My Failed Attempt at 2012 Tour Divide

I made it to the start physically. Mentally I was already out. Safely back home I can answer the question: What Happened?

Short version:
I was in WAAAAY over my head. In touring the area and discussions with Chip, Cjell, and Arno I learned just how far before getting into a real trouble. I cannot thank those guys enough.

Long version:
First and foremost I didn't train properly. I biked over 2700 miles this year and climbed 96,000 feet of elevation according to Garmin Connect. This omits several hundred miles of rides where I couldn't stand being monitored any more. This wasn't enough training.

The Tour Divide requires some other very race specific training; it is not just about pushing the pedals. The most obvious for me is flexibility. Be flexible about sleeping arrangements, about food sources, about water sources, about routes, and even about timing. This sharply contrasts with my needs for results and most importantly my need for a safe and reliable place to sleep. There are numerous tall tales in my family about my disposition when kept away from my bed. Strapping a bed roll on the handle bars doesn't quite count as a reliable sleeping arrangement. I'm soft. I admit it. As much as I might want to I cannot go from a controlled life to floating in the breeze like a daffodil at the blink of an eye or even a 3 hour plane ride to the Southwestern United States. And speaking of flexibility, how about some forest fires?

Driving across I-10 I got an idea of the size and scope of the 2012 Gila fire. I also got an idea of just how far west the reroute would go in order to avoid the fire. I was worried about meeting the "on route at least 90% of the time" requirement to get credit for completion. I couldn't reconcile that with avoiding an 82,000 acre fire. Some route instructions specifically state to ride through road closures. Guidance for forest fires, and other disasters, is just the opposite. With the vastness of the land and variety of communications how do you know which is which? I also have a little experience with wild fires and know they are serious business. They are hot and move fast. Considering being near one on bicycle is just stupid.

Which leads me to the next race specific training: Desert. I chose NoBo because I dreaded the desert the most. It is just foreign to me. I wanted to get it out of the way first. "Get it out of the way" is incompatible with TD. You're going to be immersed in "it" whatever "it" is. This goes back to flexibility. You must be able to accept any situation. Consider that "desert", depending on how you define it, extends through New Mexico and well into Colorado. That's 7-14 days in the desert depending on your speed, tenacity, and luck. One of the experienced riders referred to another as "desert rat". Dexterity navigating the desert is critical. I was so disoriented at one point that I had to flip the GPS upside down to match my orientation. This is both embarrassing and exemplary of how disoriented I was.

   

Did I mention Desert? And sun and heat. After a heat stroke as a teenager and a very bad heat experience in my first Half Ironman I am now pretty sensitive to the sun. During my test rides in AZ and NM I quickly learned to stop in any available shade; damn the stop lines. That was in town on low mileage rides. As you can see above there are no sign posts, light poles, trees, or anything. There is no reprieve from the blistering sun and heat. I mentally mapped out creating shade with my sleeping pad and space blanket. That felt like spitting on a forest fire. I also considered water consumption. I drove the 156 miles between Tucson and Lordsburg with no AC for more acclimation. I drank 4 bottles of water during that time. I got a headache from too much water consumption. I was still dehydrated. I made explicit efforts to be hydrated leading up to this. I was not acclimated. I don't know if I could acclimate.

Did I mention Desert? And deserted. It is 45 miles from the border crossing at Antelope Wells to Hachita. There is no shade between those. That might be okay if Hachita were a real town (apologies to any Hachita residents if they exist?). The picture below pretty well sums up Hachita. There are a few seemingly deserted buildings. I saw a new radio antenna. When I mentioned riding early and late and resting during the heat of the day the other riders shot me looks that reaffirmed just how far out of place I was. 

There was an odd contrast with with openness as well. There was no doubt that NM near the border is a police state. You are on camera, possibly thermal camera, the entire time. The only trucks we passed were border patrol trucks. You'd better be okay with being obviously monitored. If you think the US isn't taking border patrol seriously I encourage you take a ride through this area. It is enlightening. Touring with a retired sheriff and state police officer was very insightful.

Last and most importantly was the effect on those around me.

It affects me. It also affects all of my loved ones, friends, and coworkers. Am I really giving them a fair shake by making myself this inaccessible and placing myself in this much danger? I am fortunate to have these people in my life. They are already amazingly patient and understanding. And now I'm going to put them through this? Attempting something like Tour Divide draws a line in the sand. It sets a stake in the ground. You don't just re-integrate after this. There will be changes. It changes me. It changes them. It changes our relationships.

I could see, discern, and feel the danger. I didn't need to wade out and experience it first hand. Maybe, finally, I'm gaining a bit of wisdom.

“A fool learns from his own mistakes, a wise person learns from the mistakes of others.” - Otto von Bismarck (1815-1898) Prussian German statesman and aristocrat. 

I don't think any of the riders are fools. I don't think Tour Divide is a mistake. I believe riders are well informed and well prepared. I believe Tour Divide is a gauntlet not to be trifled with. The Tour Divide commands respect with unquestionable authority and a unique combination of slow and swift punishment. I was very cavalier in considering TD. I feel fortunate to escape altered and not damaged.

I pretty much decided Thursday night I was out. Friday morning standing at Antelope Wells at 8am after driving through 95 miles of desert and then feeling the sun scorching my skin so early in the morning I knew my Divide was over. I rode my bike around a bit at the border crossing as a consolation prize. I smiled and reveled in the joy and comfort of my life. I cannot fathom anything at the other end valuable enough to warrant this level of risk. The risk/reward calculation does not balance for me.

I am happy about my attempt. Just getting close to Tour Divide changed me. The simple pleasures in life were sweeter leading up to June 8 and remain sweeter today. Food tastes better, people are more interesting, and life is more precious.

Those folks who embark and make any distance down the route are special. Those who traverse the entire route are special, rare, and, even they have to admit, lucky.