Craig Randall

Photo courtesy of - in my opinion - the BEST regional cycling race and news site: Pro Velo Passion and founder + reporter, Mary Topping.

Rolling on 25′s. At nearly 130 PSI. Made it through 75 miles and endless bashing on carbon wheels with nothing more than a single dropped chain (which I flicked back on while rolling). 

Feed zone. It should be the section of a race with the least drama. Ride slowly. Find your man or woman. Take your drinks. Relax. Then race again.

No. 

The Boulder Roubaix feed zone, on a stretch of some of the most rutted road of the entire course, was where the pace picked up every lap and brought the most category congestion/crossover all day. 

But teammate Tony V. in consummate cool handed me bottle after bottle for laps 2-4. With me yelling and waving hands he calmly executed Boulder Roubaix Bottle Service™ to perfection.

The selection. Until halfway through lap 3 (of 4), every time I turned around to assess the group, it looked like we hadn’t shed a single of the 70+ starters. Fortunately, at the hardest part of every lap - it wasn’t even a dirt section, it was the false flat on the pavement going west on Nelson road - two Sonic Boom riders rode to the front of the bunch, clearly setting up one guy to break away and one to patrol (and slow down) the front. 

A guy I love racing with - Ken Benesh from the EVOL team - was right next to me and I could sense he caught a whiff of the same tactic I was smelling just in front of us (he and I were like 5th or 6th wheel from the front). As these two Sonic Booms lurched forward, the pace went from a double pace line to single-file-strung-out. Fortunately Ken jumped, I jumped on his wheel and we suffered. After 10 minutes someone behind yelled, “we split the group!” Sure enough. 

This time I looked back and our group was down to 15. 

When you get dropped. We go through the start/finish, round the bend on 41st, I surf up to the front and tell myself I’m gonna sit in till the homestretch and then let something fly in the final. My body’s still working, my bike is still working and now there are only ~15 guys to race.

But then I exploded.

A thought bubble as big and fluffy-white as the few clouds in the blue sky over head says - U H - O H - as I try for about 15 seconds to coax myself back onto the 8 or 9 guys who leave me, literally, in their dust. As they gain 5, 10, 15 seconds down the straight away before the right hand turn to the Nelson road downhill pavement section, I see my race crumbling before my tires. That is until a team-less guy in all black, who had covered literally every move and back on lap two tried, unsuccessfully to break away, comes drifting back to me. And - to my delight - Spencer Powlison. 

I’m thinking that if I have to crawl to the finish, at least I’ll have these two to ride with all the way there. 

We start trading pulls. 

I drift to the front on a downhill dirt road section, shifting and chain jumping, when it pops off and these two ride right around me. I managed to back-pedal and get my chain back on in about 20 seconds but meanwhile these two put a gap on me. But up ahead they round another dirt turn and Spencer washes out, crashes, and drops his chain. 

By now the hesitation from the all-in-black guy allows me to catch up and as we both look back at Spencer, wondering (and hoping), that he can rejoin us to share the work as we try to finish competitively. Spencer is delayed. Me and all-black push on. We share turns. I, at my wits-end physically, yell and grunt at him several times. Stop riding the edge of the road for fuck’s sake! You keep putting me in the gutter!

Despite our differences, soon enough we start reeling in the remnants from the lead group from which we were dropped. 

With 5 miles to go we pick up two riders from who have been dropped from the front and who are clearly unwilling to work with me and all-black.

The final. We’ve reached the finishing straight. By now, all-in-black and I are in hell, forgoing any of the alliance we’d formed and trying to limp home. And yet, he surges ahead. I’m thinking, “well, if I can just keep those two behind from catching me, I will be happy with the finish. I might be 10th or 11th, or something?” But all-in-black mistimed his surge or he got too comfortable as he approached some riders not in our category and sat on them to get a draft, I think. 

I practice “visualization” from time-to-time and did so as recently as the morning before on my pre-race training ride. I pictured myself having the courage to jump from who ever was around me - on this very stretch of road - looking back as I gained distance and saw the demoralization in their faces. 

Real life played out not so differently. 

As he seemed to slow in front of me and with little concern for the whereabouts of the two behind me, I felt it was the moment TO GO. 

Sure enough, I went past in a surge. 

I still had probably 800 meters to get to the finish line but I kept looking back and seeing the gap grow. I was digging so incredibly deep and in so much hurt that I never felt relaxed with this move. 

Until I passed the 50 meter marker, I couldn’t relent. 

As I crossed the line - besting this guy, the two others, Spencer - I felt high. 

Then I collapsed off my bike into the ditch.

I got 8th place. The end.

Snowsports Industries America, January 29, 2015 Speaking Engagement: “Selling Avalanche Safety Equipment on the Internet”

Cool to see Outside magazine still getting mileage out of this Verde Brand Comm x Cana Family production.

Profile: Team Optum Women's Cycling (@Diamondbackbike) Video: http://t.co/kRFJjhbPz3 pic.twitter.com/HLKZ5JJIgX

— Outside Magazine (@outsidemagazine) December 20, 2014

It’s cliché to start content with a question but I’m curious about motivation. I’m always monitoring my fire to see the impact a small change can make or how just meeting goals (maintaining the status quo) contributes to a sound outlook.

Successful people suggest that setting goals is the primary way to grow so I’ve taken the advice. Some people I admire even go so far as to write reminders (see trail running pro – and someone I admire - Sage Canaday’s video where he talks about this); I’m starting more simply with a whiteboard that has the goals and challenges I get preoccupied with – but normally fail to start – so that, at best, I’m reminded.

A "thought" is the start but a visual "reminder" is the reinforcement.

So, I’m curious, what are your strategies? The past couple weeks have been a lesson in sometimes not knowing what you need but accidentally finding it.

Here are some examples that have kept me fired up.

Travel. A work opportunity took me to Portland – a city I adore – with coworkers who I love and get the best out of me. The three days were inspiring, challenging, irreverent, and rewarding. And it started what has been a very competitive-feeling last couple weeks; I’ve gotten out of my 9-5 what I usually only have found in more traditional competition, like sports.

Running. This spring to fall was my biggest trail running season to date. I can feel my body adapting to the additional load (mileage and vertical) and a trail marathon in early October was a good sign that the intrinsic passion and drive I have for trail running can also translate to competition. Just today, because of some of the factors I write about in this post and the inconsistencies it’s had on my running, I gathered a little extra grit to run enough miles to get my weekly total to 50. And there too is an example of extrinsic motivation: my Strava account told me this morning I was 12 miles shy of 50. Strava as silly as it seems really helps me keep the fire.

Inspiring Friends & Opportunities. A longtime friend is laying the foundation for becoming a market-ready, perfectly timed multimedia publisher around one of his true passions. We’ve been meeting once per week to talk through strategies and developments. I’m at the same time happy for him personally, excited by the potential to be involved, and buzzed by the ABV (hint: it’s about beer!).

Getting Out of the Office. This is sort of a sub-bullet of the first point (travel), but when you can get out of the office during the work day to at the same time further your company’s business WHILE doing something you love, the satisfaction and excitability can carry you for days. Cycling was, in fact, the new golf this week for my boss and me. Rolling meetings > every other kinds meetings. The built in sociability of meetings like this is also huge for me. I finished feeling buzzed from the conversation and laughs, not just the riding.

Velo, November 2014 Story: "Shades of Gray"

The New York Times last Saturday included an op/ed about Ernest Hemingway's life and suicide in Ketchum, borrowing several quotes from the book "A Moveable Feast."

The op/ed reminded me that I'd never read a Hemingway novel and the author described him in themes I love observing in works of art (alcoholism, infidelity, subculture, the writing process), so I wanted A Moveable Feast to be my entry to the author's canon.  

I bought A Moveable Feast on Sunday and finished it Friday. The last time I read a book in that many days or less was probably Viktor Frankl's "Man's Search For Meaning" which, with altogether different subject matter, is a story so emotionally gripping you spend any/all waking moments inside it.

A Moveable Feast's quick chapters and the style of Hemingway prose does a lot to keep you engaged and reading in large spurts. Hemingway prose as I've learned was a turning point in American literature. It's a style that punches not dances. It's literal and funny.

Hemingway writes about the work of writing, the dedication, the toll is has on the people around him and how his contemporaries like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein thrive or fail (usually both) at it.

You don't think of writing like other types of work; it's physically inactive and so seemingly passive. But what I loved in the story was how writing to Hemingway was strict and a process that demanded you engage in life in order to become inspired for more.

The closing chapter was the finest one of all. Hemingway, for me, became more likable in the parts of the story where he and his wife retreat to the Austrian mountains for ski trips; I was happy to learn he was not just someone who wrote and drank but who also was physical and passionate about the outdoors.

Later in the chapter a single woman in Austria becomes friends with Hadley, Hemingway's wife, and eventually the catalyst for this gorgeous, evocative line: I wished I had died before I ever loved anyone but her.

Rocky Mountain National Park is a very unknown quantity in my mountain running biography. It's pretty damn close to Boulder but without any fourteeners (except Longs Peak right next door - which I've summited) sometimes it's tough to commit to such a large and circuitous place.

With no motivation this weekend to run a big peak, though Mount Princeton and Mount Massive MUST be bagged before season's end (they'll complete my summits of the Sawatch Range peaks), and not wanting to run another long one from home to Green and Bear (been running a 16 mile loop on those peaks a lot lately) I started researching spots in RMNP. I located some other runners' STRAVA loops, particularly one loop I'll be back for soon (Flattop-Hallett-Otis), and found a picture of the stunning lake at Andrew's Glacier. Done. Let's go.

I drove from downtown through Lyons and up highway 36 to Estes. I got a late start and didn't reach the Beaver Meadows parking lot until about noon. The tolls into the park were backed up three abreast and with a sign saying the lot to Bear Trail were full, I u-turned back for Beaver Meadows to catch the free shuttle. I waited nearly 20 minutes for the next shuttle to arrive, meanwhile I tried to buy a $10 park pass but the machine was shut down. I loaded the shuttle and as we approached the toll I fully expected to have to dish out my $10 to enter. Nope, the shuttle just cruised through in its own lane right past probably thirty cars waiting to (pay) and enter. Though this summer I've spent $20 total to access the Maroon Bells, it still chaps my ass the notion of having to pay to go run (after driving a long way to get there).

Missing the toll here was a really nice bonus. The shuttle (Hiker) took me not to the trail head I needed but to another park-n-ride. Before I transferred to another bus which took me to the Glacier Gorge TH*, I was greeted by a ranger who offered a free trail map. 

*The time spent "commuting" through the park was probably about 20 minutes. 

Getting off at Glacier Gorge, I was met by another ranger who asked where I was headed and offered direction and recommendations. Though this whole experience was a little Disneyworld, this ranger was a pretty endearing fellow and I was happy to chat with him. With my trail instruction pretty well dialed I set off. I was tired (been really tired lately, like, the feeling where you can shut your eyes at any time of the day and fall right asleep) but settled into a good rhythm quickly.

The trail rose gradually in most places, even descending in others, and I made quick work of the trail leading to Andrew's Glacier. Like the trail description I read beforehand suggested, the turn from Glacier Gorge to Andrew's Glacier wasn't well marked and I spent some time shuffling around a campground where I toilet sat just beyond in a pretty awesome clearing. Yeah, like, just a throne there in the middle of nothing else. So cool. Backtracking a bit, now in a steady rain, I ran into a couple ladies who chatted with me about finding the turn. I went back and found it pretty easily. Not wanting to slip and kill myself on the slick, soaked rock, I wondered how I far I was going to make it toward the glacier. Fortunately, only about ten minutes of forward progress was met by a breaking in the clouds and brilliant blue sky and sun again. Yes!

Ahead the glacier and its pass looked within sight and I wondered if I should just go for the loop mentioned above. I was making slow work of the trail by now as the steepness rose and the rock was bigger and bigger boulders. I ran into another threesome coming down who said they'd been hailed on and looked a little concerned when I suggested I might summit and then try for the loop.

I crested a rise just beyond and was suddenly faced by Andrew's "Tarn" - tarn means "lake," I found out later. This deep aqua blue water was breathtaking against the couloir just beyond filled with snow. To my left was the famous Shark Tooth spire (a famous climber's route I'd read about it later). Stunning scenery was all around me though the clouds were beginning to return. I kept going up thinking I'd at least get to the true summit of Andrew's Glacier but hail and black clouds came in just as fast as they'd left not even an hour ago.

Choosing safety and knowing I now had a new route to tackle soon, I retreated down the slow talus and boulder route I'd taken. Hail fell continually for the next 45 minutes as I descended, again missing my way at the Glacier/Andrew trail junction, finding myself back at the toilet until my Suunto and its GPS navigation convinced to me to keep trodding along what I swore was the incorrect way.

Now the sun was coming back again in spurts, lasting mostly the whole three miles back to the start. I finished the run with nearly 11 miles in my legs and 3,000 feet of vertical. I waited only about ten minutes for the shuttle to arrive and begin the shimmy back to my Mini. The same driver who picked me up originally from Beaver Meadows was at the wheel again for the return. We slowed to see an elk and his "harem" and the many cars pulled over to take pictures. The driver was crotchety but said something that made me laugh out loud as we drove past the scene, "Now this is nature: the mingling of wildlife AND homo sapiens. Boy."

In a summer of big adventures, Monday’s was the best one yet.

I took off from the overnight parking lot at Maroon Lake in Aspen at 6:45 a.m. for a run on the Four Pass Loop (a long loop through and over four passes near 12,500 feet).

I didn’t have much in-person info from friends who’ve run it so I relied on research. Sort of by default and from knowing the initial route from a month ago when I ran Maroon Peak (using the same approach), I luckily went in the clockwise direction. “Lucky” is a relative descriptor but I believe on top of the final pass, Buckskin, (and with the fatigue of 22 miles in your legs), you’re rewarded with the best views of the entire route (instead of getting them right at the beginning as your first pass).

In the morning and after I set off I wanted to run the full loop - 27 miles - in six hours. As I settled into the climb onto West Maroon Pass (1), this felt doable. The approach is technical but not unrunnable until the final 3/4 of a mile to the summit. I passed a couple of Forest Service rangers on the approach and had a good chat.

The wind was whipping and cold on top and my knee caps froze quickly. I put on my shell and Buff. The descent to the valley below was steep and fast and I still entertained my six hour goal.

At this point I passed a fourth backpacking party coming the opposite direction. As the day would prove, it seems like many people choose the CCW direction.

The next ascent came quickly. Wild flowers were in full bloom around me and it was awesome to be out running and enjoying an early morning in the mountains. Even when running 14’ers, I rarely start my day before 8 a.m.

I was following trail directions from the Forest Service in a PDF I stored on my phone, supplemented with the few but always-reliable trail markers and posts.

Taking in the valley and surrounding mountains between Maroon Pass and Frigid Air (pass two), I was surprised to see so many established singletrack trails in many directions. I assumed the Four Pass Loop trails would have been the only prominent ones.

Frigid Air was a very abrupt and steep climb from mile 7.5 to 9 (top of the pass). I ran into a shirtless guy in camo pants laying on the summit, bow strapped to his pack. We chatted and he was the first, of a couple other folks I talked to, who were backpacking from a trail near Gothic road in Crested Butte. He remarked at the distance I was to cover when I told him my plan. At this point, like much of the day in fact, my mood and enthusiasm was really high. I had a lot of food and water and sports drink in my pack and felt totally equipped for the mileage.

The descent of Frigid Air was as steep as the approach from the other side. As I reached the valley again, nostalgia for last summer’s run on the Mont Blanc trail came on. The Four Pass Loop shares many of the signatures of the Mont Blanc trail: steep ascents that rise from the valley floor, technical descents that are just as unforgiving, and picture-perfect alpine scenes. Funny how it was a year ago exactly I was in Chamonix and going around MB.

I had enough food and drinks but I wasn’t exactly using them to this point. After running quickly through the valley toward the next pass, Trail Rider (pass three), and crossing a knee-high creek, my energy was dwindling. I finally reached for a bottle of GU and had nearly half of it in one gulp. As much as I was ready for some food, I didn’t want to break until the top of Trail Rider. I slogged and was really only hiking the steepest sections of trail on this approach. I covered less than two miles in that hour and felt my six-hour prediction becoming out of reach.

I got to the top of what I thought was Trail Rider Pass, sat on the ground and ate a sandwich, a Snickers, and some Haribo gummies. I also, thankfully, packed a Solio charger for my Suunto so I charged the watch for a bit while I rested. I rescanned the trail description notes and, although there was a fairly big pond right below where I sat, the guide said Snowmass Lake was in view from the summit of Trail Rider.

I could see a distinct trail snaking its up to what was clearly another pass but I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking at or if indeed the trail I was supposed to take was that one.

That anxiety was quelled within about five minutes from my rest-stop descent, when the only trail to take was the snaking one going right back up.

With sugar in my system, it was cool to notice that the climb was runable (where just a bit ago I was hiking the trail with a similar grade); I turned left for a moment and saw a guy hiking up the scree just off the defined trail. He was moving quickly and headed for the same summit I was approaching.

Turns out I was premature in thinking my rest stop was Trail Rider; this was clearly it. And there, down below shimmering aqua blue, was Snowmass lake. It was totally stunning while the surrounding peaks (including what the hiker had just summited, Hagerman, a tall 13’er, towered over the lake).

I stayed on top of Trail Rider to take more pictures while he moved down the descent. I caught up to him with some effort, passed, and then continued hopping on and off the trail to grab more pictures of Snowmass lake.

By now, even with food and water in my gut, I was starting to get pretty fatigued. There was 10 miles to go and my spirit was waning a little. The game I was constantly playing of Buff-on, Buff-off, GORE jacket-on, GORE jacket-off, was irritating but there were such temperature discrepancies as you can imagine from the passes summits to the valleys below, you had to be continually changing clothes.

When the descent off of Trail Rider fully came to end, the first glimpses of the Maroon Bells came into view, along with, the devastatingly far-looking, Buckskin Pass (pass four).

The beauty of it all though was morale boosting.

I cruised through the valley fairly well and then started another ascent for Buckskin, the final pass of the day.

I moved well in spots and poorly in others. I was popping Haribos as this point like it was my job (hey, it was my job for the day…it was also the “Labor” day holiday, incidentally).

I came up on a group of backpackers going my direction and passed them easily as Buckskin, and several people already on top, became increasingly closer (and at this point I was running again solidly which I counted as minor victory).

In full view came the summit and I soon stood on it, making small talk with one of the straggling backpackers’ friend. Good dude and we exchanged stories and photos (they were on day three of the loop). We compared distances as this point and figured out that there was about five miles to go (this turned out to be dead-on).

The descent on Buckskin was enormous and continually interrupted by more stops for photos. By now, Pyramid Peak faced directly at me and Maroon Peak, with its tremble-causing massiveness, just behind to the right.

This was a tricky, technical descent; steep with a lot of pointy, jutting rocks. Crater Lake was coming into view and I knew I was nearly home free. I was tired at this point and trying not to fall or be too grumpy at the many backpackers I was passing.

Finally, I passed the lake and having been on West Maroon Trail several times now, knew roughly how much more I had to go. This brain-drain of a descent is full of tourists and sharp rocks. Getting to Maroon Lake was fantastic and true to predicted, I was inching closer to 27 miles. I got to my car at 26.82 so I threw my backpack down and jogged around the parking lot to get an even 27.

The total run time was 6 hours 43 minutes but at that point I was deeply satisfied with completing one of Colorado’s (heck, the country’s) finest alpine loops and a trip I had been pining over a lot lately.

This was my biggest run of the summer but with each of the passes topping out at or below 12,500 feet and the amount of time I’ve spent running to 14,000+, I felt a lot of physical (and probably mental) energy was banked over the course of the day.

14’ers, even the most runnable ones, still tend to put me in real fatigue. I kept thinking back to the day on the Mont Blanc trail where I ran something like 28 or 29 miles (the longest of my life) from Contamines to Rifugio Elisabetta (on the Italian border) where I slept (and didn’t bring enough money to pay for it! That’s another story…). That was a day that covered very similar terrain (tons of vertical and descents) and length.

Mentally I knew I could run the full Four Pass Loop and I loved using the mental reserves and confidence of doing a run with a very similar profile (albeit different continent) to reference. Wonderful day in the mountains.

In Review: Rapha Gentlemen's Race, Boulder, Colorado

Hey, Rittay...

My squad - Ritte Sports Garage - was one of a handful of teams invited to ride Rapha's first-ever "Gentlemen's Race" in Colorado. Diehards will be familiar with these events from Rapha's website; the reports are shrouded in mystery, showing the pained faces of a race gone too long, too far, and over loosely-defined "roads." 

Umm. Yes, please.

I'd mostly watched my teammates from the sidelines this season, scratching my itch for mountain running 14'ers even earlier than normal and still tending to the facial wounds of a grocery-get gone wrong. 

But Rapha's proposed route - 107 miles and 14K of vertical (there's that number, again) - over and through my backyard was a dream ride come to life.

The object of the game was simple: set off as a group. Finish as a group. And survive the day without too much damage to machine, legs, or mind.

We left Skratch Labs' parking lot at 7-something a.m., our team was: Craig, Double Justins, Steve, Ryan, Jason. We mostly prepared our bikes in a fashion suitable for the mountainous terrain (both by vertical and, in some cases, "passage" standards); cassettes with rangier gears were swapped, wider tires mounted, and provisions like a spare tire, enough tubes to supply an entire grupetto, and the contents of a feedzone packed into our jerseys came with each of the men in our team. It didn't take long before we started "up." Baseline Road turned into Super Flag before I even scratched the sleep from my eyes. Our casual pace was met by the day's first dirt and gravel, the windy parallel roads to Gross Reservoir above Boulder near 8,500 feet.

Not even two hours into the eventual 8, we came to a Sinclair station and refueled with several other teams. We were keeping pace with many of the groups around us and, in some cases, even passing them.

We'd later find out we were one of the most enviable teams, if not from a speed standpoint, but simply because our bikes and kit are, pardon, the SHIT.

The ride was going smoothly; Kiefer and Steve were easily pedaling away from us while Ryan and I dangled in the middle and Justin played Sherpa to Fahnestock who mistakenly predicted this ride might be a "fast 5 hour century." Not quite. Despite that errant prediction, Fahnestock gutted a climber's performance out of a sprinter's physique over the day.

Things were going smoothly until mile ~60 and Gold Run, where the heat turned up, the false flat slogs softened the legs, and rations were beginning to dwindle. Oh, and the approach to the mountain bike Switzerland Trail was just on the horizon. As a group we kept various paces (and lines) up the Swiss Trail. This was the reckoning moment for many teams, as the big, sharp rocks (again, the words "mountain bike trail" are important here) and general fatigue spelled "knockout" for many teams' bikes and bodies.

We survived with just one flat (yours truly) and a broken spoke (guess who?) and joined the Rapha support party at the checkpoint. We made it through with no time to spare but we, indeed, made it.  We regrouped again here. Have you ever split a single Coke among six guys who'd just ridden 70 miles and had 30+ to go? Ask us about how that went. Meanwhile, as my spoke became a potentially ride-ending dilemma, Steve could be found sitting on the side of the road with blood that cried for sugar but a gut that threatened to upchuck what went down.  And did I mention it's raining? Masking tape was sourced and used as a sort of spoke glue. Steve found the "ripe" end of a banana. And by now the summer rain had passed and sunny skies were urging us toward Peak to Peak Highway.

The Rapha crew and what was left of the teams around us showed genuine concern for my rear wheel, which under normal circumstances would have been dicey, but with the country's steepest county road ahead and a 10 mile Sunshine Canyon descent before the finish, I was discontentedly crawling along.

The boys went ahead when we refueled in Ward, waited for me to ascend Lick Skillet, the brutish, graded dirt road at 18.2%. Like many teams, a few of our own steps could be heard walking that beast because if you weren't able to ride it cleanly and had even the slightest hiccup in pedal stroke, you were off the bike.

It was another regroup at the top in Gold Hill before the final push for home. The second to last turn before finishing at Skratch was met with another group, furiously (though laughing all the way) making a pass. We let them go, fairly content with just finishing in one piece and all together. It was maybe the best decision we made all day. We rolled through the business park's driveway to the applause of other teams, friends, family, and an announcer designating us, "lantern rouge," or, final team. Competitive lot as we are, I think I speak for the group when I say it was nice to get the applause but not necessarily because we were finishing dead last.

Hey, Rittayyy.

Founded in 2012 by a pair of obsessives - Zander Nosler and Charlie Cronk - Kitsbow mountain bike wear has invented a new way to look and feel on the trail.