Fresh off my second ride of the Tour de Los Padres (TDLP) bikepacking race in Central California, I’m still untangling a big knot of feelings. The biggest threads seem to be: proud, humbled, and grateful.
I feel proud of what my body can do just a year after having my baby, and after nearly three years off from challenging bikepacking. Pregnancy and recovery are a frustratingly long journey, and this ride officially marks my arrival on the other side.
I feel humbled because damn, that was a hard ride! The route was burly and rugged, with tons of climbing, and plenty of backcountry singletrack complete with leg-slashing foliage and stupid steep hike-a-bike. I spent the first two days wondering what the heck I was thinking to choose this as my comeback ride. It did work out in the end, but it was not a “good idea” in the traditional sense.
And I feel grateful because my finish is partly thanks to the support, both emotional and material, of my fellow TDLP riders. I’ve always loved the good vibes in the bikepacking community, and I try to offer support and encouragement to others through my website. To be on the receiving end was both a little embarrassing (shouldn’t the owner of a bikepacking website be above such struggles and mistakes?) and very heartwarming.
(To be clear, bikepack racing is about self-sufficiency. Sometimes rules prohibit accepting help, especially at the front of the pack, though serendipitous gifts may be allowed. The vibe can be different at the back of the pack, and rules differ between events.)
This post tells the day-by-day story of my ride, including how I almost quit and ultimately why I didn’t. I’m not proud of every aspect – definitely not the cramps, blisters, or really dumb mistakes – but I share it hoping the lessons I learned might help you someday. I am proud that I reached the finish line, and proud to be part of this community of generous people who helped me get there.
The last section is more practical and covers key gear choices and food and water strategies.
Bikepackers: Join me on Patreon for my most current and personal writing, individualized trip prep help, and a community of likeminded supporters.
About the Event
The Tour De Los Padres is “a rugged and challenging long distance mountain biking route that traverses some of the most scenic areas of the Los Padres National Forest.” The routes change each year but there are always two distances: the longer Proper Route and (my choice this year) the shorter Tour Route. Both started and finished in Ventura this year, making for easy logistics.
The Tour Route covered 237 miles and 29k feet of climbing! Here it is:
I first rode a different version of the TDLP in 2022, when the Proper Route traveled point-to-point from Big Sur to Santa Barbara. I used the word “burly” in that ride report and yet was surprised all over again by just how big the terrain really is. This is way-out-there land that most Californians have never heard of. It’s huge and rugged and almost completely empty, especially the second half. I saw only two non-TDLP parties across 120+ miles of backcountry roads and trails.
The other notable thing about TDLP: its community. I’ve found most bikepacking events to be welcoming and friendly, but this group blends badassery and approachability on a whole new level. This year was the 13th running of the event and some folks have been coming back off and on since the beginning. The pre-race meetup had the feel of a family reunion. Though I’ve only ridden once before, four years ago, I felt welcomed back as if by old friends.
If you’re thinking of riding the TDLP, my number one piece of advice is to pack light and expect a full-body adventure. Make sure you can lift your loaded bike to waist or even (for my fellow smaller riders) chest level so you can traverse the mandatory gates, water crossings, and ravines on the route. You’ll need enough full-body strength to drag your bike up a ~30% slope in some places. Prepare to do a lot of hiking, even if you’re a strong rider. This isn’t a route you just roll, it’s intensely physical.
Day by Day Notes
Day 1: 49 miles, 7640 feet of climbing!
After a festive 8am start at Ventura Pier, the ride began easily with ten miles of bike path. Soon enough we tackled our first climb, what looked on the elevation profile to be an easy warm-up hill. I was already near the back and took my time, chatting with a couple friendly riders where our paces aligned. The gradient was mellow but I could already feel fatigue setting in as the day heated up.
I hit the lunch and resupply stop just as many other riders were leaving. I scarfed down a burger and as many tater tots as I could stomach before heading out to tackle the next, bigger and steeper, climb up Sisar Canyon.
That’s where my legs started cramping, very unusual for me. I drank plenty of water and electrolytes but to no effect; my muscles were simply not up to the challenge. I had expected to walk some of the 9 mile, 3600-foot climb, but pedaling even the mellowest grade triggered cramps.
So I settled in for a long walk. Combined with wet feet from a creek crossing, this led to hot spots on my heels. I attempted to sit down and apply some tape or Second Skin, but reaching for my feet triggered more cramps. Frustrated, I gave up and just kept walking. Big mistake – by the top of that climb I had gnarly blisters that would haunt me through the rest of the ride.
I took the cramps as an indication of undertraining, proof that my body was not in fact fully recovered and rebuilt after pregnancy. In the remote backcountry of the second half, debilitating cramps could be dangerous. What was I thinking to even attempt this ride so soon? I spent most of that climb processing my defeat and planning out how I would quit.
I could simply turn around and roll downhill to the highway and ride back to Ventura by sunset. For some reason I didn’t. Maybe I could make it to the top, down the singletrack, and then quit in the morning. Yes, that’s it! I wanted just one night out under the stars, alone at a beautiful campsite, something I hadn’t experienced recently. Then in the morning I could ride the highway back and try again another year, after somehow finding time for more training.
Toward the top of the climb I was surprised to catch up to a few other riders. Some were also dealing with cramps, and our chit chat lifted my spirits as we topped out the climb and gingerly descended the rocky singletrack. At some point I realized the cramps were gone and I could pedal, albeit gingerly, some of the flats.
The other riders stopped at a campground around 6pm and invited me to join. I realized with some dismay that I was still very much on pace for my “slow plan C,” a four day finish, if I kept going. With plenty of daylight remaining I continued to the Sespe Trail, a lovely stretch of singletrack along Sespe Creek.
I rode less than an hour into darkness before stopping at an ideal campsite, a flat sandy spot amongst chaparral ringed by mountains under a full moon. I had only covered 49 miles, but I was absolutely cooked from 7600+ feet of climbing and needed the rest. It was the perfect night, silent and peaceful, everything I love about wild camping alone.
Day 2: 79 miles, 7400 feet of climbing
It was light by 6am and I was moving soon after, heading toward the highway that could be my escape. A few riders passed me – they had been ahead but I’d passed them while they camped off the trail – and offered encouragement. I decided to try the start of the road climb, just to see how it felt. I could always turn around and quit later. To my surprise my legs felt decent. No cramps. I kept going.
Thirty miles later I found myself pushing up the final steep stretch of pavement to Pine Mountain campground, the air pleasantly cool at 6500 feet. Maybe I could make New Cuyama that evening after all. Time now for the Boulder Canyon descent. I expected it to be challenging and steep, but it actually was pretty fun in places, the most fun singletrack on the route in my opinion.
Tinta Trail was harder than expected, a slog that took most of the afternoon. It was narrow, rocky in places, overgrown in others, and gradually ascending via an endless series of hike-a-bike climbs and short descents. My heel blisters stung with every step. It was hot – I passed one rider who was unfortunately having trouble keeping food and water down. I started thinking again about quitting in New Cuyama.
There’s only one real resupply on the route, and the store closes at 9pm. When I hit the top of the Tinta climb at 6pm I had 3 hours to ride 30 miles. Too close for comfort! The descent ripped at first, but gradually flattened out until I found myself straining into a headwind on flat pavement. I didn’t have to get there by closing time – I could eat my cold instant potatoes and restock in the morning – but visions of microwave burritos propelled me forward.
I rolled up to the store in New Cuyama at… 8:57pm! I was exhausted and bleary-eyed, couldn’t find anything I needed, and definitely didn’t have enough time to think through a resupply for three days. I decided to stay at the hotel, collect myself, and decide whether to continue in the morning. After a restful night maybe I could switch to a five day plan, resupply when the store opened, and still get it done.
So here’s my embarrassing mistake: after riding hard for three hours and successfully reaching the store before its 9pm closing time, I somehow managed to walk out with only… wait for it… a can of ravioli and a bottle of milk. Not even enough calories for a decent dinner! I can’t stress enough how stupid this was. Blame it on being out of practice, I guess, or just really really tired. By 9:05pm I was already regretting it.
Outside the store a bunch of riders were gathered. I thought they were staying the night. I was dismayed to hear they were actually all dropping out, getting rides from friends or family, and the hotel in town was fully booked for a wedding. I thought about camping alone behind the store but didn’t love the idea. I thought about quitting, but the logistics were too daunting. I thought about forcing myself to ride on to the next campground, but didn’t have nearly enough food.
Here’s where the magic happened: one of the riders who was dropping out offered me his leftover supplies. He asked his buddies too, and before I knew it, four or five riders were gifting me their unneeded bars, gels, gummies, pastries, and water. I am so thankful to these guys for getting me back on the road that night. Without them I surely would have been on five day pace, and would have missed out on the encouragement and camaraderie of the other riders I leapfrogged with until the finish.
With tired legs and full food bags I pedaled out of New Cuyama and up Aliso Canyon Road in the moonlight. Just before midnight I arrived at the campground, spotted some other riders bivvied there, and gladly stopped for the night.
Day 3: 58 miles, 6900 feet of climbing
The morning light revealed a big group of riders camped nearby. They had stopped earlier than I did and left a bit earlier in the morning, but more magic happened first. One of the women, to whom I’d casually mentioned my blisters the day before, came over to offer some Leukotape.
I don’t normally get blisters so my first aid kit had only basic supplies – bandaids, moleskin – that all failed to stick. My most successful technique so far, still quite painful, had been Neosporin on plastic bags directly against my blistered skin. Her Leukotape was the perfect tool for the job. Though every step still hurt, the pain became mentally bearable once I knew the damage was limited. Just in time for the singletrack hike-a-bike up Aliso Trail to Sierra Madre Road!
Up on the ridge, my spirits lifted. I adore this section, it’s what brought me back to the TDLP this year after loving it so much in 2022. The other riders pulled ahead and I spent the whole day alone up there, twisting and turning and cruising and climbing. I’d forgotten just how good this section is, especially the cruisy descents. It was hard work but very rewarding. A couple close calls with rattlesnakes kept me on my toes!
At some point in the afternoon I was surprised to realize I actually felt… good! Somehow I had energy, and my aches and pains had eased. It was as if my body finally remembered how this works. Maybe it’s as simple as the switch to fat burning metabolism – despite my gifted food stash I was still a bit low and rationing carefully. Whatever the reason, I enjoyed the heck out of it, riding hard into the darkness.
I knew my choice of camp could make the difference between finishing on day 4 or the morning of day 5. I wasn’t crazy about finishing late at night, given the technical singletrack descent and the finish in town, but I also didn’t have plentiful food for a fifth day. Riders warned me the final Ocean View Trail would take longer than expected, but how much longer? I did some math and decided to stop at Middle Cuyama camp, just a picnic table by the creek, and be riding by first light in the morning.
That night was a weird and mostly sleepless bad trip. Whatever energy source my body had discovered would not turn off and let me sleep. I tossed and turned, the scratches on my legs stinging, simultaneously too hot and too cold in the damp creekside air. I doubt I slept even two hours, and when I did it felt more like a waking dream than good rest.
Day 4: 55 miles, 5400 feet of climbing
Time to get this thing done! Low on both sleep and food, I pushed for the finish. A long flatish stretch turned out to be slow singletrack that had me off and on the bike constantly, traversing creek crossings and steep ravines. Apparently I rode this section in 2022 as well, but had absolutely no memory of it.
I leapfrogged again with the same group of friendly riders who had camped earlier and started later, their positive energy pushing me forward. The woman who had gifted the Leukotape offered more food when I mentioned my concern about spending another night out, yet more trail magic that lifted my energy levels and spirits.
Finally the singletrack turned to dirt road, steep at times, along the Santa Ynez River past beautiful Jameson Lake. Then back to singletrack, to hike-a-bike, and finally to the section labeled “Hike a bike begins!” on the map. Monte Arido Trail shot upward a thousand feet in just one mile of pushing, hefting, dragging, and carrying up very steep switchbacks leading to the route’s final challenge: Ocean View Trail.
Up in the clouds it was chilly and Ocean View Trail provided zero ocean views – I wanted my money back! The trail was rocky, rugged, and as steep as Monte Arido in places. It was indeed very slow, but gradually patches of hard-fought trail maintenance began to appear and grow, sometimes merging into rideable sections. I spent hours navigating this incredible ridge-hugging route, the longest non-wilderness trail in the Los Padres, still hoping to finish by nightfall.
The final singletrack descent was slow for me, a bit too steep for my skills so I walked more than I’d like to admit. Just outside of Ojai the route followed flatter trails to the Ventura River crossing, the last challenge standing between me and a 15 mile bike path cruise to the finish. The crossing was thigh deep in the middle and I carried Stella across. After a brief stop for chain lube and more tire pressure we hit the bike path, still in daylight!
I finished at Ventura Pier just after 8pm, daylight still fading, to the cheers of fellow riders. It felt great to swap stories and congratulate each other on a tough ride. I’ve never come so close to quitting, which made finishing all the more triumphant. I had shared my challenges with a number of other riders out there, and their support and encouragement made the finish even sweeter.
My night ended with a pizza delivered to the Motel 6, my idea of heaven. The next morning I made the long drive home. Though I miss the old days, before parenthood, of luxurious post-race recovery, it’s great to be home once again with my family.
Bike and Gear Highlights
I rode my Chumba Stella in hardtail mode and it was the right choice for me. Many riders had full-suspension bikes, but I don’t own one of those. I’m generally a huge fan of fully rigid mountain bikes for bikepacking, but would not have enjoyed riding this route without front suspension. I thanked the bikepacking gods for my dropper seatpost on many occasions.
To keep the bike light and nimble for all that singletrack, I wore my Osprey Salida hydration pack (review here). I swapped between light stuff (clothing) and heavy stuff (food and tools) in the pack depending on the segment: light for extended pedaling, heavy for hike-a-bike.
Space is limited above the tires on my small 29er with dropper post and suspension fork, so I needed to load my fork blades, and for this I used the OMM Axle Pack with Blackburn Outpost cages. I received the Axle Pack for testing and review a couple years ago and was happy to use it again. It worked great and handled a few rock strikes like a champ. The Outpost cages were a little bulky and on narrow rocky trail this setup sometimes got in the way, but it was still better than putting more weight up high on my handlebars.
Speaking of handlebars, I treated myself to a new Border Handlebar Harness from Mountain Laurel Designs for this ride. I’ve been wanting to try a rigid clamp setup for stability, something lighter than my Revelate Harness or Salsa EXP cradle for more minimalist packing. There are some great options available right now (Rogue Panda, OMM, Tailfin) but I didn’t want to spend much money. I already use MLD’s handlebar bag and their $95 Border Harness fit the bill. I’m happy to say it performed flawlessly and took about half a pound off my bars compared to my other options, though it did take a bit of fiddling to integrate with my Revelate front pouch.
I made a big change to my chamois situation for this ride, and now I wish I’d done it years ago! I’ve been riding mostly chamois-less since returning to biking after having my baby, and it’s a big improvement for me. My new setup is a Shredly Seamless Hipster (women only, but maybe there’s something similar for guys?), a super minimalist brief style chamois, under close-fitting merino shorts. It’s much more comfortable in hot weather, and the chamois is small enough to easily carry a spare. Granted this ride has less saddle time than many, but it worked great.
My sleep kit was minimal but full-comfort: Therm-a-Rest NeoAir XLite NXT pad, Enlightened Equipment quilt, and Borah Gear Ultralight Bivy. I always carry an SOL emergency bivy in case of rain, but didn’t use it on this ride.
I may not have learned all the lessons I should have from my 2022 TDLP ride, but one thing I remembered clearly was a desire for full-finger gloves. Some of the backcountry trails can be very overgrown, and this really helped protect my fingers. I would recommend full leg coverage too – my legs are pretty torn up from all the foliage and pedal strikes. I much prefer shorts in hot weather so I didn’t take my own advice here, and regretted it at times.
I will now always carry Leukotape in my first aid kit until the day I die. It made my heel blisters bearable and limited the damage.
Food and Water
I didn’t bring a stove, but I did bring a Sea to Summit collapsible cup and small spoon. This allowed me to cold-soak dinners of instant mashed potato mixed with protein powder. Credit goes to my husband for this meal idea, it’s a great one, especially on a route like this with few resupply opportunities for store-bought dinners.
I also used the cup to cold soak oatmeal, mix breakfast drinks of Carnation powder and instant coffee, and mix my Tailwind recovery powder each night. I’m a huge fan of Tailwind, especially on hot rides when it’s so hard to choke down solid food. I used a couple packets a day in a water bottle, plus the recovery packet each night.
There was a lot of water filtering on this route, so I brought my convenient hands-free Sawyer Squeeze setup. I connect the Sawyer filter to a CNOC Vecto bag and use a Sawyer Fast Fill adapter to gravity filter directly into my hydration pack. It’s fast, easy, and I can snack while it runs.
Reflections
This was a meaningful ride for me, both physically and mentally. I’ve never come so close to quitting (except one DNF for a sprained ankle), which made the finish all the more satisfying. Mentally it was an attempt to connect the dots between my adventure identity and my newer identity as a parent. I feel so proud to have bridged that gap successfully, and so thankful for the people and privilege in my life that helped make it possible.
This ride was also a powerful reminder of the patience bikepacking demands. When terrain is big and rugged, it takes as long as it takes. Checking the map one more time doesn’t make the climb any shorter. You may think you’ll never get there right up until the moment you do. It’s a good lesson in both bikes and life.
Lastly, I’m so proud to be part of such a lovely community, both the TDLP microcosm and the bikepacking community in general. For years I’ve been working to support new bikepackers through my website, and on this ride some newer bikepackers (and older ones) supported me. I’m grateful to the TDLP organizers and fellow riders for reminding me why I have been, and definitely still am, hooked on this weird and wonderful sport of ours.
More Bikepacking Resources
If you enjoyed this article, you might also like these:
- Route Guide: Central California Mixed Terrain Bike Tour
- Lightweight Bikepacking: How to Cut Weight and Keep Comfort
- Bikepacking Navigation: Smartphone or GPS Device?
Or visit the bikepacking home page for lots more!
About the Author
Hi there, I’m Alissa, founder of Exploring Wild. I’ve traveled over 20,000 miles by bike and still can’t stop planning my next ride (and helping you plan yours). Pavement and panniers or singletrack and seat bag, I love it all. On my bike I feel free. Learn more about me here.
Bikepackers: Join me on Patreon for my most current and personal writing, individualized trip prep help, and a community of likeminded supporters.
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Alissa, I love hearing about your “comeback” after your pregnancy. I did a shorter comeback (150 mi) 3 months after a stent placement. I wanted to cry because every time I tried to ride uphill I had to keep stopping. Couldn’t catch my breath. Thought I was done with this. Turned out to be a medication I was on and was able to stop it. We have to keep moving and you inspire me to try a longer (500 mi) ride in New Mexico. Santa Fe to Las Cruces.
Thanks Marcia! Yes, isn’t it frustrating when our bodies can’t keep up with our minds? I’m so glad you figured out the cause and are moving forward. I think you might be referring to the New Mexico Off-Road Runner? Funny story, I attempted that route with my husband years ago (his first bikepacking trip) but we had to bail due to death mud and his broken derailleur. The section we did cover was amazing. I hope you ride it!
Thanks, Alissa – I really enjoyed your narrative! I’m sad I wasn’t able to join in on all the “fun” this year and look forward to the next time we might be able to cross paths out there. Your blog and now Patreon are an inspiration and a reminder of why I’m so drawn to this kind of adventure!
Thanks Brian! Yes, it’s too bad we weren’t able to cross paths this year, hopefully you can enjoy the “fun” another time.
Was looking forward to your write up about your comeback race, and this did not disappoint!
Glad you made it through relatively unscathed and had fun!
Thanks Genna!