Category: Blog Posts

Photo credits go to Jesse Carnes and Pat Scharf. Click on the images to go to the source page which may or may not be visible depending upon the permissions.

I just sprayed Zicam into my mouth to try and thwart an oncoming cold. With a Frog Hollow departure date set for next Thursday this cold thing can not happen. Isn’t that how it always goes? Now I must gather and purchase 25 servings of Carbo Rocket for said race. Last night I finished unpacking from my trip to Missoula. It was a trip that I have been taking every other week for the past 9 weeks in a row. Last weekend our plan was simple. To do a cross race and then hike the high point in the Bitterroots.

First on the docket was the cross race. Also thanks to Red Barn for getting my cross bike rejuvenated mid season. I decided to race the old steed instead of my usual mountain bike. Just like normal I was running on no sleep and I was skeptical that my performance would be up to par. My training leading up to this race had a lot to be desired. But no matter because this was my last full of training weekend in preparation for the Frog Hollow .

My training plan had me doing a 3 hour hard effort (race was suggested) on Saturday and then Sunday I needed to do a 6 hour low key ride.  The combination of a cyclocross race Saturday followed by a nice hike on Sunday would fit the plan perfectly. And to ensure three hours of training Saturday I would do two races. Enter the 2011 Rolling Thunder.

Race number 1 was the masters race. I lined up per usual in the back. When I sized up my competition I felt a sense of dread.  Chance Cook who has won numerous state championships was right up front and so was a guy named Mark Knokey. Mark won the Rolling Thunder last year after I crashed in a final lap corner while leading the race. This year the Vertical Earth rider out of Idaho looked extra strong and focused. I had my work cut out for me.

On the first lap I was hanging out mid pack trying my best to not let the lead group gap the riders I was desperately trying to keep up with. The pace seemed fast and I figured that I would soon fade and get into a “just do my best” mode.

Soon a lead group of four, maybe 5, broke free on the second lap and I spent the entire lap just trying to catch them.  Soon I bridged up and settled in following them and resting up a bit. The pace seemed pretty high so at that point I was just trying to not get dropped.

I don’t know what lap it was but there is a straight section just before the start/finish line that I like to attack on. The group seemed to be going slower then normal so I decided to take the lead. This would ensure maximum announcer mention. I love it when they get excited. As I rode past everyone I decided to impress them with my speed and went extra hard. As I turned the corner I glanced back and I had a gap. I sprinted over the start finish line like it was the final sprint.

“Bill Martin is making his move”, the announcer shouted over the loud system.

“Keep it in Montana”, I heard John Curry yell as I went by his team area.

After putting forth a pretty fast lap, showing off to my friends and Mo, I slowed a bit so as to not blow up later on. Besides, I had a harder race to do later that night.  Mark surged hard and caught up to me. I figured why not work with him to keep Chance from catching on. I let him go by and caught his wheel.

“Watch out, Bill is a horse”, his teammate yelled from their pit area.

I took offense to that and started to make horse sounds. Then the track curved back around towards his excited teammate. “No your wrong … I am a mule”, I shouted as I went past him.

I took the lead on the next lap and started riding a little harder and soon Mark drifted back to Chance. Then the first mishap of the weekend happened. My cross bike’s shifters were already starting to strip out so I had like 6 out of 9 gears, certainly enough to race cross. But just as I motored away I stripped the rest of the gears out leaving me with one gear in the back and the two up front. So by using those two gears I continued to try and hold everyone off for the remainder of the race.

I went strong to the end and did a dance of victory at the finish line. It was a good race but I think I went way to hard. I should of immediately went looking for a back up bike or try and get my bike fixed. My sponsor Peter from Wild Joes even said I could use his bike (quite tempting), but I thought I could use the same two gear trick for the late night race.

Between races I Action Wipe(ed) up and enjoyed watching Mo’s cross race. I managed to run around the course catching her sometimes in 3 places per lap. Way more fun then recovering and keeping warm for the next race. But this would haunt me later.

Race number 2 was the late night show or the Cat 1,2 race. I upgraded the week before so I could be in the “show”. Right from the get go I knew I was in trouble but had faith that my “extra gear” would kick in and I would make my way up through the field.

By the end of the first lap it was apparent I had gone to hard before in the first race and had not recovered yet. As hard as I tried it seemed as though I was not catching the group. Still though I had faith that I would eventually start picking riders off.

I could still see the large pack which seemed to still be in one group just yards ahead of me when I started hearing a sound from my front wheel. I had broken a spoke and I slowed down to access the situation. It would only be moments before the remaining spokes would loosen and my front wheel would explode. I gingerly rode on.

After a while I deemed it necessary to continue the effort and stay as strong as I could for the friends and loved ones watching. As long as that front wheel didn’t collapse I would be fine I guessed. And I didn’t take any risks in corners and on the cork screw downhill.

What really took some wind out of my sails was on a re-mount after the run up. I slipped off my pedal thinking I was clicked in and landed on the cross bar. OUCH! To make matters worse I gouged my right ankle pretty bad. I limped for a moment and re-mounted, gingerly, even more then before, rode off embarrassed that this all happened in front of a large crowd.

After a while I deemed it necessary to “partake” in the cross festivities at the run-up. I started downing outstretched beers to the delight of the crowd. I can say beer didn’t slow me down but it did not help either. So I can take that off my potential “energy drink” list.  Once I grabbed some outstretched money.  So in the midst of the worst train wreck of a race to date I seemed to be having fun. Just at the end to make all things seem worse I got lapped effectively ending my race. I did a extra lap for good measure and slipped into the shadows to hide my embarrassed face. Thankfully Mo was there to take the brunt of my frustration and coax me into thinking I did well.

And that is the tail of two races, first and last. It was all good and I was able  to win  one for Team Muleterro, which I may add is hosting the 2011 MuleCross this weekend. It should be a fun course and a good time so come on out.

So many good things have happened to me in the last 4 months. Every time I start to get depressed because I am not “organized” or my “training plan” has been disorganized I have to remember that the root causes are really good things. One good thing, meeting someone very special, is a perfect example. I am also learning and discovering more new things. Like my ability to love and care. And because every good person in your life will add good qualities to ones life you pick up new things. Like courage, the courage to know when what you are doing is more harmful then the excitement of pushing the limits.

As I stood in the Rattlesnake Recreation Area parking lot the night was in full swing. The temps were dropping and it was darker than my favorite coffee. I had been quickly trying to prepare for the Sheep Mountain leg and stay warm at the same time. Another cold tremor came over me as I looked up in the sky for my friend the Big Dipper. Nothing there. The decision was mine alone. The question which seems simple was a complex one for me.

Continue and slog for 5 or 6 hours with minimal gear. I could carry a down coat in case of an emergency and could sustain myself easily over night until help arrived. So in reality my life was not in too much danger. It would be uncomfortable, sure. But what part of the RMVQ is comfortable? I was perfectly willing to take the risk. I wondered if this type of drive and intensity is the very thing that set my end to be somewhere deep in the woods alone. Is it the very thing that keeps loved ones at a distance in fear they would be the ones to come and find my body. Is it why up until last year I have been pretty much alone and single?

I could stop and call it a night, giving up on the RMVQ. This would be something new to me and the thought of it sent another round of shivers throughout my body. This was something I could not bear to think about. No way I would give up. And normally those thoughts would keep me going but this weekend I was not alone. Two good friends stood in the parking lot in front of me. I shined my headlamp in their direction once again, giving up on finding the Big Dipper. I saw concern and despair. It broke my heart. I couldn’t quit this effort because of discomfort but I didn’t want to cause pain in the ones that loved me. I decided upon a plan. But this plan would take courage, the courage to walk away from intensity and focus. To walk away from the Sheep Mountain leg.

“How about this”, I sat against Mo’s car, shivering out another bout of tremors.

“I don’t do this leg. I go warm up, eat, and then Norman and I will resume from Aid Station 3. Norman, can you do the rest of the RMVQ if I ride with you?”

“I can do that, yes”

So we packed up everything and headed off to eat brats and organize and comeback for the rest of the event. Norman busily conjured up some contacts on his smart phone and began the process of organizing aid stations with riders for the last half of the ride. I downed 6 brats and everything that Mo could cook up. Then we rested and waited  for our planned 1 AM departure. Our plan was to meet Alden and Lydia at aid station 4 in Turah. From there we would finish the RMVQ and turn a small setback into a successful effort. Norman dozed off and began to snore while I snuggled closer to Mo as silence filled the air.

Norman had set a phone alarm and when it went off all my ambition and focus was no where to be seen. I secretly wanted to get to it before everyone woke up and turn it off. I had been sitting there quietly contemplating what had happened so far and it startled me. I did not want to leave a warm house and food behind for some ten thousand more feet of climbing and tons of miles.  And it was cold outside to boot.

Norman took off 20 minutes before me and I promised to catch up. And that I did, after freaking out he went the wrong way, right in the middle of the MitTower climb.

Norman & I just topped out on MitTower and posted a cp Marcy Pic – 2:09 am via twitter

I twittered our check point arrival and posted a Marcy photo as Norman caught up to me at the top. We had a short moment discussion on “what the hell we were doing” and started our decent to the Blackfoot River. The downhill was chilly and I stopped a couple times in fear that Norman was involved in a mishap. But he always popped around the next corner shivering violently. I could tell he was getting cold and his figures were becoming a problem. Soon enough we reached the valley floor where it was way colder then expected.

It was so cold the river was giving off fog which made all the trees and landmarks a ghostly white. The ride to the swinging bridge was very eerie but soon enough we did indeed arrived. We were all frosted over ourselves.

Norm and I at swinging bridge – 3:10 am via twitter

It wasn’t long before we were approaching Turah and in doing so a car started to pass us. I figured it was either a drunk driver coming home from the bar at 4 am or Lydia and Alden. I got over as far as I could and prayed. As the vehicle passed I saw Alden’s gleaming face. He was totally stoked to ride.

And so we meat our compatriots for the last two legs of the RMVQ. The band of riders prepared and I downed about 4 Lara bars and a bunch of Jerky. Carbo Rocket was still keeping me going but I was ravished and needed something solid … and … YUMMY.

At check point Turah. Leaving with Lydia, Alden, & Norman. #RMVQ – 3:51 am via twitter

The climb from Turah is brutal. It climbs consistently for 3000 vertical feet except near the top where it kicks up for good measure. I was glad to have company because last year I got to the top and passed out until a cold breeze woke me up. The toll started weighing heavy on Norman.

“I am falling asleep while biking”, he gasped as he bent over his handlebars.

It wasn’t long though before we were all riding again and I was the first to reach the top. I had a moment until they reached me so I wet forth in posting a Marcy photo and tried to tweet/post.

Can see dawn now. on 5 corners pass waiting for Alden, Lydia, & Norman to summit. Hour or two from Deer Creek. – 6:29 am via twitter

While I did finally manage to get something sent off via cell phone it wasn’t as smooth as one would think. Three times I fell asleep while typing the message out. Thankfully my companions of the night showed up and I came back to life.

The rest of the journey over to Pattee Canyon involved logging roads near Miller Peak. It was cold so we stayed together for the simple warmth of our company and friendship. Soon the day light filtered out the darkness and our spirits lifted. Once again we started chatting as the anticipation of sunrise seeped into our consciousness like a good cup of morning coffee. Lydia pedaled by me signing some tune. These guys were doing great.

“This is what it looked like when I was going up Blue Mountain yesterday … about this time … um … was that me”, Norman seemed to be caught in a parallel world that many of us 24 hour racers know so well.

We stood at the top of the Sam Braxton Trail enjoying the sunrise. I had been messaging the aid station people that we were arriving early.

Alden, Lydia, & Norman … Andx i decending sammy b #RMVQ – 6:29 am via twitter

My text messages were getting a little hard to read. But I am sure everyone understood. We were approaching the end of a long 24 hour ride. But we had one more leg to do. As I approached the last aid station a lone figure appeared in the empty lot. I jumped off my bike and threw my arms around her. It was a good feeling, probably the best of the ride.

Then the others arrived. Julie … Ed … Laurie all trickled out of a car and gave everyone congratulation hugs. It was a good scene. Mo served me up some more food and explained that we arrived so early she didn’t have time to stop for coffees or anything else. Julie did manage to grab some joe but most importantly out fashioned Lydia as the best dressed rider of the event. There is no way to explain the outfit … had to be there … it was awesome.

What is commonly known as the Thursday Night Ride crew did the last leg with me. Norman, Lydia, Alden, Ed, Julie, and Laurie all stood with me on University Mountain to post the last Marcy photo. Then it was all downhill from there. Icing on the cake as you will, or the RMVQ’s version of Champs Elysées.  There was the congratulatory meet up at the base of MoZ and the finish just as previous years. And of course the breakfast at the Uptown Café. All good stuff.

The end went down as it always does in years past but this year it was new. This year no one finished the RMVQ but it was successful in many ways. Mostly though, I found the courage to stop the madness before it consumed me.   I am not riding solo any more, I have others in my life.

Maybe the RMVQ will never be finished again. Maybe … but I cant wait for next year. Sheep Mountain and I have a score to settle.

Riding to the top of Blue Mountain with my friend was great, I wouldn’t change that. But there are some side-effects to joy riding the first 3 hours of the RMVQ. Specially when your desire is to set a new record. I needed to make up a half hour by the time I hit the first aid station on Kona Bridge.  I rode at a higher intensity then the previous year but when I reached the end of the Grave Range I was even further behind pace. The big snow storm the days leading up to the event had the course super saturated and there were lots of huge puddles, each at the bottom of a screaming downhill. I had to slow down and find a way around. Then start a fresh up the next climb without enjoying the benefit of momentum from the speedy downhill. So the puddles got me.

I pulled into the first aid station with the idea in my head that this would be an epic RMVQ instead of a record breaking one. Already out was Norman who was determined to be the first non-Bill finisher. He took one look at the snow and bypassed the a-frame on top of Snow Bowl. I was anxious to see this snow and see if I could make it to the next aid station without abandoning the course. The RMVQ has been completed by yours truly every year since I started it and this year I wasn’t about to let it be the first to have no finishers. I was the only one left. I spent minimal time with my lovely aid person and headed up the long climb to the a-frame.

The climb was long but I expected it to be. What I never ran into was the huge snow pack reported earlier in the day. But as I climbed up the mountain everything got wetter and wetter. When I swung around the last switchback to the a-frame there was around 4-6 inches of snow. It was easy enough to pedal through but when I arrived at the a-frame it was apparent that I was going to have a “interesting” time descending the “Bear grass Highway” (A sweet single track section that in the summer is a hoot). I shoveled the snow from the front of the door and went in.

It seemed warm inside. That is because it was 34 degrees outside and dropping as the sun started to set.

“A frame snow bowl. 60 miles 10000 feet vert so far #RMVQ”

I typed this out on my phone and tweeted before I went out on the deck to post a “Marcy Photo”.

I put on every piece of clothing I had but as I descended I became cold. Add to that numerous crashes due to deep snow that had blown into the bowl. It was like descending a luge track that had 3 inches of fresh snow on top. The decent was tricky … but fun too. I reached Snow Bowl Lodge and ripped down to the Ravine Trail to begin my final ascent to get to Aid Station 2 in the Rattlesnake.

The sun had set and my lights burned into the dark ravine as I climbed a local trail known as, interestingly enough, the “Ravine Trail”. My goal was to make up time even though hopes of setting a new record had vanished with my slow decent into Snow Bowl. Now I was just trying to finish the RMVQ in 24 hours. Any more lost time and I would fail. I climbed fairly well and reached the top to post another “Marcy Photo”. Soon I would be in the Rattlesnake Recreation Area parking lot.

I shot down the “Drop Out” trail and my mind drifted to aid station 2. Would the parking lot party still be raging? How much snow would be on top of Sheep mountain? Would I be able to stay warm enough on the next leg?

“Shit”, I screamed as I neared “Sawmill Gulch”.

I left my flat pedals and snow boots in Bozeman. Now the question was how to get my booties to survive some extreme hiking on rocky terrain. The Sheep mountain leg was going to be epic enough. Now I had to do it with my bike shoes and clipless pedals. I shuttered and I though of how long of a hike might be in store for me on shoes designed to never touch the ground.

Soon the trail took its toll on my concentration to worry. I started grinning wildly and screamed excited phrases into the night air as I ripped around corners and dropped off the ridge.  I raced down “Sawmill Gulch” taking air off the big water bars and dashed into the “Maditory Singletrack”. This twisty piece of goodness took away all the pains of the previous 9 hours. I swerved around the trees as blissful and nimble as an owl. Music blaring in my ears I finally broke out into the parking lot and skidded to a stop. No one there except for one car, a recognizable car. It was Mo and Norman.

“Hey”

“Holy cow that was fast, I mean we figured it would take you 15 minutes to get off from Ravine but had no idea”

“It was fun, I am having a great time”

Shivers were rippling through my body. All the descending had frozen me to the core. Still … What a great ride so far.

So where was I. My last blog was about a month ago right after a weekend with friends. In fact my last blog was written while I was waiting for a phone call from someone to set up the next weekend in Missoula. So what has happened since then? How about a super speed train ride over the last month or so to get caught up.

I did the MESSS (No photos : photos by friends in Facebook … I hate Facebook … only friends of my friends can view them. Stupid Facebook) in under 12 hours and spent quality time with some friends in Missoula. I really do miss them. The week after the MESSS we back packed into Pine Creek Lake and spent the weekend. That place is truly amazing. Then last week I traveled to Missoula where I spent time with some friends riding down in the Bitterroot. And that is about it in a nutshell. So now that were are all caught up I will proceed to blog about the most recent adventure. Last weekend we went down the Bitterroot to do some mountain biking. We visited Como Lake and then the Warm Springs area.

Friday after work I joined up with Mo at the Larry Creek Campground to enjoy some Adventure Cycling festivities. Who can pass up an opportunity for beer, cheer, and smores by the campfire. The next morning we were off to find some mountain bike trails and stop in at the Red Barn Bike Shop to visit with Chad.

After trying out some snow bikes we headed to Como Lake and decided to camp there. We did a loop around the lake. The day went by pretty fast and the next thing you know the sun started setting. Of course we wanted to try and fit in a swim but that didn’t pan out for me so I just went back to camp and Action Wiped up. I gathered up some wood and started a nice little campfire and looked around for Mo.

I found her staring into the trees with a weird look on her face.

“What’s wrong”, I asked as I took a step forward. Problem was that my step forward didn’t turn out so well. I fell off the bank and nearly into the creek. By the time I got up and the dust cleared I suspected that whatever she was looking at had eaten her by now. She pointed up into a tree. I cleared the dirt from my eyes and strained to see what she was pointing at. it was a pine martin. Pretty cute little guy who was just wishing we would stop shining out headlamps at it.

The wildlife exhibit didn’t stop there either. As we sat by the fire we noticed eyes darting across the field in front of us. I jumped up and aimed my headlamp in the direction of the glowing eyes. It was a fox. Pretty cool. Didn’t see any wildlife in like three weeks and all of a sudden Saturday night was like a circus.

The next day we met up with Sommer and Jenny just past Darby on the Warm Springs Road. My plan was to take them up to and over Porcupine Ridge. It was a ambitious plan and maybe should of disclosed how much effort was needed. We all were juiced for new adventure and headed off to the Togood Cabin. It was a great ride and instead of completing my entire plan we opted for the shorter version down Fire Creek Trail.

We had to rush back to Missoula to make the Bridge Pizza before it closed but also needed to stop and look for a lost car key at our camping spot. No keys found but we did make it in time for a couple slices and a pint.

I stayed in Missoula and woke up early to drive to Bozeman. I barely made it to work on time and the work day was super hard. Now after a good nights rest I am planning another weekend of adventure. Before this weekend though, I need to do some compressed training to prepare for the RMVQ and 25 Hours of Frog hollow. Today included freaking out that I don’t have enough Carbo Rocket and some last minute ordering. Now after a power session of training plan juggling I am ready for 3 super hard days on the bike or running up a trail. on tap for tonight is some cyclocross training with the GAS team.

This weekend looks promising as I head out with Mo for some road riding and hiking just north of here. I can hardly wait. Loving love in Bozeman/Missoula Montana.

Adventures, by their very nature, are unpredictable. They’re the stories we tell with a mix of pride and a hint of disbelief, the kind of tales that start with a plan and end with a lesson in humility and the unexpected. My recent escapade into the wilds of Corbly Gulch serves as a perfect testament to this truth, a narrative of intentions gone awry and the unforeseen challenges that truly make life interesting.

The original plan was simple enough: head up to Corbly Gulch for a run, a straightforward mission that quickly unraveled when my beetle hit ruts from hell, stopping us a mile short of the trailhead. So, adapting to the hiccup, I switched gears—quite literally—opting for my mountain bike with a revised plan to ride for an hour before heading back to tackle weekend preparations.

But, as fate would have it, the presence of motorcycle riders on the boulder-strewn single-track I was navigating presented a new twist. Determined not to be outdone, I set a new goal: to go farther than these motorheads, a decision that shifted my day from a simple ride to an impromptu competition against the elements and engine-powered adversaries.

The challenge escalated on a loose, steep climb, where the sounds of struggling motorcycles ahead piqued my curiosity. What could possibly halt these powerful machines? Upon finding them hindered by the trail’s eroded steepness, pride took the helm. I attempted to surpass them on my bike, a move meant to demonstrate my prowess, only to be humbled by the mountain itself. A misplaced foot sent me tumbling down a scree field, a large rock halting my descent with a painful reminder of nature’s indifference.

Bruised, breathless, and momentarily defeated, I pressed on past the motorcyclists with a bike on my shoulder, earning their impressed acknowledgment. Yet, once out of sight, the adrenaline faded, revealing the true extent of my injuries and dousing the flames of my adventurous spirit. The realization dawned: the fun had ended, and it was time to retreat.

Descending back, I encountered the motorcyclists once more, sharing a brief exchange that underscored my decision to bail. As I sped past their abandoned bikes, a small victory in the grand scheme, the truth of Corbly Gulch’s victory over my ambitions settled in.

This misadventure, Mishap 3.0, was more than just a series of unplanned events; it was a stark reminder of the humility required when facing the wild, the respect demanded by nature, and the unpredictable joy of adventures that refuse to stick to “the plan.” And in this tale of plans gone awry, the real lesson isn’t in the fall but in the determination to rise, to adapt, and to find triumph in the journey, no matter how unexpected the path.