kirill’s THE BIG LONELY

THE RACE THAT TOOK EVERYTHING I HAD AND DEMANDED A LITTLE MORE

By Kirill Glushko

“First off let me say that this race is hard, this race is extremely hard.

Probably the most challenging thing I’ve ever done on a bike to date, and possibly the most challenging thing I will do on a bike until I try again next year.”

First off let me say that this race is hard, this race is extremely hard. Probably the most challenging thing I’ve ever done on a bike to date, and possibly the most challenging thing I will do on a bike until I try again next year.

Looking at the ride with GPS, looking at the elevation graphs, reading other people’s race reports, nothing can really prepare you for it feels like to ride through the dusty desert for 350 mi.

The Big Lonely took everything I had and then demanded a little more.

The race started at 6am, with a neutral rollout at Phil’s trailhead, in the Skyline forest, through flowing single track. Even though it was dark, completely dark, the air was warmer than expected and I was layered down to be slightly chilly knowing that I didn’t want to stop to layer up as the sun rose and the temperatures climbed. Even during that neutral rollout to the single track, the dry dusty conditions were already becoming apparent as many people were sliding and struggling to control on some of the dice-ier corners.

After the rollout we were released onto a gravel road, and the race began. Immediately those gunning for the record attacked off the front and I could see their tail lights fading into the darkness.

I found my friend Joe in the pack of riders, and riding side by side we talked about how lucky we were that the temperature was so warm despite the sun being down and how good we felt on our bikes, talked about the dust and how that might make handling a bit hard.

On that first flowing gravel road that’s when we were greeted with our first dose of washboard, unfortunately for my entire body it would be far from the last of it. Running over washboard at speed, I don’t think anything outside of active suspension can really make it comfortable. Especially if you’re trying to go downhill at speed the washboard really has a way of throwing you around. I still don’t have feeling in most of my left hand, weeks later, from the amount of washboard that I ran over during that race.

Joe and I made an agreement before we started that we wouldn’t ride together and we wouldn’t wait for each other, as we had done during VOG and some or our larger rides.

I allowed myself to pull ahead and exiting the gravel road I entered the next section of single track. At this point I was starting to gain some momentum, but single track is definitely not my forte so I was trying to keep it chill while the sun was still rising. For my gear setup, as we were required to carry 3 liters of water, and I ride a very small bike, I had opted on a hydration pack as my water supply. On this first bit of single track is when my first hydration pack error occurred, the hose had become kinked from the vibration and I couldn’t draw water. I pulled off the side of the road to fix my hose, and while parked there Joe and a few other riders past me, Joe calling out asking if I was okay and me yelling back that my hydration hose had bent and that everything was fine. Getting back on my bike I continued navigating single track in the dark and watching the sunrise through the trees.

I eventually came up on a few riders and Joe and they scooted over to let me pass, I thought I was riding pretty hard until I heard wheels behind me, looking back I saw a stranger and offered to let her pass which she eagerly accepted and I moved aside and watched her fade up a climb.

Unsure how long I’ve been riding, trying not to monitor time on big rides like this to keep myself from getting demoralized, I realized that the sun was up enough that I could turn off my lights to conserve battery and did so in motion.

Exiting the forest and still on single track, I could tell that we were climbing gradually, and I was getting into a good flow, the single track was quite aggressive with occasional sections of sharp impassable rock where I would have to dismount and hop over. Being careful on turns as I could see the slides of other riders that had come before me, I was going a decently conservative pace.

Somewhere in that first section I experienced my first crash. I was riding a 38t chainring, with a 9-46 cassette. The vibration of riding over rocks and roots in the 46t gear caused my derailleur pulley to misalign and when I tried to shift it sucked my chain behind my cassette and against my spokes. The chain suck dead stopped me and I fell over to the right opening my knee. I immediately began to panic a little bit as I really didn’t want to crash at all during this race, it wasn’t physically painful but it was certainly emotionally demoralizing. I took a few calming breaths and then worked to remove my chain from behind my cassette, it took quite a bit of time and I was passed by a rider asking if I was okay, I replied to him that I had a chain drop and that it was no big deal and he yelled good luck as he rode away. Rechaining my bike, I picked up the pace a little bit as I was starting to get confidence on the single track and I felt the need to make up for lost time. I quickly gained on the rider that had passed me and he scooted over to let me pass him. I continued the rest of the single track ascent, mentally planning how I would pace myself during this race, and allowing myself moments to take in how pretty the forest looked at sunrise.

“I immediately began to panic a little bit as I really didn’t want to crash at all during this race, it wasn’t physically painful but it was certainly emotionally demoralizing. I took a few calming breaths and then worked to remove my chain from behind my cassette.”

After what I think was 2-3 hours of riding, I exited the single track onto the first of many gravel roads. This entire course, the gravel with some of the most challenging I’ve ever ridden, dry and dusty, extremely loose, big rocks buried underneath that threatened to throw you from your bike if you didn’t control your speed and absorb the shock. The first gravel road was a flowing downhill with sand pits and rain lines, I was allowing myself to pick up a good amount of speed and passed a few people that had passed me during my hydration hose fiasco. Riding fast on gravel, I was starting to feel really good, I’m a lot more confident there than in the single track, and having a far line of sight down the road I allowed myself to gain a good amount of speed.

Exiting along flowing downhill section, I entered winding gravel roads that were still sending me down. On the GPS on my wahoo I saw that I was approaching some hairpin turns and started to brush speed. As I approached the first major turn, a very sharp left at maybe a 15% grade nose down, I saw the lines in the gravel where other riders had crashed, and a few lines that just rode off the right of the trail making no attempt to actually complete the turn. I thought to myself, “wow I should really brush a lot of speed here, a bunch of people lost control” And as I held my brakes and thought that I had brushed enough speed I entered the turn and immediately experienced my second crash, The gravel was deeper than I could have predicted and my rear tire sunk in and slid hard right throwing me over to my left side headfirst into moist gravel and mud. My helmet vents were packed with mud and one of the bottles I had in my hydration vest also had mud packed into the tip. My kit was pretty dirty and luckily untorn. My left brifter was knocked in hard to the right side and my aero bars were askew. Sitting on the side of the trail trying to fix my bars, I was working really hard internally to not let the second crash completely demoralize me, again it wasn’t overly painful, and I could tell that I wasn’t injured, but I was really starting to get the fight knocked out of me having two crashes before noon on the first day of the race.

I fixed the bars, brushed off as much mud as I could off of myself, and remounted my bike to continue my descent through the winding gravel roads. I allowed myself to let loose on straightaways but was significantly more conservative on turns, possibly too conservative as the first turn was significantly the worst, but irrespective I just wanted to stay upright for the rest of the race or for as long as possible.

I lost track of time as I just allowed the gravel flow to take over, in reflection I probably should have thrown on some headphones to get my spirits up, but all I could think about was how badly I wanted some salt and vinegar chips from a gas station 😅

The evening prior, in our hotel, Joe and I were talking race strategy and had decided that for our riding styles, it would make more sense to carry 3L of water, skipping the first resupply at 50 miles (Sisters), and pushing through to the second resupply at 100 miles (Madras). This ended up being my strategy, however I quickly realized I’d need way more than 3L of water for the heat and intensity of the climbs.

Coming through and out of the first gravel section I came upon the first possible resupply that I had already decided that I would skip, Sisters. Getting on to pavement, I immediately felt a surge of motivation because my power was no longer being drained by the gravel.

PHOTOS BY KIRILL DURING THE BIG LONELY

The pavement ended rather quickly as I was sent on to single track through a number of suburban parks. Immediately upon entering the single track, a woman with two blue heelers who was herding four or five goats through a trail had to call off her dogs as they began herding me through the single track. Dogs were cute as hell, goats were cute as hell too. If I wasn’t feeling fresh and motivated I probably would have stopped to pet the goats and have a small conversation, but I just kept on rolling through the single track. It was relatively smooth and flat for a number of miles until eventually exiting onto a gravel road. The road was dry and rocky but manageable on my thicker tires (650x2.1, Terravail Sparwood) I was riding on the road just controlling my bike when another Rider came up behind me, said hello, and then passed me. It was inspiring to watch him fade up the rolling gravel road in the distance, but also my lungs were absolutely hating the dust kicked up by him, and I was hoping that I wasn’t dusting anybody behind me.

Gravel roads alternated with sections of single track and more roads until finally exiting onto a forest service road. At this point I was picking up momentum again despite saddle sores and hand blisters starting to form. I think I had been riding almost without interruption for the last 60 or 70 miles, which on these roads was about 9 hours.

The forest roads were overgrown and had rolling sections interspersed with punchy climbs. I passed a few riders at this point, grunting hellos at each other while climbing. As I went deeper into the forest, the overgrowth made the trail disappear in the trees. Once or twice I missed turns that set me off trail a little into the woods, using my GPS to backtrack. Overall the forest sections were very ridable and fun. I was singing to myself on some downhills for motivation.

The forest ended in farm roads. Giant 90⁰ turns and massive rolling straightaways. The sun was pounding and I realized I hadn’t been hydrating. My fueling strategy was also failing – I chose snacks that were dehydrating me (Bobos) and I definitely need more practice eating on the bike. Farm roads eventually became pavement, entering pavement I tried taking a big sip of water to find vacuum, my hose was linked again. I pulled over to unkink it. I realized my routing strategy was bad, so I pulled out the bladder and repacked my entire vest.

Being passed by a rider, I yelled encourament. Hose fixed, I remounted and began gaining momentum, lost in how smooth the pavement felt, I entered gorgeous mountain downhills, massive switchbacks with a river cutting the mountain in half to my right. Narrow bridges crossed the water, leading to gradual climbs that would lift you again for another gorgeous decent. The mountains roads ended in a massive climb, in late afternoon. The pavement was cooking me. Climbing up and up, I realized I was approaching Madras slowly, the city starting for form in the horizon over my right shoulder. After finishing the climb, I was on the top of the plateau. Riding the final 15 miles or so of pavement till Madras, dropping into my aero bars, I wanted to make it I’m the next hour. I was desperate for sugar, and to rest my legs. Rolling roads passed and shortly I entered Madras. Turning off to go to a Shell station (I have a superstition about shell) I was stuck in traffic for a minute until a kind truck let me enter the road.

Arriving at shell, I locked my bike outside and ran inside for snacks and to use the bathroom. I collected snacks, left them at the front, and then took care of biological needs. Paying for my snacks, I stepped outside to refill my water and refuel my body a little. Drinking a soda and a Pedialyte at the same time, while unpacking tools to lube my chain.

Suddenly, to my excitement, Katie pulled up, I said a quick hello as she ran into the store. She maybe took 2-3 minutes before exiting, drinks thrown in feed bags, a snack in her mouth, she rolled away as I lubed my chain. I was marveling at her speed while finishing my bike.

Snacks packed, I remounted and began my way out of Madras. Pavement ended and gravel began again. I realized it was late in the afternoon, and I had to decide whether I would sleep at all, or try and ride through the first night, so that I could finish climbing the Ochoco Mountains in the first uninterrupted effort – If I sleep, or rest a long time, I find it mentally taxing to get back on the bike and keep riding, so I was motivated to try and summit them in the first night. I decided I would push it, stop if I couldn’t keep pushing, and listen to how my body felt.

I reached Ashwood just as the sun began setting and a massive moon was rising in the hills to my right. I checked my lights, checked my battery, and decided to start the climb to finish by morning. I had some legs but knew that if I decided to climb, I’d probably be walking a good amount of it. After a few miles of climb, I began feeling the exhaustion and the cold of night setting in. I began dismounting to walk anything above a 7%. Cursing gently that I’d packed sleep gear that I likely wouldn’t use, at the pace I was going. I could have lost 3lbs and gained a good amount of aero had I known add an email with sent the night before telling us that we no longer needed sleeping gear for 30° weather. Lesson learned, always check your email the night before all right as weather and conditions change often.

Half climbing half walking I made slow progress through the first of three mountain climbs and began thinking, was this a good idea, to start this in the night. At this point it was meant as I didn’t want to sleep on top of the mountain and I would make it at least over the first climb and descent, before considering whether or not I should take a nap. The first downhill ended up being rolling chunky gravel that was interspersed with small uphill punches that I would need to walk. Coming to bottom of the downhill, and mentally preparing myself for the next climb, I saw a bike upside down, front wheel missing, on the side of the trail. As I slowed to investigate, suddenly an emergency bivy lifted from the ground like a mummy and a familiar voice inquired, “Kirill!?”. It was Kevin, a fellow racer from Seattle. I found out quickly that he'd experienced a massive sidewall tear on the downhill I just finished, and decided to sleep at the base and refresh his mind before attempting a patch. I wished him luck and went about my way.

The second of the three peaks was steeper and less forgiving than the first, although significantly shorter. I made the call to walk anything over a 7% again, which was unfortunately the majority of this climb. To save battery, when I was walking, I’d turn off my headlight, and rely on moonlight to keep me on the trail. I could tell with the lights off that exhaustion was starting to seep in. Shadows became a little more animated, I could feel myself experience fear around the thought that an animal may just happen to me out of the dark. I found myself wondering if I should be concerned about bears in this part of Oregon, and decided to push it out of my mind. If a bear came for me, there’s not really anything I could do other than ride down the hill I’d just climbed. So I kept walk/riding, pushing into the dark.

The second peak went by in a blur, but I realized that I was losing a lot of time being forced to walk on the sandy and rocky step up hills. I made a mental not for next year. Fatter tires, and shoes that were more adaptable for walking. Walking at 4mph v.s. 2mph would have cut about 6 hours off of my total time, and I could tell that trying to walk in my cycling shoes was less than ideal and that my feet were starting to pay the price with developing blisters.

The second descent was short and smooth with some hairpin turns that had me white knuckling in the dark, but I kept the bike upright, and eventually came up on the last climb of the Ochocos. To my surprise and gratitude, this climb was paved !! Although it was steep, the pavement made grip a non-issue and I made up some of the time I’d lost walking in the previous sections. My joint and sit bones greatly appreciated the break from gravel, and I became a little giddy, thinking, if the downhill from this mountain is paved, that I maybe able to pull back towards my goal fishing time. If the uphill was paved, it made sense the down maybe as well.   As soon as I settled into the thought, and the hill began to round, I was presented with a gravel parking lot, talking me up a gravel road. At this point I began losing hope of a paved mountain descent.

Riding through the parking lot, and no longer climbing at the steepness of the mountain, I realized how cold it was and that I could see my breath. At this point it was around 1:30am, and temperatures had dropped from the morning highs in the 80s down to the low 30s.

I pulled off the road, parking my bike on a tree, and frantically began to add every layer I’d packed to my body. Leg warmers, overtights, winter gloves, a Pategonia hoodini and a puffer jacket. Riding on the flats, it was still a bit cold and I knew that I’d kind of just have to grin and bare it for the last downhill, as it certainly wasn’t getting warmer till morning.

The gravel roads continued to climb and, checking the route, I saw that I was about to crest the hill, and that Prineville was within reach, just at the bottom of the last hill. I certainly wasn’t going to sleep on the freezing mountain top, so I pushed on.

The last downhill began as gravel, predictably, and, as I was settling into the down hill, thinking about how it would take longer than I thought to make it to Prineville, but still, I could likely arrive before sunrise and assess if I should sleep. The gravel suddenly melted into pavement and I yelled LOUDLY In excitement. With pavement came acceleration and with that came cold. It was a careful balancing act to descend as quickly as possible while also maintaining what little bit of body heat I had remaining. My feet were the weakest link, as I’d forgone overshoes in the assumption that as long as it was dry, I’d have enough warmth, and I was feeling the effects of that decision.

Pavement downhill became a paved highway. 20 miles from Prineville, I could see the glow of a town down the highway, and I began to pick up speed, challenging myself to get to the town in the next hour or so, and also doing everything I could to maintain warmth. The crosswinds in across the highway in the desert were jarring with my loaded bike, and semi trucks passing in the dark would shake me and blow my clothing around in their tailwind. I tried to ignore them and keep pushing. Desperate for some sugar and to rest my legs.

I ended up pulling into Prineville at around 4:45am, cold and cracked, but excited to have finished 200 miles in the first 24 hours of the race. I pulled off at the first gas station I saw, freezing cold and a bit tired, I struggled to lock my bike and pack my battery, computer, and spot tracker on my body to bring inside to charge.

Entering the gas station, I immediately b-lined for the cooler, grabbing a cherry coke, and chugging it, while turning to the confused cashier and promising him that I’d pay. I lurked around the store, grabbing random sugar snacks, Pedialyte, a water to refill my bladders.

I went outside to eat my snacks and started shivering from the intense cold. Reentering the gas station, I asked the cashier if I could eat inside, because of the cold, and he luckily told me it wouldn’t be a problem.

Sitting in the corner of the gas station snacking, I turned off Airplane mode to see that Joe was only maybe 15 miles out of Prineville. I texted him that I was at Texaco, hoping he’d check his phone to decide on a gas station, and waited, eating my snacks, alternating between stretching and sitting.

Within an hour, Joe manifested at the Texaco, also freezing cold but in high spirits. We sat there together for a bit, catching up on the race, what we’d been through, and discussed whether or not it would be better to sleep or push on. I noted that the Texaco didn’t have many vegan options for me, and we moved the conversation to 7/11 down the street, where we ran into other racers chatting and refueling. I purchased a ton of sugar snacks, as well as more salt and vinegar chips to hide in my pack for dark times. And began refilling my water. I conceded to Joe that not sleeping was probably the better strategy. At this point the sun was starting to rise anyway, the temperature rising with it and I was getting a second wind, excited to keep riding knowing I only had 150 mi to go.

We left 7-Eleven side by side, chatting and rolling out of Prineville. As soon as we left town we came upon a mountainside road with a river in the middle. Gorgeous mountains to my left and a flowing river to my right was almost enough to help me forget about the freezing cold that I was feeling in the shadow of the mountain. The road continued climbing gradually, riding up sweeping switchbacks to climb the mountain. My legs were feeling fresh again after having rested for a few hours, and I was pulling ahead of Joe on the climb. Cresting, I saw another rider had just begun the downhill that would take us to the base of the final climb. Taking advantage of the smooth roads I dropped into my aero bars and allowed the acceleration to take me, pulling past the rider and continuing to accelerate I felt motivation return as speed increased and excitement filled me. After some time, maybe 20 minutes of descending, I finally hit the bottom. Leveling out, I saw an extremely wide gravel road ahead of me, maybe 4 lanes, if you can count gravel in road lanes, and a lone tree. The sun was out in full force now and I decided that I should probably switch up my layers. I pulled over and leaned my bike up against the tree, getting some of my snacks out and starting to strip down my arm and leg warmers. After a few minutes I saw Joe approaching in the distance behind me, little did I know this would actually be the last time that I saw Joe. Passing me I said hello and wished him luck, then mounted my bike and began riding again. The road was extremely dusty and loose. I could barely get traction and found myself forced to walk intermittently when the sand would get too deep and there was no way to find a good line. The rising temperature was also starting to become a problem as I realized that there were no more resupplies until the end of the race, only a neutral water resupply about 80 miles away from where I was. I was hoping that I had enough food.

A few trucks passed me on the road, when they would pass they would kick up massive plumes of dust that forced me to either hold my breath or inhale and start coughing. This had essentially been occurring for the entire race, but this area was significantly dustier and the cloud would just linger in the air, drying my throat and nose, numbing my tongue.

Riding on that dusty road for what seemed like forever, eventually I saw some farms in the distance, and the road narrowed into standard farm service roads. The terrain was alternating between flat and small punchy up hills, some of which I was forced to walk if the grade got up in the 8% or higher range. In every direction I looked it was just dry desert, and I kept checking my elevation map, realizing that I was climbing slowly up to the final peak. After about 50 or 60 miles of riding dusty dirty roads, suddenly the roads changed to red clay dust, noting in the back of my mind how harmful it is to inhale clay dust I tried my best to hold my breath every time a truck would drive by. I think maybe some of the trucks also understood how harmful it was as they would slow when they saw me reducing the amount of dust that they were kicking up.

I was beginning to run a little low on water, today seemed like the hottest day so far, the sun heated the clay dust which radiated the heat back up at me and it seems that even in the shade the ground was unbearably hot.

I was riding, just trying to stay focused, hoping that I would come up on the water station soon and then, there it was, a little tarp on the ground with a tent and a table and a smiling woman in cycling glasses walking out to the middle of the road I was riding on and waving me down. It was Hannah! A racer who had done VOG this year (with me, but only in that, we started at the same time) and set the Female FKT. I hung my bike on the work stands that they had set up, and sat for a minute drinking some of my leftover water, trying to get as hydrated as possible before refilling as I knew that whatever water I had now would have to last till the end.

As I sat there we talked about ultra gravel races and VOG. We spoke on her big lonely attempt last year and how brutal it was. We talked about head Joe had been through there, maybe 20 minutes ahead of me, and seemed in high spirits.

Hannah gave me a bit of advice about the course at the point, which, at the time, I misunderstood, and that misunderstanding had some severe consequences.

She told me, “the downhill after Paulina peak, that’s all single track, it's not too bad but, take it slow and don’t be embarrassed to walk if you need to, just take your time and you’ll make it out of there”

I thanked her and thought to myself how annoying that was in checking the elevation map I did see some steep downhill immediately after the peak and thought oh those downhill sections with the brief uphill section must be the single track. After that there was a slight uphill, not exactly a mountain but definitely a formidable climb, and then after the slight uphill the course was downhill for the final 50 or so miles till the finish line.

I was about 70 miles from the finish line at this point, mentally planning for the rest of race I thought, okay not bad, about 15 miles of climbing, about 10 to 15 miles of single track after, and then a 5 mile climb followed by about 40 to 45 miles of downhill. I began softly praying that that last downhill section was all road as it would be taking us back into Bend.

I said my goodbyes to Hannah, thanked her for the advice, and continued rolling down the clay roads slowly climbing, slowly approaching the final peak.

Clay roads continued for some time and eventually gave way to some loose small rocky gravel mixed with sand. Something akin to playground pebbles. Again the texture of the ground was defeating me, steeper sections became walking sections, and I could see other rider’s tire tracks in the sand. Watching what lines they chose, seeing when they would slide out in deeper sections and trying to avoid them. The climb was pretty brutal, I believed that because the last climb was the shallowest that it would not be so bad, but the softness of the ground and the dustiness of everything was punishing. When I could ride I was barely crawling, in my lowest gear, just trying to maintain traction. When I was walking my feet would sink into the sand filling with little rocks. I could tell that at this point I had walked so much that my feet had significant blisters, but I was trying to ignore them and push through. I began wondering if I should try to sleep at some point after sunset, but thought, that would be a problem for a later Kirill to worry about.

Hours and hours went by, I was making study progress up the peak and the sun was making steady progress across the sky, when I was reaching what I thought was the top of the climb, the sun was starting to drop below the horizon. My sleep deprivation was definitely getting to me a little bit. As it became darker I began to hallucinate more and more intensely. Trees looked like deer gazing at me. At one point I swore that I saw a person pulled off the side of the road fixing their bike, and when I pulled over to check who it was, I was astounded to find that I had pulled over to stare at a big bush.

Completely in darkness now, I eventually hit the “peak”, or so I thought, and took a left turn that began a fast downhill, and then suddenly realized that I had turned too early, trying to brush speed the sand was too soft and slick and I went down on my right side. Bruised and embarrassed, I picked myself up to assess if there was any mechanical damage to my bike and satisfied that there was none, turned around and rode up the 50 or so feet I had just as descended. Making it back to the main trail I went up another 20 or so feet and saw a left turn, barely visible, taking me into a section of downhill single track. Excitedly, I thought, this must be what Hannah was talking about, I'm finally going to get off this mountain.

Descending single track for a while, keeping my speed conservative because of the darkness and the looseness of the trails, I would come upon completely impassable sections (for me) logs and boulders where I would have to dismount and walk. I remembered Hannah saying that it was pretty technical and to just take it slow and not worry about it.

Walking when I had to and otherwise riding, the single track seemingly had no end, and because of limited visibility in the darkness, It felt like it would go forever. Eventually I realized that although there were downhill sections over all I was still gaining altitude and I felt a bit confused. I stopped to check the GPS on my phone and cross reference it with Ride with GPS, and saw that I had actually not yet reached Paulina peak. There was a section labeled in RWGPS “I know out and backs are lame in a race, but the view is worth it. This will take you to the highest section of the race, Paulina peak.”

As I navigated through the single track, I started to smell smoke, coming out into a clearing, I looked upon the valley to my left and saw that the forest was full of thick smoke from forest fire. The combination of dust and smoke and exertion was starting to completely destroy my throat. I would have an intermittent cough wear clumps of smoke clotted with mucus would come up and breathing was a little bit painful. Unfortunately there was nothing I could do about the dust and smoke, so I decided to just deal with it and hope that it wouldn’t cause any lasting damage.

The single track section that I was in lasted about 10 miles until it exited out onto another gravel road, checking Ride with GPS again I saw that I was at the bottom of the out and back. This was a very steep gravel climb, averaging 8 to 10% and covered in washboard. I slowly made my way up the spiral, climbing for about 2 miles until hitting a small cabin in a clearing and a sign that said Paulina peak.

Leaning my bike up against some rocks, I began stretching and assessing my physical pain. My sit bones were definitely over it but were numbed by the fact that I was continuing to move. My feet had me a little worried as my heels were in excruciating pain whenever I walked and I assumed that I just had extremely bad blisters forming that I would have to deal with later. After a bit of stretching and trying to encourage myself that it was all downhill from here (other than the small four or five mile climb) I dug into some of my emergency salt and vinegar chips, knowing I’d need all the motivation I could get.

Spirited by the prospect of the downhill in my future, I packed my gear and began to ride down the hill that I had just climbed. Washboard in the darkness on loose gravel is the work of the devil. I held my brakes pretty much the entire way down, not daring to go faster than 15 maybe 20 miles per hour, terrified that every time that I would hit washboard at speed my whole bike and body would vibrate threatening to fall apart. I descended into the night, my little headlight too dim to accurately predict when washboard was about to shake me.

After miles of shaky painful gravel, the road leveled and took me into what appeared to be a public park. I was at the base of the 5 mile climb, and to my horror, I realized the climb was actually a mountain bike park single track flow, routed in reverse. Essentially unrideable, logs, gap jumps, boulders, roots all stood in my way, with the grade varying between 8-25% depending on the section, so I walked. As I walked, I say shoe prints next to tire tracks, and thought about how many people must have walked this. Some of the prints are saw were Vans, regular street shoes, and I thought, that person had made the right decision.

Walking for hours, I finally came to the top. It was about 11pm on Saturday night at this point, and I thought, excitingly, that I’d finish in under 48 hours. All that stood between me and the end was about 40 miles of downhill. I prayed for road, but would accept gravel.

The downhill began, and it was flowing single track. I was picking up speed before entering a clearing, a narrow single track line in the middle, I could see small lakes on either side if me. After a few miles, I exited the clearing, and continued to hit technical single track. Roots and sand everywhere. I kept thinking: It’s going to be road soon, any minute now. Suddenly, to my surprise, everything went dark, and I was suddenly crawling out of some bushes. I checked the clock, a few minutes had gone by. I realized I’d passed out and ridden off of the road, lucky, softish bushes breaking my fall. Starting to worry about lack of sleep and fuel, I realized I had been in the single track for an hour at this point before I decided to stop and check my maps. I was running low on food, and somewhat low on water, as I was planning for two hours of descending on 35 miles of road, and had just spent an hour in single track with no road in sight.

Checking my maps, my heart sank. The next 25 or so miles were all single track. It sunk in, what Hannah had told me “The final downhill is all single track, just take it slow and you’ll be fine.”

There was no road coming. I was genuinely panicking. At the pace I was going, at best I would be in the single track for 4-5 more hours, at worst, if I had to walk a portion of it, it could be as long as 10.

I accepted the fact that I would run out of food, and decided to ration my water in case if an emergency.

I took my phone off airplane mode and texted Joe, telling him I’d passed out, that I was going to run out of food and water, and if he didn’t hear from me by 5am, to assume I’d passed out and stayed out, and to send someone to my last GPS beacon location. Phone back on airplane mode, I switched lights, connecting my dying light to a charger, and began to layer up. If I was going to be in there all night, at least I’d be warm. I continued my slow progress through the single track, walking some incredibly steep punchy up hills, gently cursing how tired I was and how it was affecting my perception and bike control.

A few more hours went by and I checked my progress, I was about halfway through, sweet sweet road waiting for me on the other side. Motivated, I took my phone off of airplane mode again, and told Joe to cancel the rescue mission, and that I was sure I was going to make it.

Eventually I came upon a mammoth climb, steep, around 12% and loose. I walked the entire thing. On the other end was an equally large downhill, I mounted the bike and rode, excited that this path was wide, with no roots. At the end of the downhill, I had to jump a fence, and walk directly through the forest, guided by my GPS, to connect to a trail that had not yet been linked to the one I was riding.

This trail finally took me out of the mountain bike park, and I realized the sun was gently rising, not yet above the horizon, but the pitch dark of night faded to a gentle gray. Ahead of me was flat single track, looking like it went in for miles, dismouned and I checked my maps, 15 miles to go.

I remounted my bike, and without warning, all the muscles in my body went slack. I teetered and feel to the left, landing on my shoulder and slightly knocking the wind out of myself. I knew I was calorically crashing, having run out of food some hours ago. Confident that I would make it, I took a big swig of water, hoping to energize myself.

Picking myself up off of the ground, I remounted, and continued. This section of single track was smooth and flat, I picked up speed, holding around 15 mph, and trying to be careful around turns, noticing that my reflex time was pretty low, and my body wasn’t compensating for the terrain as well. Miles went by and the sun continued slowly rising.

Riding, I finally saw a road coming up, finally the single track was ending. I exited onto the road and let out a yelp of excitement. Looking down at my computer, I saw 12 miles to go. I began to pick up speed, standing and sprinting, I pulled myself up to the mid 20s, ecstatic at the feeling of riding smooth pavement. I pedaled as hard as I could, sitting, standing, spinning, mashing, anything to keep my speed up.

“Riding, I finally saw a road coming up, finally the single track was ending. I exited onto the road and let out a yelp of excitement.

Looking down at my computer, I saw 12 miles to go. I began to pick up speed, standing and sprinting, I pulled myself up to the mid 20s, ecstatic at the feeling of riding smooth pavement. I pedaled as hard as I could, sitting, standing, spinning, mashing, anything to keep my speed up.”

The sun was fully up at this point and I was giving my last bit of everything to just make it back to Bend. After about 30 minutes of riding, I entered the town, dirty and exhausted, ready to finish.

Then the final surprise occurred. The finish line was situated at the top of a 2 mile long climb, with an average grade if 10%.

My legs didn’t have it and I attempted to walk at the bottom, but found I couldn’t, the pain in my heels preventing me from taking more than a few steps. Remounting the bike, I stood in the lowest gear, grunting, climbing at about 4mph, all the way to the top.

At the top was a clearing, surrounded by stone benches. In front of a bench, I saw a familiar bivvy. Riding up to it, I dismounted, leaned my bike up, and said “Hey Joe”. The bivvy unzipping to reveal Joe, waking up from his nap.

I stopped my Wahoo and GPS Beacon, my official time was 49 hours 49 minutes. Not bad, but certainly quite far off of my goal.

I sat there with Joe talking, when the race organizer, Jesse, manifested to congratulate me on my completion. Joe, bless his heart, gave me some of his spare food. We sat and talked about the race, the experience, the route, the pain. And eventually Jesse drove us and our bikes back to where we were staying. And our recovery began.

The Big Lonely was certainly the hardest thing I’ve ever done, on a bike or otherwise. I’ve never felt hunger, thirst, or pain on that level before. I’ve also never felt a greater sense of accomplishment.

Knowing now how punishing the route was, and all the ways I should have prepared better, I could only think about how excited I was to beat my time next year.

Hopefully I see more of my friends at The Big Lonely 2023.

Bikepack racing would be nothing without the community <3

— KIRILL

PHOTOS BY:

Sean Dronia - @seandronia https://www.seandronia.com/portfolios/the-big-lonely-22/

Erich Weidenkeller - @erich_w_ https://ejwimagery.myportfolio.com/thebiglonely2022

Seth Dubois // Ebb Media - @ebb.media https://www.ebb-media.com/75e7adfefc-client-access-settings/the-big-lonely

PHONE PHOTOS BY KIRILL