It’s hard to say exactly when the adventure started. 

It had been 20 years since I last raced in Canada, a seven day mountain bike race called the TransRockies Challenge. I signed up months ago for the Hell of the Great White North, knew it was coming, rode lots in the lead up, prepped the bike and gear, and (thought I) was mentally ready. 

It became exciting when Misti’s daughter, Sofia (19), said she wanted to go with us. That meant it would be me, Misti, Sofia, and Louie in the big truck for three days up, three days back, and three days there. The plan was to leave Tuesday at 4:00p.m. As with all seamlessly orchestrated plans, a wrinkle appeared.

Sofia’s car broke down in Idaho Springs on Monday afternoon so Misti drove down to get her, and made it back to the Valley to pack right at the designated departure time, 4:00p.m. Tuesday. I was “let go” from the bike shop due to “budget cuts” at 4:30p.m. I took the bus home. We ended up leaving late, at 6:30p.m, and it bothered me more than I cared to admit. The being let go from the bike shop, after 10 truehearted years, might have added something extra to it; maybe. I felt compelled to make up that lost time so I was grouchy.

After three days of driving, we lined up for the ferry to Vancouver Island at 6:40a.m. Friday, from Port Angeles, Washington. With no room on the first two ferries, we were finally ushered onto the day’s last at 5:15p.m.; the chaos of the traffic exiting the boat sent me over the emotional edge. I hadn’t calculated the toll all of the pre-road trip events had taken on my psyche.

The race began at 7:00a.m. the next morning: 220km, 3500m of climbing. I got dropped, like an anchor over the side of a boat. Every time the road or trail went up, I went backwards. I cramped at 50km, drank a bunch of electrolytes. At 77km, I got off my bike to regain my senses; grounded and centered I carried on, went through every version of hell to emerge on the other side, purged and punished, but cleansed. 10 hours and 52 minutes of thinking about all the ways I got it wrong in the lead up to the start line, I finished humbled and contrite. But oh so very happy to see my family waiting for me.

It’s a delicate balance creating a team, much less a family. Too much forward motion murks the equilibrium. Stay motionless too long and it becomes hard to predict the next step. Roles, boundaries, strengths, weaknesses, dreams, fears, successes, failures, sacrifices, past lives. None of it can be ignored. Steps forward, sideways dodges, ducks and swoops, getting back up one more time than you fall down and you cross the finish line, together.

Lessons learned in life, love and cycling so that the next time will be more fulfilling.

Cheers.