident that there are solutions to opening trails to e-bikes and not motorbikes. I think e-bikes have the same level of impact as regular bikes on trails. I also believe that the chances of getting spooked from a one hundred percent human-powered racer-joe-on-a-bike-trail and a sixty percent human-powered, pedal-assisted racer-joe-on-a-bike-trail are equal. I don't think it is fair to use most of these concerns as evidence for excluding entire populations of people access to the backcountry. I find these arguments problematic for our mission to promote inclusivity, accessibility, and relatability to beautiful natural landscapes, which in turn, has immense potential to create more advocates to conserve these spaces. 

While I am here, I'd also like to acknowledge that e-bikes currently are still quite expensive, limiting accessibility to anyone who can afford $2,800 to $15,000 from Specialized Bicycles. Still, there are many other options and price points out there. I expect that in the years to come, these bikes will only become more affordable.

I imagine I will be leaning into the nuances of accessibility a bit more in the coming years as I spend more time at the Appleton-Whittell Research Ranch, a place that feels very much like a wilderness area to me. The AWRR reduces human impact as much as possible so that researchers can study the effects on the habitat. Still, at the same time, the ranch also needs to increase engagement, accessibility, and appreciation amongst the public to sustain and share their work. 

I have found myself in the camp of always being e-bike-curious. I suppose the fear of the stigma of getting hooked on electric-assisted bicycles, which would lead to an abandonment of the mechanical genius that is a strictly human-powered bicycle, and falling into retirement, or the idea of giving up has held me back from committing to ride one. I imagine that some of my analog cycling friends rolling their eyes in disgust at my desire to ride and even write about e-bikes. I value and appreciate the aesthetics of their classic custom bike builds, colorful and artistic components and frame designs. I have even owned my fair share of beautiful custom bicycles. But since I have moved away from bike shops and no longer have access to the tools, space, wholesale pricing, and expertise that I used to have, my priorities have shifted. These days, I don't feel like I have the money, time, or creative energy to create custom bike builds. That's not where my energy lies at this point in my life. I'd rather be designing a route, riding that route, writing, reading, or just scheming for future projects. I blame it on the fact I am a millennial. I didn't grow up with knowledge of or experience with "classic" bicycles. I like fashion and cool bike style and do what I can with what I have because it makes my bike feel like an extension of my personality. Don't get me wrong, the fact that I have been sponsored by Specialized Bicycles for the past six years and have signed on with them for the seventh year no doubt influences my perspective here. They have been generously fueling my passion for riding with bikes that are reliable, comfortable, and light enough to inspire me to want to climb over 17,000 ft passes in the Andes loaded with around thirty pounds of gear, food, and water. 

How I Became E-Bike Curious

My e-bike curiosity significantly increased in 2020 and started after I got my first taste of e-bike life at Ruta del Jefe (RDJ) at the AWRR last February. There are two different lodging and research compounds at the ranch; the lower east side compound includes the Swinging H ranch house (where I am currently living), the bunkhouse, the casita, and the lab. This lower zone is where bikepackers who are riding the Sky Islands Odyssey route camp. A mile up the road to the west are the headquarters, the director’s and conservation program manager’s residences, the barn, and additional camping space. I host the festivities for Ruta del Jefe up here by the headquarters. For last year's RDJ, my Mom brought her new e-bike, a Specialized Turbo Vado, to go on gravel rides with my Dad, who is always training for some ultra-endurance gravel event. She can keep up and even ride ahead while he can do his training ride, and they both get to spend an excellent time together on bicycles. 

In the mornings at RDJ, my Mom would ride her Vado from the Swinging H up to the headquarters to help volunteer. Once her Vado was there, I would wisp it away to get around the ranch quickly to-and-from various places a mile or two apart to do the random tasks required to put on such an event. These were some of my favorite moments from the event because they were a burst of fun personal time, a much-needed break from the intense focus I had managing operations, and they helped sustain my energy throughout the weekend’s festivities. 

Then, there was the inaugural RDJ scorcher race. A scorcher race is a mix between a cyclocross race and a fixed gear criterium completed on a fixed gear gravel bike. As far as I know, Ron, aka Ultraromance, aka my friend Benedict Wheeler created this super ultra-niche with enabling from friends and frame builders, Adam Sklar and Hubert d'Autremont. Not very many people own fixed gear gravel bikes, so scorcher races are open to all bikes and riders who would like to race a four-mile undulating gravel loop two times in a row at full gas. 

As I recall, ten ambitious souls lined up at the start line for the RDJ 2020 inaugural scorcher race but the finale between Benedict, Adam (both on official scorcher bikes), and Jorja (on my Mom's Vado e-bike) was most memorable. With less than a mile to go, the three were riding neck and neck, seeing triple, and tasting blood; then, Adam dropped off the back leaving the glory to be decided between Benedict and Jorja. It was wheel to wheel as the final two rounded the corner to the finish line. Before anyone could believe what they were seeing, Benedict (in his true character) grabbed Jorja's handlebars. Simultaniously, he pushed her back as he propelled himself forward over his bars and slid head-first through the gravel and across the finish line. I was dumbfounded at the fact that the person tasked with feeding seventy-plus people in thirty minutes was covered in blood, gravel, and sweat for the sake of his vanity. But alas, it was a truly memorable finish, shenanigans of which will live on through campfire stories for years to come. 

As I watched Jorja ride the e-bike during that scorcher race, I couldn't help but think how fun that looked. In the year since, I welcomed every conversation about e-bikes I could with people; some of them were inspiring, fun conversations with a lot of giggling, and some were heated debates. Throughout it all, the tales of the benefits of equalizing the pace of cycling for partners, the ease of running car-less errands, and generally how much fun e-bikes sounded appealed to me. When I moved to the AWRR for the winter and started to grasp how remote and isolated it was from the nearest town with services, I seriously started thinking of getting an e-bike for myself. I only had to mention that I was e-bike curious for Specialized to have a Turbo Creo SL Expert EVO (an e-gravel bike/e-diverge with 250 watts) at my door the next week.

Three E-Bike Rides

Since I received the Creo SL, I have taken it on a handful of rides. In particular, three rides stand out for my initial impressions of e-bikes and the potential I see for my specific uses. I must say, when a bike inspires me to think of riding creatively on new types of rides for different purposes, I feel like that's the sign of a good bike. The Creo SL is creating a refreshing level of fun and joy in my life, sensations that have felt a little muted this year due to the pandemic, social isolation, and the state of societal and political affairs. 

The first ride I took the Creo SL on was a thirty mile round trip ride that was thirty percent dirt and seventy percent paved to get cash from the closest ATM in Sonoita to pay the guy who was delivering firewood in two hours. I finished a meeting, quickly pulled on some skivvies, filled up a water bottle, and dashed out the door. I put the e-bike on full throttle (3 out of 3) mode and pedaled as fast and as hard as I could. The speed was thrilling and addicting, and I settled into a pedaling pace shifting between the hardest three gears for the rest of the ride. Head down, hands in drops; I was riding at an anaerobic threshold compared to the speed I ride in the first thirty miles of a gravel race. The thing about e-bikes, at least in terms of my e-bike, is that they are pedal assisted, so it only will go as fast as you push it to go through pedaling and momentum. Stopping either of those two things causes the bike to throttle down, and its full weight to be felt as if you are climbing a hill in too hard of a gear. That's why once I got it revved up, it felt like it was best to keep it that way, and it became a fun game and good work out. I finished the ride (including stops at the ATM, opening and closing the ranch gate twice, and taking a picture) in one hour and twenty-six minutes. That's about a twenty mph average, including stops, which I think is a testament to the fact it is merely an assist, not a motorcycle. I came away from this ride feeling like I had gotten a perfect anaerobic workout while also accomplishing an errand relatively quickly without having to drive a car. My core was tired as it always is, but my legs were not throbbing as they would have been if I had made the same effort on my Diverge. I also had more battery remaining than I expected and wished I had just left it on full mode, rather than lowering it to 2 out of 3 mode halfway through the ride, but I was too scared to have to ride a dead, heavy e-bike on some of the hills leading to the ranch. 

The second ride was a quick school break ride with my partner, Adam, or the "Lorde," as some know him. Adam has been using his time during COVID to earn his master's degree in social work to pursue a lifelong journey of mental wellness for himself and others by becoming a clinical therapist. Getting a master's degree and doing personal work, learning, and unlearning the habits required to meet one’s basic needs and enhance social functioning, self-determination, collective responsibility, and society's overall well-being is no easy task. To help, we have restructured our lifestyle to accommodate a fixed schedule for the first time in our relationship. This new schedule of classes on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday has significantly diminished the distance we can travel, time spent bike touring, and on rides together in general. This adjustment just so happens to complement the need to limit our travel and activities due to COVID anyway.

These days, Adam doesn't always have the time to go out on my all-day-long exploration rides. He needs short and efficient study break rides so he can get his nose back in the books as soon as possible. Usually, I shy away from these short study break rides because Adam is quite strong and fast, and for me to tag along would mean I'd sign myself up for a torture fest, one in which I'd quickly lose the desire to try and keep up for. However, the last time he wanted to get out for a quick ride, I tagged along with the e-bike. Each of our competitive sides quickly came out to play, first by talking a little smack, then came the mental manipulation games and a false start on a climb, and then came the race. It didn't take me long to prove to Adam (someone I have had fierce debates over e-bikes) that I could out-pedal him. He could keep up in some places for a short time, but overall, that was it. With this confidence, I settled into a parallel ride where Adam pedaled consistently hard, I could stop to take pictures, pedal hard to catch up, pull him or ride with him for a bit, and finally pedal off the front and stop again to check something else out. This ride was enjoyable, served both of our needs, and equalized the ride's overall pace. I wasn't frustrated with him going too fast, I wasn't exacerbated by how hard I had to keep up, and I didn't have any guilt for stopping. I could jump into anything I wanted to do on the ride while also sharing a ride with him. On the other hand, Adam gets my company on a short and fast workout and is pushed to limits that equal the Durango Tuesday Night Worlds group ride. 

The third ride I took my e-bike on was one part scouting mission, one part errand, and all parts adventure. I decided to go for a ride that had been on my list to scout for a while. I wanted to ride the old railroad grade through the adjacent Babacomari Ranch, which I have gained permitted access to by living here. I planned to follow the dirt railroad to Huachuca City and then take pavement to and through Fort Huachuca to renew my residents' pass to gain access through the base which is slightly a shorter drive to the full services of Sierra Vista from AWRR. Ultimately this errand would save me close to two hours of driving. 

The first part of the ride, the scouting part, was an enjoyable spin where I took in the beauty of my surroundings, enjoying the fresh cool damp air, and the grippy dirt from the rain we had received the day before. I had the pedal-assist set to 2 out of 3, which felt like it perfectly matched the amount of effort I wanted to put in. Once I got to the pavement and the busy four-lane road leading to Fort Huachuca, I put the bike in 3 out of 3 mode and turned on the hammer. I rarely will subject myself to roads like these because I feel like they significantly increase my chances of being hit by a car. I was reminded of this when a red truck with four muffler pipes sticking out in different directions pulled into the shoulder I was riding in, laid on the horn, and passed closely at high speed. This experience only made me pedal harder, and I was grateful for the assistance that shortened my time on that road. When I finally reached the Fort, storm clouds loomed overhead. It looked like I would get stuck in some rain without a rain jacket. Having not seen rain in over two months (aside from the previous day), I had only brought my wind jacket. As soon as I got my permit for the Fort, I hopped back on my bike to try to beat the rain. I had 15 miles of rolling hills to go, and I had only a quarter of power left. I rode on 2 out of 3 mode until the final power light quickly went red, at which point, for the first time, I rode in one 1 out 3 mode. I could feel the bike's weight more; the hills and the effort to climb them felt as hard as a regular bike. However, there was still the looming fear that I would have to pedal a dead heavy e-bike on the steep rocky miles leading to the ranch, which motivated me to pedal harder to not to waste any remaining battery life. Finally, having gotten only a little wet and cold, I reached the ranch road, still with one red bar of power left, and pedaled my way home. I was exhausted from the unexpected challenge that the e-bike had created for me through inspiring a false sense of confidence, distance, and capability. This time, my legs hurt, my body was sore, and I even required a mid-day nap the following day. 

My Impressions

In essence, I am a fan of e-bikes, pedal-assist bikes; whatever you want to call them. I certainly would love a longer battery life and wider tires, but I'm sure that's all coming in the near future. I don't see myself ever riding an e-bike on group rides with friends who are not riding e-bikes, but I am interested in going for e-bike group rides. For the most part, I see it as a tool for more solo scouting rides, commutes for errands, or quick-school-break-rides with Adam. Living in a place that has four miles of gravel each way to get on and off the ranch, I am more inclined to ride more frequently off the ranch to explore the surrounding areas on my own with the Creo SL. It promotes quick, low-impact mental health breaks, solo physical workouts, and tilts the scale in my favor on short, fast rides with my partner. The result is that I am riding more, driving less, seeing more places in a shorter time, getting stronger (through riding more frequently), and having a ton of fun.