I am pleased and honored to provide you readers with a special guest post from the legendary, (he would not like this term, but this is my/our perspective) Charlie Farrow. Charlie agreed to let me reproduce his latest tome on his 2025 Tour Divide experience. (It's LONG! Get a big cup of whatever you drink and settle in!) I hope you find this enjoyable. If you find you like Charlie's style you can also check out his resurrected blog HERE. Charlie promises more entries in the future. Now, on with the report!
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| The author, Charlie Farrow in a portrait by Michael Roe. |
How a white dot destroyed my Tour Divide quixotic quest for honor and respect.
Written by Charlie Farrow
Quixotic: Having or showing ideas that are different and unusual but not practical and/or very, very likely to not succeed.
Part I: “For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however
satisfying and reassuring.” Carl Sagan
“...even for an old fool, used to finishing way back, that mindset is tough to surrender. An earnest, albeit bizarre, fanciful, delusional notion was stuck in my head- ‘This is a competition, this a race, come on, there’s a chance, however slight, that you could win back that blue dot.’” Charlie Farrow, a few days into it.
In part, I would describe myself as a lifelong seeker of physical competitions. From the time I was a little kid, I have been super involved in all kinds of sports. By the way, my parents had nothing to do with these pursuits. They were supportive, but totally hand-off. In junior high, rotund, wearing “husky” size pants, I was even on the diving team or a summer and went to several diving competitions, (with embarrassing results, but that's another story). Through high school, college, grad school, and decade after decade
since, I have continued to participate in sports for every season, yet I never “specialized. ” The fact is I was never good enough to specialize. Maybe that is part of the reason why I have stayed at it for so long, expectations were based on reality. Of course, I had my favorites. Initially it was an obsession with football (teens and early 20s), then rugby (mid to late 20s), then climbing (20s and 30s), then all types of bike racing (30s, 40s, 50s, 60s).
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Early 80s, my good buddy, Bo Deremee and I headed for a bike race.
He was faster than me! |
As I get older (and older, and older) witnessing many (now, most) of my peers (guys and gals), who are way more talented than me, quit competitions, I have wondered if I should hang it up as well. I wonder, “Why am I still so drawn to partake in these races?” I mean the facts are that for most of the events that I now compete in, I am lucky if I can finish in the 40th percentile. I am used to bringing up the rear.
Benevolent readers may be thinking, “the poor old guy is still at it because he is not comparing his performance to others; for him, it's all about the competition within.” Nope, that’s not me. I am very interested, even fixated on how the competition performs and marvel at how much better the majority is than me. I am constantly comparing finish times with multiple causal factors, like age of rider, type of bike, gear employed, weight of bike, etc. etc.
Is it a case where the author was once a top contender and now he’s just hanging on, unwilling to see the hand writing on the wall? Is he like Brett Favre or Muhammad Ali? No, not even close. In fact, as stated above, I have never been that good at any of the sports I have played. I mean from the very beginning, I have always been, even at my best, pretty average. In every sport that I participated in, I never achieved that level where I could realistically feel like an “elite” competitor. I do, personally, know folks that were elite, top athletes when they were younger and as they grew older, slower, more cautious, they simply could not deal with their progressively slower results, so they stopped showing up. I quit playing rugby in my early 30s because it became obvious that by playing, I was wrecking my body and that if I continued I would inevitably do permanent damage, but I was never that good, I just loved the game. I quit climbing because we had a daughter and I didn’t want to miss out on her growing up. I know guys that were killed climbing. There are lots of old mountain climbers and there are lots of bold mountain climbers, but there are very few old, bold mountain climbers.
Could it be that since I have always been just a “ team player, belay-slave, sherpa, and/or pack-rider,” my motivation to continue to compete stems not from the pursuit of excellence and victory, not for the admiration and accolades afforded the top players, but something more nuanced, more lofty, more cerebral or altruistic? Do I compete out of noble motivations? Do I compete for the love of humanity? Do I sign up for these races so as to benefit others, to bring joy to my competitors, to make the world a better place?
Sorry to disappoint, but after really thinking about it, I have come to a rather banal conclusion. As implied above, I could, Dear Reader, submit to you that I am above the superficial pursuit of victory and the momentary status that is especially afforded to winners in these “
United States.” That my incentives are pure, even magnanimous. But to be honest, I think my problem is that I am simply delusional. Always have been. I am still waiting for my ship to come in, still waiting…maybe next time? And I am not the only one.
Intermission: Take a break, then keep reading for further convoluted reflective musings. Observations include: a case that the author was not alone in his unrealistic expectation for a “win” at the Tour Divide 2025. Another idea: Is the author a poster child for the long term consequences of those plagued by the Dunning-Kruger Effect? Don’t worry I’ll define it below, trust me. It applies more to men than women.
Part II: The Blue Dot turns White. Continued is an amateur examination on the question of the influence of the Dunning–Kruger effect on competition, the Tour Divide 2025, and what it meant to the author to achieve a “win” at the TD (also explored to some extent above), so read on, Dear Cherished Reader.
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My “winning” strategy is to always start out super fast. Of course, I quickly fall apart. But, maybe some day it will work! Ya never know! |
With sprinkles of the Dunning-Kruger effect mixed in, mine is a quixotic approach in that there has never been an instance, (I will define it below, bear with me, or fast forward to the
Notes at the end). I mean
every time I line up at the start of one of these races or competitions, there is a part of my reptilian brain that thinks, “
Hey, if things go perfect for you, and a whole bunch of guys better than you have bad luck, you might be up there…” These hallucinations are supported or heightened when the competition encompasses a large group of contenders, it's a long multi-day race (the longer the race, the better my chances), as well as the inclusion of multiple “categories.”
Such was my foolhardy, quixotic approach to the Tour Divide 2025 (and may I also submit that I was not the only one to line up in Banff on June 13 embarking on a quixotic quest to “win” the Tour Divide). Let's explore this a bit more. I mean I have the time, besides, more context is warranted.
As alluded to above, in today’s uber-competitive world, for mostly everyone in any given competition from college admissions, to job interviews, to… you name it (with the exception of that small cohort of top contenders within a given field), one’s own particular understanding of what constitutes a “win” is highly contextual and subjective. For some, a “win” may be to simply get to the finish line. But in the minds of many who race the TD, I don’t think a finish is seen as a win. What I mean is that if you are signed up for a 2700 mile cross country bike race, by definition you are a serious competitor. For me, a win in the TD2025 meant that I would finish with my initials (CF) encased in a blue dot as depicted on Tour Divide 2025 Trackleaders.com. I knew I would finish, so just finishing it would not constitute a personal victory, (more on this below). I can be very stubborn and thus I rarely quit a competition. Sure, as stated above, I have been pulled from races because I failed to make a checkpoint in the allotted time frame or I’ve been lapped and subsequently pulled in lots of crits, but I can’t remember an instance where I “scratched” from a race.
The Tour Divide is simply an amazing competition! It sets a high standard. It’s everything a multi-week bike race should be and for what it's worth, I highly recommend it. As evidenced by this long narrative, it’s still fresh in my mind. I am still recovering, not motivated to exercise, so writing about my experience is fun and also maybe a bit cathartic! Trying to get my head around the fact that I just can’t stop thinking about the recent weeks I spent fighting my way down to Antelope Wells, New Mexico is intellectually stimulating. Lately, nearly every night, my brain lights up as I dream of these weird scenarios that I think are related to my real life TD experiences, but are also surreally enhanced or depict cloudy reenactments of that time spent on the route. Late at night or early mornings, I ruminate about ways I could have gone faster, how I need to go much lighter next time, sleep less, eat better, be more efficient, etc. This did not happen with my other recent long bike journeys. Some smart guy once pointed out,“
if you really want to understand something, write about it.”
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| From the majestic Canadian Rockies to the surreal desert landscapes of southern New Mexico, the Tour Divide route has it all. |
Building upon the generalized treatise on the author’s delusions of greatness. Below I continue to wrestle with why I chose to “race” the TD. So take a quick break, walk around a bit, then read on for a further examination of various and disjointed pseudo-philosophical questions related to why compete at all, coupled with an amateurish, purely anecdotal analysis of what may or may not constitute a “win” for other competitors regarding the Tour Divide. For no extra charge, a theory or explanation related to the very low TD completion rate that occurs every year is presented? Or in other words, a look at what might be behind the fact that so many racers scratch from the Tour Divide every year? Disclaimer: The commentary below is partly as a result of a most interesting conversation I had with a fellow TD rider and very smart guy, during the few days we spent together on that 2700 mile path to Antelope Wells. Of course, the scattered opinions shared here are my own and do not reflect any others.
Of course, some competitions are more natural than others. Clearly boxing (or the like) is more natural than say basketball or hockey or synchronized swimming. Kangaroos box! Given our propensity for violence, I suppose Thomas Hobbes would argue that mixed martial arts competitions (MMA) are the most natural of all human games. Racing from Point A to Point B, certainly, must also be one of the original sports. As implied above, competition and sports are indivisible. A vital ingredient in all sports is competitiveness in the form of comparing one's performance with that of others . Cambridge dictionary simply defines competitiveness as, “
the fact of a person wanting very much to win or be more successful than other people.” There can be no competition without comparisons. Let’s be honest, you can’t win in a race with yourself. It doesn’t work that way.
The Tour Divide (TD) is a competition and thus a kind of social construct, an artificial invention created to fill these primal needs we have to compete with each other. Seemingly, after a quick google search, most in the cognitive science fields agree that we are all competitive, to a degree, on a spectrum. Cheating, which is ubiquitous in most competitions, is a symptom or manifestation of our compulsive need to out perform our competition (a topic for another day).
In fact, all sports are, by definition, human designed activities in which, by design, there are winners and losers. Of course, in a race such as the TD, there is just one actual winner. It’s very simple, the cyclist that gets to the finish line before anyone else is the winner. However, those with an entrepreneurial bent, who create these social constructs, have learned that if the definition of winning is expanded (it is a given that everyone wants to win) more folks will sign up to compete. Thus the advent of various categories of winners (age-groups, different lengths of races, types of bikes, weight classes, etc., etc.) have proliferated For example, the American Birkebiner, North America’s largest cross country ski competition, has 28 different age group categories! It’s great, we used to do it as a family back in the 80s. Everyone gets a medal!
As mentioned above, I have done many types of multi-week adventures, including eight, months-long bike rides over the course of the last eight summers and yet this one was by far the most social and really the only one in which I felt compelled to “compete.” In fact, previously I have even cycled most of the Tour Divide Route, completing the full Great Divide Mountain Bike Route in 2018 (from Jasper to Antelope Wells and then back home). It was a 5800+ mile effort, but I took my sweet time and enjoyed several rest days as well as many short days in the saddle. When describing this summer’s effort I have to include the term "self-imposed pressure," because I approached it as a race, rather than a touring adventure. To be honest, I didn’t expect it, but by making this summer’s bike trip, a “race” changed everything. Pre-race, excited, I made a point of telling interested friends, colleagues, and my captive audience (aka, my students) that I was racing the Tour Divide come June. The racing mindset, although I tried to suppress it after just a few days into it–when it became obvious that I was no way close to being “competitive” within the realm of the talented field of 225 riders–would constantly haunt me, especially when I would have access to a local Wi-Fi connection, so as to check the standings via Trackleaders.com and see how far behind I was from the “competition.”
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The author“toured” the GDMBR back in 2018, it was relaxing, he took his time, read lots of books, stopped at local breweries, etc. |
Let me explain; for a bunch of long distance competitions (across the globe), the guys at Trackleaders have developed an ingenious communal/public parameter (or scoreboard) that employs a kind of bellwether or baseline that, in real time, shows all interested parties where a racer stands in relation to the other racers via a continually updated website. It's brilliant, very well designed, addictive, and has attracted a legion of what is known as “dot watchers.” I am a committed dot watcher. For example, last winter (and many previous winters), I checked the Iditarod Invitational Race at least four or five times everyday. It’s really fun to watch your friends’ “dots” make progress and/or to be amazed at how fast some of these riders have become. A.I. defines a dot watcher as“
someone who follows and analyzes the progress of participants in ultra-endurance races, particularly in cycling events like bikepacking races, by tracking their real-time GPS locations on a map. These races often lack traditional media coverage, so dot watchers rely on online tracking systems to follow the race and discuss it with other enthusiasts.”
“Specifically, regarding the Tour Divide 2025 race, from the rider’s perspective, the way it works is that to basically “stay in the game” (meaning to maintain the label of “racer”on the website), a rider must stay ahead of a “broom wagon,” (aka a sweeper). An oft quoted saying amongst the middlings (guys and gals on the edge of being caught by the sweeper) was, the broom wagon never sleeps.” Note: Back in the day, in road races, we called it a “sag wagon.” During criteriums if you fell behind and got lapped, you were pulled from the race. That happened to me on many occasions and while every time my ego was bruised, I survived to fight another day.
On the TD 2025 Trackleaders website, the sag wagon was colored green. The dots representing each woman racer (those ahead of the sag wagon) were colored
pink, while the men’s dots were in
blue. If one falls behind the menacing green broom wagon (as stated above, the sag wagon never sleeps, it just keeps moving @ 95 miles per 24 hours or about 4 mph during a full day), he or she remains in the game, but under a kind of cloud, essentially relegated to the less than lofty title of “tourist.” To publicly connote this demotion, the riders behind the sagwagon have their dots turn white (as in “I surrender!”). No matter how one wants to spin it, I mean, it's kinda undeniable that the consequence of falling behind the Broom Wagon entails being relabeled or downgraded as uncompetitive, which is not a celebratory moniker. Essentially when your dot turns white, you’re still riding, but pathetically slow, and so far,
so far behind, that you have forfeited your title of Competitive TD Racer and exchanged that lofty, honorable title for something akin to a “a slacker, a straggler, a plodder, a loiterer, a dawdler", or the like! Of course, I am having fun with this, but seriously, it really bugged me when I went from a
blue dot to a white dot, especially so early in the race. Yet, I like the way they have it set up and I think they should not change it. After all, I am a big boy, so after some self-loathing, I put my big boy pants back on and accepted the truth. However, for me, forever delusional, it's all good, I just have to make a few changes, and I will be in the middle of it. In other words, the next time I arrive in Banff to start another Tour Divide, I will be primed for staying
blue ‘til that final photo at that chain fence @ Antelope Wells. I plan to compete in another Tour Divide and finish
blue. That is my quest!
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A once proud competitor, now an involuntary, broken down “tourist” poses at the USA/Mexican Border on July 19, 2025 |
No surprise, staying "competitive," is a really tough endeavor for the majority of those racing down the Tour Divide route. This is a hard truth that one faces pretty much right away. It hits home to many of the first time racers when they hit Koko Claims and then The Wall. Personally, after the first four or five days, even though my little group was enjoying perfect conditions, I knew I was going to get swept up by the Broom Wagon and that with each day, going forward, I was falling farther behind. Yet, ever hopeful, it wasn’t until around Day 10 or so that I had to accept the fact that there was no way I would be able to get my dot resuscitated. I was disappointed, yet, I never considered scratching from the race. Part of my stubbornness stems from the fact that I really had no other option but to continue. I guess I could have left the course and headed for Denver to catch a train, but I was, in my mind, still racing, still wanting to finish. But I wonder if many of those who did scratch did so partly because of a dot downgrade? “
Its not easy being a white dot.” I could relate to Kermit, the Frog!
Finishing the TD ain’t easy and staying
blue or
pink is even harder. A quick crunching of numbers illustrates that staying
blue/
pink requires a high standard by which the 225 riders are subjected to in terms of being afforded and maintaining the title of “competitive.” Sure it hurts to get relegated to “touring,” especially because it's really hard work, it is not a tour. The white dots are still getting their butts kicked! Personally, not once did this effort feel like touring. For me, an experienced “tour rider,”touring means taking lots of pictures, stopping at local breweries, taking time to write post cards and add to my journal (over several cups of good coffee, at the local coffee shops), bringing along several thick novels to read at night, swimming in lakes, bringing a stove/cook kit, and making wholesome camp meals in the morning and in the early evening, stargazing, etc., etc. You get the idea. In contrast, I was pushing ten to twelve hours a day (and still only averaging about 75 miles a day), eating gas station food, and never took a rest day. At the end of most days, I was completely done in, knackered, too tired to do anything but crawl into my bag and pass out. It ended up taking me 36 days and 5 hours to finish. The Swiss guy that won it did it in just under 12 days. So let's be frank, I was not competitive, but I also wasn’t out on a leisurely tour either! Sick!
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| How the author felt at the end of most days on this year’s Tour Divide race |
The following, of course, is speculative thinking, but I wonder if being downgraded to just “touring" is a deciding impetus (or at least, a factor), for why so many “scratch” from the Tour Divide. I mean I am used to having my ego bruised, but for a lot of these first time racers, many of whom have probably enjoyed success in their respective spheres of influence, the downgrade may have been too much to bear?”
Here are some specifics: In order to stay competitive (to stay blue), the men had to make at least 95 miles a day and for the women (to stay pink), I think it was 85 or 90 miles a day. That translates into a little more than 28 days for the men and 30 or 31 days for the women. A quick count indicates that of the 225 that started in Banff on the morning of June 13th, about 100 riders finished the course ahead of the Broom Wagon, another 20 (including me) finished the route but behind the Broom Wagon. Therefore, for the TD 2025, just 44% finished as competitors and overall about 53% finished. That means that only 20 out of the total 120 finishers, or 16% did so under the less than glorious label of “touring.” Or think of it this way, the pattern indicates that one was either good enough to finish blue/pink or quit.
Given the good conditions, the fact that 105 starters did not finish to me was really surprising, really a high number, but looking at the results from previous years, this looks like a pretty normal year. I have several local, good friends that did the Tour Divide in 2017 (all rookies and all finishing under the banner of “competitor”). When speaking with them about the high scratch rate, the consensus was that first time TD racers do not appreciate the physical and mental demands needed to finish. They get discouraged after several days of unrelenting toil, just can’t visualize the long haul endpoint, then they see their dots turn white, and ultimately scratch when they get to a larger town.
Perhaps the Dunning–Kruger effect is also a factor in explaining the high drop-out rate? We all do it, these guys just put a fancy-pants name to it. Essentially what Dunning and Kruger found in their research was that folks with limited knowledge or experience given a specific task or project tend to overestimate their own ability, skill set and competence in terms of completing the task or project. When they are faced with the reality of their shortcomings, they become frustrated, and subsequently discontinue the task. This “effect” seems apparent when one takes a look at the TD2025 Letters of Intent (LOI) combined with the subsequent unofficial TD start list and compares these pre-race documents with the actual result. The Letter of Intent is simply a kind of survey required of the racers that want to be included on the Trackleaders website. From the LOI, an unofficial starting list is generated. In the LOI, a rider is asked to submit how many days he/she estimates it will take to complete the race course. Only 34 out of 235 or 14% indicated a completion time outside the blue/pink parameter. In other words, 86% submitted completion times that would have put them in blue/pink at the finish. Yet, only 44% actually finished blue/pink! Note: these are just general approximations, especially since I did not take the time to differentiate between genders, etc.,add in the fact that I never earned higher than a “C” in all my math courses.
It would be interesting to look at the various demographic factors associated with the starting field, combined with the stated pre-race “Goal finish time, Maximum finish time, etc.” Other potential causal factors for the high dropout rate could include: age, gender, bike type, time constraints, veteran TD finisher versus first time rider, veteran TD finisher versus veteran TD non-finisher, etc.
Part III. “To dream the impossible dream, To fight the unbeatable foe, To bear with unbearable sorrow, To run where the brave dare not go, To right the unrightable wrong, To love pure and chaste from afar, To try when your arms are too weary, To reach the unreachable star,This is my quest, To follow that star, No matter how hopeless, No matter how far…”
From Don Quoxite, Man of La Mancha
So there you have my sad story. A story of a once proud man disgraced, relegated, but hopefully not defeated. As boldly stated above, I do fully plan on racing the Tour Divide again, maybe as soon as next June. I am still drawn to competitions, especially the long distance cycling ones. Also, being a bit of a social butterfly, I equally enjoy the fact that these kinds of endeavors, by their inherent design, invite opportunities for racers to develop meaningful, beneficial, captivating, and intellectually stimulating relationships with other participants as well as with the folks one meets along the way. I feel like these kinds of social interactions bring out the best in most people.
Part IV Endnotes and General observations:
Quixotic: Having or showing ideas that are different and unusual but not practical and/or very, very likely to not succeed.# If you guessed that quixotic has something to do with Don Quixote, you're absolutely right. The hero of Miguel de Cervantes' 17th-century Spanish novel in English "The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha" didn't change the world by tilting at windmills, but he did leave a linguistic legacy in English. The adjective quixotic is based on his name and has been used to describe unrealistic idealists since at least the early 18th century. I read it several years ago and it was so funny. I highly recommend it. The movie is also really well done.
No surprise that parents are delusional: It is common for parents to live vicariously through their kid’s endeavors. Lots of dads tend to remember their athletic prowess with enhanced, rose-colored glasses. Parents also tend to see their kids’ potential for stardom through fanciful lenses. Thankfully my parents were much more grounded in reality.
Specializing in a particular sport, in my opinion, for kids in middle and high school is a major mistake leading to burnout, injury, and insane expense.
Climbing has always been competitive, not as much when I was obsessed with all facets in the 80s and 90s. Now it is very competitive and very specialized.
To win means many things to many people. Within my high school classroom, a “win” for a few of the seniors is to simply graduate, while for others a “win” means to get accepted to the local community college, while for the top academics, a win means getting accepted to a prestigious university.
During the Arrowhead 135, a couple winters ago, on a kicksled, I failed to make the halfway point within the allotted time constraint at the Arrowhead 135 which was a disappointment for me as it ended a long streak of AH135 finishes.
My Tour Divide did not end at Antelope Wells: Being too cheap to employ the usual costly methods of getting home post Antelope Wells finish line. After finishing, I rode back to Hachita and from there rode east to El Paso. When my Amtrak plans fell through, I was forced to rent a car and drive back to St’ Paul. Still I was able to get back to St. Paul for under $400.
Regarding Hobbes' dim view of humanity: I suppose wars fit this description as well. Hobbes argued that war would dominate in a state of nature, and that there would exist,"No arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short." Maybe we are attracted to “games” as a substitute for fighting wars, or a more pessimistic view holds that we engage in sports to practice for wars. With regard to cheating, for those who live by the theory that winning is everything, cheating is permissible as long as it produces a win. The end justifies the means. Later, Carl von Clausewitz, the Prussian soldier and military theorist, renowned for his insights on war and politics, wrote, "War is merely the continuation of policy by other means," Sound familiar?
In the U.S., our illusory capitalistic ideals are based on the sacred, sublime beauty of economic competition, but I digress, save this delusionary fantasy for a different commentary (same can be applied to the myth of American Exceptionalism)
Not sure if this is cheating, but I just used A.I. to find a bunch of athletic competitions that now allow P.E.D.s!
From my own perspective, I am pleased that from a macro-view, the Tour Divide remains pure in that basically there are clearly just two winners each year. The men’s and women’s champion.
Having now completed both the GDMBR and the Tour Divide 2025 route, it is my assessment that the Tour Divide route is significantly more difficult. For me, the CDT sections, especially in New Mexico, were soul destroying.
CTR: I am looking forward to watching my some of my heroes compete in the Colorado Trail Race starting on 8/10/2025
For specifics see Part IV Notes: Lessons learned and changes that need to be made so that the author can “win” next time.
“It's not that easy being green; Having to spend each day the color of the leaves.When I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow or gold...or something much more colorful like that…” Kermit the Frog
Mid-race, I had a couple former students email me and ask, “Mr. Farrow, why did your dot change colors?” In my replies, I took the easy, cowardly way out, ignoring their queries, and instead focused my responses on conveying the beauty of nature so apparent along the route :)
Don’t hold me to these numbers. I just did a quick count (without the use of my glasses), but I think I am close enough to make some generalized, anecdotal observations.
Same here, just looking at general trends that stand out. One would need to do a much more accurate count in order to get real accuracy
My Tour Divide did not end at Antelope Wells: It didn’t end for me at Antelope Wells. Being too cheap to employ the usual costly methods of getting home post Antelope Wells finish line. After finishing, I rode back to Hachita and from there rode east to El Paso. When my Amtrak plans fell through, I was forced to rent a car and drive back to St’ Paul. Still I was able to get back to St. Paul for under $400.
The Dunning–Kruger Effect: The tendency of people with low ability in a specific area to give overly positive assessments of this ability. This is often seen as a cognitive bias, i.e. as a systematic tendency to engage in erroneous forms of thinking and judging. In the case of the Dunning–Kruger effect, this applies mainly to people with low skill in a specific area trying to evaluate their competence within this area. The systematic error concerns their tendency to greatly overestimate their competence.
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| In 2013 the author completed the ITI. (it's really only 300 miles). Although very old, he definitely plans to pedal the full Iditarod Trail before it's too late. But he will not be “racing” it. A finish will be a big win! | |
Lessons learned and therefore changes that need to be made so that the author can “win” next time, (Winning, aka finishing in the BLUE):
- My bike was way, way too heavy. I rode my trusty, steel Clockwork (with the stalwart but hefty Rohloff), a full-on touring ATB, complete with front and rear racks, four large panniers and full length fenders for use in the TD race. It's the perfect “touring” bike and I love it. Yet, I bet my bike and gear weighed over 80 lbs. I was blown away by how light everyone else’s bikes were. It was like I brought an 18 wheeler to a sports car race. Hauling it up Koko Claims, The Wall, the CDT sections, etc.. was exhausting and quite depressing. After completing the route and getting back to Minnesota, I saw lots of photos of the finishing competitors at the US/Mexican border hoisting their bikes above their heads in victory celebration! I thought, “No way could I do that with my bike, it's way too heavy, not even when I was young!” In short, next time I will arrive on a light race bike. Note: I did not regret going with the wider 2.6 tires. I’d even consider trying it on a single speed. My “go to” racing bikes for years have been single speeds. They are simple and light. I really enjoy riding single speeds, I enjoy the varying cadence. And in my case, I don't necessarily see a disadvantage. I mean I walk a lot of the big hills anyway. I’d go with a really easy gear ratio like a 32X18 or 19. Wait, wait!!! Don’t you see what’s happening? Here I go again, riding a single speed in the Tour Divide…totally delusional. Never mind.In any event, practice a lot of hike-biking at my local ski hill in Duluth.
- I also carried too much gear. Leave the thick novel at home, etc. Get a book downloaded onto my phone. I bet I had ten pounds of stuff I didn’t need. Leave the heavy battery pack @ home.
- Get an aero bar (for comfort) set up.
- Change the mindset on using a motel during this event. I have to resolve myself to spend some money on motels and to not fixate on the cost. Being very cheap, normally I only allow myself to camp out, motels are always the last resort (and when I do get a motel, I feel like I have to stay for a long time to get my money's worth). But, on the TD, it makes sense that one will travel longer distances, if one uses motels as efficient rest/sleep stops consisting of just a few hours.
- Develop a daily mileage logistics plan, so that I have an understanding of how many miles I need to achieve each day in order to stay ahead of the merciless Broom Wagon. With this plan, have an idea of where each rest stop will be located.
- To prepare, do way more hill work using a loaded bike and arrive at Banff with very low gearing (a great-granny gear). Ride more at night.
- Look into carrying a backpack or specific bikepacking vest.
