Said Fergus to Erin: "Wanna ride my trailway?"

Two weeks to the day since my last big ride (see my post on the Kitchener - Paris ride), I decided to test my faculties against another well known, somewhat local trail system.  The Elora-Cataract Trailway "was originally the route of the Credit Valley Railway. The main line was constructed in 1879 between Toronto and Orangeville, and the branch line from Cataract to Elora was built at the same time.

In 1883, the Credit Valley Railway was incorporated into the Ontario and Quebec Railway, and the following year it was leased to the Canadian Pacific Railway. It operated as the CPR’s Elora subdivision until 1988, when it was abandoned.

The Grand River and Credit Valley Conservation Authorities acquired the right-of-way in 1993. Acquisition of the abandoned CP rail corridor and its development as a Trailway have been made possible by the financial support of the Province of Ontario, the Grand Valley Conservation Foundation, corporate and private donors, service clubs, user groups, and by the support of local citizens." (www.trailway.org)

I was under a bit of a time crunch that day for two reasons.  First, I was meeting up with someone who I'd connected with on Kijiji, in Elmira to procure her Garmin eTrex GPS unit (details on that little device to come).  Second, the weather forecast for the day was predicting showers by around 2:00 pm; without waterproof riding gear, that trip could have ended up messy if I'd been running late.  With 75 km to cover, I needed to get moving.

I woke up at 6:45 with the full intent to be out the door within a half hour.  Elora from Kitchener is roughly a half hour away.  My goal was to be trailside by 8:00.  After some minor stops for some energy food (in the form of a carb-heavy bacon and egg sandwich and old fashioned plain donut from Tim Horton's) and some gas, I finally made it to Elora around 8:15.  Finding the trailhead was relatively simple - finding parking however, was a bit trickier.  Unsure about the possibility of having my vehicle towed on me for the ride home, I elected to proceed further down the road to Fergus, the neighbouring prou-to-be Scottish town, and another conduit of the trail system.

After winding my way through the suburban streets, I finally found my access point; and more importantly, an out-of-the-way parking spot for my car.  By 8:30, I was locked into the pedals and on the trail.


Straight and flat...perfect for cycling!

The trail is a multi-use system, as evidenced by the signage indicating that all means of non-motorized access was allowed during the summer months.  This included hikers, bikers, and yes, even horse riders (more on that in a bit).  In the winter, the old railway line becomes flush with snowmobilers.  Anyways, back to summer.

By the time I hit the trail, the temperature hit a balmy (insert sarcastic tone here) 12 deg. Celsius.  As the forecast was only supposed to hit 22 C (perfect weather for a long ride!), I was looking forward to pounding out some major miles, without dying from heat exhaustion (see my post on the Kitchener - Paris ride).  However, in a not-so-genteel way, Mother Nature decided to flip me the "big fungool" and thus provided a gusty crosswind that I would pay for later on in the ride.  The trail started out flat and would continue as such for the majority of the ride.  As the route made its way out of Fergus, side streets gave way to fields, ripe with corn, wheat, and countless other vegetables.

Sun over the fields

 

The trail itself was mostly hard packed A-gravel with some sections of gravel dust.  The condition of the trail was somewhat surprising due to the crazy weather we've been having.  Aside from a very small patch of mud southeast of Belwood Lake, the route was pleasantly dry.

Approximately 7 km outside of Fergus, I arrived at Belwood Lake Conservation Area.  According to the Grand River Conservation Authority:

Belwood Lake was created in 1942 with the construction of the Shand Dam, the first dam in Canada built solely for water control purposes. Conservation area visitors can stand on the top deck of the dam and see the vista of the Grand River valley below. A stairway along the face of the dam allows visitors to walk down to its base. The flow from the dam is used to generate hydroelectricity. The 12 km-long lake (7.5 miles) offers excellent boating, fishing and water-skiing, while a small spring-fed quarry offers an ideal spot for people to cool off on hot summer days.

I took these pictures on the return leg, but I think you get the idea of the true uniqueness of the area.

 

Belwood Lake

 

The stairway to the viewing area

 

Damn! Now THAT's a dam!

 

 

I have to admit...the scenery on the ride was truly magnificent.  I had heard people talk about this trail and now I had the chance to experience it myself.  After leaving the Conservation area, the trail looped around the southern tip of the lake and proceeded to follow the shoreline to the easternmost entry point of the Grand River.  Rich dark greens were complimented by the bright kelly greens accented with the rays of sunlight that could barely penetrate the heavy forested canopy.  Riding through the dark wooded tunnel, the birds and crickets provided the soundtrack to go along with the continuous whooshing of the tires on the gravel.  I emerged on the other side in full view of the sun and the incredible tapestries of colours provided by the neighbouring farms.

Horses, elpacas, and perhaps the largest cow I had every seen engaged in their morning routines of grazing, oblivious to this two-wheeled stranger jetting through their turf.  I think you'll recall earlier in the post that I indicated that the trail is often used by horseback riders.  This was quite apparent as I had to consistently dodge past strategically placed "trail bombs" (aka heaping piles of horse dung).  Funny enough, the signs marking the trail suggested only to dog walkers that they provide "poop and scoop" maintenence when their canine companions chose to relieve themselves.  I can just picture saddle jockeys descending from their perches to pack up the superfluous piles of fertilizer.  OK...moving on.

As the lakeshore gave way to more farmland, the trail responsibility transferred from the Grand River CA to the Credit River Conservation Authority.  I stumbled upon a rougher patch of the trail by this point, converting from the the now familiar hard pack, to doubletrack Jeep trails and the odd singletrack...nothing difficult, just rougher.  Fallen branches strewn here and there provided enough obstacles to keep me focussed. 

The trail eventually opened up again to some of the most stunning scenary I have ever laid my eyes on.  Rolling fields of wheat and corn emerged in a quiet, isolated, and tranquil setting.  The colours were so vivid.  I can only imagine what the view from 10,000 feet on the GDMBR would be like.

Postcard-worthy views from all angles of the trail jumped out like living Tom Thomson images.  The beauty however, was found in the solitude.  There was NO ONE around.  And this is why I like hopping on the bike...to simply get away.  Had I not been on a time-trial of sorts, I likely would have stopped to "smell the roses" for a bit.  It was that incredible.

Enroute to Erin, I passed through the "spot on the map" community of Orton.  Not much to see...only a road to cross.  Next up would be Hillsburgh, where to my surprise existed a rest area of sorts at the trailhead, including several picnic tables and a traveller's most welcome friend...the Port-o-Potty!  At this point, I began to check my time.  I had only 20 minutes more to go until I reached Erin, but with time ticking away, I needed to make sure that I had enough time to return to Fergus, allowing for an extra half hour to make my commercial rendezvoud in Elmira.  Hell.  I had come this far.  I had to finish it, and so I did.  The last stretch into Erin saw the trail surrounded by rows upon rows of wildflowers and creekbeds.  Foot and bike traffic was starting to build, as well as the obligatory dog walker; one of whom almost spelled a certain end to my ride when she let the 6 dogs she was "caring for" roam free on the trail ahead of me.  There is nothing like flying 20 kph down a trail trying to dodge a hyperactive Fido whose idea of good fun involves its teeth on your tires. 

Fortunately, I missed the dogs and proceeded towards the last remaining kilometres leading into Erin.  Because of my time restrictions, I didn't have the opportunity to enjoy the main street of Erin.  Having driven through it on four wheels several times, I can truly attest to its beauty and century-old charm.  The main street is lined with boutiques, ice cream shops, and diners.  Large hanging baskets of annuals hang from lamp posts showcasing the area's agricultural link.  Truthfully, Erin is a town I recommend that everyone takes the time to visit.

Aside from the head and crosswinds I had to endure on the way back, the return trip was fairly uneventful.  My body was starting to tighten up and it seemed once again, that the trail was a phantom uphill battle.  I made it back to Fergus hungry and exhausted...but in time to make by Elmira-based appointment.  I finished it.  One more notch on the seatpost towards achieving my dream.

I will definitely ride this trail again.  Hopefully with time on my side, I can extend the journey to Forks of the Credit Provincial Park and perhaps beyond.  Unfortunately, with the long weekend coming up and a family trip up north, I won't be on the bike again for at least a week.  Time enough to rest, recoup, and plan my next long distance assault.

 

Ride the Divide - The Movie

When I tell people of my intention to navigate the Continental Divide on a mountain bike, self-supported, over 200,000 feet of ascending climbs (the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest 7 times!), I often get asked what my inspiration was to draw me to such a crazy endeavour.

My response always resolves around the excellent documentary directed by Hunter Weeks and produced by the likes of Joe Cantwell, Anthony Cimino, and Mike Dion - one of the participants in the first official Tour Divide.

When the officially unofficial race started in 2008, there were only 17 "racers" committed to completing the route.  Over the course of an hour and a half, the viewer is gradually introduced to a variety of characters from Crazy Larry in Banff, to "Brad Pitt himself" Alan Goldsmith.  We get briefly introduced to Mike McCoy, the guy who over 4 years mapped the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.

As the story of this trek progresses, the production crew emphasizes the physical and mental statuses of three riders - the previously-mention Mike Dion, a family man looking to set aside his mundane office life for a month; Mary Metcalf-Collier, the first woman to ever attempt the traverse; and Matthew Lee, a 4-time veteran of the race looking to slay his demons and complete the route in record time...of course to be home in time to witness the birth of his new baby.

These tales of physical and emotional pain and the reality of self-preservation greatly inspired me.  I see people from all walks of life trying to "find" themselves and push the human existence to its brink.

You may not like cycling, nor documentaries for that matter; but this tale of human endurance and my inspiration is right there for the viewing.  If you don't watch the full movie, at least check out the clip below.  Then you'll see why this race has a special place in my heart.

This "race" just completed its 6th rendition with a record 143 riders.  Only 81 finished the race, or 57%.  This is NOT an easy route, but it is widely regarded as life-changing, and that's what I'm going for.

Oui Oui...à Paris (Ontario...that is!)

If you've read my first post, you'll kind of get the gist about what I'm doing here.

This is a blog about my two-wheeled trail adventures preparing me for the grand daddy of all mountain bike adventures - the Tour Divide.

One of the most important components of training for this ride is to get miles on your saddle.  Of course, genteel Sunday rides along the bike paths leading to the local Dairy Queen are lovely, and can be quite rewarding (C'mon...its DQ Baby!).  But its not enough.  To achieve success on the GDMBR (Great Divide Mountain Bike Route), you need miles.  Lots of miles.

On the GDMBR, the route leads riders through the harsh, yet beautifully serene landscape of 1 province and 5 states: Alberta, Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico.  As mentioned in my first post, there is ALOT of climbing.  Being from Ontario, preparing for that amount of ascention is next to impossible...unless I head to upstate New York, something that is not on the present horizon.  But I can certainly put on the miles.

My first "distance escapade" took me from downtown Kitchener alongside the meandering flow of the Grand River through Cambridge and Glen Morris - towards Paris, a quaint picturesque town nesstled into an elbow of the river.  All told, the route I had mapped out (via the latest capabilities of Google Maps) was going to last me 45.3 km one way, and according to the speed demons at Google, ONLY 2 1/2 hours.  Wrong.

Downtown Kitchener to Paris

I informed my wife that I wanted to head out as early as possible on Sunday to avoid the pending heat that the weather forecasters were predicting (actually, the predicted humidity for that afternoon was supposed to be 38 C.  Ouch!).  She had no problem, as long as I didn't wake her.

Having prepared my trusty steed the night before with the necessary carrying bags, chain lube, and "hydration management system" (cool name for a water bottle and a CamelBak), I endeavored to down a hasty cup of coffee and hit the road by 7:30 am.  With caffeine in the system and a sense of anxiousness at doing something I've never done before, I set off through the quiet streets of the downtown, confidently racing towards my first "map checkpoint" at Rockway Golf Course.  Strange as it may be, this area of Kitchener was one that I was familiar with, but had never through - either on two wheels or four.  After a couple of turnarounds, I finally gained my sense of direction and made my way towards the mildly technical trails in Homer Watson Park.

Enroute to Homer Watson was a truly wonderful trail leading from Manitou Drive through to the end of Wilson Avenue.  It was there that I was introduced to the rather docile cousin of Bambi.  Feeding on the side of the road not more than 15 feet away from me, my presence had largely gone unnoticed.

For those in Southern Ontario, you'll undoubtedly be familiar with the crazy weather we've been having this summer.  As the trail sauntered close to the Grand River, the results of said storms were evident on the lower parts of trail.  As the river level was high, parts of the trail were marginally washed out, resulting in a big decision on my part - retrace and go around on the local streets, or try to guide my bike (and previously dry shoes) through chocolate pudding-like mud.  I was on an adventure after all, so the mud it was.  The mud, as expected was thick, deep, and EVERYWHERE!  I rolled my bike through the standing water and used it as a crutch as I walked along the somewhat drier portions of the trail on the side.  A problem arose however - millions of problems in fact, in the form of a swarm of mosquitos.  After making it through the first patch of mud, I managed to find the bug spray in hopes of warranting off the little bloodsuckers.  It worked until I had to pass through two other similar, and unpleasent patches of pudding.  I suppose I would have been more frustrated if I didn't rationalize that this little inconvenience was quite minor in comparison to the major pain and suffering I was going to endure on the TD in two years.  As Churchill once said - "Keep Calm and get your fat ass out of the mud before the bugs suck you dry!".  And so I did.

Further on up the trail, I stumbled upon the ruins of an old mill.  Tranquil in its setting, I would have stopped to enjoy nature, but I had a long distance to cover.  Maybe another time.

Exiting the Homer Watson Park, I knew that the mud portaging was costing me some valuable time.  I proceeded down Old Mill towards Doon Valley Golf Club and the Hwy. 401 overpass.  Having never been on the overpass, I decided to stop for about a minute to check out the view.

 



Crossing over the highway took me to the tiny hamlet of Blair, home to the famous country inn - Langdon Hall.  While a pitstop at the spa would have been lovely, I had more pressing business to tend to...getting to Cambridge.  Riding the designated biking/hiking trail known as the Grand Trunk Trail.

A lovely descent into downtown Galt awaited me (along with the not-so-welcome ascent on the way back!).  I should point out that the day I decided to pull off this ride, the humidity was forecast to reach 38 deg. Celsius.  As it was only about 10:00 am by the time I reached this point, I new that things were going to heat up shortly.

As I pulled into the past known as Galt, I was starting to feel the lack of caffeine in my system from not having any coffee earlier, so I stopped in at the charming Grand Cafe, nestled perfectly alongside the river for a double espresso.  Mmm...bellissimo!

A short ride south of downtown led to the trailhead of the Cambridge to Paris Rail Trail.  As the northern terminus of an interconnected trail system that leads ambitious cyclists, runners, hikers to Port Dover on the northern shore of Lake Erie, the Cambridge to Paris Rail Trail is widely regarded as one of the nicest trail systems in southern Ontario; both for accessibility and scenery.  Following alongside the slow moving Grand River, the trail steadily follows the old rail line ethat formerly linked the two communities.  Fairly straight and generally level, there were plenty of opportunities to gain some much needed speed, thus putting me in Paris shortly before lunchtime.  Wildlife aplenty, the trail offered an eerie respite under a shadowed Carolinian canopy.  Birds of all sorts and countless butterflies were whisked by as my tires greedily gobbled up the dirt.  Approaching a slight bend in the trail, I noticed a pair of riders oddly parked in the middle of the trail looking at something on the side.  Slowing down, I saw what caught their attention.  Less than 10 feet away, this Peregrine Falcon had decided that the 65 km signpost was a good place to take a breather (wait a second...do falcons take "breathers"?).  Unphased by our close proximity, he/she was most likely more interested in his/her next feeding.

Shortly afterwards, I reached another trailhead - this one located in Glen Morris, a tiny community situated roughly halfway between Paris and Cambridge.  Judging by the number of cars in the parking lot, quite a few people were taking advantage of the warm weather by either hitting the trail or embarking on a lazy ride down the river via the boat launch.  As the midday sun was quickly melting all in its path, I was still feeling good physically and mentally.  I had consumed the requisite amount of fluids and my arrival in downtown Paris was only a few miles away.

For those unaware, the downtown section of Paris is quaint, if nothing else.  The main street, lined with its numerous boutiques, cheese shops, and cafes evoked waves of nostalgia and visions of small bucolic European hamlets.  Having dismounted from the bike to give my weary legs a break, I stumbled upon a local bike shop - Vintage Velo, who impressively was open on a Sunday.  I realized on the trail that my bike was missing something quite valuable - a bell.  With the number of pedestrians and slower riders, I found that I had no way to letting other trail users that I was approaching.  So I decided to give them my custom and bought a small bell, with help from the friendly attendent at the front desk.  What caught my eye in this store however, was not the selection of accessories, but rather the wide selection of vintage cruising bikes.  And they are all in top condition.  There are no words to describe what they carried, so I'll recommend you check out their site (see the link above) and click on the Bicycle Sales page.  Scroll down the page and emmerse yourself in two-wheeled nostalgia.

By this time, my stomach was starting to inform me that the gastank was empty.  Hacing asked the staff at Vintage Velo where a hungry, sweaty mountain biker could go for some good hearty food, I was told that the Brown Dog, about a block away, was popular with the biking crowd.  Having no reason to argue, I made my way down the street.  Upon arriving at the self-appointed velo cafe, a phalanx of roadie rigs (high end street bikes) adorned the bike rack in front of the building.  Carbon and titanium frames of all colours and sizes were bunched together on the rack like a pack of wolves forming a perimeter.  Not wanting my plebian ride to scratch the two-wheeled Ferraris, I gently rested my tired rig against the rack and headed into the restaurant.

My senses were soon assailed in the subtle fragrances of frying bacon, buttered bread, and freshly brewed coffee; accompanied by the oh-so-welcome freshness of air conditioning.  I grabbed a small table in the corner next to the group of spandex-clad roadies who owned the carbon rides outside.  Having engaged one of them in a brief conversation, the group had apparently ridden from Dundas for the day.  Try doing that on knobbies Fellas!

Lunch quickly arrived in the form of a bacon and egg panini on fresh baked (and grilled) italian bread with a pickle spear and fresh lemonade.  Needless to say, the sandwich did not stand a chance.

After about 20 minutes, I started to feel my muscles tightening up so I quickly lapped up the remaining lemonade and made my retreat back out into the 35 deg. heat.

I've always been a believer that loops and end rides are phycologically, the best routes to take to push oneself.  On that Sunday however, I didn't have that chance and would have to make the min-numbing return "back up from where I came".

Within about 5 km, I started to notice that my thighs were tensing up and my hamstrings were constricting.  The pedal strokes that I used to power myself down the trail had apparently gone missing.  I began to cramp up.  From a physiogical perspective, cramping is one of the most debilitating ailments that can strike an athlete.  Although I'm not an extreme athlete and I know well enough that hydration battles cramping, I simply lost all power in my legs.  The trail seemed to be ascending slightly, and all in the wrong direction.  Whereas an hour prior, I was booking it down the same plot of land, this time around the trail had forced me to hit my wall.  Slowly pounding the next 5 km to Glen Morris, I started to feel the extreme heat impacting me from above.  I finally made it to Glen Morris and decided to give my aching muscles a short break.  Resting under a tree in the shade, I made a call to Jenn, my wife.  She asked where I was and how things were going.  I responded in a gutteral tone "I'm bonked."  We discussed the inevitability of her having to come "resuce" me before the call cut off, likely due to the isolated spot I was in.

I reluctantly climbed back on my bike with cramping legs, a soaked-from-sweat jersey, and sore sit bones and slowly made my way the next 10 km to Cambridge.  I won't bore you with details, but needless to say, it was painful and ugly.  Shortly afterwards, my heroine had arrived to resuce me from the fresh hell I had put myself in.

I began the day with hope and determination.  I had a goal.  I had a target.  It all evaporated in a lactic acid build-up that would have crippled the best.  I had alot going against me that day - the weather, the lack of proper preparation, over-confidence.  However, after a hot shower and a cold beer, I relalized what I had just accompished.  I had NEVER gone 65 km on a mountain bike before in my life.  But that day, I did it.  And from that point on, I reassured myself that with more training and better awareness of my capabilities, I could reach my goal - to ride the divide.
 

Hi Ho Kona...Awwwaaaayyyy!

Every great adventurer has their "trusty steed".

The Lone Ranger and Silver.

Roy Rogers and Trigger.

Indiana Jones and Short Round.

For me, the "pony" that gets me around on the trails with haste and vigour is my 2011 Kona Caldera hardtail.  She's light.  She's nimble.  She's fast.  But is she "enough" for the Tour Divide?  Time and distance will tell.



My "Black Beauty" geared up for long, lonely ride.

To prepare for a race like the Tour Divide, a bike has to be strong, sturdy, fleet of tire, and above all -  comfortable.  A bike has to fit the rider...not the other way around.  This bike fits me...for now.

At present, the only modifications done to this rig are the recent additions of some Ergon GP2 grips (not shown), Shimano clipless pedals, and a new chain (nothing really exciting about a chain).  Along with some Bontrager kit bags on the gas tank, top tube, and seatpost, the bike is pretty much stock.  Like describing a car, here's what's under the hood:

Frame Material	Kona Race Light 7005 Aluminum Butted
Sizes	18"
Fork	Rockshox Recon TK Solo Air 100mm
Crankarms	FSA Comet
Chainrings	44/32/22
B/B	FSA MegaExo
Pedals	Shimano Clipless
Chain	Shimano HG53
Freewheel	Shimano HG50 11-34 9 spd
F/D	Shimano Alivio
R/D	Shimano XT Shadow SGS
Shifters	Shimano Deore
Brake Calipers	Avid Elixir 5
Front Brake Rotor	Avid G3 Clean Sweep 185mm
Rear Brake Rotor	Avid G3 Clean Sweep 160mm
Brake Levers	Avid Elixir 5
Headset	FSA
Handlebar	Kona XC/BC Riser
Stem	Kona XC/Road
Seatpost	Kona Double Clamp w/offset
Seat Clamp	Kona QR
Grips	Kona Race Light
Saddle	WTB Valcon Sport SE
Front Hub	Shimano M475 Disc
Rear Hub	Shimano M475 Disc
Spokes	Sandvik Stainless 15g fr / 14g rr
Rims	Mavic XM119
Front Tire	Maxxis Aspen 26x2.1
Rear Tire	Maxxis Aspen 26x2.1
Paint Color	Black Beauty

There isn't a whole tonne that I would like to change to the bike...maybe a new saddle and some new wheels...but these can all be transferrable to another rig if need be.  My goal at this point in the journey is to evaluate the capabilities of this bike over the coming year with regards to durability and sturdiness.  Longer rides (some overnight) will precipitate more equipment to be added.  With this, strain gets put on the bike.  I'm not sure whether my "Black Beauty" would survive the TD.  From other blogs I've read about this race, my bike falls just short of what is deemed necessary to successfully complete the race.  Not by much, but certainly enough to consider options next year.

Kilometre One (...or Mile 0.6 for my American friends!)

Hi.

Welcome to Reeling in the Gears...a blog written to document (hopefully with some incite and humilty) my daily/weekly/monthly travails towards meeting my ultimate goal - to complete the Tour Divide in the spring of 2015. 

You may ask, and rightfully so, what exactly the Tour Divide is and how it applies to me - a self-employed middle-aged father of four with a propensity towards Scotch, vinyl records, baseball, and useless bits of mindless trivia.

The Tour Divide is an annual gentlemen's race, conducted self-sufficiently on mountain bikes from Banff Alberta to the US/Mexican border.  To quote the fine folks at Adventure Cycling is:

The Great Divide Route is the world's longest off-pavement cycling route. It was tirelessly mapped over a 4 year span, and published in 1998 by Adventure Cycling Association, North America's premiere bicycle travel organization. The route is highlighted by long dirt roads and jeep trails that wend their way through forgotten passes of the Continental Divide. It travels through Canadian provinces of Alberta and British Columbia, and the United States of Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico (map). By route's end a thru-rider will climb nearly 200,000 feet of vertical (equivalent to summiting Mount Everest from sea-level 7 times).

Next question.  Why?

As I cautiously share my intent/hope/dream to those closest to me, I get asked this question a lot.  Let me qualify that first.  The initial reaction is one of ponderous bewilderment ("Did he just say that he is going to ride 4,400 km on a mountain bike with bears, scorpions, and cow-pie tainted water?") followed by curious amazement ("That actually exists? Cool!"), and is usually brought up in the rear by the typically onerous comments like..."You're going to need to train!" (Really?) and "You're going to come back dead!" (Thanks Son!) and "Are you going to grow a beard? I'd like to see you with a beard, Dad!" (Not sure about that one, Holly.).  Evenutally, curiosity gets the better of them and the whys start surfacing.

My response has grown to become standardized...

I want to do this while I still can.  I want to say later in life that I achieved a noble pursuit...something that I can be remembered by.  I want to push myself in ways that I've never tried before.  I want to improve my health - both physical and mental.  Simply put, I want to say that "I did it".

Over the next 2 years, I'll be accumulating equipment and supplies, and evaluating crucial data about my physical and mental status.  Alot is going to have to change in my life if I'm going to do this.  From physical training to self-sufficiency prepardedness, there is alot to consider.  I hope to document my progress here as much as possible - from general thoughts about bikepacking, gear reviews, ride reviews, and overall commentary on my (dirt) road ride to self-preservation and reflection.

So stick around...sign up...join me for an incredible adventure (I promise that you don't have to sleep in a tent) and see a small chunk of the world through my eyes.