VTXL. In 27 Hours.
306 miles. 33,700’. 27 Hours.
Taking on the VTXL bikepacking route in one effort.
Without question, the most challenging mental battle I've ever fought. And I couldn't be prouder to have won.
The first pedal stroke of the 306 mile, 33,000'+ of climbing adventure through Vermont was just before 4:30pm. Approaching 50 miles in, I smiled as the sun set in northern VT and I turned on my lights for the first time. Jeff, in the truck driving slowly behind me, turned on his headlights. Eleven hours of darkness lay ahead.
I cruised through the first 110 miles (~11,000'), and hit pre-designated pit stop 2 around 12:15am feeling good. Support team extraordinaires Jeff & Magnus had some heated-up premade pesto pasta that I quickly enjoyed before saddling back up and heading south, back into the darkness. I was a fair bit ahead of my self-imposed 24-hour completion goal, and the pace still felt comfortable.
I'd broken the route into 7 chunks, with support stops between each. It was this upcoming chunk 3 (58 miles, ~8k of climbing, rural, middle of the night) that I’d been the most worried about. I popped headphones in for the first time. I knew I'd need the distraction.
The climbs became steeper, the gravel roads, looser (LOTS of class IV unmaintained roads!), and the mental battle revved up.
Now 12+ hours, ~140 miles, and ~15,000’ of climbing in, my average speed slowed, and aches and pains began to feel more pressing. Legs, knees, wrists, shoulders, neck, back. The excitement of what I was doing dissolved, replaced with frustration and pain. I’d already surpassed my biggest day of climbing on a bike (13,500’). My mind became wrapped up in “how on EARTH do I continue this for another 150 miles?”
"Just make it to the next pitstop - to sunrise - and you'll catch a second wind and gain back time."
This mantra may have held true if I had been effectively eating (“fueling”) in the hours that preceded. However, my frustrations with slowing pace, a hurting body, seemingly endless darkness, and bumpy roads made me lose focus on that singlularly most important factor in any ultra distance effort like this.
I did make it to Jeff & Magnus around 5am, mile 165. I did make it to sunrise.
I did not catch a second wind. Instead, I deteriorated to absolute rock bottom.
What was one of the shorter “chunks” of this 300 mile effort (miles 165 - 210) became the one with the longest elapsed time. As I approached hills that were too steep to sit and pedal comfortably (a relative term here), I slowed to a stop and walked up. It felt as if my mind and body weren’t giving me a choice in the matter. One second I was slowly pedaling, the next I was off the bike, looking up discouragingly at yet another hill.
I'd lost the motivation to continue. Three times, I just sat on the top tube and looked out at my surroundings for a few minutes. I sipped my water/Powerade mix and ate stuff. I wallowed in my negative thoughts. I needed to, I think, in order to process what was going on and try to find a way to reset.
Lots of cursing to myself. Lots of negative mental spiraling. Lots of working through the logistics of what quitting would look like. How I’d get home. How nice it would feel to lie down.
Four things helped me right my quickly sinking ship:
Vermont's early morning hours at this time of year are PHENOMENALLY beautiful. Light pink in the sky, fog in the valleys, perfect winding dirt roads through the picturesque landscape, speckled with quintessential farmhouses. Aside from the occasional bird call, the only sound was my own breathing. A reminder that it's a privilege to attempt something like this, and a clear reminder of WHY I fell in love with riding my bike.
Future me. I force myself to think of what my reflection on a challenging moment will be when it's all over. I knew that if I quit now, future me wouldn't be happy. I was hurting, BIG TIME. But I knew I wasn’t broken. There’s a difference.
I couldn't rationalize asking Jeff & Magnus to give up their weekend (and a night’s sleep) to support me, only to bail just past halfway.
I’ve done enough long, challenging efforts to know that they all have low points. This was absolutely the lowest of the lows, but I objectively knew that it was just part of the experience. In short, I was expecting a low point…this was just far worse a low than I’d expected.
And thus, I moved forward.
It felt like I fought for every inch of those next couple dozen miles. I swapped bike computer screens so that I would stop looking down at total mileage. Seeing how slowly I was moving was discouraging, and stressful. Finally, I reunited with Jeff & Magnus. I took a much longer than planned stop to eat, drink, and recover. I mentally shook my now realistically unattainable 24-hour completion goal from my mind.
The longest climbs of the route still lay ahead of me. Now with ~90 miles and ~10,000’ of climbing to go, the goal became “can I finish this thing before dark”?
210 miles, 22,000’ of riding done. 90 miles, 11,000’ of climbing to go. My bike computer beeped - a 9-mile climb ahead. Ah, VTXL at its finest.
I followed a stream flowing loud enough to hear above the crunch of gravel under my wheels. I forced my eyes up to appreciate my surroundings.
18 hours into the ride, feeling appreciative was an intentional effort.
I worried that if I lost sight of WHY I was here - WHY I loved riding my bike, a negative mental spiral would begin again. It took every fiber of my mental will to pull out of my earlier bonk. I didn’t want to face that again.
Eighty miles left.
Thinking of the total distance remaining seemed to actively drain the strength from my legs - similar to remembering too late that you neglected an important task. I focused on just the next hill, the next turn, the next support stop.
At mile 250, I started up the gnarliest climb of the route - 7 bumpy, overgrown, singletrack style miles up the north face of Stratton Mountain.
I’d promised myself that if I could conquer Stratton, I would finish the route. The final 40 post-Stratton miles were along roads I’d ridden many times before. It was all the motivation I needed to push upwards to the top.
After descending the south side of Stratton, I learned that friends were riding out to intercept me. Seeing my friends became the ONLY thing I thought about. It was past 5pm. I was 25 hours in. It started to rain.
Then, I took a left turn and spotted the blinking lights of 5 riders. I heard whoops and cheers - they’d seen me, too. Tears welled, relief washed over me. I couldn’t fail now. This group wouldn’t let me. 15 miles to go.
We didn’t stop. If I stopped moving, my body would seize up almost immediately, and my joints and muscles would scream as I transitioned back to pedaling.
We crested the final climb to the MA/VT state line to find more friends who had come out to the finish. Blasting tunes and a champagne shower signaled that after 27 hours, it was over.
To the invaluable group of friends who went out of their way to support me in this 306-mile, 33,000’ effort - I am forever indebted.
