Or what happens when a bike adventure from Colorado to Burning Man runs into the realities of millions of pedal strokes and furious Western weather.
It was an unusually dark mid August morning. A blanket of grey clouds were hanging over the foothills, preventing the Colorado sun from breaking through. I awoke before the sunrise, restless. This is typical behavior: My pre-adventure nerves get worked up and prevent a sound sleep. My grandma once told me that rain is a sign of good luck. She was just trying to make me feel better about crappy weather, but I’ve always held that saying to be true.
I sat at my kitchen counter, eating an apple while talking to my video camera. I excitedly proclaimed that this would be the first time in my life that I’d be leaving from very own doorstep on a long distance bicycle tour. The inspiration came to me four years earlier, when I was waiting in a ten-hour traffic jam to enter Burning Man. I sat impatiently in that monstrous line and promised that I would return on my bike so that I could pass the endless stream of RVs. It was somewhat of a joke at the time, but this is how the best adventures come together.
The doorbell rang at 6:30 a.m. I ran down my stairs and greeted one of my favorite people on the planet, Dana D! After a big hug and a high five, she excitedly said that this was like Christmas morning. She’d been training nonstop since June, when we committed to the plan over a box of ridiculously huge Voodoo Donuts. Most people make crazy plans over cocktails We don’t drink, however, so sugar fuels our silly decisions.
Good friend and world-class mountaineer, Michael Brown, had also been training all summer for our little jaunt into the desert. I met him through the adventure filmmaking world and we’ve been on many local adventures and even the Race Across America in 2014. Long distance cycling is relatively new to him, but anyone who has been up Everest five times knows how to get things done.
Dana’s wife Xanthe fought back tears as she hugged us goodbye. “You take care of her Ryan.” I assured her I would.
It felt surreal. We pedaled away from my house as if it were any other day on the bike—but we were heading 1,100 miles into the desert with a whole lotta Wyoming in our way.
There really is no good way to get to Burning Man by bike. By that, I mean there are not many scenic byways. Our route would take us the same way that a car would travel, and that meant going on dreaded I-80.
We easily reached Fort Collins by lunchtime with smiles on our faces, wondering if everyday would be so leisurely. Dana said that this was by far the most relaxed ride she’d been on all summer. Michael was equally pumped. We had another 65 miles before stopping in Laramie, and we were full of confidence.
That was before the storm. As Dana so eloquently put it, “Mother Nature bitch slapped us into Wyoming.” The temperature dropped to freezing-ass-cold. Hail pelted us. I would have put on a rain jacket, but in my infinite wisdom, I left it behind “to save weight.” Worse, I gave this same advice to Michael and Dana.
Thank God, (literally) we found refuge inside a roadside church on the border of Wyoming. We also found trash bags that worked as ponchos. Dana even resorted to wearing newspaper bags on her feet to stay warm. We finished that first day shivering, but psyched. Our adventure was officially under way.
I’m going to fast-forward through Wyoming, mainly because it sucked. The winds kept us humble. Riding on the shoulder of I-80 was like navigating tire-popping landmines. At least there were a few humble bright spots along the way, like soft serve ice cream at the Little America truck stop (junk food is a lifesaver when you’re burning thousands of calories a day). We covered over 500 miles in five days. To put this feat in perspective, Michael had only ridden one day in his life over 100 miles.
That may have been a mistake. The mileage proved to be too much for him as his knees slowly deteriorated. By day five, he was in excruciating pain. It was hard for him to admit defeat; after all, the same knees had carried him to the top of the highest peaks on the planet.
Michael tried to make it work; resting two days in Salt Lake City and meeting us down the road. We had high hopes, but when we reunited in Wells, Nevada, the pain came back stronger than ever. I wanted so badly to help, but there was nothing that I could do. We slowly made our way to Carlin, Nevada, but this would be the end of Michael’s ride.
On the morning of the ninth day, we parked Michael and his wounded knees in a hotel and continued on. We would see him again soon, though. Our plan was to reunite at Burning Man, and my mom and Xanthe were on their way to pick him up in our RV (hey, someone needed to carry all the costumes and food we would need on the Playa).
By this point in the ride, Dana and I were like brother and sister. And we had a system worked out to make the ride easier: My job was to sit in front and block the wind. Her job was to let me finish her meals.
We slept under the stars in the big expanse of Salt Flats (it was her first time camping in 20 years) and we made friends in every gas station along I-80. Dana is one of the most loving, caring and thoughtful human beings on the planet. Riding beside her all day was a gift, like spending time with a guru.
We’d been warned about three big mountains coming out of Carlin, but our bodies felt stronger than ever and we were motivated by dreams of dancing in the desert. The temperature was perfect, there was no wind, and our legs were cranking.
The next thing I remember from that perfect morning wasn’t so perfect. We were splayed out on the side of the highway, Dana lay buckled over in pain while I scampered around to get our bikes off the road. I was a just little skinned up, but there was definitely something wrong with Dana. I pulled her away from the cars and cautiously looked at her shoulder. What I saw made me wanna throw up, “Oh yeah,” I told her, “you broke your collarbone.”
The events that followed seemed to happen in turbo speed: I waived down a car, tossed our bikes in a truck, and off we went to the Battle Mountain Emergency Room. Dana stayed amazingly positive, charming everyone in the hospital while they managed to X-ray the wrong side of her body, and totally misdiagnose the fracture. Did I mention that the doctor barely spoke English? It was pure comedy. We walked tenderly out of that hospital, still in shock but in high spirits at least, and went straight to a café to get milkshakes. Milkshakes cure everything.
Meanwhile, my mom and Xanthe had been alerted about the crash and were on their way with Michael. Despite the pain, Dana was surprisingly upbeat for someone with a shattered collarbone. Now the question was should I continue the 100 miles and finish what we started alone? Everyone was already shaken up, and I didn’t want to add to their worries. My initial thought was that it was over. I’d jump in the RV and drive in with everyone else. We had tallied 900 miles in nine days and had the time of our lives. For a brief moment, I had convinced myself that I was happy with that.
It was Dana, once again the wise mentor, who told me to keep going, that I had to do it for the team. I’d dreamed of this moment for years, and I was now only 100 miles away. Michael said that on Everest, if one person from a team gets to the top, it’s a success. Their speeches were Hollywood caliber, and after some tears and hugs, I said goodbye. I headed down the highway, alone.
A rugged mining road with no services was the only obstacle that stood between me and Burning Man. I had been advised against taking it, due to the fact that it apparently eats tires. Turns out, it wasn’t so bad, or maybe I was just extra motivated.
After 90 bumpy, washboard miles, I got to live out my dream. I bypassed that huge line of traffic and rode straight into the backside of Black Rock City. I wanted so badly to share the excitement with Michael and Dana, it’s the moment that we all wanted to experience together, but they were already inside, waiting for me with big, dusty hugs.
You know what? It was totally worth it.
Ryan Van Duzer is a proud Boulderite, a bicycle advocate (has never owned a car) and burrito lover. As a video journalist, his goal is to inspire people to get off their couches and enjoy this beautiful planet. When he’s not on a bike, he can be found running in the foothills in North Boulder. Head to his YouTube channel to watch videos from this ride: youtube.com/duzertv
