On this 8/24, in honor of the late and great Kobe Bryant, I’m sharing one of the most BA and Mamba two-wheeled endeavors I’ve embarked upon. I’ve been looking forward to sitting down and writing this recap—any opportunity to relive what was a once in a lifetime adventure is treasured. What a wild ride it was. It’s the biggest, baddest and perhaps the best mountain bike stage race in North America. And it’s without a doubt the most challenging. I went straight into a Jackson Hole down and back (one day trip) for a wedding officiating gig, two days after our 1 am Bozeman homecoming, so I’m just crafting this bit of storytelling.
What can I say? Colorado was sublime. The journey was all-time. The Breck was life affirming, inspiring, gnarly, rowdy and SO f’n hard! It was a true celebration of health, family, fitness, nature, community, mountain bikes and all things good, right and true in our world.
I first signed up for the Breck, October of 2019 and after three deferrals (if you listened to the most recent pod, you’ll know I call it “the most generous deferral policy in all of racing)”, the stars aligned and we were able to make the big Breckenridge trip this year.
Everything about our Breck Epic experience was BA, special, next level, and perhaps even transformational. This race buckled me, but I limped away feeling so good about my effort, execution and experience. I’m riding the Breck Epic wave—we all are.
There wouldn’t be any acclimatizing to the Breckenridge elevation before stage one. There’s so much science and pseudoscience out there stating what is the optimal time-frame to arrive at elevation (the Breck Epic takes place between 10-12,000+ feet in elevation each day for marathon distance racing with massive climbs in the high mountains of Colorado). For folks who can swing it financially and time wise, the most widely accepted ethos is to arrive at elevation two to three weeks before your event—this works for many pros, but not for most joes. We were stoked that Amanda was able to get off early on Thursday (Stage 1 starts on a Sunday, the day after the Leadville 100), so we were able to hit the road by 4:30 pm and start working our way through Wyoming.
We made it to Buffalo, Wyoming, the first night and drove straight up into the Bighorn Mountains where we found a meadow with open/dispersed camping and pitched our tent for the night. We all slept hard under a blanket of stars—and even caught some early zingers from the Perseid Meteor Shower that would launch in ernest the following evening.
Deep Roots
The plan for day two was to make a detour to Laramie to visit the headstone of my Great grandpa and grandma on the University of Wyoming campus and then to work our way down into Colorado. I’ve always taken a lot of pride in our deep Wyoming roots, so this was special to share with Kamiah and Amanda. My great grandpa is a bit of a Wyoming legend, the youngest to ever win the saddle bronc competition at Cheyenne Frontier Days (the Daddy of them all), he rode in the Remount Division of World War I, he’s one of Wyoming’s first state vets, he owned the famous Remount Ranch for a time and is a member of both the Cheyenne Frontier Days Hall of Fame and the National Cowboy Hall of Fame—in the Hall of Great Westerners. He’s why I’ve got the bucking bronc (Wyoming’s symbol) on the headtube of my Transition Spur and Salsa Cutthroat—honoring the family and Wyoming roots.
From Laramie, we pointed the loaded down Tundra south through Northern Colorado. Our goal was to find somewhere to camp that first night—but coming from Montana, we were pretty naïve to think we’d find anything open in Colorado on a Friday night, because every site we drove by was full, so we kept pushing all the way to Breckenridge. Once in Breck, we quickly learned that sleeping in a parking lot in the back of the truck wasn’t going to happen, so we reached out to the Beaver Run Resort to see if our dog friendly room might be available a night early, and even though the budget was tight for this one, it was available and we jumped on it—this was a great move as it made for a leisurely and fun Saturday—happy wife, happy life, and that goes for daughter and dog too.
The Calm Before the Storm
Saturday (the calm before the storm) was a cool day. We spent the early morning walking the streets of Breckenridge, ran into Frisco for a grocery run (getting all the supplies we’d need for the week) and Kamiah and Amanda took Elvis for a hike while I did a short, ten mile shake out ride.
One of the cool things about the Breck Epic is the nightly meetings where Mike McCormack gets on the mic and walks us through how things shook out during the race that day and preps us for what to expect the following day. This first night was a smorgasbord of items to get us fired up, to hold us accountable and to make sure we were good stewards of the land and community out there on race day.
And the merchandise tent was mind boggling—so much cool Breck Epic merch. Everything about Mike McCormack and this event feels generous, honest and true and we were stunned to learn that our entry got us a $100 gift card to the merchandise tent, so we walked away with t’s, hats, bottles and a jersey.
I didn’t sleep great the night before stage one—but it wasn’t a bad sleep either, just lots of nervous energy and anticipation of what was to come.
One of the things I love most about stage races is how it’s like groundhogs’ day on repeat. Sure, the courses are different each day, but the routine is very much the same. Race, rest, eat, repeat. The morning routines are all the same—wake up, stretch, foam roll, hydrate, eat a big breakfast (Amanda was hooking up the pancakes, eggs and bacon like she does at these races), followed by bag drops (for the aid stations), getting kitted up and a little shake out ride to the start line.
After riding, it’s straight to Starbucks for a Trenta Passion Tea and then a trip to the bike washing station to get the bike in order for the following day. Other than the nightly meetings and trips to the hot tub and pool with Kamiah, the rest of the afternoon in evening is essentially about getting horizontal following a good stretch and foam roll, really soaking up the recovery, eating a ton and doing everything humanely possible to get your body ready for the next day.
Lucky for me, I had Amanda, Kamiah and Elvis (our dog), so our nights were super chill and cozy—and the food from Mmanda’s Kitchen was supreme.
STAGE 1, 36.2 miles, 5860 vertical—
There was a lot of nervous energy leading up to STAGE 1. This race has been on my mind for over five years and the anticipation was big. The field at this event was stacked with pros and joes, all of whom were strong and steady. Before our first police escort out of town, leading to the first fire road of the day, I took a pee in the forest with Lachlan Morton and followed Geoff Kabush on a warmup lap. I can’t say anything spectacular about Lachlan’s pee game, but he was a nice guy. Geoff on the other hand, had the craziest bike handling skills of wheel I had ever tried to follow.
The first day is a lot. Gnarly AF downhills, fast and furious descents, big, punchy climbs. Views and vistas for days. I rode out of my mind on day one, locking in with Betsy Welch, a reporter from VeloNews who just so happens to be smoking fast and a really strong rider (and BA human who took 2nd in the 40+ overall), Peiter, the South African who won the 60+ division and Brianne, an impressive rider from outside of Boulder, Colorado. Stage one throws everything at you. Technical singletrack, rough, rocky and rowdy descents, fire roads, flowy downhills, and lots of climbing. I was shattered after stage one. As I sat down with Amanda and Kamiah to tell them about the first stage, my legs were properly cooked and I had an “uh oh,” moment at the finish, realizing I went too hard for too long (words of wisdom: don’t go too hard on day one of a three day stage race), trying to stay on Betsy’s wheel.
The post-race Coke was ice cold, the music was rhythmic, the announcer was on point, the portrait photographer was pro, the vibe was fast and fun. We had a nice spin through main street on our way back to the Beaver Run Resort and the bike wash, with a quick stop at Starbucks along the way.
This race is rad—multilayered.
STAGE 2, 40.5 miles, 6525 vertical—
Sleep was hard to come by in Breckenridge at 9700+ feet, made more difficult with all the race hype and pre-race nerves and jitters—this race is hard and it’s technical. Overall, I slept pretty good, but not the night after stage one, which made for a tough recovery.
I got 3 hours of sleep before stage 2—rowdy, long and loose downhills on blood thinners makes for some restlessness.
I struggled on day two, but I battled. I was hurting but kept fighting. I cleared Heinous Hill and every other climb. I climbed strong. I dug really deep and chased hard after an early mechanical that cost me time on the first climb and 4 minutes sidelined—thank you Howard Grotts (one of the ALLTIME good guys), my roadside 4 mm hex wrench fairy who got my saddle/seatpost back up to proper height before sending me on my way.
I couldn’t believe it as I tried to keep up with Betsy on the opening rollout as I felt like I was riding a kids bike, unable to fully extend my leg, sowing machine style. Right as we hit the first piece of dirt, I called Amanda from the bike, telling her to meet me at Aid Station 1 with a 4 mm hex wrench because something was wrong with my bike. Luckily for me, Howard Grotts and his partner (an equally strong rider and pro) were fresh off a massive top five result at the Leadville 100 the day before and were just watching the race and he graciously hooked me up. Once I had my bike in order, I just said, “Ok, Mike, let’s go. Let the chase begin.” I felt so strong knowing that I had full extension and really believed I was going to do something special.
I chased hard for the next hour, blowing through the Aid Station without taking more than 30 seconds after Amanda and Kamiah informed me that I was only 3 minutes behind my ride mates from the day prior. This was the highlight of the race day for me—hands down—seeing Amanda and Kamiah at both aid stations.
I ultimately caught up to Breanne (winner of the 30+ women) on a climb, but then blew up when she made her move—she’s SO strong and steady. The singletrack climb between aid stations one and two was long and steep—over an hour of climbing. After a big descent off the Colorado Trail we weaved our way through a sparse, spruce forest before arriving at aid station two—where I was once again greeted by Kamiah and Amanda.
The climb out of aid station two was super steep singletrack. I ended up having another small mechanical on the last climb (I kicked my chain and it got stuck in my cassette and took some wrestling with the bike to get it freed). I was really fighting the fatigue of chasing as we descended a skinny section of sloping singletrack and then I went down.
I crashed out on a loose, swooping turn. I really try not to crash. I ride really carefully and cautiously, riding lightly, picking my way through the downhills. And this was just a fatigue crash. I was gassed and not paying close enough attention and the next thing I knew, I lost my rear wheel and was flying over the handlebars. My first concern was my surgically repaired wrist, but after shaking out both wrists (I ended up spraining them both), I realized that I was beat up, but still pedaling and able to keep pushing forward. I linked up with a rider from Denver who had a lot of Breck experience and beat me the day before and he kindly rode with me and made sure I was physically ok.
Assuming I was a stronger climber, I put in a dig and put a gap between the two of us and a couple other riders knowing a descent was coming and wanting as much space as I could foster, to pick my way through whatever was to come, but the legs really started to fade and he along with a strong rider and climber from Boise left me in the dust.
I kept fighting to the end but didn’t have it on the last climb and then bled a lot of time down the final descent.
Results are relative and a matter of perspective. I wasn’t overwhelmed by my time or result on day two (a part of me was disappointed), but I was buzzing with gratitude for a healthy body, a strong mind and the audacity to pursue such bold, brave and big endeavors. And I was grateful that I seemed to be alright, despite a couple of sore wrists and a big bump on the inside of my left knee. And most of all, I was happy to be wrapped up in the loving arms of Kamiah and Amanda (who are always proud of me, no matter my result) for another cozy and cuddly night at the Beaver Run Resort.
STAGE 3, 38.1 miles, 7318 vertical–
Give what you can, when you can, with what you’ve got. This was the mantra I repeated to myself all day.
This is the stage that scared me the most coming in. Stage 3 (the Queen’s Stage) keeps riders up at night. Big, high alpine climbs, hike-a-bike, super steep and punchy climbs, and two gnarly (dare I say, ‘scary’) descents. I hit my knee pretty hard on my crash the day before and I woke up several times in the night unable to bend my leg or wrist—both of which were swollen. I began trying to accept the idea that there was a good chance I wasn’t going to race my final stage. I woke earlier than normal and took the bike out to drop off my aid station bags and spin up and down the pavement to see if I could pedal—the knee loosened up, so I thought I’d at least spin my way to the start and see how it felt.
After riding to the start line, it was a go, so I went for it.
Stage 3 was really f’n hard, but perhaps the most stunning mountain bike ride of my life. The mountains of this part of Colorado are surreal. Everything is so big and vast and rugged. I decided I had to take a different approach to day three if I was going to get through it, let alone, have a strong ride that I could feel good about.
I paced well to start (riding my own race), sticking with a handful of riders that beat me late the day before. I started with Frank from Denver, but when Kevin from Boise made a move, I went with him and spent most of the next couple hours either riding with him or eying him as I knew I was riding well if we were together. After the first twenty minutes or so I felt strong, so I decided I’d pick up the tempo, and ultimately, really let it fly, emptying the tank on the climbs, while keeping the effort in check. I stayed on my hydration and nutrition better on day three than any other day, though it’s still tricky simply because of the terrain and my desire not to spend more than a minute (tops) at each aid station. The hike-a-bike section went well (something we were nervous about with my history of chronic achilles tendinopathy and hip issues), but I got into ranger mode and kept each stride long and really felt strong while hiking, and I climbed like a goat when I was back in the saddle.
I blazed through the second aid station and put a big gap between myself and the pack of riders I raced with on day two. My mate from Boise, a fellow climber who picks his way through the descents caught up to me on the Georgia Pass climb (Kevin is a super strong climber who passed me on the final climb the day before), but on the steepest pitch, I was able to make a move when he and others were forced to get into a short section of hike-a-bike. Once upon the crest of the pass, I really hit it hard on the rolling section before the descent, knowing the descent off Georgia Pass was going to be one of the gnarliest downhills of my life and really wanting the space to pick my way through it without a crowd of riders behind me.
I couldn’t have been more proud of how I navigated the downhill. I only walked two sections, less than 10 yards total, simply because I got going to slow and was about to go over the handlebars if I didn’t bail.
The downhill coming off French Pass was fast, but the downhill coming off Georgia Pass was simply sketchy AF. I whacked my derailleur hard on the chunky descent, leaving myself without a granny gear and with a ghost shifting second to last gear for the final big climbs—which just kept coming and were as steep as anything I’ve ever pedaled on a mountain bike. Seriously, while not as long, the last couple climbs were the steepest grades we experienced over the three days afield.
After bobbing and weaving down a flow trail and finally getting into the trails and forest nearing the finish, I heard the race announcer, and was beaming with joy and pride. And then something happened that I’ve not experienced in 30+ years of riding a bike. My back wheel simply locked up and put me into a skid. This happened four or five more times and every time it happened I had to dismount and lift up my rear and crank my pedal by hand to free the rear wheel, but then within ten yards it would lock up again.
I finally gave it a close inspection and learned that the rear axle shook loose with all of the jarring descents, causing the rear wheel to fully seize up, costing me several minutes before figured out what was going on; at one point I was running with my bike over my shoulder before giving the fix one more crack.
I eventually got the rear wheel spinning freely, losing around ten minutes and two places, but I finished strong with a massive smile on my face and was able to hold off my chasers—the people I rode with on day two, by anywhere from six to fifteen minutes on the long, grueling day. It was a glorious way to go out.
The Dream
I came into the Breck with lots of trepidation and some loud fear parts. The gnarly descents, how would I respond racing at elevation, the hike-a-bike sections (achilles and hips), would I get any sleep and would I be in a constant state of migraine racing above 10,000 feet for three days. I learned so much from this experience—like not to follow the wheel of Betsy Welch all day on day one. Check your damn rear axle at the aid stations after some wicked rocky descents. Don’t overcook or go out too hard too early, because at elevation, you just can’t come back. You can’t chase for hours at elevation the way you can in Montana. Keep fueling, stick to the game-plan, no matter how you’re feeling. And there’s so much more that I learned. But perhaps the most valuable lesson, didn’t have anything to do with racing, results or having a faster ride, but rather, what my body and mind are capable of. I took one Zomig (migraine medication) the entire trip. My sleep was pretty ok. Other than day two when I dealt with multiple mechanicals and got into chase mode, I felt really strong, despite racing at such ridiculous elevation.
What did I learn? I learned that I’m a better and more capable bike handler than I thought. I learned that I can do some really hard things—I mean really hard things. I learned that I’m so much stronger and that my body is so much more durable than I give it credit for. I learned that despite being one of the only riders racing on flat pedals (something I do because of being on blood thinners as it makes it easier and quicker to make a save though it causes some disadvantages for sure), that I can still out climb some really damn strong climbers and hold my own at a high level race with a stacked field of riders. And I learned that I want to come back. I want to keep pushing my body physically and mentally because with my wife and daughter by my side, it’s the time that I feel most alive.
The Breck Epic experience and effort were ALLTIME. This race is wild. We will be back. High alpine, high elevation, insanely organized and well-marked backcountry riding that puts all of your mountain biking skills to the test. The community, people and vibe were simply something special. The racing was pointy and cool. I now see why the belt buckles for the six day(er) say ‘Bad mother fucker.’
The Breck Epic is as good and as hard as it gets. This is the biggest, baddest and most daunting mountain bike stage race in North America.
I’m going to be riding the Breck wave deep into autumn—and maybe we’ll see you again on that second Sunday morning in August, in 2024 (the year of the Mamba).
Lastly, I’ve got the best team in the business—Amanda, Kamiah and Bubs (Elvis). I can’t imagine doing or sharing this with anyone else. I’ve got a lot of challenges: chronic migraine, chronic tendinopathies, ankylosing spondylitis, a crazy rare (and scary) clotting disorder that has me on blood thinners. I didn’t win the genetic lottery, but I sure as hell won the daughter and wife one. These two are my edge. These two are my purpose. These two give me wings.
WNbL, mwl
In Closing
A tribute to Mike McMormack
I apologize for any offensive profanity, but this event inspires superlatives and expletives.
Bold? Absofuckinglutely. Daring? Most definitely. Audacious? 💯. The Breck Epic was all that, everything and more. If you listened to the latest episode of the Bounce Forward Podcast, you’ll know that the Breck Epic founder is a thoughtful, soulful, and special human.
This is a bow, a curtsy, a nod of gratitude, a tip of my hat, a WNbL shout out to a true original and legend, the one and only, Mike McCormack. There are good people and there’s really f’n good humans—this man is the latter and his event is straight up biblical.
When I first shared a hug with Mike at the Breck Epic, we talked about our two hour conversation a few weeks prior for the podcast and Mike said, “I could have done four,” meaning hours and I felt the same. Having participated in a lot of events over the years I can say with certainty, that there’s no event out there that couldn’t learn something really valuable about providing a top-shelf rider experience from this guy. One of my favorite lines from Mike that came out of our conversation for the podcast (The Bounce Forward Podcast) was when I asked him how he manages the experience for the pros vs the joes and his response was quintessential, Mike McMorack, “Treat everyone like a pro.” That’s what they do at the Breck Epic. They treat everyone like a pro.
Gratitude abounds!
