Trans Am 2017 Day 7: Cameron, MT to Lander, WY— 296 Miles, +13,614 ft
I opened my eyes to my alarm and the last bit of sunlight showing just above the mountains behind the completely still pine trees surrounding the campground. I shook out the cobwebs while packing up and hoped that all my electronics would still be sitting at the bar along with a coffee. I walked inside and the three people in there gave me a cheer. They said a couple riders had passed but from the looks of the tracker, they weren’t too far. I grabbed my lights, guzzled a coffee, and was STOKED. I chatted with the guys in there for a minute and they thought I was crazy for leaving at 10 pm, but wished me luck.
Going into the race, I felt that riding at night would be one of my strengths. Last fall, I would often ride the 15 miles to my house in Colorado from town at all hours of the night (certainly with Trans Am training in mind!), and always feel calm, strong, and energized by the peace at night. But, the last couple nights had been a bit of a let down, as I basically knew that as soon as the sun went down, I would start to get very drowsy very quickly. So, I was excited to head out into the night feeling strong and super focused. The tracker indicated that I’d been passed by a couple riders but they weren’t too far ahead, and Club Rider Ken was still on his bike outside of West Yellowstone. He’d taken over 6 hours to do the 70 miles ahead of me, and undoubtedly had suffered through it.
I thanked the generous folks at the Blue Moon Saloon and rolled out. The wind was gone, the night was warm, and I sang to myself.
“I am the…. Night….. Riiiiiderrr”
Over and over. Amazing how simple your brain can be on the bike. I was going almost twice as fast as earlier that afternoon, and called Luke to bask in my good conditions. He groaned in agony at the thought of doing the stretch without wind, and I could feel myself zooming past the rest of the field. I popped into the rest stop to fill up a bottle and get myself ready for West Yellowstone, and that would be my only stop in the 70 miles. I listened to Dan Brown’s Inferno on this stretch and kept a quiet, focused head. I passed the James Bond like visitor center at Quake Lake and the ghostly trees scattered throughout the recently formed body of water. I’d pass the occasional fire or front porch light, but was otherwise completely alone in the darkness. I was feeling fantastic and moving quickly.
A couple miles from the intersection with Highway 191, I saw what almost looked like a blinking light out front of me. I assumed it was a house or construction, but as I continued down the road, it stayed in front of me and only got a little closer. I got close enough to see that it was definitely a rider, and excitedly checked the tracker to see who it was. Hippy!
Sidenote: Hippy’s real name is Stuart Bernie, and you should google “Stuart Bernie bike” if you wanna get intimidated about racing someone. When the roster for the race came out, I thought it would be a good idea to do research on everyone so I knew who might be contenders that we didn’t already know about. I googled a couple names and got some innocuous results, just random bike races here and there. Nothing to scare me. Then I put in ol’ Hippy’s birth name and a whole host of articles about the British record holder for 24 hour distance came up. I was like oh shit. I read all about this savage guy and was thoroughly terrified and intimidated. Enough so that I decided googling the other racers was a terrible idea and I should stop immediately. Pim, who finished right in front of him, said it best when we were hanging in Yorktown: “He’s a really scary guy to google when he’s right behind you.” I went to Astoria terrified of a man named Stuart Bernie, but because he was listed as Hippy Hippy, I had no idea it was him. So there I was in the middle of the night in Montana, trying to chase down this guy I’d stalked months and months before, but not knowing that it was The Stuart Bernie. End sidenote.
I kept my pace and made up a bit of ground, but needed badly to pee. A quick stop and back on my bike, and Hippy made the turn down the straight stretch of 191 to West Yellowstone. I wondered if he could see me, and I hustled to catch up. I could start to make out a figure, but as soon as we pulled into West Yellowstone he took the first right, presumably to get to a hotel. His night was over, but my day was just beginning. It took me a little over four hours to do a stretch that took most at least 7 or 8 of hard suffer. Fack yeah.
I didn’t know if there would be a 24 hour gas station, and my only pressing need was to get to a bathroom. I rolled down main street and took the left to Yellowstone, but found every gas station closed. I turned around and made my way to the old favorite, Best Western! West Yellowstone is a major tourist town and this was a packed time of year, so the hotels were huge and I knew they would have some food. I rocked up, hit the toilet, then went to the food and to my delight found the most massive breakfast spread. It was 3 am, but the hotel staff had set up everything but the hot breakfast for the next morning. This is the type of quality service you get from Best Western, people!
No one was at the counter so I made myself a couple bowls of cereal, grabbed some fruit, and poured a piping hot cup of coffee. I felt super awake and strong as I sat down for the snack, but knew that a lot of that was adrenaline that would wear off. It was a long day ahead and I wondered if I would be better served taking a quick nap before I set out for the next day, even though I really didn’t feel like I needed it. I knew Luke was up, so I called him to see what he thought. I told him that I felt as strong as I had since day one, and he said I should keep going while I felt like that and take advantage of it, napping later in the day if I fell off. Side note, Luke had lost his bivvy in the windy stretch (which Amy later found), and picked one up in West Yellowstone only to find out at the Old Faithful post office that he’d accidentally bought a blow up pillow. There are worse places to find that out.
The bunch that I had been clustered with for the past couple days were all sleeping in West Yellowstone or earlier, while the next crew up the road was stretched across Yellowstone. I would put some miles between me and the guys in town and hopefully catch some of the ones in Yellowstone if I moved quickly.
Another flashback. Amy and I stopped in West Yellowstone last year at the bike shop Free Heel and Wheel. I’d broken the screw on my seat post clamp and ridden through Yellowstone with my saddle sliding around everywhere and hating Yellowstone because of the crowds and kind of boring scenery. I guess some people like it, but most of Yellowstone just looks like boring parts of Colorado. So we were hurting when we came into West Yellowstone and incredibly relieved when we got to a bike shop with a cafe and awesome people. We hung out for an hour and a half shooting the shit with Melissa, the owner of the shop. She fixed my seat post and was just generally awesome to hang with. After rolling out of town, I started to notice a weird wobble in my tire, and stopped by Hebgen Lake to find that my tire had a weird S bend in it. WTF. I must have put too much air in my tire at the bike shop, and now had no idea what to do about this. The next real bike shop was in Hamilton, so a couple days away. Would it get worse and leave me stranded without a tire? Was there anything I could do? The tire rolled fine but looked super wonky, so I called Melissa to see what she thought. She said take some air out, and if I needed anything she would find a way to get a tire out to me on the road. What a fucking hero. I was panicked about getting stranded out on a Montana highway and she gave me the peace of mind to keep pedaling and not worry about it. It meant so much to me to have her offer that and I’ve always meant to call her to thank her.
So, as I rolled through West Yellowstone in the middle of the night, I wished that the bike shop was open so I could go in and say hey. I resolved to write her a note saying thank you for the previous year, so I grabbed a pen and a business card from the front desk (where the clerk was now chilling, ignoring me) and scribbled out a thank you. My handwriting is bad in the best circumstance, and now it was just heinous. Jumbled thoughts, numb hands, but I got some things down and biked by the shop where I tucked the note into the front door, hoping someone would notice it.
I made my way into Yellowstone, feeling great. It was legit cold and I was pretty layered up. My sister, Hannah, who lives on the east coast, called me on this stretch and was stoked to see me making moves. She was an awesome dot watcher, checking my dot the first thing in the morning and calling me to wake me up if I wasn’t moving yet, or calling to chat if I was. The sun just starting to color the sky and the outline of the mountains to the north was fucking beautiful. Too bad the ole iPhone wouldn’t pick it up.
I got a little further into town and a truck passed me on a straight stretch of road. As soon as it went by, a massive figure emerged in its headlights. A bison lumbered down the road, majestic as Fuck as it stared down the truck and didn’t flinch, just slowly plotting in the middle of the lane, two other massive furry figures emerging behind it. It couldn’t have been less fazed by the truck coming at it, and its lumbering swagger is something you have to see to understand. This will be one of the lasting images of the race for me.
I marveled but knew I had to make some moves. I was totally unprotected and this bison wasn’t moving for the truck, so it wouldn’t think twice about mowing me over. The truck stopped and I pulled along next to it, ready to jump into the back if the bison started moving towards me. Fortunately, the truck crept forward and the bison moved slightly over to the middle of the road. I didn’t want to stop (I’m racing, bro!) but caught myself and had to think about what was the safest way to go by these beasts. The three bison all moved to the middle of the road and the opposite side of the truck from me, and I saw that if I stayed tucked next to the truck I could keep hidden from them while we passed. The driver rolled down his window and laughed and suggested we roll together for a bit so I could stay protected. Good dude. We crept by as a team and were safely past the bison. The truck zoomed off after we were safely past and I was left again in the warming darkness.
This was a great stretch going up the Madison River and I stared at the cliffs rising beautifully across the water. OK, Yellowstone was decently cool. The sun came up when I made the turn to Old Faithful and I enjoyed a gorgeous sunrise of cliffs, bison, and geyser steam with minimal cars. I started to think about Old Faithful and some food there and got sleepy as I waited for town to appear. Again, if Ole Faithful had been 20 miles further down the road, I would have kept going strong, but as soon as you look forward to something, you lose the thread and start to anticipate, which always leaves you feeling worse than you should. I needed snacks and felt like I could use some more breakfast, so I rolled into town a little before 7 and went to the food counter at the lodge where I got snacks and breakfast number two. This would end up being a massive mileage day, but I managed to waste a lot of time in sitting down to eat at various points, as we’ll see. This was Time Wasting Point Number Two on the day after my luxury, middle of the night breakfast at the Best Western.
The lodge was packed with tourists and midwesterners in funny outfits, and I had the epiphany that Yellowstone may be the worst dressed place in America. I gnoshed quickly in a big leather chair with some coffee to wake me back up and rolled out. There is a nice climb not far past town, and it helped to wake me up and get the blood flowing. I was ripping through Yellowstone but started facing increasing traffic as I passed by Grant Village and was getting annoyed. The stretch from Grant Village to the entrance to the park is mostly downhill, but the gradual kind that hurts my soul. There was a continuous line of cars and RVs behind me, and I got really frustrated, as I’m sure all the drivers did too. It was a shitty stretch and a slight headwind picked up. I was relieved when I finally got to the gate, but suffered again when they stopped me to check my ticket, which I didn’t have, and had me pay 25 bucks. Oh well, support the parks. The mosquitos when I stopped were comically bad, and I was reminded of the previous year when Amy and I stopped at Flagg Ranch and spent the entire time in our rain gear and gloves to fend off the little bitty buggies.
I was back to hating Yellowstone as I made my way over the hill to Colter Bay, but couldn’t help but be stoked by the view of the Tetons. They look fake, rising all jagged over the lake, and I kept one eye on them and one on the road. Luke was only a couple miles ahead of me at this point, and we chatted as I came into town. I needed snacks but thought I should stop closer to Togwotee. I saw the gas station at Colter Bay by the road and figured this would be a good stop. I pulled off and saw Jose lathering on sunscreen and looking beat. I had caught him! We chatted for a second, he said Luke had left not long before, and he just looked tired with some sort of cloth tucked in his helmet and cascading over his neck. I understood why everyone was telling me that he looked wrecked. I said “Jose! I’ve been chasing you for days!” and he laughed, telling me that I would catch him again in no time. I snacked up and hit the bathroom, spending way too much time at a stop again that day. I rolled feeling strong and thinking I must catch him again in a couple miles. I would ride one town behind him until Missouri but wouldn’t see him again until Yorktown, that fucking strong dude.
I did a conference call with Luke and Amy, Luke hollering about Togwotee and Amy just getting into the gnarly winds by Jackson, MT. It was great to chat with them both and I zoomed along, reaching the base of the climb pretty quickly. I kept zooming on up the climb and past Togwotee Lodge until I started to get a bit of a belly ache. I had been crushing Shot Blocks on my way up, which I knew was usually bad news when done in excess. So why did I do it? Idk, sometimes it’s hard to resist those delicious goobers.
I couldn’t tell if I was hungry or if more food would do me worse, but it got worse and worse as I cruised the flattish stretch before the final climb without eating much. My stomach hurt, the wind was blowing, and I was low energy. Bonk levels of low energy. I called my mom to commemorate my first bonk on the ride and she laughed. I was in good spirits but solidly bonked and laughed at myself while complaining to my mom. I started trying to eat more and it kept me at a sustained bonk and didn’t hurt my stomach anymore. I finally crested the top, to my relief, but got a flat as soon as I passed the sign indicating the summit. Oh well, sit, eat, and fix it. My mom wished me luck and I sat in the dirt to fix the flat, which I did quickly and headed down the hill feeling fine, but not strong.
I was excited to get to Dubois, one of our favorite towns last year, and looked forward to a meal. There was a great coffee shop where someone had given Amy and I bear spray the year before, worried about our safety, and I thought I’d sit down at it if it was open. I’d been having a great day, but it consisted mostly of long stretches of feeling good, then hard falls to low energy when I needed a longer break to recover. I needed to fix that, and a lot of it was probably related to fatigue from an all nighter.
I rocked into town, excited to see the mellow main street tucked into the red cliffs. The cafe was closed, so I googled a good spot but didn’t find anything. The Cowboy Cafe, an awesome diner we ate at last year, was across the street and I figured I’d go there, order some sandwiches to go, and rock out. As far as I can remember, this was the second of only two times in the race that I would sit down at a table and order off of a menu (the first was in Sisters, OR). I ordered some chicken fingers, fries, and some greasy sandwiches for the road. As I sat there waiting, a touring cyclist came up to me to say hey and chat. He was a really nice dude, and I invited him to sit while I waited. We chatted and the friend he was riding with came and sat as well. My food came out but these guys were still chatting away, so I engulfed the chicken fingers while we talked. This was my third slow stop of the day, and I was kicking myself for it. I was still catching people, but could have had an even bigger day if I stayed focused with my time. Jose was just in front of me, and Luke not far in front of him. I inhaled the chicken fingers and stuffed the fries into my feed bag (some are still there, I’m sure), said goodbye to the touring guys and stopped quickly at the gas station for other snacks before the 70 miles to Lander. The 20 miles south of Dubois were my favorite stretch last year, and I loved them again this year. Winding along the Wind River and tucked into the canyon, the road is smooth and quick in either direction. I enjoyed a slight tailwind and was flying, almost going too quick through this favorite stretch. Well, really all of Wyoming is my favorite, so I stayed stoked on everything.
I called some peeps and was loving the late day ride above the Wind River. The views of the river, cliffs, and mountains above are some of the best scenery you can find on the Trans Am. I ripped through Crowheart, and got a call from Luke. He was up the road near the rest stop fixing a flat and generally suffering hard. Poor dude, but maybe I would catch him! We chatted for a bit and he told me to hustle up so we could ride together for a bit. He wasn’t there when I got to the rest area, but there was a crew of young dudes on their bikes setting up camp for the night, and we chatted for a second when I came through. They were drinking beers and smiling, and I was majorly jealous. Who was doing it right? They were stoked on my ride, and I was stoked on theirs.
I dipped down the hill from the rest stop and made the turn to Lander. I climbed the hill where I topped 40 mph for the first time in my bike life last year, and remembered ripping down with my sister and trail friend Sky.
I had just started a new story tape, and was thoroughly enjoying the frivolity and lightness of Funny Girl. The best books for this kind of ride are light, low on conflict, and end well. Everything else just weighs heavy on your already leadened mind.
I topped the hill and started rolling on the high plateau. I don’t remember if Luke had told me he was stopped again or if I was surprised to see him, but there on the side of the road was Luke, his bike tipped over and all his stuff splayed out as he struggled to fix another flat. I couldn’t have been more pumped. I’d caught this savage of a cyclist (even though he was clearly having his problems) and was now up near some really fast riders. Fack yeah. He was almost done and I was pumped to see him, so I waited for a few minutes while he got himself sorted, then we started rolling as the last of the sun fell behind the Wind River range. The wind was blowing pretty well in our favor and we were ripping. I hadn’t ridden with anyone for a sustained stretch since day 1, and I was a bit nervous of riding side by side on this road but Luke seemed unfazed. We chatted about life off the bike, the struggles thus far in the Trans Am, and enjoyed ourselves immensely.
I told Luke about my bonk at the top of Togwotee and my general fading at points throughout the day. He asked what I had been eating and I told him mostly bars and such, which he smartly told me to be careful of and I was again reminded of part of my pre race plan. I knew that I rode best while eating real food, and had for months told myself to minimize the bars and go for Subway sandwiches or any real food I could get my hands on. The last couple days, I’d opted instead for the most thoughtless, easy to grab food instead of finding the good stuff. Luke’s comment was off hand and hardly meant as serious guidance, but it was the reminder I needed to focus up on my eating, and that helped massively in the days ahead to keep me consistently strong.
Luke has a strange style of pedaling super hard and fast for a few seconds, then coasting, then repeating the process. It’s a lot of chaos and he works hard to keep it up, and it’s a similar style to the one that Richard Deneka employs. I have no idea if this is a thing people usually do, but I knew I wouldn’t be doing it.
We breezed through Fort Washakie and kept ripping with the wind into Lander. Lander was a favorite town last year and Amy and I even took a road trip in the fall just to go hang out up there. It’s the headquarters of NOLS, sits at the foot of the Wind River range, and is home to some world class rock climbing, so is a very cool but mellow mountain town. The Crux Cafe is run by the very tiny Wyoming Catholic College in town and has some incredibly good breakfast burritos. There are some great bike shops there as well and I wished that I was there during the day, but such is the way of life on the Trans Am!
We rocked into town and Luke was thinking about continuing on down the road to Jeffrey City, where he had a hotel room booked. I felt good enough to go as well, but knew I’d just biked 26 hours straight and nearly 300 miles and thought I should stop before I crashed hard. He peeled off to the first gas station and I headed to the hotel that I’d booked while coming into town. I had been telling myself the last three or four nights that I would get myself a hotel and get a good sleep, so was pumped to finally have a chance to. I checked into the Rodeway Inn on the southern end of town and rolled across the street for nighttime/AM snacks. There wasn’t much real food, so I called Dominos and ordered a pizza. I got back to the room, showered, and opened the door with joy as my medium pepperoni was presented to me. I scarfed it down while I stretched, clean and excited about my day and feeling strong. The riders behind were all in Dubois or earlier, and I was in town with Jose, so I had in fact made up ground by sleeping through the wind. All the riders near me had spent the day barely holding on, recovering from the previous day in the wind. I came into the day refreshed, strong, and ready to chase people down, so I was again happy with my decision to sleep through the wind. I was pushing harder and harder each day and learning more about my capabilities in this kind of racing.
I was glad to go to sleep before I was excessively tired — similar to how I had the day before — and thought that this might be a good approach to sleep on the road ahead. The pizza went quick and I curled up in an unbelievably cozy bed around 1 am. Luke had continued on up the road and I planned to sleep for 5.5 hours to make up for my consecutive nights of sub 4 hours and all nighter before. The wind was supposed to pick up the next day, so I wanted to get in plenty of miles before it hit, but I couldn’t cut my sleep too short. Electronics charging, belly full, body clean, I knocked out. Hard.
Trans Am Day 1: Astoria, OR to McKenzie Bridge, OR
Trans Am Day 2: McKenzie Bridge, OR to Prairie City, OR
Trans Am Day 3: Prairie City, OR to Council, ID
Trans Am Day 4: Council, ID to Lochsa Lodge, ID
Trans Am Day 5: Lochsa Lodge, ID to Bannack State Park, MT
Trans Am Day 6: Bannack State Park, MT to Cameron, MT
Trans Am Day 7: Cameron, MT to Lander, WY
Trans Am Day 8: Lander, WY to Cowdrey, CO
Trans Am Day 9: Cowdrey, CO to Alma, CO
Trans Am Day 10: Alma, CO to Haswell, CO
Trans Am Day 11: Haswell, CO to Ness City, KS
Trans Am Day 12: Ness City, KS to Rosalia, KS
Trans Am Day 13: Rosalia, KS to Ash Grove, MO
Trans Am Day 14: Ash Grove, MO to Pilot Knob, MO
Trans Am Day 15: Pilot Knob, MO to Elizabethtown, IL
Trans Am Day 16: Elizabethtown, IL to Falls of Rough, KY
Trans Am Day 17: Falls of Rough, KY to Booneville, KY
Trans Am Day 18: Booneville, KY to Meadowview, VA
Trans Am Day 19: Meadowview, VA to Daleville, VA
Trans Am Day 20: Daleville, VA to Mt. Olivet Baptist Church, VA
Trans Am Day 21 FINISH: Mt. Olivet Baptist Church, VA to Yorktown, VA
Ice Cream or Ass Cream: The Trans Am “Epilogue”
Stay tuned for more to come…