A little over a week ago, a 36-year-old Colorado Springs-based . When Alicia Jakomait, a retired pro downhiller and seasoned mountain biker, went out for an ordinary weekend training ride at 1 p.m. on Sunday afternoon and didn鈥檛 return home by nightfall, her husband reported her missing.
It鈥檚 the sort of all-too-frequent story that I sometimes overlook. But in this case, I took note. I don鈥檛 know Alicia. But her husband, Jesse, travels in the same endurance mountain bike circles that I do. He鈥檚 an accomplished rider, with all manner of big finishes to his name including a win at this year鈥檚 Vapor Trail 125 and a hard-fought second at the Colorado Trail Race, and though I haven鈥檛 met him in person I鈥檝e admired his exploits over the years.
News of Alicia鈥檚 disappearance raced through the endurance MTB community quickly on social media, and between the efforts of search and rescue, friends and fellow riders, and Jesse himself, , if a bit banged up鈥攕ome 30 hours after she left her home.
Happy ending鈥攖hankfully. And that, normally, is the end of the tale.
Except this story continued to chew at me. Not only was Alicia an experienced rider, but, based on her description of the encounter, she hadn鈥檛 done anything obtuse or shameful. In short, she got turned around, crashed, and then, because of her injuries, became disoriented. After that, the situation spiraled.
Fortunately, a big group of people mobilized and found Alicia before any grave outcome. But I just kept thinking to myself, 鈥淲hat if they hadn鈥檛 found her?鈥 Of course everyone would have felt terribly and the outpouring of goodwill and grief would have been enormous. But if Alicia hadn鈥檛 turned up, would we have wondered for years to come what became of her? Would we have cast unfair suspicion on her husband or someone else, as was the case when ? Or even if we knew what had happened, would we have shaken our heads at the 鈥渇rivolousness鈥 that drove her to ride into the woods alone in the first place? Would such a disappearance change the way we perceive our own adventures and how we undertake them?
That鈥檚 the lesson I keep returning to: not just how quickly things can go wrong, but how, through familiarity and carelessness, we set ourselves up for difficulty. I鈥檓 not pointing fingers at Alicia. Rather, her experience has simply made me realize how cavalier I can be about riding.
Having completed dozens of tough, self-support, endurance efforts, some of them as long as three days, I tend to downplay the 鈥渟hort鈥 rides I take on local trails. I head off on three-, five-, six- and eight-hour training rides in the wilderness alone nearly every week and often give my wife only an indistinct sense of where I鈥檓 headed. Sometimes I don鈥檛 know when I head out, and sometimes I even deviate when I鈥檓 in the field because of conditions or my mood.
Frequently I carry the bare minimum of clothing and food and other necessities, which is partly a race-day holdover that tells me to minimize. I almost always pack a few basic warmies, such as cap and jacket, but rarely do I bring a real warm layer, extra gloves or socks, or鈥攍augh out loud鈥攁 space blanket or bivy sack, even though I have a superlight bivy tucked in cabinet in the garage. I normally bring a multi-tool but no gear for extenuating circumstances, such as a chain tool, spare cables, or even more than one tube. And, except when I鈥檓 racing, I never carry a SPOT tracker despite the fact that I own one and pay for the subscription year-round.
I consider myself a fastidious person and am resolute that I always be able to get out of whatever situations I get into. I strongly believe in personal responsibility and would never advocate calling for a rescue unless it was absolutely critical. Yet I realize now that my habituation to the risks that I take may actually be pushing me, unwittingly, away from those ideals. I鈥檓 adamant that I鈥檇 never call for a rescue. But by just grabbing that hydration pack on the way out the door without really checking what鈥檚 inside or biking off into the unknown alone without giving anyone any clue where I鈥檓 going, don鈥檛 we make such a situation more likely?
Of course you can鈥檛 be prepared for every eventuality. And part of the game is to not just carry everything you own, but to pack the right gear for the situation. Part of it, too, is to escape all the humdrum daily demands, which is why I will never stop riding alone or onto uncharted roads and trails. The adventure and empty headspace is part of the appeal. However, being prepared doesn鈥檛 detract from the ride (or hike, or whatever). It insures that you can fully experience it, even when things go wrong.
It鈥檚 a huge relief that Alicia was found so quickly and that she鈥檒l be fine. I hope that if the same thing happens to me, my wife, my friends鈥攖o any of us, really鈥攖hat the outcome will be just as positive. But there鈥檚 more we can do to make sure of that than just to hope.
Prepare your best, know your limits, ride well, and be safe out there.