Author: Bill

Jay Petervary won the Stagecoach 400 by riding without any sleep whatsoever for just under 50 hours. Wow! That is so amazing! His post alone made something click in my head. And then bouncing my feelings off of someone last night solidified my understanding of what I am as a multi day adventurer on a mountain bike. I don’t think I will be a good multi day racer.

I know a lot of my friends have been waiting for the day that I sign up for the Tour Divide.  And so this thought may be hard to digest but I think I know myself better then anyone.  And I know I like to live and experience. I love to travel and experience all kinds of stimulus.  But how much can you enjoy a ride if you are in a sleep deprived coma? I know, one will find a new meaning to life and understand themselves better when faced with great diversity.  But after suffering many hours then passing out and crashing to mother earth in the wee hours of the morning I have come to an understanding of my own.

I think I would make a terrible multi-day mountain bike racer. I think my limit for pure output is 24 hours and then my talents drop off dramatically.  Case in point was this last weekend. It took me two days to cover a measly 100 miles and at the 90 mark I blew up in dramatic fashion.  I have spent the last two days walking around like I just played in my first tackle football game.

Now that I am rested and going through some photographs I am realizing that I almost missed the most important part of last weekend. The beauty and diversity of mother earth. Another day on the bike and I would have been in so much delirium that I probably wouldn’t even noticed the earths greatest gifts.  When I was sitting in my truck-shelter-bivy waiting out a snow storm I asked myself why I have to make things so miserable.  Cant I just mosey down the path? Why do I have to attack it?

“What if you stopped suffering and just went at a sustainable pace? I think you would go even farther … and faster. Why suffer and slow down when you can go steady and eventually catch and beat everyone … if that is what you want. You would of not HAD to come back at Frog Hollow. You would have been way out there … given you just had started and stayed in your fun zone…”, the voice said to me on my cell phone last night.  A voice from someone that is new to big bike efforts. And it made a lot of sense.

Now that I am dabbling and wanting to enter a new genera of mountain bike efforts I have the opportunity to enjoy myself.  After all the reason I suffer so  much in my current racing world is because I have so much expectation and feel pressure to bury myself … the madness of Bill Martin … right? Why?

The weekend and the work week. Blizzard and sunshine. Snowy peaks and tilled bare earth. Sitting on your ass and getting outside.  All a part of life.

I am leaning up against a tree and as I start to become conscious I notice that the sun is no longer in the sky.  Replaced by a sad sliver of moon.  But the sky is full of color and really quite beautiful. I wondered off after work on my bike. Remarkably I made it across town without doing much but thinking of someone. Cars zipping by a ghost shell rider. Someone will be leaving the state tomorrow morning.  Like the sun. Who has already left the scene.  I will miss her. And now the moon replaces the sun and resembles my sliver of hope. Hope that I can move forward. Perhaps through the night. The beauty of the colors draw me up and back onto the bike.  I will ride until I feel better. I cant not wait for this weekend. I will dissapear chasing the sun to see where it is that it goes to every night.

Another drive to Missoula … strike that … Bozeman. Wow! I am so disoriented right now. And ah … where was I? I can see a fence high on a ridge stretching and waking to the mornings fiery light. I think I am somewhere between spending some good times with friends and my new job in Bozeman.

I nearly went unconscious more times this trip then ever. I can’t help but to tell myself this is how people die. It’s their last trip, last day on the job, and something happens. A mountain passes by the passenger side window of the car.  The passenger side is empty. Not the way I want it.  I fight my desire to go back. To ask someone to come with me.  I have to be brave and leave it all behind now.

I get out the camera to pass time and still find myself drifting.  The last trip to Missoula now becomming a memory.  Suddenly the Bridgers break out in my front window and just like that; I made it. And I survived. Another trip. The last one. I am home.

The first world high atop the mountains have unpredictable weather and lofty views.  I like this world the best. I am away from this world right now and think that when I return I will return for good.  No more traveling for a while.

I spend a lot of time in that world … in fact I made it my home. Or will make it my home. And now I must return to that land.  But on the way I shall stop at another world.

Ahhh … the other world. A world of dirt and predictable weather.  I travel to this world often to ride my bike … when the other is re-arranging house.

My first boat wreck was intense. The river was higher than last year, making me nervous, like cycling on ice. Yet, we were told the higher volume would smooth the ride. It didn’t feel smooth; the power of the water was overwhelming, with swells hiding the shores, reminiscent of a “World’s Deadliest Catch” episode.

Before the wreck, during the 2012 Grizzlyman Adventure Race, things were different. Dave was bummed it wasn’t a 24-hour race. I was barely trained but ready. Our strategy was unconventional, aiming for checkpoints in the dark.

The race began, and soon we were navigating through swamps to checkpoints, turning it into an adventure tour with cycling and walking. Easy and fun.

Approaching the river, I panicked, remembering my fear of water. Despite Dave’s reassurances, the rapids were terrifying. Yet, we managed without capsizing until something flipped us near the end. The river fought hard, but we fought back, re-entered our boat, and finished the race, merely washing off the day’s sweat.

Post-race, the organization felt haphazard, as if we were randomly choosing our next moves. Surprisingly, we hit new records and found new trails, finishing strong and already planning for the next year’s 24-hour challenge.

Since I travel a lot I get to see sunrises and sunsets.  Someone once told me they look exactly the same.  That may very well be true.

Traveling is good and I love it. But I am becoming increasingly fatigued from all the back and forth from Bozeman to Missoula.  How do I pass the time when traveling?  Why taking photos out of the window of course.  Now I am in Missoula and today the Grizzlyman race starts.  On most calendars it is scheduled for Saturday.  but as we all know at 7 tonight I get a crap load of coordinates and we set to work plotting and scheming all night. leaving now to meet up with my adventure race partner Dave Chenault.  Wish us luck.

It is amazing what you can find in a quarter mile trail in the woods.

Some worlds seem as though they were taken right out of a Dr. Seuss book.

It is hard to keep on the path when the forest floor looks so comfortable. but lay down on it and who knows what worlds you are squishing.

Even off the forest floor there are worlds hanging out in the tree galaxies.

Expand your focus out and there are numerous colonies that encompass entire worlds. Even colonies built in the results of larger mammals.

Somehow it all fits together in the forest. It is more then just wild beauty, there is movement, sounds, and colors.

To view all of this one just needs to stop and just let your focus browse upon what makes up all the movements, sounds, and colors.  It’s al there.

 This morning I got out on the mountain again for a 20 minute burn up to the ridge-line.  As I ascended I realized that I totally recovered from last nights quad burner decent. I realized that maybe, just maybe, I was coming into some kind of form.  maybe last weekends efforts were coming into fruition and I was peaking a bit. Sometimes as you travel the scenery changes in such a way that you realize that the journey is not so bad.

Last weekend when we traveled back from the mountain bike race I went from dread to all out enjoyment.  As our spirits were lifted with a spectacular sunset we decided to continue all the way home instead of stopping to sleep. As we crossed one bridge I looked up to enjoy the subtle pleasures of color and lines. Life is like that, a bunch of paths, sometimes going n different directions, with life’s un-duplicable colors always abundant.

Ok! So maybe there is no word “un-duplicable” and it is amazing you have read this far.  I can get so confusingly abstract and philosophic. Alright then, the earth is remarkably beautiful but in a dynamos way. Like all sunsets are not exactly the same.  Such are our journey’s in life.

As the darkness grew ever more dank upon the beauty of the earth.  And my eyelids grew heavy with dreams of upcoming races. One last glimmer of beauty appeared as a cobalt glow off the river. I watched the yellow lines pop by like the frames in an old movie. I started to dream of my next adventure and I shut my eyes.

*Disclaimer: I was not driving … lol

Every time we hit Route 12 down to Idaho, there’s this waterfall we never miss. It’s not like I’m some water wizard, but checking out the waterfall’s flow kinda became my quirky ritual to guess how soggy the spring’s gonna be. This time around, it was more of a trickle than a torrent. Made me think, “Hey, might be a solid omen for the Grizzlyman Adventure Race next week.”

Speaking of gauges, that race is my personal litmus test for how I’m shaping up each spring. When that starting gun pops, I’m all systems go, trying to catch a glimpse of the frontrunners. Fun fact: the pros get a one-minute head start, but spotting them just a stretch ahead got me thinking, “Time to reel ’em in.” Worked like a charm last year, had me feeling top of my game.

Halfway through, it’s just me and this elite squad of four pros, a stone’s throw away. I’m out there in the desert, hitting the gas, aiming to shake off anyone bold enough to tail me. But then, my so-called “surge button” starts to feel more like a dud. Despite hammering on it, my lead starts slipping, and one by one, the pack I’d overtaken began to overtake me.

Turns out, my new bike and I were still in the getting-to-know-you phase, particularly with the gears. “No biggie,” I thought, “just need a sec to catch my breath, then I’ll blitz past them again.” Right on cue, the lead guy wipes out on a turn, and we all zoom past. “This is my moment,” I tell myself, ready to dominate.

But then, my surge button goes on strike. Click, click, click… Nothing but clicks.