Rides.
The Dirty Spokanza 2019 Snowkanza Re-route
Sunday, October 6th, 2019.
Ride report is coming courtesy of Alder Threlkeld.
Ride report is coming courtesy of Alder Threlkeld.
Group W Spokanza Grinder
This was the shorter option on the 2019 Dirty Spokanza, a brain-child of Scott Willegalle of North Division Bike Shop in Spokane. This route will likely remain in the 3 route ineup for 2020. See ride report below.
Ride report
by Kim Anderson
by Kim Anderson

I am a mountain biker. Weird skinny tires and riding next to cars are things that are very foreign to me. So if someone were to tell me back in March that in 7 months I would be riding clipped in on a drop bar gravel bike in my first road/gravel event with 12% grade climbs and over 3,000 ft of climbing - I would have laughed at this person... Like, snorted my coffee and then spit it at them.
But that's the thing about Spokane and our bike community... you find yourself doing things you once thought were outside your wheelhouse because you have the support and encouragement of people who have your back not only when you're on the bike, but also in life.
Sappy sentiments aside - The Dirty Spokanza (Group W!) was one of my favorite days spent on two wheels to date.
I had, what I'd like to think, a classic rookie start to the day... I made the trek down to the port-o-potties with a buddy (Cj), thinking I had plenty of time before Justin sent us off, but some unexpected struggles ensued (probably not what you're thinking right now, but I'll leave this alone). I walked back up the hill to my bike and my buddy, and he tells me, "Kim, they left."
I slouched as I thought, "oh good, the slowest person in our group who also has no idea where the route goes, is now the last person to start - this ride just turned solo." Whelp. Nothing to do but ride your heart out now!
We started pedaling. CJ shouts back to me - "I'm gonnna catch them!" And minutes later, yep, solo.
A guy rode past me... And he was wearing orange, thank the Lord! He was soon way ahead of me, but his orange jacket stayed just within sight during pivotal moments when I would have otherwise made a wrong turn. I pedaled harder.
I caught up to a girl wearing bright pink - It was Liz! She was killing it, riding the full loop on someone else's bike. She inspired me to keep trying to catch my group. We pedaled on.
Pavement suddenly turned to gravel, and the gravel was going up. And it kept going up. I rode up to a few other riders who were also doing the full loop... and here I found Spencer. This was a second boost of energy, seeing another friend out there. We chatted, and we pedaled. Jennifer also made an appearance here - it was a strange and awesome thing to me, running into so many friends on random Green Bluff roads in the middle of nowhere.
Spencer disappeared at some point, but soon after, the road leveled out and I could make out Jon Amend's blue sweater Jersey - my group was up ahead waiting for me. I think I smiled pretty big at this point because at 10 miles into this thing, I wasn't sure I'd see them again.
After a few minutes spent joking around over the shenanigans of the morning, someone said "let's ride!" And we were back at it. We were back on gravel that was going in the upward direction - the theme of this ride. But let me tell you - painful climbs on a bike are always much more bearable when you are surrounded by friends suffering with you (to more or lesser extents, of course).
We made it up to a crest in the route, so we stopped to regroup, beer and whiskey were passed around (complements of Jon Abernathy and CJ), and along came Leigh, limping up the hill - another badass friend doing the full loop, but her knee was not getting with the program. So naturally, we adopted her.
She didn't find out until later that she buddied up with the special group that had no idea where we were going. And Patty! She came pedaling up the hill, worried that we were waiting for her, but we assured her this was our pace. We should have kept Patty around because she actually knew where she was going. The rest of us veered to stay on Tallman Rd, while Patty took the 180 degree turn to the left: Madison Rd. Me being in the back, I looked at Patty, and looked at my group up ahead, and thought, "Patty knows where she's going." But in solidarity, I pedaled after the group.
I caught up to them at an intersection, phones pulled out, discussing which way to go. I eventually broke the news to them that Patty went the other way. We weighed our options for an overextended period of time, and decided, still very non-committal, to skip the 2 miles we missed and keep going forward.
It felt like smooth sailing at this point, back on pavement and thinking the end must be near. But this is where Sands Rd happened... A rocky dirt road, and whether it was or wasn't, at this point it felt like the steepest climb yet. I was in my highest gear, standing to pedal, and going so slow I thought I was going to eventually just come to a stop and fall over. But I kept pushing one foot down after the other, as if biking through a puddle of molasses. We all were (well, most of us).
The end of the climb was reached, somehow without falling over - Things flattened out and we stopped to regroup again. Blood began making its way back into my toes. We were back in the sun, and back on flat, smooth gravel. The actual home stretch. We rode the last few miles towards Big Barn, beers, and burgers.
Full loop next year?
It felt like smooth sailing at this point, back on pavement and thinking the end must be near. But this is where Sands Rd happened... A rocky dirt road, and whether it was or wasn't, at this point it felt like the steepest climb yet. I was in my highest gear, standing to pedal, and going so slow I thought I was going to eventually just come to a stop and fall over. But I kept pushing one foot down after the other, as if biking through a puddle of molasses. We all were (well, most of us).
The end of the climb was reached, somehow without falling over - Things flattened out and we stopped to regroup again. Blood began making its way back into my toes. We were back in the sun, and back on flat, smooth gravel. The actual home stretch. We rode the last few miles towards Big Barn, beers, and burgers.
Full loop next year?
The Midnight Century
2018 Ride report by
Justin M. Short, B.A.
Justin M. Short, B.A.
The Midnight Century is a legendary Spokane bike ride that begins, as one might expect, at the stroke of midnight at The Elk brew pub in Brown’s Addition on the first Saturday night in August, traveling to Central Food in Kendall Yards by way of a colossal 100 miles of road and gravel.
On the patio at The Elk you’ll find all manner of riders gobbling down burgers and tossing back pints an hour or 2 before the start. Other patrons might wonder “why all the helmets?” And that’s part of the mystique of this ride; there are no promotions, no sponsors, no entry fee, no insurance and no support aside from the camaraderie of your fellow riders. This thing just happens. There’s an arcane little website with a cue sheet for the route and some helpful tidbits about endurance riding, most of it from an Out There Outdoors article from 2009.
The 2019 MC saw a good turnout, with 50+ riders and 42 finishers, standing about gabbing when all of a sudden and with no fanfare the whole mob took off like a pack of psychotic bike messengers. The route hops on the Centennial Trail at Waterfront Park where it makes a mad dash east for State Line. And it truly is a mad dash because the sensible thing to do on an endurance ride like this is pace yourself. But only the most seasoned rider can resist the temptation of the sprinting mob. It’s late on a warm Saturday night and you’re turning pedals with your friends; how do you NOT go a little too hard?
From State Line the ride dips into Idaho before it swings back around the north shore of Liberty Lake, then riders begin the first grueling ascent up and over Quinimose. It is here that the mysticism of the Midnight Century takes hold: that vague sense that somewhere in the inky black darkness of the night the ghostly presence of Mica Peak is looming above while a trifling sprinkle of lights from various farms and homesteads dot the valley below, a heart rending vista indeed.
On the patio at The Elk you’ll find all manner of riders gobbling down burgers and tossing back pints an hour or 2 before the start. Other patrons might wonder “why all the helmets?” And that’s part of the mystique of this ride; there are no promotions, no sponsors, no entry fee, no insurance and no support aside from the camaraderie of your fellow riders. This thing just happens. There’s an arcane little website with a cue sheet for the route and some helpful tidbits about endurance riding, most of it from an Out There Outdoors article from 2009.
The 2019 MC saw a good turnout, with 50+ riders and 42 finishers, standing about gabbing when all of a sudden and with no fanfare the whole mob took off like a pack of psychotic bike messengers. The route hops on the Centennial Trail at Waterfront Park where it makes a mad dash east for State Line. And it truly is a mad dash because the sensible thing to do on an endurance ride like this is pace yourself. But only the most seasoned rider can resist the temptation of the sprinting mob. It’s late on a warm Saturday night and you’re turning pedals with your friends; how do you NOT go a little too hard?
From State Line the ride dips into Idaho before it swings back around the north shore of Liberty Lake, then riders begin the first grueling ascent up and over Quinimose. It is here that the mysticism of the Midnight Century takes hold: that vague sense that somewhere in the inky black darkness of the night the ghostly presence of Mica Peak is looming above while a trifling sprinkle of lights from various farms and homesteads dot the valley below, a heart rending vista indeed.
As the route meanders eastward on the northern edge of the Palouse, riders get their much longed for and later regretted gravel roads. Food and water options are almost non-existent on the course, but the MC has its own Dust Angel, a dude named Glen sets up a respectable feed station out of the back of his car somewhere around the 50 mile mark. He also stocks a feed table at the end of his driveway a few miles from Spangle. Mic Woodruff was also out there dust angel’ing mid course somewhere last year. You can’t hope can’t hope to find 2 friendlier faces in the dark!
Faster riders come blazing through Spangle under a veil of darkness, at my pace the faint pink wisps of dawn are beginning to light the horizon, others mosey through when the sun is up. Then comes Jennings Road, a 6.7 mile meandering ribbon of deep loose gravel and inescapable washboards that will rattle your fillings out. You may think you see a smooth line through the rough patches. There isn’t one. You may, to no avail, follow the tracks of the riders ahead of you for guidance, unless your name is Jason Oestriecher, it's been all fresh tracks for him since 2015. It’s a psychological test of sorts. If the Midnight Century is still fun after Jennings you have an extraordinary spirit of adventure. After Cheney, the route heads for home on the Fish Lake Trail, a godsend as home stretches go, gently whisking between the pines all the way back to civilization. I teamed up with local cyclocross legends Lynn Stryker and John Osterbach for a pace line to the finish. Lynn & John, like so many other riders you’ll meet, exude a love of the ride itself, and to join with them in that experience is nothing short of transcendent. At least it transcends the pee stops, exhaustion, and bone rattling washboards. For a finish line there’s an unassuming little sheet taped to a window at Central Food in Kendall yards for riders to sign before they stumble in for breakfast. The restaurant, owned by Midnight Century inventor, David Blaine, doesn’t open till 8, but if you don’t think it’s a better idea to go home and fall face down in a bowl of cereal, you may just find yourself sitting around the back patio sharing war stories over a meal with the likes of Tim Dunn and Josh Hess. And later arrivals will be slumped over their plates at Central Food while you’re at home sawing logs and dreaming about your night of mayhem on The Midnight Century. |
Go for the Snow
6 riders set out at, well, not dawn, but still early enough that I rode in the dark up to Guinness World Record holder Jim David's (for the longest skid... seriously) house (Jim got the record, not his house. I know I have a participle dangling here... but it's not the ONLY thing I had dangling today, as you will see) to ride from 5 Mile Bluff up the to summit of Mt Spokane in the season's first snow.
It could happen any time, you never know. And it's an invitation-only ride, because JD needs to know that you have what it takes to Go for the Snow. I have been deputized to invite riders if you're interested, so message me through the contact form if your curiosity is piqued. JD watches the mountain and when the conditions are right, the calls go out mid week and anyone on the list who is available and has not come to their senses by Sunday arrives early for eggs, bacon and a ceremonial-nay, LITURGICAL procession to indicate the seriousness of the endeavor... and not to sue anyone. Right hands rest solemnly over the heart as a majestically waving mechanical flag plays the national anthem. Then riders are assigned a partner and marriage vows are lifted for the day. Last year my partner, Brian Comstock, had a veritable suitcase of pain meds (he'd had major back surgery early in the season) that came in pretty handy when I split my helmet 3 miles into the ride.
The ethic of the ride, apart from goofballery of the first order, is that EVERYONE makes it to the summit or EVERYONE turns back, as a group. Hence the importance of finding out if riders have true GFTS grit before they join the fun. A GFTS alumnus who invites you is putting his or her reputation on the line. But if you're on this ride and you're lagging, it's not like the group just waits for you. Each rider is given a length of 29'er mountain bike tube, and if someone needs a tow, we "rope up." Tying 3 or 4 bikes end to end really spreads out the effort so that the person in the back can have a much more enjoyable ride and the group stays together. Plus, we're going for the SNOW. You never know when a crevasse is going to open up!
It could happen any time, you never know. And it's an invitation-only ride, because JD needs to know that you have what it takes to Go for the Snow. I have been deputized to invite riders if you're interested, so message me through the contact form if your curiosity is piqued. JD watches the mountain and when the conditions are right, the calls go out mid week and anyone on the list who is available and has not come to their senses by Sunday arrives early for eggs, bacon and a ceremonial-nay, LITURGICAL procession to indicate the seriousness of the endeavor... and not to sue anyone. Right hands rest solemnly over the heart as a majestically waving mechanical flag plays the national anthem. Then riders are assigned a partner and marriage vows are lifted for the day. Last year my partner, Brian Comstock, had a veritable suitcase of pain meds (he'd had major back surgery early in the season) that came in pretty handy when I split my helmet 3 miles into the ride.
The ethic of the ride, apart from goofballery of the first order, is that EVERYONE makes it to the summit or EVERYONE turns back, as a group. Hence the importance of finding out if riders have true GFTS grit before they join the fun. A GFTS alumnus who invites you is putting his or her reputation on the line. But if you're on this ride and you're lagging, it's not like the group just waits for you. Each rider is given a length of 29'er mountain bike tube, and if someone needs a tow, we "rope up." Tying 3 or 4 bikes end to end really spreads out the effort so that the person in the back can have a much more enjoyable ride and the group stays together. Plus, we're going for the SNOW. You never know when a crevasse is going to open up!
So, right out out of the gate the route drops into a pretty gnarly single track descent down the side of 5 Mile Bluff into Holmberg park. And from there we cross Waikiki Rd into Whitworth University campus for some crazy antics that took me back to 8th grade (up through college graduation) when friends and I blazed the obstacles and features of Cal U, Pennsyl-tucky on BMX bikes, much to the chagrin of campus police.
Spencer Horton ALMOST cleaned the Death Descent, a 150'ish foot slide down lose sand with a 2 foot drop at the top, and Tim Crum did clean the thing, while I opted for flipping over the bars and filling all places one does not want sand, bike AND body, with sand. Don Hooper was the only one sensible enough not to ride the Death Descent. On around the bend was the trap door in the trail where the aforementioned helmet splitting occurred. It's still there, but no helmets were split on this day. It's an important facet of GFTS that periodically JD will stop the ride and tell some now hilarious tale of earth shattering devastating destruction that happened on a given spot in the 25'ish years that he's been leading the ride. And those stories, or the manner of the telling, are 75% of the reason to do GFTS.
Spencer Horton ALMOST cleaned the Death Descent, a 150'ish foot slide down lose sand with a 2 foot drop at the top, and Tim Crum did clean the thing, while I opted for flipping over the bars and filling all places one does not want sand, bike AND body, with sand. Don Hooper was the only one sensible enough not to ride the Death Descent. On around the bend was the trap door in the trail where the aforementioned helmet splitting occurred. It's still there, but no helmets were split on this day. It's an important facet of GFTS that periodically JD will stop the ride and tell some now hilarious tale of earth shattering devastating destruction that happened on a given spot in the 25'ish years that he's been leading the ride. And those stories, or the manner of the telling, are 75% of the reason to do GFTS.
After more fun single track and some paved miles into Green Bluff, we hopped on last week's course from the Dirty Spokanza and began our ascent up the mountain. You lose sight of the mountain the closer you get to it, and after a rhythm is established you almost forget that you're going uphill at all, mostly because it's been so long since you've done anything BUT go uphill.
We arrived at the end of Day Mt Spokane Rd, long since a grassy gravel double track winding through lush cedar groves, and the group voted to turn left on the Kit Carson Loop rather than take the crank-bending climb up Trail 140. A couple fat bikers joined joined us for a bit and rode on ahead as we reached the snow zone, which was incidentally where the mountain comes back into view. The snow was mostly rideable, and I'd been waiting for it all day, not just just because we were going specifically for the snow, but I had been secretly planning to do the "naked mile." And if one is going to ride the naked mile on GFTS, one had better ride it in some freaking snow. Fortunately no hikers or Boy Scout troops were encountered. There were photos and video footage that may be tastefully edited before being posted here, or will probably surface unedited when I run for senator. For the last year I've been practicing the Wim Hof Method, which among other things, has produced the tendency to do things in the snow... in my underwear. The naked mile was the logical next step.
We arrived at the end of Day Mt Spokane Rd, long since a grassy gravel double track winding through lush cedar groves, and the group voted to turn left on the Kit Carson Loop rather than take the crank-bending climb up Trail 140. A couple fat bikers joined joined us for a bit and rode on ahead as we reached the snow zone, which was incidentally where the mountain comes back into view. The snow was mostly rideable, and I'd been waiting for it all day, not just just because we were going specifically for the snow, but I had been secretly planning to do the "naked mile." And if one is going to ride the naked mile on GFTS, one had better ride it in some freaking snow. Fortunately no hikers or Boy Scout troops were encountered. There were photos and video footage that may be tastefully edited before being posted here, or will probably surface unedited when I run for senator. For the last year I've been practicing the Wim Hof Method, which among other things, has produced the tendency to do things in the snow... in my underwear. The naked mile was the logical next step.
The road portion of the climb had some snowy and slushy bits, but was completely rideable. At the summit we had lunch and piping hot-off-the-camp-stove tea that Don whipped up, only lighting JD's arm on fire once.
It's a fundamental axiom of biking up mountains that since you spent so long getting up there you might as well hang out and enjoy the view and some food for a while, at least until you've cooled off enough to shiver your way into every layer of arctic expedition gear you hauled up there, and then scream down the mountain squeezing your brakes with the useless clobs of frozen meat you used to call hands. I was in good shape on the descent on account of the cold resilience aspect of the Wim Hof stuff, but I did have to "stay with the breath" to keep comfortable. As we descended the mountain, and keep in mind this is a LONG, COLD descent, the democratic society of GFTS voted to continue past the Bear Creek Lodge, a place we probably blew 2 hours last year eating chili and drinking tea by the fire.
Where the descent finally ends and the road comes out of the canyon and turns west we stopped at a gravel pull-off with a guard rail to peel layers and eat a thing or two. There's an old power substation about 50 feet beyond the guard rail that some dude bought and has turned into a weed growing operation. And as was suspected, the said dude came out and ranted at us for a full 5 minutes about getting off his property because he didn't want bikers peeing and crapping there. I'm kicking myself for not filming it, because this guy really KOM'd the Strava rant segment. Interestingly enough, 3 riders present today had stopped to pee on the other side of his property last week on the Dirty Spokanza. I once even pulled in there in my car and dug a hole out behind the building. That was before that guy had bought the place, but it's just a good spot. Poor guy, he's just trying to run a respectable weed business.
It's a fundamental axiom of biking up mountains that since you spent so long getting up there you might as well hang out and enjoy the view and some food for a while, at least until you've cooled off enough to shiver your way into every layer of arctic expedition gear you hauled up there, and then scream down the mountain squeezing your brakes with the useless clobs of frozen meat you used to call hands. I was in good shape on the descent on account of the cold resilience aspect of the Wim Hof stuff, but I did have to "stay with the breath" to keep comfortable. As we descended the mountain, and keep in mind this is a LONG, COLD descent, the democratic society of GFTS voted to continue past the Bear Creek Lodge, a place we probably blew 2 hours last year eating chili and drinking tea by the fire.
Where the descent finally ends and the road comes out of the canyon and turns west we stopped at a gravel pull-off with a guard rail to peel layers and eat a thing or two. There's an old power substation about 50 feet beyond the guard rail that some dude bought and has turned into a weed growing operation. And as was suspected, the said dude came out and ranted at us for a full 5 minutes about getting off his property because he didn't want bikers peeing and crapping there. I'm kicking myself for not filming it, because this guy really KOM'd the Strava rant segment. Interestingly enough, 3 riders present today had stopped to pee on the other side of his property last week on the Dirty Spokanza. I once even pulled in there in my car and dug a hole out behind the building. That was before that guy had bought the place, but it's just a good spot. Poor guy, he's just trying to run a respectable weed business.
The ride continued across the wheat fielded plains where Spencer found a road booty belt buckle of epic proportions. Then later, JD announced a short sprint segment up a small hill, and the winner of this sprint was to be crowned the champion of GFTS 2019. Spencer, obviously the favorite for this victory, attacked early. I put on a burst of speed to match his acceleration, and when that failed, I hopped on his wheel thinking I might crack him on the hill while I relax in his draft to then take him at the last second. But as fate would have it, Spencer cracked me halfway up that little hill. That dude has some POWER at the end of a long day.
The last grunt up 5 Mile Bluff, up a gravel road no less, was sweetened by some fun singletrack that I hadn't noticed on the dawn patrol ride up there this morning.
The last grunt up 5 Mile Bluff, up a gravel road no less, was sweetened by some fun singletrack that I hadn't noticed on the dawn patrol ride up there this morning.
We rolled into JD's back yard, the sliding glass door opened and out stepped none other than my beloved wife, Lynn Short, the best part of my ride!
Pulled pork and recovery drinks of various kinds were consumed as friends and significant others arrived for the festivities. OOOOH, and there are festivities at the conclusion of GFTS! Tales are told, the champion is crowned and this year's Hero of GFTS is chosen and must drink from the Challace of Bravery, a small'ish, but big enough for an airplane sized bottle of Fireball, goblet on top of the GFTS trophy which has a few names of past Champion engraved on it (it needs Spencer's name on it twice now). "No germs have ever been cleaned from the Challace of Bravery, so you'll be sharing germs with all past Heroes of GFTS," said JD in a bombastic tone as I bent the knee and drank for the second time: this year for entering the "sacred naked mile club," and last year for continuing the ride after splitting my helmet, as previously stated, 3 miles in.
Pulled pork and recovery drinks of various kinds were consumed as friends and significant others arrived for the festivities. OOOOH, and there are festivities at the conclusion of GFTS! Tales are told, the champion is crowned and this year's Hero of GFTS is chosen and must drink from the Challace of Bravery, a small'ish, but big enough for an airplane sized bottle of Fireball, goblet on top of the GFTS trophy which has a few names of past Champion engraved on it (it needs Spencer's name on it twice now). "No germs have ever been cleaned from the Challace of Bravery, so you'll be sharing germs with all past Heroes of GFTS," said JD in a bombastic tone as I bent the knee and drank for the second time: this year for entering the "sacred naked mile club," and last year for continuing the ride after splitting my helmet, as previously stated, 3 miles in.
And thus concludes Go for the Snow 2019 and this protracted ride report. No RidewithGPS link will be posted for this top secret event, but you can apply through the proper channels, OR you can just ITT the mountain any time you like!
71 miles.
6,800 feet
2 sandwiches
1 naked mile
71 miles.
6,800 feet
2 sandwiches
1 naked mile