Yesterday I did 100 miles of human powered travel: 55ish riding a road bike on pavement, 20ish riding the same road bike on dirt, and 25 hiking on a trail. It was a three pronged full body beatdown.

The crew drinking beer and grilling at the Blodgett campground.  Note Bill fetal on the dirt in the center background.  Larry Dent photo.

When Bill and I strode into the TH just after 7pm we were much further gone than the numbers would tell.  Cold, monotonous steady grinding on the road had tapped deep into my hamstrings, while using a too small road bike with 23c tires to climb dirt road at a sustained 10% grade had worked over my core and biceps.  The surprisingly rocky and uneven trail miles had, moderate grades and modest gain aside, trashed my quads and calves.  The final rocky four miles made certain that everything was well beaten in.

The day started with my alarm at 330am.  I hit the snoze twice, then got up to make coffee and eat peanut butter, honey and banana on toast.  I layered up, grabbed a messenger bag full of beer and gear, and rolled to Josh’s apartment.  The mastermind behind the route has been sick lately, and was relegated to support crew chief.  Bill, Matt, Alden and I were underway around 445, rolling through a dark and silent Missoula.

Meredith’s road bike used to be my road bike, but it’s still too small.  I didn’t do anything but a few short rides to make sure my saddle was in the right position, and feared the first fifty miles.  They reminded me why I don’t own a road bike of my own.  Dark and cold, with temps dropping into the mid 30s up in Lolo Creek Canyon.  The road is a steady, invisible climb, and spinning away in the same gear for 90 minutes got old.  My feet got cold.  My light died, though I fortunately didn’t need it.  When the road finally kicked up four miles before Lolo Pass, it was a relief to be able to climb out of the saddle, though years of singlespeeding makes all road climbs mild.  We sagged at the pass, and I put on all the clothes I had (including a cotton hoodie) for the big descent off the back.  Seemingly in minutes we were at the turnoff, and I stuffed almost all my clothes back into the sag truck in anticipation of the big climb ahead.

We drove this road last month to reach the start of our Selway trip, but in the intervening weeks the FS has used ARRA funds to replace a bridge near the campground, and the steep forested meat of the climb had been packed into baby-butt smoothness.  I put things into low gear (39X27) and got into a fantastic rhythum.  I rode everything with no stops and far more easy than I ever would have thought possible.  That joy came at the price, once I crested the hill and began the final rolling miles, of serious back cramps, but it was still morning and barring disaster the rest of the route was a fait accompli.  Maybe owning a road bike might be fun afterall.

Transitioning for the run I ate a bunch, knowing I had gotten a bit behind in the last hour.  This was smart, but I also ended up bloated and gurgly as I tried to job and power hike along with the rest.  Matt, Bill and I picked up Max and James for the foot portion, while Julie and Larry were out ahead on the trail.  Soon I realized that running early would just make the later walking slower, and settled into my own pace off the back.  My legs have certainly gotten a lot slower in the last two years, but they can also turn over a 3.3-3.7 mph hike with no thought required.  So I endeavored, while sweating through the long open burns of upper Sand Creek, to think about drinking as much as my fat stomach could manage, and not about the heat.  It might be the last weekend of sweating in the sun until either a road trip or next May, so I was able to savor aspects.

We all came back together at the top of the pass into Blodgett.  Bill I caught a mile or so before, and the other three had been breaking on top for a good while.  We all stayed together down to the creek and water stop, but Matt was motivated for two hours to the finish, while Bill and I were motivated to not run, and we diverged.  They stuck to their goal, and we stuck to my silent estimate of 3 hours to cover the ~10 miles down the canyon.  There was cool scenery, devious grass covered trail, tired feet, and aching legs.  The views helped blunt the grind that usually is and gap between 5 and 1.5 miles to go, and though the rocky trail slowed us down it also kept my mind busy.  Seeing our minimal stopped time and high moving average confirms that we put in a smart and focused effort, especially on the hike, but really on the whole day.  I was tired at the finish, ready to sit down and have a brat and beer, but far from destroyed.  It was (merely!) a good day with a high reward/effort ratio, and no drama at all.  Josh has big vision for thinking up the route in the first place, and gets huge thanks for making it happen, even when he didn’t get to participate himself.  The MESSS is a hard, non-competitive, casually timed event that lends itself to inclusivity.  Do the whole route?  Fine.  Do part?  Dandy.  Run support and soak in the vibe?  Hell yes.

At lunch today we were discussing the decline and fall of XC mtb racing, and the rise of endurance events.  It’s my conviction that the draw of most endurance races is the community, as well as the inspiration and interest of travel.  For many it’s also a sort of permission to dive into a personally difficult undertaking.  I sorted that last part out through climbing, and only really saw the other side this year, at Butte.  I think that once folks see things differently the paradigm will shift, entry fees and gaudy organization will be cast aside, and events like the MESSS will become more widespread.  No commercialism goes around the permit process, and donations for support and swag from sponsors seems to fly under the radar (though I think a strict application of the FS rule could construe both as commercial).

That’s what I’d like to see.  All participants had their world expanded and enriched yesterday, and hopefully in our best moments that will go on to benefit other people with whom we come into contact.  Which is how these odd endurance events are worthwhile, justifiable, and in their own way, important.

*Missoula-Elk Summit Shit Show, though with no mechanicals or shenanigans this year, we might need a new name.