I never wanted to race Andes Pacifico. This is strange because I love travel and all things Latin American and Andes Pacifico has a reputation for being the experience of a lifetime. Its accolades include all of  the goods; amazing meals, views, trails and of course pisco (and beer and wine). Its also well known for Andean desert heat and I have a history of heat stroke. I always figured this one wasn't for me. Alas, my better half (after seeking my consent), signed us up and I reluctantly resigned myself to a damned fine time in the southern hemisphere.

Goal #1, finish. Goal #2, don't be scared.

​Day 0

We were fed a delicious appetizer of made from scratch pizzas with scrumptious toppings while we sipped bottomless brews on tap and soaked our legs in the river that flowed alongside our camp. Dinner consisted of a variety of meats, salads, sides (all delicious) and of course delicious dessert and vino. A girl could get used to that sort of treatment. 

Day 1
 
The first stage was memorable for a very pleasant single track traverse of a transition. To a nice mellow descent. The temperatures were mild and I decided that I liked it in Chile.
The second stage was a long one. Especially when I snapped my bars (carbon) in half midway down. The bottom was quite steep and with half a bar and only a rear brake (which is useless on the super steep stuff, FYI). I slowly jogged/slid/tried to ride my way down (Did nobody get a picture of me riding with half a handlebar?) I was optimistic that there would be a replacement bar that would work and I’d be back at it the next day. After dinner, I went back to the Santa Cruz tent where Nacho advised me not to race the following day. I had exploded the bearing cartridge in my lower pivot link. Rough start. 
Either way, the race was effectively over as the snapped handlebar cost me about 10 minutes. The rest of the race would be about attitude and finishing. 

​Day 2
 
This was by the numbers, likely to be one of the hardest days of the race.  I decided to disregard Nacho’s advice. After all, I survived one day of Andean pistas riding a wet noodle. What harm could one more day be? And I really wanted to finish the race and not miss any stages. 
I rode very cautiously on the first stage and still managed to pass quite a few riders, thanks to the reverse start order at the beginning of each day. 
We had a break for lunch before heading to the next 4 stages. At lunch, the Santa Cruz mechanics were waiting for us and Nacho found me and told me he had a fresh bearing kit and would have me all situated within 20 minutes. I helped myself to sandwiches and brownies while Nacho dialed me in like a homesick long distance caller (terrible simile, sorrynotsorry). The next 4 stages were without incident; fun dirt bike trails with a lot of whoops!

​Day 3 (my favorite day of AP)
 
We were treated to a nice long shuttle up to the top of El Arpa ski area. Then we got out of the trucks, hefted our bikes onto our shoulders and started hiking steeply uphill. We kept hiking for about 3 hours.
Things I saw on the very long hike-a-bike: condors, guanagos, wild horses, and eventually Aconcagua (tallest mountain in the Southern and Western hemispheres). The views were alright.
The first stage went on forever. We just kept dropping. The terrain was amazeballs. And then we did some more stages. The last stage of the day had us finishing at sunset and I couldn’t see the trail through the dust when Jaime Hill flew by. And then the Trans Cascadia guys passed me and I was blind and eating dust again. (Getting passed is not as fun as passing). And then I crashed unexpectedly, going quite fast. I was ok, but a bit shook up. Worst part is that the crash was only about 200 yards from the finish, so I came through the finish area with a frown on my face and not at all cheerful. 

​Day 4 (I got lost)
 
We were getting a lot closer to the coast. This was possibly the mellowest day of the race and consisted of fun, ruts, and dust (but virtually hero dirt compared to the antigrip of the Andes). I got lost on the climb and the descent of the 3rd stage of the day. Oops. Still had fun on a flowy trail along a dry arroyo with optional lines and little rock drops and jumps. The locals were cheering us on and it was rad. 
 
Day 5
 
Stage 2 was a fun flow trail. Although we were getting close to the coast,  it  was incredibly hot on the climbs in the sun. It seemed like every time we dropped onto a stage, it would get cloudy, no ocean views. Our massive group ride to the coast was cloudy and brought some of the coldest temperatures of the whole week.
Alas, we were not taking a dip in the ocean post race. 

Aftermath

​My biggest regret is how much I procrastinated getting excited for this experience. I really didn't feel the stoke until I was soaking in the river at our first camp. Part of what makes an experience amazing is the build up. Nevertheless, I DO NOT regret going to Andes Pacifico and I hope to return, better prepared, next time. 

​I'm sure there are a handful of  folks who think I'm a fool for wearing cheesey, flimsy, non-polarized shades, (and you are more than welcome to berate me). While I don't really feel a need to justify my eye-wear choice, as I often do, I must  explain myself.

Awhile back, I was living in Leadville, where the local thrift store, Community Threads, still exists. Inside that amazing little shop of treasures, there lives a sunglass rack. Eons ago, perched upon it were a pair of bright pink heart-shaped sunglasses that fit my face perfectly. I paid $5 for them, and (mostly by accident), immediately wore them mountain biking. They ventilated perfectly and they were wide enough to keep dust out. They fit my face and didn't pinch under my helmet. I bought a  second pair in blue. 
That's the story. Since then, it has evolved a bit. I often wear sunnies while racing and this is where people are [shocked] [impressed] [appalled] [amused] with my funny sunnies.
I've had friends express concern that I might be damaging my vision because the hearts aren't capable of blocking all the harmful UV rays- to which I say, "thanks for your concern, but I'm confident that they are up to the task." This has lead to heated debate about how much of that UV warning is just hype and what percent of UV rays actually pass through hearts, or t-shirts, or anything for that matter. 
If I'm out for a solo bike ride, I am instantly recognized (to the point of embarrassment as I'm not all that good with names) by my sunglasses. Lately, I'll grab my Smiths if I want to be incognito- like wearing a disguise ;)> 
​My dear friend, Stoken Female, commented a couple years ago that she needed to find a fun-shaped facial accessory to cover-up her "resting-bitch-face" when she was coaching. Sadly, her contemplative expression (that face that she gets when she's trying to puzzle through how to explain a mountain biking skill), might be interpreted as resting-bitch-face. So my final attempt at explaining the hearts is this: even if I'm having a bad day, my sunglasses will turn that frown up-side down and bring me joy (or at least I'll look that way). 

​Lately, I get asked where my heart shaped sunglasses are if I'm seen riding in anything else. Community Threads no longer stocks them on their sunglasses rack, so I've had to turn to eBay to keep a pair of hearts on hand. Desperate times. No matter what it takes, I'll keep the heart-shaped philosophy alive. 

There have been  a lot of big changes that have raining down on me in the past few months. Some are wonderful and some have been tragic. It's time for me to tie all the changes together into something powerful.

I have wanted to ride the Colorado Trail (CT), in its entirety, for a long time. I've ridden many segments, but never put them all together. My time in Colorado is suddenly limited and it seems like now or never. I've decided if I'm going to ride the whole CT this summer, I might as well do it as quick as I can and I ought to just sign up for the Colorado Trail Race (CTR), a roughly 500-mile, self-supported mountain bike race. My good friend Porsha, constructively pointed out that if I'm going to go all-in with such a silly endeavor, I might as well do it for a good reason. So I decided to fund raise and try to spread some good while I'm pedaling myself into saddle-sore oblivion. I wanted to fund raise for a cause that is meaningful for me, so that I would have something bigger than myself pushing me on the trail. But I didn't know what that would be.

I am utterly sin palabras. But I'm going to try to find some words to describe what a perfect experience this was.

Regretfully, I set myself up for a crazy trip, arranging my flights so that I arrived at about 11pm, the day before we were scheduled to bus to the race start in Benito Juarez and departed for home at about 6:45am the morning after the race ended in Etla. The whole experience was sandwiched between long work days and a slightly spontaneous 20-hours-in-the-car road trip to ROAM fest in Sedona. Needless to say, this girl felt pretty nuts about biting off more than she could chew and was worried that she would go off the rails from all the locura.
​
Luckily, in typical Mexican style, the TranSierra Norte crew had my gringa schedule covered with plenty of time built in for mid-race siestas.

I expected that the morning after I arrived would be just about my only chance to explore la ciudad de Oaxaca during my short trip, so I woke up as early as I could, and quietly built the bike, trying my hardest not to wake up my roommate, Krista, (I had woken her the previous night when I came in with all my bags, quite late, and not quite so gracefully). 
Once my steed was assembled, I jumped on and rode to el zocalo and bought some queso Oaxaceno, a few bolsas of mole and spontaneously had my face painted in honor of Dia de los Muertos. 

I was nervous about getting back to our hotel in time to make the shuttle, so I asked for a rush job on my face and sprinted up a rather steep hill climb from downtown in order to make it back just after noon. 
Of course as soon as I was back at the hotel, I realized I had plenty of time to kill, so into a taxi and off to a bike shop I went. Then lunch with friends: crickets, mole and cervezas were shared with gusto. 

We did finally load onto the bus shuttles to Benito Juarez, where we found more amazing food, and our cabins for the night.  A kind gent wandered from cabin to cabin offering to build a fire to keep us warm from the mountain air. I slept well and awoke refreshed for the 3 days of racing ahead. 
We eased into this race with the first few stages keeping us at higher elevations, in loamy single track that flowed as it twisted through the forest. The 4th stage was another story entirely. I had heard rumblings that this stage would be incredibly physical; long and technical. I wisely aired up my tires and settled in for a beat down. Easily one of my favorite stages of the race with deep gullies filled with jagged rock gardens- it was a hoot!
Days 2 and 3 were filled with more phenomenal trails, long shuttle rides to the top with gentle pedal transfers and plenty of opportunities to pass around an ice cold chela with new friends. There is an fast bond that develops in races like this when we all feel a little like family while we spend long days together in a foreign land. 
The trails were primo and generally consisted of 20 minutes of loam to flow to gnar gullies of loose, rugged rock garden. Basically everything. 
Red Bull was present, filming and providing us with tasty, ice-cold, energy in a can. I must admit that Red Bull is not typically my thing, but it sure helps you find motivation after a long shuttle transfer via Mexi-bus in the middle of the day. 

Do I regret my whirlwind schedule? Not really. I had an incredibly wonderful experience that left me wanting more. This has been one of the most FUN enduros I have ever participated in. So I have to go back ... that's nothing to be sad about. 
Until next time, nos vemos.

Its the end of the weekend and "mud-season" is full on. Each day feels like a gift during autumn in the mountains, like any minute we might get a big storm that covers the dirt up for the next 8-9 months. There's a certain desperation to get every high alpine epic in ... just 1 more time. I always want to savor every last autumn day in the High Rockies. 

Matt's alarm went off at 4:45 am and as he shuffled out the door to work, I managed to fall back asleep for a couple more hours.
When I did get out of bed, the sky was gray and I lounged for quite awhile. I knit quietly while listening to a book about the neurology of emotions. I also had a healthy dose of screen time and caught up on EWS Finale and Outlier Vail conditions. I drank tea and coffee and tried to make the day last.
The sky continued to look threatening, but by late morning, it seemed like things were about as dry as they were going get on the trail, so I rallied the dogs (or vice versa), and we rolled 30 feet down the rec path to our local trail network. The dirt was in premium shape and I wasn't the only one taking advantage of the conditions. There were a handful of hikers and families on the way to Rainbow Lake, and I opted to turn off the main trail and climbed steeply after the first 0.5 miles of so. I noticed fairly quickly that in addition to Sucia and Tucker, a new, large brown dog had joined my clan. I was planning to try to pedal up a section of trail that I usually only descend, but this would have taken me quite a ways from the direction that the big brown dog's family was likely to be coming from. So I executed a U turn and headed towards Rainbow Lake. Before long had passed, I encountered the dog's family, and we bid farewell to Hux, I apologized and made a comment about the dog trying to adopt us and his master thanked me and placed him on a leash, blaming the incident on Hux. I spun past the lake and started climbing up the switchbacks towards the cabin on Miner's Creek. The conditions in the draw were quite soggy and slick, but so much fun!

​A few miles of climbing and wouldn't you know it, Huxley found us again. Now I was in a bit of a pickle. I didn't know about his fitness and I hadn't a clue where his humans were at that point. I probably should have turned around and taken him right back to the lake, but I didn't want to miss out on an autumn ride. So I kept climbing and eventually, grabbed Hux by the collar and sent a text to the # listed there. I quickly got a reply text and we arranged to meet up after I ripped the 3 miles of descent back to a dirt road where they were able to rendezvous. 

Huxley proved to be a great trail dog and Tucker and Sucia delighted in the fine company. 
The skies were beginning to darken dramatically as I led Huxley back to his family. His master, Ben, shook my hand and thanked me. I was a little bit sheepish about puppy-napping him and apologized and bid Hux farewell. 
We ripped the last mile of trail home and were impressed by how the place had cleared out. Raindrops were starting to fall and the air grew quite a bit crisper. 
A warm shower felt quite nice, even though my frozen toes shouted in sharp pain as they warmed back up. 
Refreshed, I whipped up a batch of curried lentils and treated myself to a bowl as I listened to the rain intensify. 
Back to the screens and knitting, savoring the last hours of the weekend and the last days of fall, snow is beginning to blanket the dirt outside and I'm glad I was able to get out and enjoy what might turn out to be one of the last rides of autumn in Frisco. 

Vanlife seems to be nearing epidemic status this spring. Although I may secretly long for a full size, custom, 4WD Sprinter, its not a good time for me to sell the house or go deep into buyer's remorse. So we settled for a mini-van. We scored 'Roxanne the Van' with less than 10,000 miles on the odometer (we've managed to triple that number in the past 12 months). Last year we recreated all over the Western US and up to British Columbia. Usually I like to go against the grain and avoid lauding too strongly any new trend, however, we totally love our van! Its delightful to be able to pull over anywhere and grab some shut eye before the next adventure.
Say what you want about #vanlife, but I am sold.

The build:
2010 Ford Transit Connect, cherry red
Rhino Rack, Sun Seeker awning
Road Shower 2, solar shower
1Up USA, Heavy Duty Double hitch mount bike rack
Yakima cargo box (got it over 10 years ago at REI garage sale- not sure which model)
Yakima Front Loader, roof mount bike rack
Homemade interior subfloor and murphy bed that folds up and expands from a single to a double with plenty of storage underneath. 

What's your dream van?

I'd like to preface this by stating that I'm a big fan of quitting and I support those who quit fast and quit well. There are some decent theories that quitters are actually winners. Scroll to the bottom if you want to hear more about the benefits of being a quitter (Dubner, 2011). 
​
Last year was a tough year. Despite racing all over the world and having some pretty amazing support from friends, sponsors and my best pal/husband, I felt like I had a disappointing race season. No, I'm not quitting mountain biking or even Enduro racing. Not on your life. But I did just make the difficult decision to quit training for the Grand Traverse (yeah, I know, that's a ski race), AKA the GT, a 40 mile ski race from Crested Butte to Aspen, Colorado. 

It seemed like a great idea. How better to get fit in the off season? Who cares if I've never done any sort of ski racing in my life? My partner, Steph, was an inspiring endurance athlete and was looking to head into Ironman triathlon season with a leg up on training. I was thinking the same for Enduro. And it seemed like a great way to finally ski all the high alpine, spring lines I've been looking at, but haven't gotten around to skiing because by the time spring is here, its game on for training and race season.
You see, I live in a ski town. I started skiing right about the same time I started rock climbing and mountain biking and I used to split the 3 activities, (the trifecta), pretty evenly amongst the appropriate seasons. For the past 5 years or so, mountain biking has basically taken over my life. Indeed, it is an addiction. 
Well, life happens. And sometimes the opposite of life occurs and then your partner is left picking up the pieces of her life and at that point, you have to find a new partner as there is no solo category for the GT. 
I was lucky to happen upon Brooke, an absolute conundrum of a woman who is sweet as can be, but beast-like when you get her in some ski boots and point her uphill with a pack on. We were getting along great and knocking out long tours together. It was fun adventure. And then last weekend, a month out from race day, I planned a tour for us that included multiple high alpine passes and about 30 miles of navigation and (or so I thought) awesome views. We started a little late at 7:30am (in order to let the mercury rise above zero) and were each hauling about 4,000 calories and enough water to keep us going into the night. It was a beautiful morning and we were making good time on the heavily traveled trail, for about a mile or so. This evolved into breaking trail and navigating through thick trees. Sometime after noon, the weather turned foul with lower temps and strong gusts of wind. It was snowing lightly (and probably not at all at lower elevations), but up above treeline the wind churned up nasty ground blizzards and we had to brace ourselves against the gusts. This wasn't all terrible- 2 weeks before we had skied from Fairplay to Leadville in much stronger winds, but during that adventure we had warm temperatures (it was over 40 degrees and sunny most of that day), and visibility on our side. Now we were quickly becoming chilled as frequent GPS checks were necessary to make sure we weren't wandering under an avy slope in the blinding and cold conditions. 
Mid-afternoon came and I decided to call it and we reversed our route. Skiing down was slow going and in the space of 9 hours, we had only covered about 12 miles. 

Over warm beverages, we mutually agreed that the GT could wait for another year. Brooke seemed to be of the same mindset as myself, and I felt a weight float off my shoulders. We both giggled about how, although we had had fun during our not-quite-epic day, we wanted to have fun fun and go for a ski that involved making turns. I sipped my tumeric latte and basked in the feeling of having more free time and less stress in the coming month. 
​The next morning, we skied a delightful little couloir and we finally got to taste a bit of powder together. 

​I do not regret signing up for the GT. I have had some solid adventures with some rad women (and a few dudes). I have gained many season's worth of navigation and route planning experience in just a few months. And I got to ski a lot during a dang fine winter. The snow has honestly been a bit deep for fat biking, and I'm grateful to have had a worthy distraction. 
Do I regret my decision to quit? Not yet.  
Is there a very good chance that I won't learn my lesson and that I'm gonna sign up for the GT again? Of course. 

I'm a big listener of podcasts and my admiration of quitters stems from this episode of Freakonmics.  Give it a listen. 
Dubner, SJ (2011). The Upside of Quitting. Freakonomics Radio. Retrieved from http://freakonomics.com/podcast/new-freakonomics-radio-podcast-the-upside-of-quitting/.

Step 1: Know when to say when.
If you read my blog about how to tell if you have a concussion, you know that it is really easy to diagnose yourself with concussion and you'll never have a hard time knowing what is and isn't a concussion. Yeah right.
It's actually quite complicated and not always black and white, but in general, When in doubt, sit it out. Step 1 is really removing one's self from any further risk of harm. In a head-injured state, your balance, judgment and stamina are all compromised. Continuing to ride and (God forbid), compete, are a pretty good recipe for more serious injury.  

Step 2: Rest.
Easy peasy. A couple days off, in the thick of the summer, when all your friends are going to shuttle that ride. You know, the one we've been waiting for and the conditions are finally just right and so-and-so's girlfriend is going to drive. You get it: it can be hard to rest. Luckily, the latest research supports a graduated approach to rest as opposed to the concussion treatment of yester-year when we told athletes to sit in a dark room with no tv, cell phone or stimulation. Sound depressing? Well, depression can be a symptom of concussion and "cocooning" in a dark room is likely to make it worse.
I recommend to my concussion patients that they:
- Avoid any contact prone activity. This includes mountain biking, but does not include a gentle spin on a stationary trainer or a walk on the rec path. Google "second impact syndrome" if you're questioning the recommendation to avoid contact prone activities.
and
- Don't do the things that make it worse. If spinning on a stationary trainer makes the whole room spin, don't do it. If going to work and staring at a computer screen all day makes your head throb, don't do it (talk to your boss about perhaps modifying your duties, if possible, or just use some sick time).
- Have a good routine. Get a consistent (hopefully about 8 hours) amount of sleep every night. Eat regular, balanced meals and get consistent amounts of mild physical activity daily, like a gentle spin or a hike.

Step 3: Recover.
This is the tricky bit that science hasn't quite figured out (but its getting better, I swear!). Compared to how to help your brain recover from concussion, diagnosing concussion is a piece of cake. Most medical providers don't have a lot to offer to the typical concussion patient. I recommend catching up on those non-bike related hobbies (click here if you need any ideas) and using a step-wise approach to getting back in the saddle. There is absolutely no way to predict how long recovery from concussion might take for any particular person. That said, as a general rule of thumb, if you are not feeling mostly back to 100% two weeks after your head injury, its probably time to get help.
STEP 4: Know when to say help.
If you go to your doctor for a concussion that isn't getting better, there's a good chance you might meet a provider who is not aware of all the resources available to help manage head injury these days. Don't be afraid to speak up and ask for a referral to a concussion specialty clinic. Or ask if there is a specialist who can help with rehab in your particular area of need. More and more physical therapists and occupational therapists are helping with concussion recovery in areas like balance and memory. Behavioral health therapists can help with symptoms of depression. Optometrists and ophthalmologists can help with visual deficits. Don't be afraid to ask your primary care provider for a referral if they seem to be at their wits end and are telling you that you just need to rest and wait it out after many weeks of continued concussion symptoms. 

Do not despair: There is a lot of new and exciting science regarding concussion and we are getting better and better at managing this complicated problem.
Feel free to contact me or post a comment if you have questions about concussion, ImPACT testing or recovery.
Ride bikes and be well!

Each time another friend eats dust and admits that they hit their head, I experience an internal struggle. There's the mountain biker in me, competitive, familiar with head injury, and aware that they'll probably be fine if they just take it a little easy and drive on. And there's the clinician in me that understands that concussion is a multi-faceted, complex neuropsychiatric phenomenon that can have long-lasting sequelae and put its victims at immediate risk for further injury. Lastly, there's the scholar in me, who knows that there is SO MUCH that we have yet to understand about concussion, traumatic brain injury (TBI) and chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). So I usually end up giving my friends some convoluted and tangential recommendations about how to treat themselves.

So here's exactly how to know, 100%, without a doubt, if you have a concussion. Yeah right.
1. Did you hit your head? [Yes] [No] [Not Sure]
Sadly, any answer to this question may or may not lead to a concussion. It turns out you don't have to hit your head to experience brain trauma. Energy can distribute through the body, after an impact to the back or some other body part and lead to movement inside the skull that causes the neurometabolic cascade of concussion. In so many of the high speed crashes that we have all experienced, we're left wondering if we did actually hit our head. Or we may not even think about the noggin because our ribs or back or pinkie finger are causing so much pain that it is distracting us from our most precious and fragile of organs.

​2. Is your helmet MIPs certified and free of previous crashes? A full face or a half shell? Black, pink or camouflage? Have you inspected it for damage? Were you not even wearing a helmet?
Guess what, doesn't matter. See #1- you don't even have to hit your head to experience a concussion. That said, helmets are amazing at preventing skull fractures and can certainly do wonderful things for reducing the risk of very serious TBIs like subdural, epidural and intracranial hemorrhage and hematoma, (which are all much more dangerous than concussion and potentially life-threatening). So if you answered that you weren't wearing a helmet, you might be an idiot. Please take an inteligence test immediatley. That said, helmet technology leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to concussion. So just because the pretty helmet is still intact and unscathed, doesn't really tell us what's going on inside your pretty brain. 

3. How do you feel? Dizzy, Foggy, Tired, Giddy, Sad, Angry, Headache, Nausea, Memory difficulty, Fatigue, Sensitive to light, Sensitive to sound, Balance problems, Trouble sleeping, Sleeping too much.
Above is a list of some potential concussion symptoms. This is not a comprehensive list. You do not need to have any of these symptoms to meet the criteria for concusion. And to further muddy the water, if you are suffering from a recent TBI, odds are that your judgement is impaired and it may be really hard to detect any symptoms.

So you may have already figured this one out, but if you suspect you have a concussion, then you probably have a concussion. There is no test for a concussion.** We have great tests for bleeding in your brain and fractures in your skull and one day, there may be something groovy like a genetic blood test to predict how susceptible you are to getting a concussion. But today, this doesn't exist. So, when in doubt, sit it out. There is no amount of sick trail or a podium high enough to be worth damaging your brain.
​
I started writing this post about a month ago and I almost didn't post it as I've seen numerous articles pop up about the subject and I thought we might be saturated with head injury articles. But then I was at the BME Finals this weekend in Crested Butte where I watched no fewer than 3 racers go over the bars right in front of me. In a small section of just 1 stage of a multi-day enduro. I thought a short, easy to read, write up could be helpful for those of us who like to self-diagnose. Here are links to Pinkbike and Outside magazine's more lengthly articles if you want to read more about how TBI can cause long term symptoms and how CTE is slowly killing athletes. 

​Think you have what it takes to complete a 6 day enduro directed by Megan Rose on the sickest trails interior BC has to offer? So did I. At various times during this #adventureofalifetime, I wasn’t so sure. Read on to learn how I managed to survive. 

​Step 1: Bring your skill set.
 
            The very first stage of the first day was quite a wake up call for me. I fully expected the Trans BC to be hard. Megan had sent emails detailing the 4-5,000 feet of climbing and upwards of 6,000 feet of descending we would be doing each day. But for some reason, I figured the trails would be intermediate to advanced as far as how technically demanding they might be. How could she expect us to be on our A-game for 6-8 hours each day, 6 days in a row?
            The first few turns on course were steep, off camber switchbacks in a freshly cut hiking trail. I came in hot and tipped right over. Luckily, the loam wasn’t too different from riding a fat bike in snow and I was able to sort of figure it out. I still managed to have 2 more crashes in that first stage, including an over-thebars that sent me way off trail (thanks for being so soft, loam!).
            At the bottom of that first stage, I learned that Sonya Looney, one of the females that I was betting on to podium, had flatted at the top and had made the decision to run most of that stage. I learned quickly that I needed to toughen up if I was going to survive this week-long race. 

​Step 2: Decisions you make the night before can have a huge effects on race day.
 
            Penticton wins the prize for my favorite trails of the Trans BC. Exposed, sharp, rocky cliff bands with blind drops and ledges are my sauce. I was having a blast. We had been forewarned that at least 25% of us would have a flat on day 2. I had planned to put on a second Vittoria Morsa with a DH casing to match the one I had on my front wheel. Out of laziness, I decided to increase the air pressure instead of swapping to a fresher, burlier tire. I was relishing in my wisdom as I dropped into stage 6 of 7 towards the end of the long day. After just a couple of fun, over-aggressive drops and pumps, I felt sudden sluggishness from the back end. I stopped to check and although not an epic blow-out (multiple racers had ripped off knobs and created large holes in their sidewalls in Penticton), my tire had gone entirely flat. I quickly pulled off the trail and tried to isolate where the tire had punctured or torn. No luck. Maybe it was too flat to tell where the repair was needed or maybe it had already sealed and I just needed to fill it back up. So I added a CO2 cartridge … or tried to. No air would go in and the CO2 was quickly spent. So I tried another. And then I was out of options and I elected to start running the trail. Sonya, who was sympathetic as she sped by, quickly passed me. Long story short, the flat was in the bead of the tire, and un-repairable. I was able to throw a tube in after running a kilometer or 2 to the kindest trail marshal in the world (thanks Tara!), and rode the rest of the stage without issue.
            In crystal clear hindsight, I should have put that heavier tire on. I was pretty sour to have lost about 18 minutes to my competitors and finished in last place on day 2. Lesson learned. Laziness never pays off.

​Step 3: Hold on to the bars
 
            Rossland, BC is a beautiful area. We started the day on the Seven Summits trail system and finished on an old school DH trail at Red Mountain Resort. I felt in my element again, but minus a competitive agenda. I knew there was no way to make a comeback from my 18ish minute flat tire time loss. So I elected to ride in a “lady train." Some other fun-loving ladyshredders and I elected to join forces and to drop into stages in rapid succession. This led to giggles and a little bit of friendly banter on course. Naturally, it also led to less painful transitions. This equals more fun.
            By the end of the day, I was struggling to hold on to the bars; forearm fatigue/arm pump was setting in and it would not let up for the rest of the race. Luckily, we had luxurious trailside condo at Red Mountain Resort, complete with hot tub to recover in. Trans BC was treating us right. But you can never do too many pull ups to prepare for an event like this.

​Step 4: Its good to be blind. Don't spend too much time scoping out your line.
 
            I loved this day of racing. It was a mixture of “well built” trail and scary, what-the-heck-am-I-doing-here trail. Stage 4, “Flume” was easily the most technically demanding trail of the day and my personal favorite. The name of the trail, “Flume,” is particularly ironic to me because the Flumes trails up here in Breckenridge are super buff, beginner friendly paths.
At the top of this particular stage, I was reminded of a valuable lesson; sometimes you ought not to look before you leap. The start of the stage was a mess of nervous women when I arrived. The overwhelming theme was, “I’m just gonna run this section, cyclocross-style.” The competitive side of my brain felt it prudent to be the chic that cleaned it. The rational side of my brain was telling me how starting the trail on foot instead of wheels down, was starting it off on the wrong foot. All signs pointed to “ride it!” Luckily I got to watch Meggie Bichard, Mical Dyck and Karey Watanabe (in her highly fashionable running shorts) all polish the section clean, inspire confidence in me. The rest of the stage went well despite a light rain. All in all, it was a really good day and I finished in 5th place.
Racing blind may be a strength of mine. Some of my greatest moments of technical skill have occurred on trails that were unknown to me. I think there is something to be said for not pre-riding and working myself into a tizzy about a particular feature or section of trail.

​Step 5: Remember that what goes up, must come down.
 
            It was our first day in Nelson and I knew I would do great things. Despite driving in a steady downpour from Rossland, I managed to remain optimistic. After all, this was my 5th day riding wet trail conditions and I was doing great. And my legs felt less fatigued than they had the previous day.
            As we stepped off our yellow school bus, I got some insider information from one of the course marshals that all of the wooden features on stage 1, “Powerslave,” were rollable and appeared faster than the go-arounds. I felt confident and inspired to do great things. The top of the stage was truncated on account of the soaking rain, which only acted to further inflate my hubris. Eventually, I had to come down from the imaginary podium I had built for myself.
            I hit the first wet, wooden feature and it was a steep one. Up and over I went, maybe a little slow, but I managed to clear it without having to pedal, brake or turn (which are pretty important steps when you are navigating greasy, wet rainbow arches). Upon exiting the feature, I hit the brakes on some slimy roots/rocks, and I sent myself flying. Hard. Head first into a tree. But the searing pain was coming from my leg (which turned out to just be a deep bruise). Suddenly I was a 4 year old, cold wet and hurt, just learning my way through the world. I had no idea how to ride a bike, let alone a mountain bike. On high speed, super techy, scarier than the boogie-man trails, I was completely lost and full of self-doubt.
            At the bottom of the stage, tears welled up in my eyes. I felt fatigued. Defeated. I contemplated quitting as we transferred to the next stage. I couldn’t pedal without great pain stabbing me in my right thigh. What was I doing here? This went on for the remainder of the day. 

​Step 6: You’ll get by with a little help from your friends, so have fun.
 
            We awoke to more rain. And we were still in Nelson, so I planned to have a real rough final day. I was pleasantly surprised to experience less pain in the bruised banana of a thigh that was attached to my right hip. So maybe I would make it through. The first stage was not my finest work; and I did a lot of walking next to my bike and a good bit of soul searching.
            On stage 2, I rode another lady train, this time, I was the chosen caboose. Somehow I was able to stay on the bike and things started to feel fun again. Halfway through "Swamp Donkey," the hail started. At the bottom of the stage there was a campfire and tents with bacon sizzling and whiskey begging to be tipped back in the rain. High fives and spirits soared when, just as suddenly as this bought of rain came, the sun came out and steam started to rise from all of our saturated bodies. 
            Stage 3 was fun. I rode my bike as best as I could. I rode fast, even though my arms were pumped, hands were numb and legs were bruised and battered. And my spirits soared. Riding bikes is the bees knees. Even when it breaks my character one day, another day it can turn everything around.

Now that I've had a week to reflect on the experience, I wouldn't change a thing. Ok, maybe I would have changed that tire for Day 2. But I wouldn't have changed the weather or my mental meltdown or the highly technical trails. Because I feel like I grew a lot at Trans BC, as a rider and as a person. I know that sounds more cliche than just about anything, but that's really how I feel. 
So many thanks to Megan, Ted and all of the Trans BC crew. Thank you to Tara, MK, Beth, Kathleen and the countless volunteers who were out there shivering and smiling everyday. And thanks to everyone who came to race. See you next year!