Might as well just start now, I guess?

It’s been about a year and a half since I posted here and even longer since I’d last ridden Stagecoach 400. I’d been waiting for the right time to do either one of those things; but waiting for “perfect” usually leads to a big, fat mess so here we are.
Truth be told, it’s probably the right time for both, even if it wasn’t how I’d imagined it. I’m really enjoyed my life these days (more on that in another post) and this all came together *just right*

I was “undertrained” in the conventional sense; the first day (89 miles of hard terrain on a heavily loaded bike) was the hardest riding I’ve done in quite a while. But I felt… fine? Sore, to be sure, but I knew the drill about hydration & self care, etc, and really enjoyed myself. So looking back on it now, I wasn’t really undertrained at all. I came out of 2-1/2 days lighter in mind and with renewed excitement to press forward on new bikepacking route concept I’ve been thinkering on for a while, and also for a good number of off-bike projects I’ve got in the hopper. Reminded once again to just start now.

“You’ve gotta clear your plate before you can fill it back up again”
— Idyllwild 92549

We created the Stagecoach 400 bikepacking route & annual event in late 2011 after a time of particularly adventurous rides. Dave, my former wife Mary, and I used to explore by bike– each ride more ambitious than the previous in terms of physical undertaking as well as risk; going as deep into the backcountry as we could find, off beaten paths and linking together areas of interest we’d gleaned from aerial maps, hiker’s message boards, and beta passed to us from the old guys we’d come to know, in Idyllwild. There were no known “bikepacking” routes and we enjoyed looking at any paper maps we could get our hands on, particularly the out of print ones that’d possibly show a road bed or trail that had since “disappeared.”
We laced together rides from one place to another by way of the most interesting, *best* way possible. Best was defined by what we most wanted to ride– either for a good pedal, or resupply, or view, or what have you.

We thought it was best to ride hard stuff on singlespeeds, for reasons we justified at the time (“simplicity!” “reliability!”) and while I don’t necessarily believe in that anymore, it sure made us strong riders. Mary was– and forever will be– the first woman to race and complete the Tour Divide. This was at a time when “bikepacking gear” barely existed; and we certainly didn’t have it. Bikepacking gear was rare, and we couldn’t really afford it anyway, so we made do with being creative and being punk as f*ck.
GPX tracks? Same same.

What we were doing
We were lucky to have a blank slate. We were able to do whatever we wanted. 
Being a California transplant– a former Chicago boy– I wanted to show off Southern California’s diversity of culture, and the mashup of mountains, deserts, and ocean…
Arizona Trail Race was the stuff of legend at the time– a tough ride in a tough landscape getting ridden by tough riders. And the Tour Divide was very much a thing– the longest race in the world at more than 2700 miles, with changing scenery and the sublime ability to lend a long view perspective on history, culture, and self. Why not make a big, high quality ride of our own?
I felt we had a route that’d weigh in on the national level, an wanted an event that’d complement that– and California didn’t yet have a route of its own.
So, Scott Morris, Matthew Lee: you are part of this too.

We had some minor guiding principles
— show what we ride ourselves
— bring people to SoCal, share our mountains, deserts, and oceans with them
— bring people together. Facilitate meaningful experiences & friendships
— disrupt the record seekers
— keep it fresh
— and of course… a party is best thrown in too small a space.

Remember the race that predated the Tour Divide? The one that didn’t include the section of the CDT north of the border, in Canada?
Well, let’s just say that the management style of that race inspired me about how *not* to do things. I felt it was important to move on from that way of thinking. Fewer rules, if any. We would prioritize the experience over the records; the people over the way things have always been done.

I feel we’ve accomplished these goals well. I’m not sure I have much more to give to the route, and I don’t know the route can give much more to me, either.

Long may they run
I’m proud of what we’ve done. Also, I’m content to let it be.
Just as we had a blank canvas to design the Stagecoach 400, I feel it’s important to recognize the future potential of what the ride might become– and I don’t know what that could be, yet. I likely won’t be a part of it.
I am excited to do something else now; though I don’t know what that might be, yet, either… but I’m definitely going to be be an active part of *something* that sets me on fire.
By letting the ride go into new hands, it can continue to evolve, and so can I.

I’m excited to help Meg Knobel take over the route. (Hard Work & Honest Sweat)
She’s got the love for riding it requires, and, if I can say it without too much implicit pressure– an open mind that the route deserves.