REBECCA'S PRIVATE IDAHO 2014

Rebecca’s Private Idaho 2014- by Grannygear

I did not drive from So Cal to Idaho to ride 72 miles.  But that is exactly what happened in 2013. This, however was a new year.

In 2013 I attended the inaugural Rebecca’s Private Idaho event, held in Ketchum, ID, and fell short of the 93 mile full distance of the ‘Big Potato’ route.  It left a bitter taste in my mouth that was likely to remain there, as I had no plans to drive back there again just to settle a score.  After all, it is a fair distance from So Cal to Idaho.  But when Navy Mike, a local riding buddy, showed interest in racing the event and offered to drive, I was ready to cleanse my palette of that acrid taste of failure.

Ketchum sits in the Wood River Valley at an elevation of 5800′ or so.  The sage covered valleys rise towards the Sawtooth Range and lead your eyes upward towards blue skies and faraway vistas.  This is big country out here and we would be riding over a fair piece of it.

From the Rebecca’s Private Idaho website: Rebecca’s Private Idaho is a true gravel grinder of a ride, meant to sap the strength of riders not only through steep climbs, but in the navigation of miles and miles of unforgiving rock and grit. Those of you showing up on your skinniest-tired rig with a gear range that can be counted on two hands will likely be disappointed. The road surface on which RPI traverses will conspire with the climbs to drain you of your energy. Fist-sized rocks and endless washboards will have you dancing across the road, searching for a line that offers even the mildest of relief. You will amaze yourself at how skilled you’ll become at picking the path of least resistance; those that don’t will be fighting a war of attrition, dying by a thousand tiny cuts. The only smooth pavement you’ll see is on the first and last couple of miles inside the city limits of Ketchum. Thankfully, the scenery inspires, as does the promise of frosty beers at the finish line.

There are two routes, actually.  The Big Potato is 92 miles and has 6000′ of climbing, and the Small Fry is 56 miles and 4100′ of climbing.  Both routes ascend the grade out of town to Trail Creek Summit, but the longer route continues past the Small Fry and tops out in a 25 mile loop into Copper Basin, the scenic highlight of the trip, before returning the way you came.  That entrance to Copper Basin at 35 miles was where I tossed in the towel last year and flipped around toward town.  I was already feeling like my legs were toast and even with the early return I still had 35 miles to ride to finish it out.  Turning around was a smart decision, but not a happy one.

Image courtesy of RPI and Strava

So this year, once the decision was made to return to the gravel of Idaho, I needed to have a new plan.  I would up my training using the road bike as a vehicle to get longer miles in the mid-summer heat.  I would return with a bike that had lower gearing.  The Specialized Crux cross bike I reserved for the event last year was light, fast rolling, and pretty comfortable but I have lower gears on my road bike than it did.  That let the climb up to Trail Creek Summit take a huge toll on my legs and heart with the elevation of the Idaho mountains not helping this flatlander at all.  I pushed too hard too soon and never really recovered.  This year I had a couple of options in the garage for a bike to ride, so the training commenced with the idea of peaking around the event date.

Late July arrived and I was nicely on track.  Then I got sick.  Scratch one week.  Then I worked a 70 hour week and only managed a few scrabbly rides.  Then I got sick again.  One more week lost.  Then my house flooded from a plumbing issue two weeks before the event…oh, and I got sick the week before the event with some sinus thing that had me feeling about 60% of good.  So much for training plans.  Meanwhile Navy Mike was dancing through his training with gusto and the help of a coach, of all things.  Well this sucks.  The Friday we had to drive out, I had a decision to make; stay at home and be smart, rest, and abandon Navy Mike to his fate or saddle up and roll the dice.  If I went, I would have two days to get feeling better and if I was still crap, I could always ride the Small Fry or just drink green tea and honey and root for Mike.  Standing in the early morning air the morning we were to leave, struggling a bit with that decision…go or no-go…a faint hint of bitters crossed over my tongue, a reminder of that taste of failure, and I resolved to settle a score with 93 miles of Idaho gravel or die trying.  The choice was made.  Off we went with the nose of Mike’s Dodge truck pointed towards Nevada and then Ketchum, ID.

The bike I chose for the event was a 2010 Specialized Epic with XX drivetrain, carbon Roval wheels, and fast rolling Continental Race King/Cross King tires.  Mike was riding his Scott Spark 910 with fast Mavic Crossmax SLR wheels and skinny Hutchinson Python tires.  Both bikes were way over-qualified for this terrain but we would have a comfy ride for sure.  It also would give me much deeper gearing for the initial climb and although we were at least 5 lbs heavier than most of the cross bikes out there, the ability to keep power on through rough sections and spin up any hill is a bit of a leveler.

I also wanted to get any weight off my back so no hydration pack for me this time.  It’s hard to shed those mountain biker roots, you know.  So I ran a frame bag on the Epic that let me carry a second bottle, my pump, spare stuff, and nutritional needs.  To keep a bottle very close as well, I stole one of my wife’s Revelate Mountain Feed Bags. So, I had a heavier bike, but with deeper gearing and lots of rough road capacity having real MTB tires and full squish.

The RPI (Rebecca’s Private Idaho) event is held on the same weekend as Ketchum’s Wagon Days, a weekend long festival of pancake breakfasts, rubber duck racing, and what a local told me was the largest non-motorized parade pretty much anywhere.  It had a nice home town feel to it that is long gone in many of the places we choose to live. The night before the race, we had dinner at The Powerhouse in Haley, a few miles south of Ketchum.  Contained in an old house on main street, The Powerhouse is a combo of bike shop and eatery that serves up a mean Ahi burger and an impressive selection of micro brews.  Cool place to be and we left feeling ready for sleep and the looming race day.  Maybe.

Sunday morning I awoke to find I felt nearly normal from my creeping crud of the last week. We mixed up bottles, dressed in what we hoped was appropriate clothing for changing weather, and nervously chatted about this and that. At Ketchum town square, moving around the start area, there were all kinds of bikes being ridden including some fat bikes and more than few MTBs.  The race contenders were at the front, I was back where I belonged, and just like that we were off with a neutral start led by the local law through the cold morning air of Idaho.  Rolling along in the cold morning air, we were paced by horses in a nearby pasture.  Awesome.  That never happens at home. (Middle image courtesy of Red Bull, horsey shot courtesy of Todd Meier photography.)

I have always been impressed by the Specialized Epics and this bike felt surprisingly fast as we fell into our places on the 12 mile climb to Trail Creek Summit.  Although hefting the bike by hand felt a bit depressing, it seemed to transcend its weight when rolling along.  Where last year I was just grinding along, barely moving it seemed, this year I was able to spin, keep my heart rate decent and actually pass people.  Oh Joy!  Soon I was over the top of the big climb and was blasting down towards my next goal of making checkpoint three and the time cut-off with minutes to spare.  It was going to be a very fast course compared to last year.  All the recent rain had laid the soil down and the endless washboard seemed to be hiding so far.  Bike weight be damned, as big tires and suspension meant zoom zoom and I feared nothing in my path.  I did not stop at SAG 2 (I stopped briefly at SAG 1) and pressed on towards SAG 3 and the looming time cut-off, hitting it with 45 minutes to spare.  I was elated.  I was going through about 2 bottles between SAGs running 200 calories of Fluid Performance drink in one bottle and Camelbak Elixir in the other.  I felt very good and I was way ahead of last year’s time.  I turned toward Copper Basin and pedaled out with a great deal of self satisfaction.

Rebecca herself, smiling on the long grade to Trail Creek Summit. She smiles a lot.  Image courtesy of Red Bull.

This section last year was very loose and rocky but now it was much better due to all the rain.   I was passing riders on cross bikes when the road was rough, even in the climbs, and I would just drop them for good on the downhills.  All the fast folks were long gone anyway, so it was just us regular people contending.  There was very little dust and the climbs through Copper Basin were softened by some of the most scenic views of the entire ride.  This is a beautiful place, this Idaho.  The open expanse of the valleys are so different from my home area.  The Copper River runs through here.  Lazy and winding, it looks like a fly fisherman’s dream. Besides the challenge that rides like this offer for person’s like myself, the best part is the chance to see new and beautiful places that I may never find on my own.  At one point I stopped and stretched a bit, looked behind and then ahead and saw no one for miles.  Amazing. Quiet. Peaceful. Back on the bike, it was a challenge just to remind myself to look up and enjoy this rather than keep my head down and just pedal, staring at the Garmin.

Back towards SAG 3, now effectively SAG 4, and a bit beyond, the route has a good bit of elevation loss that is just enough to keep speeds high and your wheels sailing along.  But with about 22 miles to go, the route takes a hard left back onto Trail Creek Rd and begins to gain elevation towards the back side of Trail Creek Summit and straight into a constant headwind.  This was the hardest section of the entire race and while I had been contemplating a quicker finish than I had planned on…I was targeting 8 hrs…I had been thinking that 7 hours might be possible.  Navy Mike was shooting for 6.5 hours and he is a good bit stronger than I, so I figured he was going to hit that (he did it in 6:20). But as I ground along into that wind, watching my speeds on my Garmin drop and drop and drop, I knew I was not going to hit that time.  Still, I knew that this really was an 80 mile race because the last 12 miles are downhill, pretty much, and unless you are totally fragged by the time you reach the last SAG on the summit, you can make some good time into town.

I was pretty much all alone at this point and for ten miles riding into that wind, I never saw another rider.  I looked at my time, ran the numbers in my head, and knew that 7 hrs was not going to happen.  The road began to close in with trees and greenwood and the grade increased.  I was stoked because I knew this meant a break from the wind and that I only had a couple of miles to the summit.  And then I was there. I grabbed a quick splash of water and pinned it down the fast descent into town, still fighting a headwind.  Curses, that wind is a killer!  I fought hard to hit 7:30 hours.  Why?  I have no idea except it seemed like I needed to, so I pushed hard all the way to the timing station just out of town.  The wind was enough to deny me 7:30, but I stopped my Garmin at the timing station gate at 7:32 and change.  Good enough.

I sat up, took a good look around and pedaled back into town victorious.  I will never be fast.  I may not always finish.  But today, with the last swig of water from my last bottle, I washed away the bitter taste of defeat and rode to the finish line with nothing left to prove.  We watched the awards ceremony, tasted adult beverages, and ate stone baked pizza.  Driving back to the hotel, we were both tired and elated, all of that contained in sweat encrusted bundles of satisfaction.  We both had hit our self imposed goals and had flawless rides and everything worked like we hoped it would. Another trip to The Powerhouse was in order for dinner, this one celebratory. A bacon cheeseburger never tasted so good, including the homemade catsup on the hand cut fries.

I encourage you to come up to Idaho and see what this event is about.  The support was very good, the boiled and salted potatoes at the SAGs were killer, and it was well organized and well run.  It will test you, even if you just shoot for the Small Fry, and leave you wanting more of what Idaho has to offer.