Bad Trip #2
The Venue: Maah Daah Hey Trail, North Dakota
Experience Level: 3 Years Riding
The Plan: Explore about 20 miles of the Maah Daah Trail (40 miles round trip–hmm, there’s that number again)
The Difficulty: HEAT!
How it Went Down:
While living in Minot, North Dakota, I didn’t have much (anything, really) in the way of singletrack in the local area. To get a legit ride required a nearly three-hour drive (hmmm–sounds a lot like before) to get to the northern half of the IMBA epic Maah Daah Hey trail. In totality, the trail is over 100 miles. Not being able to ride that distance all at once, especially on day trips, I was piecing it together over a few rides.
Of course, none of my colleagues in North Dakota were keen on riding, so I was once again headed out to take on an epic ride by myself. This was really okay with me. I was in better shape, not going to high altitude, and of course, older and wiser than two years before. My plan had been to once again arise at oh-dark-thirty, but I ended up doing the snooze thing and getting a late start.
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Where Things Went Wrong:
First off, by the time I hit the trailhead, the temperature had hit 90 degrees. That internal furnace which saved me in Steamboat would prove to be problematic in these conditions. But I was desperate to ride. Hellbent, really. I didn’t like living on the prairie, and my epic ride was my rebellion against my situation. I would do it come hell or high water.
High water didn’t come. Hell most certainly did.
Even knowing the heat, and my personal difficulty with it, I still forged on. I had a 100oz hydration pack filled to the brim, and two 24oz water battles topped off sitting in the cages on my bike frame. 148oz has got to be enough water for anything, right?
At about 20 miles out, once again without difficulty, I hit my turnaround point. I was quite pleased with myself for not folding under the heat despite my proclivity to do so. I turned around, once again full of confidence and pride, and after a short distance, went to grab a sip from my hydration pack.
Nothing.
And I had long since emptied my water bottles.
The temperature had climbed to 98 degrees and here I was, some 18 or 19 miles from the safety of my car, and I was riding in badlands with no shade or shelter. Dangerous heat in the coldest state in the Union; whooda’ thunk it? And once again, there was absolutely nobody out there. Not a soul.
I knew enough to take it easy and not try to hammer home. But by the time I was still about eight miles from safety, I could tell the heat and exertion had taken their toll. I was weak… very weak. Then I noticed my heart rate accelerating rapidly, a classic symptom of heat exhaustion. With my heart racing, I could ride only about a quarter mile at a time before I had to stop and sit.
At one point I saw a small bush. Shade! Well, not much shade; the bush was scarcely two feet tall and anything but leafy. Bit I did try to get as much of my body under the bush as possible. But to get any more of my body under the bush, I had to curl up, which of course conserves body heat; not what I was looking for. So back on the bike, ride to the next bush, lie down and try to get a little shade, all the while my heart racing at an increasingly unsafe rate.
Upon my next bike mounting, I wobbled uncontrollably. Dizziness had set in and my balance was utterly, completely gone. I could not ride. The best I could manage was to walk slowly… more like a foot-dragging shuffle really… alongside the bike, hunched over with my hands or elbows resting on the handlebars, and hope for a better bush sometime in the near future.
Then came the headache. An absolutely monster, splitting headache, as though someone had driven a cleaver right through my skull, just right of center. Vision blurred. Nausea ensued, followed by dry heaves so hard I thought I would crack a rib. As convulsions abated, I lay flat on the prairie grass, looking up into a searing sun, wondering what I could do to change my predicament, but my brain had stopped working rationally. If there was an answer, there’s no way I could have found it. I couldn’t comprehend my map and had no idea how far I had to go. All I could do was press on and hope I hit the trailhead or encountered another human before I lay down for the last time.
As I was sure I was still at least two miles from the car, I looked out across the prairie and saw what looked like a sparkly bit of teal-colored metal. The roof of my Subaru! Or was it? A mirage? A hallucination originated from warped, wishful thinking? Well, I would know soon enough. I joyously threw my leg over my top tube ready to sprint to the finish… and promptly crashed into a pile of prickly pear cactus. At least I was still coherent enough to holler in pain, and formulate the most appropriate four letter words with which to express my anger at not only that immediate incident, but at how the day had gone as a whole.
Within five minutes, I was indeed at the car, clumsily attempting to insert a very uncooperative key into the door. Vision blurry, dexterity shot, it was an amazingly difficult task. Had I the strength, I might have just punched through the window. Once finally in, I lunged for the extra water bottle I had left behind and grabbed a big swig. Ouch! Mind you, this water bottle had been sitting in a car that had spent the entire day in nearly 100 degree heat with the windows rolled up. I could have used it to make Swiss Miss Instant Cocoa, and it would have no doubt melted all the mini marshmallows!
I drank slowly, not knowing if I was making things better or worse and, upon finally emptying the bottle, got up the courage to put the key in the ignition and begin a rather less than safe 20-mile drive to Watford City, the nearest town with a convenience store. I actually wished a state trooper was there to pull me over for unsafe driving; at least he might have some water. But no luck (where’s a cop when you need one, right?). Somehow I made it to Watford City, where I promptly drained two large Gatorades in about 30 seconds, and the most massive Pepsi they had in another 30.
Lessons Learned:
- Water is life. Take more than you think you need. Then add more. Track your quantity available constantly. Halfway there doesn’t mean half gone…. always save more than half for the return trip… the later in the day, the hotter it gets, the more tired you are, and the more water you need.
- Don’t be too stubborn to cancel a ride.
- Don’t be too stubborn to cut an existing ride short. Turn around before you think you need to.
- Oh yeah, there’s that buddy thing again.
Click to page 3 for the final bad trip.
11 Comments
Nov 25, 2016
More seriously, I appreciate your lessons learned section. Young riders and less experienced outdoorsmen need to be aware of the importance of preparing for the worst. With most of my riding in Mongolia, there is no cell phone coverage and no professional "resources" to rescue a person, so I almost always go over prepared. There is the possibility of hypothermia year round. I personally have never had a problem, but I have had two persons succumb to the elements and had to care for them -- hypothermia and fatigue due over exertion and cold.
It is very easy to underestimate the dangers of the small mountains that are predominate in Mongolia. On the same day in the summer you could face heat exhaustion and hypothermia. Extra water, extra protein, steri-pen, extra warm layer, map, sat images, compass, first aid kit, matches, lighter, dry paper, Ibuprofen, knife, trail side maintenance .... all are essential. This is a pretty good short list for most places. Also, a loved one should always know where you are going and when you will return at the latest. And you should not deviate from that plan too far, so that you are within a short distance of the known course for S&R to find you more easily. Great write up John.
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 29, 2016
I really appreciate your support!
I think it's pretty much happening by default with each article I write--just not in order. I'm not sure there's much of a market for "the collected works of the skibum who actually rides more than he skis"! I'm also kind of wondering how things will work out next (see "I Ride Alone"). Chapters still to be written, so to speak.
Nov 27, 2016
Experience Level: 3 years riding
The Plan: Ride the beautiful Sapphire Crest Trail to the Bitterroot River where our camper was waiting
The Problem: Blown-down trees, non-existent trails
It all started early in the morning on a beautiful clear mountain day in the Sapphire's of Montana, which reside right across the valley from the infamous Bitterroot Range. If you know your history, you know that the Bitterroot Range was the geographically obstacle that nearly stopped Lewis and Clark on their march to the Pacific. Anyways, the reviews of this trail around the internet were amazing. One even boosted, "This is the ride that remind you of why you started mountain biking." Naturally, I was very eager to experience this ride, so after me and my father were shuttled to the top of the pass, we immediately started the winding climb up to the main ridge.
At the top of the climb, the day seemed like it couldn't be beat. We were giddy from how easy the climb had been (we had just finished a trail that climbed 4,000 feet in 6 miles a couple days earlier) and the few blown-down trees that we had encountered up to that point didn't seem to phase us. So, with smiling faces and high hopes, we pushed on towards the summit of Dome-Shaped Mountain. Along the way, we were greeted by incredible views and bald eagles. After playing around in a beautiful snow bank (at 8,000 feet, I was astonished that it still existed in July) we summited Dome-Shaped Mountain. This ride was panning out to be the best ride of our lives.
Where Things Went Wrong
After soaking up the views on the summit, we quickly dropped our seats and pointed our bikes downhill. At first, everything seemed fine. Although the trail would occasionally disappear, in the open meadows we were riding through, it was very easy to pick up again. But then we entered what was left of a forest. In 2012 and 2015, forest fires had burned the area and storms had flattened those trees, so much so that the nearby Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness was declared a disaster area. As we entered, we thought that this burn area would soon give way to unscathed trees, like it had previously on the trail. But as the stacks of trees reached greater heights, some 10 feet high and 100 feet long, we started to wonder when it would end.
After scaling hundreds of these tree stacks at a rate on barely a mile an hour, another problem started to arise. Where before it had been easy to relocate the trail in the meadows, now it was made nearly impossible by the sheer quantity of trails covering the ground. In addition, we were running dangerous low on water, and needed to find some fast. The already nearly impossible task of scaling the barriers of trees was made exponentially harder when combined with the balancing act of carrying a bike along with you. The rhythm of scaling and balancing the tree-barriers was the broken by a very foreign sound. It took me a little while to register what the sound had been. I looked own, and I saw the ground covered in a one inch thick film of murky water. Once my father reached my position, he broke out the filter and we drank.
A couple hours after our drink stop, we were at the bottom of the Dome-Shaped Mountain descent. A section of trail that would of taken us an hour by bike had taken us five. It was five o'clock, and with 15 miles remaining we sat to rest. With no end in sight in regards to the trees, we had to make the worst decision a mountain biker could make, whether to leave our bikes or not. In the end, we decided leaving them was our best option, and reluctantly left them hidden, should we decide to risk life and limb once more to retrieve them.
After another hour, the trees finally let up, and we could walk at a good pace again. We came to a trail junction, and using the map, knew it was a mile to the next trail junction. That was the slowest mile of my life. Once at the trail junction, we knew there was only a mile to our turn off the ridge. Because of quick walking, and some suspension of our disbelief, soon we arrived at the next trail junction. Our map showed our present location 3 miles past our turn. We had been looking for a trail while walking. Our turn no longer existed. Out next option was to hike 2 miles to the next turn off. We decided to put our faith in this, because it would be easy to find due to a step descent immediately before the junction. Once we got there, this junction no longer existed either. We looked and looked, but it was nowhere to be found. Our only option was to bushwhack down the mountain, and with night fast approaching, our mind were populated with the realities that might come out of doing so.
As we started down the mountain, I noticed a faint deer trail. With no better option, we started following that. Soon enough, I identified a cut branch. We had found the trail! Once we started down the trail, our victory was short lived. The threat of darkness had not been hollow, and we were hiking down the mountain in the pitch black night. This trail wasn't a well manicured, switch-backing joy either. It was loose, and went straight down the mountain. Using an IPhone flashlight, we managed to slide down trail, finally making to the dirt road that lead to camp.
After a mile battling severe dehydration (including seeing things), severe foot cramps and soreness, and low spirits, we finally made it to camp at 1:43 AM the next morning. We had just gone through 18 hours of climbing, biking, hiking, and sliding. Without saying a word, I chugged 6 A&W rootbeers, ate a whole party sized bag a Lay's potato chips, and went to bed.
Lessons Learned:
Know when to turn back
Do more research on trail conditions
Make sure you know there is nearby water
Don't underestimate Mother Nature
Bring lots of food and a good topo map
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 27, 2016
But the real outstanding question is . . . . how hard was it to backtrack to, and retrieve your bikes? From the sounds of how far back you left them and how much travel you did after dark, it seems like that may have been an adventure in itself!
Nov 25, 2016