Actif Epica 2024: An Adventure Without Snow - Part 1

Part 1: Racing Against Time

Like most people, I try to avoid packing on too many pounds during the winter months. In an ideal world, I’d stay active, embrace the crisp air, and get outside whenever the weather allows. But if I’m being honest, during Covid, I turned into a full-blown couch sloth, bingeing Netflix and living in a cozy cocoon of snacks and sweatpants.

When the world finally reopened, I didn’t bounce back as quickly as I’d hoped. I felt sluggish, heavier than ever, and honestly, a little defeated by my declining fitness and growing waistline. Sound familiar? You’re not alone. The Covid lockdowns didn’t just disrupt our routines—they upended our diets, sleep schedules, activity levels, and overall health. It’s no wonder so many of us emerged from the pandemic carrying a few extra pounds and a lot less energy. 

But let me pause for a moment. I should probably clarify: this isn’t a blog post about SUPs, training, racing, or even Covid. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure where this is going—but isn’t that part of the fun? Life rarely follows a straight path, and sometimes the most interesting stories come from the detours. So, let’s figure this out together, one twist and turn at a time.

Now that the pandemic is (mostly) behind us, it feels like the perfect time for a reset. And if I’m being completely transparent, hitting my 50s has added a sense of urgency to this desire for change. Yes, I know what you’re thinking—midlife crisis, right? Maybe. But when you hit 50, you can’t help but take stock of your life. You realize that more of your days are behind you than ahead, but that doesn’t mean the best is over. In fact, it might just be the beginning of something even better. 

The idea of a midlife crisis is largely a social construct, tied to the stages of life we’ve been taught to expect. While these ‘stages’ might not have any objective reality, they shape how we see the world and our place in it. Conventions act as guideposts during times of transition, but here’s the thing: we get to decide what they mean. The good news? We have the power to rewrite our story—to redefine who we are and who we want to become. A midlife crisis doesn’t have to mean impulsive sports car purchases or questionable life choices. By reframing how we think about aging, we can turn this so-called crisis into a catalyst for self-discovery and growth.

For some, hitting 50 is a wake-up call. For others, it’s a focusing lens, sharpening their priorities and reminding them to make the most of the time they have left. It’s a natural, inevitable milestone—one that invites reflection, reevaluation, and, if we let it, reinvention. It’s a chance to explore new passions, dive into invigorating hobbies, and find deeper personal fulfillment.

These thoughts have been percolating in my mind for almost exactly a year, quietly shaping my perspective and guiding my choices. Now, as I finally put them down on ‘paper,’ I realize how much they’ve influenced the path I’ve taken. Of course, there have been countless other developments since then—stories of growth, challenges, and unexpected turns—but those will have to wait for another post. This is where I begin: with the reflections that set everything in motion.

Rediscovering the Active Epica

Now, a little about me: I’ve recently taken up standup paddleboard racing, but my roots are in cycling. I’ve been riding and racing bikes for years, and lately, I’ve ventured into the world of bikepacking. If you’re not familiar, bikepacking is essentially off-road bike touring—imagine hiking, but on two wheels. And here’s where it gets exciting: there are bikepacking races! These aren’t your typical races, though. They’re self-supported, ultra-distance challenges where riders might sleep under the stars mid-route. The events can range from 24-hour ‘sprints’ to epic multiweek adventures. It’s equal parts grueling and exhilarating, and it’s exactly the kind of challenge that keeps life interesting.

The most famous – and most gruelling - of these events is the Tour Divide (TD), “an annual 2,700-mile (4,300 km) self-supported bikepacking race following the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route (GDMBR). Most of the route follows dirt and gravel roads with a few sections of pavement or singletrack sprinkled in for good measure (along with the occasional hike-a-bike section)”.

I first discovered the Tour Divide when I stumbled upon the film *Divided* at a local cinema. The documentary follows Rickie Cotter and Lee Craigie as they ride the Tour Divide, capturing their awe-inspiring journey from Canada to Mexico. I was instantly hooked. The idea of bikepacking—carrying everything you need on your bike and racing across continents—struck a chord deep within me. From that moment on, the dream of racing the Tour Divide took root and never let go.

Then came Covid, and with it, a lot of downtime. Stuck at home, I found myself reflecting on life. With more days behind me than ahead, I started asking myself: *Why not take some risks? Why not chase a few adventures and truly live my best life?* Now, as I approach 60, that dream of racing the Tour Divide has started to feel more urgent. I’ve been thinking, *If I’m going to do this, I’d better get on with it before I time out.*

While diving into research about the Tour Divide, I stumbled across another race that had been lingering in the back of my mind: Actif Epica. Described as a “self-supported winter endurance event,” Actif Epica challenges participants to bike or run through icy temperatures, snowy trails, and windswept paths. The event celebrates human resilience and the health benefits of outdoor activity in extreme conditions. It’s the kind of challenge that makes you question your limits—and then push past them.

 

A Jumpstart to Action

On a whim, I sent some information about Actif Epica to a riding buddy, thinking she might find it intriguing. Her response? “Let’s do it!” I was completely caught off guard. Suddenly, what had been a vague idea was becoming a very real plan.

Ride buddies are the unsung heroes of the ‘bike life,’ and for good reason. Whether you’re a seasoned cyclist or just dipping your toes into the world of bikepacking, the shared knowledge and tips exchanged during rides can be a goldmine. From gear recommendations to hidden trails, ride buddies help you hone your skills and uncover new adventures. But let’s be honest—companionship and motivation are the real magic. A few good friends can turn even the most grueling ride into a memorable experience, making the miles fly by and the challenges feel less daunting. What might have been a solitary grind becomes a shared journey, filled with laughter, encouragement, and the kind of camaraderie that only comes from pushing limits together.

On a practical level, ride buddies are a lifeline. They provide safety and support, especially on long or remote routes where a flat tire or mechanical issue could leave you stranded. They help maintain a steady pace, push each other to go further, and celebrate every small victory along the way. In the end, ride buddies don’t just make cycling better—they transform it into a communal, rewarding, and deeply human experience.

That unexpected burst of enthusiasm from my ride buddy was the spark I needed. Sometimes, all it takes is a little nudge from someone who believes in you to set things in motion. Before I knew it, I was signing up for a winter bike race—yes, a *winter* bike race! Not exactly the cooking classes or leisurely travel I’d initially imagined for my midlife adventures. But hey, why not?

If you’re from a place where winter means sunshine and shorts, the idea of racing bikes in the snow might sound absurd. But think about it: no one bats an eye at cross-country skiing, ice skating, or tobogganing in the cold. So why the surprise when I say that riding and racing bikes on snow-covered trails and frozen gravel roads is not only possible but exhilarating? Sure, if you’re from a desert climate, winter might not seem like the ideal time for a bike race. But trust me, there’s nothing quite like the thrill of speeding through a frosty landscape when the thermometer plunges below zero. It’s one of the most exciting ways to embrace the season.

As someone who lives and breathes bikes—a lifelong winter rider and advocate for cold-weather cycling—you might wonder why I hadn’t tackled Actif Epica before. The truth? Self-doubt. That sneaky, insidious voice in my head that whispers, Can you really do this? It’s a question that can paralyze even the most passionate among us, holding us back from the very challenges that could define us.

But here’s the thing: overcoming that voice is one of the most powerful catalysts for action. When we silence self-doubt, we unlock the courage to step out of our comfort zones and chase our goals with unwavering determination. Challenging those negative thoughts and embracing our potential builds confidence and resilience. It’s what propels us to take bold steps, whether it’s starting a new project, pursuing a passion, or finally tackling a challenge we’ve been avoiding. By quieting that inner critic, we open the door to possibilities we once thought were out of reach. In the end, overcoming self-doubt isn’t just about achieving a goal—it’s about transforming dreams into reality. 

And so, with a mix of determination and trepidation, I took the leap. The moment I hit “register,” I was overwhelmed by a wave of excitement—and instant regret. Visions of frostbitten toes and a dwindling digit count flashed through my mind. But I’ve never been one to sit around waiting for bad news to find me. Instead, I got straight to work, diving into training and preparing for 50 kilometers of racing in bone-chilling cold. I tackled the essentials: keeping my hands and feet warm, figuring out food and water, and trying to scrape together some basic cycling fitness. But the first—and most important—step was buying the right bike.

 

Getting Fat

Enter the fat bike. Fat bikes (or fat tire bikes, or snow bikes, depending on who you ask) are essentially mountain bikes on steroids, equipped with ultra-wide, low-pressure tires designed to roll over sand, snow, and any other unforgiving terrain. They’re the ultimate winter warriors, built to handle conditions that would send a regular bike skidding into a snowbank. So, after much consideration and research, I ordered one. After all, if I was going to survive 50 kilometers of mind-numbing cold, I needed the right tool for the job. 

But timing, as they say, is everything. As it would happen, I finally mustered the courage to take on a winter bike race, during a pandemic. I can tell you that it didn’t just disrupt the bike industry’s supply chain; it brought it to a grinding halt. Suddenly, bikes and parts became as scarce as gold. During those endless lockdown days, everyone seemed to crave the same thing: outdoor adventures, fresh air, and an escape from the monotony. Bikes became the ultimate symbol of freedom, but as demand soared, they vanished from shelves almost overnight. Spare parts turned into mythical treasures, and bike shops, once vibrant hubs of activity, were left with empty aisles and dwindling sales. It was a two-wheeled apocalypse, and we were all just trying to navigate the chaos.

But here’s where things got tricky. I knew full well that I was stepping into the chaos of the bike industry’s parts supply breakdown. Knowing about it and living through it, however, are two very different things. The pandemic had thrown global supply chains into disarray, and the bike industry was hit hard. Frames, tires, drivetrains, and wheelsets—everything was either backordered, sold out, or stuck on a cargo ship somewhere in the Pacific. What should have been a simple purchase turned into an all-consuming scavenger hunt. I scoured online retailers, called every local shop within a 100-kilometer radius, and even joined a few forums to track down the components I needed. It felt like trying to assemble a puzzle with half the pieces missing—and no picture on the box to guide me.

The delays were frustrating, but they also gave me a newfound appreciation for the complexity of the bike industry. From manufacturing bottlenecks to shipping delays, every link in the chain was under strain. And yet, despite the challenges, the cycling community rallied. Shop owners went out of their way to source parts, fellow riders shared tips on where to find inventory, and somehow, piece by piece, my fat bike started to come together. Well, almost.

There was just one problem: the wheelset never arrived.

I’d ordered it months in advance, tracking its progress (or lack thereof) with the kind of obsessive attention usually reserved for watching the weather before a big race. But as the race date loomed closer, it became clear that my wheelset was lost in the void—somewhere between a factory in Taiwan and a warehouse in who-knows-where. It was the final, maddening twist in a saga that had already tested my patience.

But that’s part of the experience, isn’t it? Bike racing isn’t just about training and performance; it’s also about navigating the unexpected challenges that come up along the way. And this story isn’t over yet. There’s more to share—about the race itself, whether the wheels finally arrived, and what I learned from it all.

So, stay tuned for the next installment, where I’ll pick up where this left off. Until then, keep riding, keep pushing, and remember that every race has its own story.