Divide Dreams

This story begins 7 years ago on a cross country bike trip with my brother. We departed from the left coast with no real set route and essentially headed east every day for 7 weeks. It was pure and simple magic. After passing through Yellowstone National Park we hung a right and headed South into Grand Teton Park. In a effort to skirt paying for camping in the park, we headed down a gravel road through a thick cloud of mosquitoes in search of a camping spot a ranger had told us about earlier that day. Before long as we were cruising down washboards on road bikes with trailers we crossed paths with a fine French fella on a mountain bike who told us he was touring the Great Divide Route. Our two routes literally only overlapped for a mile or two so it was dumb luck that we even saw each other. However, it was the first time I had heard of the route and instantly I wanted to tour it. We didn't talk long due to an obscene amount of especially vicious mosquitoes, however the seed had been planted.

Not long after, I heard of the race that was held on the route and being a bike racer of the endurance persuasion I instantly wanted to race it. Each fall since then my thoughts would wander to touring and each fall I played with the idea of racing the divide. However, I knew that I didn't have the mental tenacity to keep it together for nearly 3 weeks of long and most likely solo days. Maybe it was an excuse I came up with inside my own head, maybe not. Regardless, last fall when my thoughts drifted to racing the divide as they typically did, something was different. The stars had aligned and I knew it was time to saddle up and give it a shot.

A sign of things to come for the young Carney brothers?

It's a tradition for divide racers to craft a letter of intent as part of their entry into the race, so here is my promise to myself as I attempt to ride the spine of the continent next month as fast as my body and mind will allow. I promise to take it all in. I promise to ride hard each day and smile as much as humanly possible. I promise to not spend my time looking at the glass half full or half empty, but rather take in all the little things, the big views, the big miles, the new places and new people until my glass overflows.  I promise to live solely in the moment and to let absolutely everything soak in, the good weather, the bad weather, the sunrises and sunsets, the new places, the aches and pains, the places I'll go inside my own head, and all the magic and lessons that spending 2,700 miles living on a bike has to offer.

The campsite where the idea started. 

I promise to not come back the same person that started in Banff. After all, if I accomplish my goals on the route, how could I? Each day is a opportunity to either improve yourself as a human or to stagnate. There is no staying the same if you pay attention to life. So, here's to big miles, big smiles, and what I'm positive will be one hell of an adventure!

Excited does not even begin to capture how I'm feeling! 

Little things

It's pretty amazing how the smallest things can make you smile in the middle of a big ride. A big view, a terrible song stuck in your head, gummy sharks, a random memory, a bad joke, a funny looking rock, or even just the simple joy of churning out mile after mile. 

So, here's to paying attention to the little things that cause big dumb smiles to creep across your face even when you're alone!  

Buying the Ticket

Back in my Triathlon days I would often sign up for a early spring marathon or running race to force myself out of my comfort zone of cycling throughout the dark winter months. I bought the ticket so to speak and used that commitment as motivation.

I've always struggled with announcing my intentions in sport too loudly. In an ideal world I would rather show than tell. People who year after year, say they are going to do this or that and year after year find a excuse to sidestep their stated goal get under my skin. Say it to yourself rather, say it until it hurts, say it until you know it in your bones. Talk without action is nothing.

Afterall, if you don't believe in your own goal so deeply that it hurts to not attain it will you have the resolve to put in the work needed to change yourself to meet it?  Goals are great, they are the building blocks of growth, but goals without action are useless. 

So make plans, make goals, make your intentions known to yourself first, however then do something about them, chase them, conquer them, attain them, crush them.

Uncertainty

Every since I can remember I have been drawn to exploring outdoors. Maybe it was the time my brother and I bet our Mother that we wouldn't watch TV for a year and all the time outside that started it all (in retrospect I would have bet more than $50 but that was a lot of money as a kid). Maybe it was growing up next to a river, all the days spent wandering around in the woods, or all the trips we took as a family when I was young.  I always want to see what's around the next corner, and then the corner after that. I crave new things for my eyes to gaze upon. New ridgelines, new drainages, new perspectives, new experiences.

I like turning blank spots on my mental map of the world into known territory. 

Personally human powered exploration has always been my chosen mode. The rhythmic trance that pedaling, hiking, climbing, skinning, or climbing produces is a feeling that no motorized transport can ever provide.  Doing the same thing over and over again produces the same outcome day after day. However, introducing some uncertainty means I have no idea how the day will turn out. Maybe I'll get to ski a sweet line off of a peak I've never stood atop of, maybe I'll be forced to turn around and retreat. Either way, I'll spend the day doing something different than the day prior and fill in a few blank spots on my mental map.

So, why not break into song while skinning up a lonely drainage, because in the words of my buddy Kameel today 5 hours into our tour, "Today is a damn good day to be alive".

Of all the places in the mountains, apline ridgelines are my favorite. They are a direct line to the summit, often rather harsh places and only by walking the fine line on the ridge proper can you see both sides dropping away. I like the wind whipping away at me, I let it strip away everything except the feeling of being in that exact spot at that exact moment, and in that moment that's all I need, because today IS a damn good day to be alive.

Red from AMC on Vimeo.

Chasing

Seasons change. Motivations come and go. Ebb and flow.  

 Some days the bike calls, at times the silent glide of skins on snow calls louder. They are all just mediums of movement, of exploration, of boundary expansion.

It's the shifts in perspective that I chase and crave. They often come after a big eye opening day, a sketchy adventure, and those moments when you're so cracked that your world shrinks to only the next foot step, handhold, or pedal stroke. Sure you can see the summit from the valley, but only after gaining the summit and seeing the world from a different vantage point does your perspective change. 

Get out. Chase the feeling that drives you. Fill yourself up. Getting up at 4 am and heading out into the pre-dawn chill is easy when you're chasing a feeling.

Capture the feeling, store it away for days down the road, learn from it, do what makes you feel alive.

New year, clean slate, new perspective, fresh eyes on old things. 

Floating

There are moments in a bike race or even in a hard effort when the world seems to close in around you and your whole world shrinks to the screaming of your legs, the burn of your lungs, and the lactic acid filling your body. For some that focused pin-hole view of the world is what they crave. Sure, it feels good to strip down to that primal level now and again, it allows for focus. However, all too often as racers we live in that small world too often. We forget to look around and really take it all in. 

My last race of the season was the Crested Butte Classic this past weekend and I spent the first of the three laps trying to get my racing legs underneath me. However the hard truth was that my legs were like the engine in a Honda Civic trying to tow a trailer over Independence Pass. I would stomp on the gas, but nothing would happen. Some days you're the statue, some days you're the pigeon. 

Leaving for the second lap was a hard choice as I knew I wasn't really racing, but rather out riding. The ego is a tough egg to crack sometimes. At the base of  Slate Du-Huez I made a deal with myself. The scenery was stunning, the Aspen leaves were peaking, and all I could think about was how the simple experience of being in an Aspen grove can make Sarah smile from ear to ear. It really was that simple. I quit looking at my stem, expanded my world from the ache in my legs, took a big deep breath, and looked around. The deal I made with myself is that I would ride the rest of the route with a giant smile plastered on my face. If that smile ever started to fade to a grimace I would slow down until the smile returned.  Simple.

For the next ~60 miles I grinned from ear to ear and even let out whoops of joy as I carved through Aspen groves along a thin yellow ribbon. It was intoxicating.

For the past past 5 years I've ended the season with either 24 Hours of Moab or 24 Hour Nationals and put a lot of pressure on myself to perform well. That pressure took it's toll on myself, the enjoyment I took from a simple ride in the woods, and those close to me. It was a tough way to end each year. As much as I enjoy trying to ride as fast as my body and mind allows I need to take a step back and remember that I ride bikes because I love the feeling of floating along through the woods, not because I take home a paycheck.  The motivation needs to come from the feeling of riding not from standing on a podium. I can't think of a better way to end this seasons racing than to remember what it feels like to smile so hard for so long that your face is just as tired as your legs. All from the simple action of going for a ride in the woods. 

40 in the Fort

Early last spring I signed up for the 40 in the Fort race in Fort Collins and at the time figured that racing single speed was a good plan. After a few pre-ride laps on the course it was pretty obvious that the course was a very technical one with plenty of climbing. Roughly 7,000 feet in a scant 40 miles.  Sure they were my backyard trails for several years, but dang, that's a lot of up for a short race. When the High Park fire started in June and shut down both parks West of Fort Collins the race date was moved to this past weekend so I made the trip back to town to race.

After the start I made it up to the top of the first climb in 5th position overall, however I've been really good at crashing lately so I was a bit hesitant descending and allowed a bit of a gap to form on the first descent not wanting to push things too hard until I got some confidence back. 

Once back to the valley I noticed that one of my water bottle cages was about ready to fall off. Not wanting to have to pick through the weeds looking for bolts if it came completely off I opted to stop and tighten it thus allowing a few more people past me. Once everything was tight again I chased hard and made up some good ground but also worked myself over as well.

My very good friends Stacy and Dan had once again set up their renegade aid station, Bacon Hill, and were busy handing out bacon, doughnuts, bacon-doughnut sandwiches, and all sorts of other items you really don't crave at the top of a wicked steep climb. Racers would pass through their little slice of real estate 4 times total and would risk getting shot with a marshmallow out of a slingshot each time. 

Even if I had refused the bacon, I'm fairly sure that Dan would of tackled me and forced it down my mouth so of course I took a few bacon handups. From about halfway through the first lap on I would pretty much ride alone and couldn't seem to make up any ground on those ahead of me.

On my second lap I found Sarah helping out at the Bacon station as she was just having too much fun heckling racers. 

In the end I finished up 2nd overall in the SS class and someplace around the top 10 overall I believe. Big thanks to Overland Mountain Bike club for a great race and to Stacy and Dan for running what is perhaps the most amazing aid station ever!

Pain in the Aspen

The alarm goes off at 4 AM. Why the heck are you getting up so early my head screams?  Early mornings are never easy, but coffee does wonders and after a 30 min drive to Aspen for even more coffee I was awake.  Downtown Aspen at 5 AM is a little different than usual but I met up with a small crew of like minded folks for the first annual Pain in the Aspen.  

We rolled out of town in the chilly pre-dawn air but quickly climbed through a temperature inversion and spun upwards as light crept through the sky.

Around the Iowa Mill area there were 3 of us riding fast together and I decided to put in a bit of a effort and see what happened. Suddenly I was off the front and would stay there for the next 6 hours.

For the remainder of the day I rode on some amazing trails, some of which had seen my tread before, some with had not, and held on to the lead until the finish.

All told I rode for 6:45 and climbed just a tad shy of 10K, however the highlight of the day was hanging out with everybody after they finished. That just doesn't happen at big events. Put this event on your calendar for next year!

Settling in

Home.  

With everything I own finally under the same roof again for really the first time in almost 10 months it feels like I have a home again. It's a bit strange to unpack boxes and find simple things like a cheese grader and be excited because I had simply forgot I even owned one.  However, with all the new terrain out the back door, most of the non-essential unpacking has taken a back seat to exploring, hiking, riding, fishing, and general romping around.

For some reason, my excitement for racing and riding big never really showed up this year, but with all this new terrain to learn and explore it may finally be making an appearance. 

Yup, pretty sure I like it here.

Lory racin' and the Steamboat Stinger

With the either cancellation or postponement of all the events I had planned for July due to fires, rain, etc, it has been a pretty quiet 2 months on the riding and racing front. However, I've been plenty busy finishing up a EMT class for work this winter and moving out to Carbondale to join Sarah and her new job. So far, I've just began to scratch the surface of the riding in the Aspen Valley, but from what I've seen, this is going to be a rad place to live!

Last week the local Lory State Park XC races started up in Fort Collins and I was able to squeeze in a Tuesday night race between finishing class and moving. As was to be expected, it was a sweet race with plenty of good competition. One of the big things I'm going to miss about Fort Collins is the tight knit cycling community.

Good ole weekday evening shreddin'

(Photo Credit: Yann Ropars)

After a marathon day of moving everything I own out of storage and moving it under the same roof as I'll be for the first time since last November Sarah and I made it up to Steamboat to race as a Duo team in the Steamboat Stinger 50 miler. 

One guess who is racing the first lap.

The course was a two lap format so Sarah and I would each do one. Not wanting to have to resort to her old trackie ways and throw elbows and curses out in the start traffic Sarah called dibs on the second lap so while I was standing on the start line wondering if the rain would come or go Sarah got to stand around and drink another cup of coffee. 

On my lap it started to rain about 45 min in, however it was a fairly warm rain for not even being 9 am and the moisture actually made the trails quite amazing. I ended up following a local guy who knew the trails down the backside of Emerald Mountain on the ridge trail and the combination of hero dirt and a fast wheel to follow was amazing. 

Sarah rolling Little Moab

Just as the sun started to poke through and dry things out a bit I rolled into the Start/Finish, high fived Sarah, and sent her off on her lap. Overall, the trail conditions were near perfect and we ended up 3rd overall in the Co-ed duo category in a fairly close race.  Between the usual friends I run into at races and all the guys and gals from Moots it was almost like I was at a local race with all the familiar faces.  If it's not already on your calendar for next summer, I would add the Stinger. This race is going to quickly become a Colorado classic.  

I headed down to the Bailey Hundo again this year trying to repeat my win from last year. The day started early with a 6 AM start from downtown Bailey as we headed out on a 7 mile road roll out before the singletrack started. As last years SS winner I got a first row call up, but on the road I was spinning with all I had to get a decent position into the singletrack. Once off the road we were treated to 50 miles of fast, rolling, and flowing singletrack. It's pretty dang easy to keep things red lined when you're grinning ear to ear railing corner after corner. At the 60 mile mark we left the singletrack for good and finished the last 40 miles out on pavement and dirt including climbs up and over Windy Pass and Stoney Pass. I kept on the gas as much as possible even through a good 15 minutes of hail and rain near the top of Stoney Pass.  For the last 10 miles I was trading blows with another singlespeeder and we took it to the line with him coming across only 30 seconds after I did. Racing down to the wire is type 2 fun at its best!  All told it was a great day riding with good friends for a good cause as the event proceeds help to benefit Trips for Kids and the Colorado High School Mountain Bike League. Add this race to your calendar for next year!!

Photo Credit: Jarmila Gorman

Winging it

There have been times in my cycling career that I've tried to follow a rigid training regimen in the pursuit of fitness. Sometimes it works, other times I just want to go out and ride play. Perhaps for some people, the nose to the grindstone approach works and is satiating all of the time. 

Personally, I need to mix it up.  After not touching a bike for roughly 5 months it feels dang good to roost down fast flowy singletrack again and I'm not about to set limits on what I should, or more commonly, should not ride. 

Will it hurt my fitness when some of the events I have planned for the summer roll around? I don't really know. 

Maybe all this fun will cause a failure right in the middle of a race effort, much like a busted pawl halfway up a big chunky climb.

Maybe after 12 years of trying to ride a bike fast using varying degrees of structure I'll find the right balance of play and serious play.

Who knows?  Right now, I'm enjoying taking breaks under the trees while a rainstorm passes instead of hammering on.

Following every faint trail I find just to see what's around the corner even it the trail dead ends after only 50 feet.

Trading in well thought out training routes for marker lines on a scrap of paper.

Even once in a while trading in the lightweight bikepacking gear for a trailer and a pan of freshly made Rhubarb Crisp still in a glass pan.

 Sure, my Type A personality will buckle down to some degree again at some point, but right now, I'm just having fun and enjoying the view.

Whipped

No matter which way you slice it, the first hard effort in the spring hurts, burns, stings and carries with it a full range of emotion. Add to that the fact that I've really only been on my mountain bike maybe 20 times since last October and that I lined up at the New Belgium Short Track last night against guys who have all been riding hard for months and pain and suffering are inevitable. Burning lungs, unresponsive legs, lactic acid up the eyeballs, and a vague memory of how to corner at high speed add up to some severe tunnel vision. However, tunnel vision inevitably leads to tunnel thoughts. All that exists is finding a way to get through the 45 minutes of dust and agony. Everything else falls away. Clarity.

Change

Where to start?  In the past 6 months a few things have changed. For one, I left the comfortable office gig that I had and took a job in Summit County basically skiing 40 hours a week. Unfortunately, it wasn't the best winter for becoming a ski bum, However, that being said, even a bad day with skis on your feet is better than a day spent in an office under florescent lights.  I could spout off a few inspirational quotes and sayings about following your dreams and living your live, and sure, some days I feel that way, but other days I'm nervous about the choice I made and that's just how it is. Now at the start of another summer I'm mostly floating. A few good things are coming down the pike for both Sarah and I and I'm pretty dang excited for them.  As usual, pictures can tell the story better than I so here's a few of the things I've gotten into in the past few months. Think of it as an update in visual form.

Climbing some rocks outside of Fort Collins

Fall riding in Steamboat

Fall night ride outside of FoCo

Tour with the Brother above Montizuma

Vail Pass Area

Uneva Pass

Another ho-hum day at work

Sled skiing at Vail Pass

Cameron Pass Yurt Trip

Fighting windchill at Cameron Pass

Early morning at the office

Chilly night above Montizuma

Climbing and Skiing the North Face of The Thorne with the brother

Rippin' singletrack back home

Fruita

Stay tuned for more...