Trip Reports: 2021

SO THERE I WAS, packing my car for another epic adventure. My phone seldom rings with good news. Sure enough, “Did you see the latest email?” An email could only be worse news: Stupid Pony 2021 CANCELED.

A year of planning, training, scouting, suddenly for nothing. I had worried the weather was potentially disruptive, but finality is demoralizing.

After two years of knee pain and empty results, I was finally healthy, strong, and ready to attempt another monster: 200 miles of gravel, traversing the West Desert of Utah, following the historic Pony Express route from Lehi to Wendover, across some of the most barren, desolate, and inhospitable terrain in the lower 48. No water, food, nor shelter. Just rocks, sand, salt, and wind, with three aid stations to add probability to the impossibility of surviving the journey in one grueling day.

A sulky hour later, I phoned Brandon to discuss our options: 1, do the ride anyway, unsupported; 2, head to Wendover (NV/UT) and ride a shorter substitute event; 3, stay home.

Analysis: 1, impossible and potentially fatal; 2, disappointing, but better than nothing; 3, nothing, worse than nothing.

Stupid steed: Niner RLT Steel, 45c tires, 5 water bottles, 21kg loaded

Day 1.

Start in the dark, 4 hours to Winnemucca, NV.

From Pioneer Park, head west on singletrack dirt trails to the summit of Winnemucca Mountain (elev 6700’). The GPS shows a 5% climb, but I’ve been fooled before. The first few miles are flatter, so the 12% summit ramp is only mildly surprising.

BZ traversing Winnemucca Mountain

Niner RLT Steel, hero shot

Small dead bushes litter the narrow trail like miniature tumbleweeds. Perfectly sized for maximum annoyance, these Spoke Weeds catch our wheels, jam our brakes, and tangle our chains. The dry, loose conditions, paired with the steep slopes, limit our upward momentum, but after only 90 minutes (sure felt longer!), we crest the ridge and enjoy smooth swooping pavement back to the car. Giddy smiles, all the way down.

BZ nearing the summit ramp

Spoke weeds and loose rocks force BZ to walk

Glorious paved descent of Winnemucca Mountain

Lunch: Chihuahua’s Grill and Cantina, Winnemucca, as the weather forecast freshens. Sizzling fajitas and a burrito big as a bread loaf. Admitting the hungry-cyclist-factor adds one star, I give them 4/5.

Another 2 hours to Elko. Buying beers, hoping for a sunset cruise, the breeze stiffens and purple clouds loom. I suggest we put on coats and go for it, while Brandon tempers my optimism and suggests waiting 30’. A compromise: hotel check in, then try it.

Good choice. Wind slams. Rain pours. Hail stings. Lighting shatters. In minutes, everything is soaked. Typical of many mountain storms, 30’ later the rain is gone and the clouds hint of retreat.

Riding from town, head north on gravel towards the Elko Snowbowl, but veer right when you see a 4-prong relay tower on the highest point (6675’). Another 5% climb says the GPS, but if you believe that, you’re a fool like me. Flat through town, gentle dirt ascent, then a heinous loose switchback segment to the top, just in time for sunset. We halve our beers, then skitter down the blocky chunky descent as darkness falls.

Gravel from Elko

BZ climbs the ramp to the towers

Sunset view from the Elko Tower

Depart before dark

Dinner: Matties Taphouse and Grill, Elko, with an appetite.

Deep. Fried. Pickles. Say no more! “Would you like fry-sauce with that?” Ok, say that again. “Fry-sauce, it’s ketchup mixed with mayonnaise.” A Utah classic, I haven’t thought of it in 10 years, and didn’t know it has infiltrated neighboring states. Like hungry Utah ski bums, Send It! ‘Cado Bacon Burger and Turkey Melt Supreme. Wow, Mattie fuckin’ nailed it. 5/5, would eat again.

Also, our first hint that perhaps NV is also stealing from TX. We all know Everything is Bigger, but any beer ordered in NV comes in ‘Small, Large, or pitcher’. A Small is still 16oz, and the adjacent Large glassware scares me. I’ll have a gin and tonic, please. “A Double?” Damn Nevada, you thirsty!

To bed with full bellies, the morning forecast is bleak. Flood watch, winter weather advisory, 50mph winds, it looks like an inevitable Zero-day on this road trip.

Shilo Inn. Soft bed, smooth pillows, clean towels, and an effective thermostat. Would recommend.

Day 2.

Awake in the dark, puddles on the pavement, loading the car and hoping the meteorologist is wrong. Astrology is bullshit. Anyway…

Breakfast: Dreez, Elko, awkward to say, easy to enjoy. From the menu, ‘Le Waf, an Artisan Waffle, with an unbelievable flavor, secretly made with European pearl sugar folded into the dough.’ Make it two, with eggs, bacon and an orange juice. “Would you like a short or a tall?” Not today, Nevada! I’ll take a short, and am hardly surprised when a full pint mason jar arrives brimming, fresh squeezed. Not quite as hungry, after two bomber meals, but this breakfast is still the best in town, 4.5/5.

Thirty minutes to Lamoille. After ‘Le Waf’, pronounced in an elegant french way, we anticipate this little town should have a delicate name, but sadly the locals call it LamOIL, which makes sense in a state famous for drilling, mining, digging, scraping. Too bad though, the views from LaMOIL! (I think it’s most effective if you shout the name) are straight from a European hamlet. The Ruby Mountains, the ‘Swiss Alps of Nevada’, are out the back door. With such high acclaim in a middle-of-nowhere range, it’s fair to be skeptical, but you’d be remiss to bypass the Lamoille Canyon Scenic Byway. I’ve not been to Europe, so I can’t validate the comparison, but the Ruby Mountains easily compare to anything I’ve seen in Utah, Colorado, Montana, Oregon, California, or Canada.

Catching a break in the weather, powdered sugar on the peaks, the scent of sage in the air, the road gleaming from downpour, droplets dripping from trees, wind rustling the yellow aspen leaves, water cascading down the canyon, stopped only by small beaver dams.. I could go on, but there must be some idiom about using pictures instead of words.

Entering Lamoille Canyon, into the Ruby Mountains

BZ on approach

No caption needed

Wind and a threat of rain force a quick snack at 8800’, while we marvel the 11,000' peaks. Hail stings our faces at 30mph as we descend, laughing the whole way, and shivering too.

JK pausing to warm fingers

Lunch: Bella’s Restaurant & Espresso, Wells, as the clouds poured from the peaks and walloped the windows with hail and lightning. On the door, ‘Local mandates require you to wear a mask, but we won’t infringe on your Constitutional rights, so please don’t tread on ours.’ Our server has a gun on his hip.

‘Bella’s Famous Chicken Ceasar Salad’ deserves its title. Being warm, dry, and hungry adds to the score, but the chicken is excellent and the little diced toast bits are incomparably better than stale croutons. 5/5, best truck-stop-town salad you’ll ever have.

Time for one more ride, we depart for the northern tip of the Rubies during a gap in the weather. The road to Angel Lake (8400’) is a delight, but our tired legs urge us to stay in the car, and the purple clouds are indisputable. At the top, we watch clouds spill over the peak, and sporadic precipitation pelts us as we admire the lake. Is it snow? Rain? Hail? “Oh, shit. Look!” A wave of hail floods the basin, and we run for the car as the leading edge hits.

Angel Lake as hail storm approaches

Laughing with relief, glad we skipped this ride, we creep down the mountain as the road turns white.

An hour to Wendover, the storm finally recedes and we’re treated to a beautiful desert evening. With Stupid Pony canceled, we bump down to the 100mi Salty Lizard gravel race. It’s a disheartening shift, and when check-in tells us the 100 course has been shortened too, by rain, it’s yet another disappointment. A 60mi course, with an added loop, is nothing compared to the 200mi ultra adventure we hoped for. Demotivated. Uninspired. Let’s go find a beer. Make it a Large this time.

Dinner: Fratelli Pizza, Wendover, as the sun melts into the horizon. With no indoor dining, and rainwater on the picnic tables, we stand in the wind and drink our beers in the dark. The hawaiian and jalapeño pizza is better than the menu pictures suggest. Hot, crispy, delicious, we scarf while laughing about the miserable mud and impassable conditions the Pony course would have presented. 5/5, shoulda bought a bigger pizza, and a bigger beer.

The Nugget Hotel Casino. Hot, lumpy, scratchy, stinky, noisy. Avoid.

Day 3.

Awake at 3am, see above, and ready for racing by sunrise. Load the car, dodge the raindrops, and head to the start as the wind whistles through bike spokes. Yet another alternate route is imposed, as the rain has fouled much of the desert.

BZ rolling to the start line

We go out hard for a mile with the racers, but then settle into our adventure pace, chatting with others, enjoying the beautiful morning. The first section is mostly double-track, off-road gravel and sand, with loose washouts and many turns. The stout winds are difficult, but the views are superb.

A rider heads into the desert on the Salty Lizard

After an hour, my legs feel better than Brandon’s so I scrap our just have fun plan and put some power down. I give ‘er the beans for an hour, passing a dozen riders on a steep climb, chunky descent, and a long headwind straightaway.

Salty Lizard rider looking east towards the Salt Flats

Loose rocks under the train tracks

Feeling stronger than expected, I hold my effort for another 2 hours to complete the 60mi course, and face the decision: another 30mi loop or exit here for a DNF and a beer. The middle section is more road than trail, but the rain has turned it to slop, slurry, sand, and rock. It’s not nearly as fun as the first half, but I came all the way out here, might as well turn it up. Up hill, that is. The little connector wasn’t on the original route, so I never scouted it, but it becomes the hardest 2 miles of the day. Wicked steep, facing a 20mph direct headwind, we all struggle up to the saddle for the second lap. With the car and (Did-Not-)Finish line so close, you need to be Salty to complete that climb. Stupid too. I’m both.

Headwinds and straightaways in the desert

I see more riders on the horizon and push myself to catch them. I pass a few as I finish the second loop faster than the first, and only then realize the last kilometer to the finish line is also steep uphill on loose rocks. Too bad I emptied the tank a few minutes before the climb. I limp it up the hill to finish faster than my goal time (which I set spontaneously at the halfway point). I’m 90 minutes slower than the leaders, but I feel great about my effort and result: 6h40m going hard in the desert, that’s a solid day.

Saturated silt resembles concrete

Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes, all feel surprisingly good. No major pains. Just the expected soreness, with a touch of unsettled stomach: probably too many gels, not enough calories, and dehydration.

I change into street clothes, rehydrate and ponder what the 200 would’ve been. It’s nice to finish the 100 feeling strong, but mostly I feel disappointed to miss the chance to test myself on the real adventure. I don’t know how many chances I’ll get, so it’s frustrating to miss this fitness window.

Brandon finishes his ride too, a solid outing on a tough course. We share thoughts of How’d you do, Did you see that guy crash, What if, Pony, and, of course, What next?