Oct 2021: Stupid Pony

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?

JK passes the last aid station

On the drive home, 8 hours to Roseville, we are entertained by small-town radio, and some road trip games we make up as we drive.

Game 1: What’s the population of this town? Over/under… 2000? I’ll take the over. 2300. Yes! I win.

Game 2: How high is that peak? Hmm, it has snow, so it must be higher than most.. 9000+? Only 8200’. Dang, you win!

Best songs from only-station-available-country-channels, somewhat paraphrased:

You got feelings, there’s a beer for that.

I don’t want to think about her no more, pour me a whiskey.

Beer cans line the TransCan, every 100 miles we stop to pee, but we don’t get no DUI’s cuz..

I know what you like. Show up naked, bring beer.

I’m starting to think Nevada is an alcoholic.

Cheers!

Heading home

Salty Lizard and Stupid Pony: https://saltyandstupidcycling.com

Winnemucca Mountain ride: https://www.strava.com/activities/6078932141

Elko Tower ride: https://www.strava.com/activities/6080035569

Lamoille Canyon ride: https://www.strava.com/activities/6083275744

Salty Lizard 100 ride: https://www.strava.com/activities/6089247245

The Photographer, a series by Brandon:

September 2018: Death Valley - White Mountain 24hr

Foreword.

  If you haven't already, please read about last year’s attempt in the previous post: DVWM 2017. It provides greater background detail and a thorough depiction of the emotional highs and lows of attempting (and failing) something beyond my abilities. See Instagram @jkoons10 for tidbits of recent adventures.

Disappointment.

Ending the 2017 attempt two miles short of the peak pained me greatly. To put in that effort, to come so close, to turn back without reaching the top… the emotions of that moment still linger. My mistakes became regrets which felt like punishments.

Gloomy last look from 2017

Motivation.

The failure to summit only strengthened my desire to complete the route. Before even leaving the mountain, I knew I’d be back for a second attempt.

Road to Badwater

Resolve.

Circling a date on the calendar solidified the summit as a concrete goal.

Planning.

By understanding the 2017 mistakes, I addressed my weaknesses. I needed to be fitter, stronger, tougher and more efficient.

Commitment.

Starting in the winter, I began a focused effort to train specifically for the challenge of DVWM. I taught myself to enjoy hill climbing repeats. One day I completed 42 laps of the same hill, accumulating 29,029’ of elevation gain. It’s called ‘Everesting’ and it only took 17 hours.

Enormous switchbacks

Toughness.

When training got uncomfortable, I learned to ignore the pain and push through. Most of the time, it was merely a mental barrier to surpass. The penance taught my legs to continue as long as my mind would allow.

Big mountain climbing: Whitney, far right

Stubbornness.

In the spring I signed up for a brevet series, including rides of 200km, 300km, 400km and 600km. These semi-supported endurance events taught me how to fuel, hydrate, conserve, and pace myself over long hours on the bike. Feeling strong and confident, my mind pushed my body too far. I ignored a shooting pain and shredded the cartilage in my knee. I completed 250 miles in under 18 hours, but the success* came with an asterisk. My mental toughness was much improved, but a physical set-back brought my plan crashing down.

Patience.

For 12 weeks I couldn’t ride. The self-induced injury left me in purgatory. It was hard to sit still while the calendar turned. The pain slowly faded but the uncertainty and anguish remained.

Waiting for sunrise

Strength.

Months of physical therapy helped me develop a plan for my redemption. Stretching, exercise, and massage slowly rebuilt my knee, while some easy cycling fueled my confidence.

Long way to the top: Whitney, again

Inspiration.

Having friends with ambitious goals made it easier to think bigger. If they could do it, I could too. Whenever I felt I’d reached my limit, I looked to others to see the infinite realm of possibility.

Follow the leader

Obsession.

My training plan evolved to include harder workouts and longer rides, each with increased frequency. The gym gave me strength and power, while the bike gave me endurance and optimism. I constantly eyed the calendar, counting the days, completing my workouts and hitting my benchmarks.

Addiction.

Taken a step further, obsession became something else. So fixated on my goal, I often lost track of priorities, focusing solely on the summit and the endless preparation required.

Stay on trail

Practice.

Nearing the final stretch of training, I put all the pieces together to practice the various stages of the route. I trained in the heat, on huge climbs, at elevation, in the dark, on the dirt, and everything in between. Critically, I also practiced eating and drinking under the stresses of long strenuous climbs.

Teamwork.

My 24-hour goal was impossible without a team. I assembled the best crew, Brandon and Kimber, and added another rider, Nate, for the second attempt. With much discussion on needs and logistics, we finalized the plan and approached the start. 

Start: Badwater Basin, Death Valley, the lowest point on the continent (-282’). 3:01pm, 115°F.

Smiles at the start: Jeremy and Nate

Determination.

Despite my training in the heat of summer, 115° is merciless and vicious. It is difficult to breathe. My heart races. It’s harder than expected. Frequent resupply is barely enough to keep the wheels rolling. I reach my first checkpoint dejected, pathetic, and miserable. Dante’s 7th Circle¹ wasn’t this hot. It feels like fate, but I am not yet resigned. To escape this Inferno, I must continue.

Stage 1 complete: 42mi to Stovepipe Wells (0’). Goal time 6pm. Actual 5:45, 108°F.

Death Valley

Suffering.

I knew the first stage would be brutal, but three hours in the Valley plays tricks on my mind. I’m looking for an excuse to stop. Maybe my knee hurts. Maybe I’m feeling sick. Maybe today just isn’t the day… We reach the first climb before sunset: a mistake. Dehydrated, overheated, with a 5000’ climb ahead, my body begs for a reprieve, but my mind is now stronger than ever. We continue. Up.

Hotter than hell

Still smiling

Or not

Co-misery.

The crew offer commiserations, but Nate and I share the real misery ourselves. Suffering with a partner makes it more bearable. If he can do it… It’s not the first time I’ve stared bleakly at his wheel and continued only because he was there. Finally, mercifully, the sun sets and the dusk breathes life into my soul.

Leaving the Valley

Camaraderie.

With the distress waning, we breathe deeply, more easily, and take in the beauty of the night. Using minimal lighting, the stars fill our eyes and propel us through the dark.

Darkness descends

Hope.

A year ago the wind whipped through this section, unleashing a torrent of torment on my psyche. I had opened Pandora’s box and the escaping sorrows clung to me until the end. This year, I dispatch the gloom, brace for the worst, and notice a token on the median: a gift from Pandora herself.

Stage 2 complete: 49mi to Crowley summit (5300’). Goal time 10:30pm. Actual 11:50, 60°F.

Midnight snack

Luck.

The headwind from 2017 still gives me nightmares. I am prepared for another long challenging night, but this year feels different; the wind is at our back. For 10 hours Cerberus² has hounded us, but a tailwind turns the tide. The task ahead remains herculean, but for the moment, we are immortal. With steely resolve, I check our pace and smile wryly. It is our turn to chase the beast.

Stage 3 complete: 73mi to Big Pine (4000’). Goal time 4:30am. Actual 5:00, 60°F.

Efficiency.

Through the first twelve hours, our efficiency is superb. Minimal stops, quick refills, and excellent teamwork cut corners on the route. We find time by not losing time. I feel the momentum and take the opportunity for a full reset: a shower, hot meal, and fresh shorts.

Through the gates

Selfishness.

My passion for this project has infected my friends, but in the end, nobody cares more than I do. I’ve taken countless mornings, evening, and weekends preparing for this moment, often at the expense of family and other opportunities. Now begins the final climb: 10,000’ to gain. After 14 hours riding together, Nate starts to drift behind. For the next 10 hours, we’ll ride alone. I have my own demons to fight and my own score to settle.

Stage 4 complete: 23mi to the Bristlecone Forest (10,000’). Goal time 8am. Actual 8:30, 50°F.

Alone to Bristlecone 

After a long night

Gratitude.

I invented this goal, the most net elevation gain in under 24 hours, as the most difficult challenge I could conceivably complete. Other riders may well do it faster, or find a harder route or a bigger mountain, but for my skill set, this attempt is the pinnacle of my ability. It takes a huge team effort to complete this ride and I literally couldn't do it without my crew. The countless water bottles and calories, the batteries and gear, the infinite encouragement, after 18 hours of support, I fully realize how grateful I am to my team. Brandon, Kimber, and Nate prove indispensable, as do the family and friends back home who lend us vehicles, provide childcare, and generally pick up my slack when I need a rest day (or two).

Stage 5 complete: 15mi to the Barcroft Gate (11,700’). Goal time 11am. Actual 11:15, 60°F.

Endless horizon

Perseverance.

A year ago, the miles before the Gate left me weak and sputtering. With Brandon now riding next to me, this year is different. Only a few minutes behind the pace, I float past the Gate and glide up the ramp to Barcroft. Vivid memories of the previous struggle envelop me, but I brush them off and surge forward. I reach the stones of last year’s DNF and stop for a symbolic snack and photo. Hikers on the trail are astonished at our progress, but warn that “it only gets harder from here.” You don’t say?

Summit in sight

Stage 6: 10mi to the Peak.

Tenacity.

The final pitch becomes unridable. The trail narrows, steepens, and sharpens. To consider the route ‘completed by bike,’ the bike must make the summit too. Pushing a mountain bike uphill, a Sisyphean³ task at 14,000’, proves the hikers right. Switchback upon switchback, progress is indiscernible. A mile from the summit, with 1000’ to gain, I take some food and grit my teeth. I mount the bike, leaving Sisyphus behind. The clock is ticking and I’m not yet ready to pay for my sins.

End: White Mountain Peak, the highest point (by bike) on the continent (14,252’). 1:52pm, 50°F.

Satisfaction.

I crest the final switchback and receive a welcome greeting from another hiker. Probably thinking I’ve done only ten miles, not two-hundred and ten, she cheers “Congratulations! You made it!” Exhausted, out of breath, I’m able to stammer, You have no idea… how much …this means… to me. I collapse on the summit platform and reach for my clock: 22 hours, 51 minutes, 56 seconds.

Trail's end

Relief.

I savor the summit alone, looking widely out and down, absorbing the mountain of effort below. Brandon rolls his own stone to the top, and for a moment we have the world to ourselves. We celebrate, we sigh, we embrace, and barely, I cry.

Warmer memories of the peak in 2018

Pride.

        If pride is a sin

       I’m going to hell

   Take me to Badwater

        I’ll ring the bell

Epilogue.

Net gain, in a day: 14,534’, a national record.

Afterword.

Nate is hugely inspiring. On short notice, with little training, he joined this ride on borrowed bikes and managed, through grueling effort, to reach mile 210. Only 2 miles from the summit, the clock expired and we had to turn him back. No doubt he could have finished in the dark, but it didn’t feel safe to send him up alone. It’s eerily similar to my 2017 result, but I hope his optimism will still consider it a success. His adventures are mythical, and if his mistakes put him through hell⁴, at least I’ll have good company.

Brandon - Jeremy - Nate

1. Dante’s 14^th century epic poem, Inferno, leads the journey through nine concentric circles of hell.

2. The three-headed ‘hound of Hades’ guards the gates of hell to prevent the dead from leaving.

3. Forced to push a boulder to the top of the mountain only to see it roll back down, Sisyphus must start again and repeat the process for eternity.

4. Hercules’s last of 12 labors was to descend to hell and capture Cerberus.

Gps data: Strava route