Of all the stories I wish I had time to share about my twelve days and nights on the Arizona Trail this fall, this one screamed the loudest to be told. It is a story of brotherhood, and the night bikepack racing as we know it almost ceased to exist…

Yes, I am proud to have completed the 800 mile edition of the Arizona Trail Race. Yet I also feel humbled and unsatisfied. It’s ok. I'll learn from it, and get over it. Fortunately, there are other, more important, reasons I do these things. Their names are friendship and community. This community. Your love. That is what kept me going. And I’m very grateful it did. So, charge up the iPhone and head for the throne because it’s time for an epic love dump…

I messed up during the 2023 Colorado Trail Race. It was bad. I lost control of the only thing I could control out there – myself. Yet in every failure lies a lesson. I discovered what lies beyond my breaking point and suffered the consequences of visiting that place. I found great power in that knowing.

I completed my second Colorado Trail Race a few days ago. I’ve finally emerged from the fog far enough to start writing down some thoughts. First, I did it! Second, I did it faster than I ever thought I could. Third, I did it on a single speed. Fourth, I did it with my rowdy friends, and made sooooo many new ones. I’m SUPER proud of ALL of these things, but especially the last. Time to off-load a little love for those that made my journey so special…

Clean. Carry. Roll. Curse. Repeat. I spent 3.5 hours battling 2.5 miles in this fashion. Around 9am, the mud got dry enough to roll, then firm enough to ride. I stood on my right pedal. It went all the way to the to the ground. With great finality, the mighty Badger had been reduced to an awkward 50 pound scooter.

I had an incredible experience during the 2023 Pinyons & Pines Bikepacking Ride. I appreciate, and would like to recognize, everyone who helped make it that way. In the tradition of my people, I respectful submit this Love Dump.

He had round sunglasses, a dark mustachio, and a golden ponytail that rose improbably out of the back of his helmet like a horse lifting its flyswatter to take a shit. He was a thinking man of curious questions and unusual answers; a savant of sorts; and possible candidate for most interesting man on the Colorado Plateau. We never learned his name (our deep regret) but decided afterward he probably didn't have one…

Most call him, “Doc.” A few call him Spence. I call him dad.

I spent today at my home in Colorado. Yet my heart and mind were 1,500 miles away, riding bikes with him; an ever less likely possibility; temporarily waylaid by the latest pre-school virus.