August 20, 2026
Host
When most people hear 'ultra cycling,' they picture suffering—bleak, endless miles of pain, sleep deprivation, and physical breakdown. I've even heard riders describe it as a test of how much misery you can endure. But you've been saying that's not the whole story, that it's actually... joyful. So, let's start there. Is it really possible to find joy in pedaling for 500 or 3000 miles?
Guest
Absolutely, and I'm glad you're asking that. The suffering narrative is what sells, right? But when I finished my first ultra, I was grinning ear to ear. I'd just ridden through the Blue Ridge Mountains, seen the Milky Way from a bivy sack, and eaten a gas-station burrito that tasted like a Michelin star meal. The suffering is optional if you approach it with strategy. That's what I want to get across.
Host
Okay, you're saying suffering is optional. But isn't there inherent pain in riding 200 miles a day? I mean, your body is bound to protest. What's the secret sauce that makes it joyful instead of an ordeal?
Guest
It starts with bike fit. Most people think a bike fit is just about avoiding numb hands, but it's the foundation of everything. A dialed-in position—saddle height, reach, cleat angle—distributes pressure evenly, aligns your joints, and literally makes you more efficient. I've seen riders go from agony to comfort just by tweaking a few millimeters. That comfort is the first step toward joy.
Host
So bike fit is like the unsung hero of ultra cycling. I've heard stories of people getting saddle sores so bad they had to quit. You're saying that's preventable?
Guest
Completely preventable. I treat my saddle like a favorite armchair. I've got a Brooks leather one that's molded to my anatomy over thousands of miles. And I use chamois cream like it's sunscreen. Saddle sores are a sign something's wrong—either fit, hygiene, or technique. Get the fit right, and your contact points become a non-issue, freeing your mind to notice the sunset instead of the burn.
Host
That makes sense. But once you're comfortable, you still have to pace yourself over those insane distances. I've always thought ultra pacing meant going as hard as you can for as long as you can. That sounds like a recipe for disaster.
Guest
It's exactly the opposite. The art of ultra pacing is going embarrassingly slow at the start. I'm talking about riding at a conversation pace, even when you feel fresh. Your aerobic system is a candle; you want to burn it slowly, not blow it out. I use heart rate and power to stay in Zone 2, the fat-burning zone, so I can go all day. It feels counterintuitive, but it's how you finish strong instead of crawling to the finish.
Host
But doesn't that get boring? If you're riding for 20 hours a day at a snail's pace, aren't you just counting potholes? Where's the joy in that?
Guest
That's the beauty of it—you're not counting potholes, you're immersing yourself. At that pace, you notice the gradient of the hills, the way the light shifts through the trees, the sound of a creek. It becomes meditative. And you can talk to fellow riders, share stories. Some of my best conversations have happened at 12 miles per hour in the middle of nowhere. It's not boring; it's a moving meditation.
Host
Moving meditation. I like that. But let's talk about the fuel. I've bonked before on a 50-mile ride, and it was awful. I can't imagine bonking on day three of a 500-mile trek. How do you avoid that disaster?
Guest
Bonking is just a failure of planning. In ultra cycling, you eat before you're hungry, drink before you're thirsty. I aim for 300-400 calories an hour, mixing real food with gels. The fun part is you can eat absolutely anything—pie, pizza, burritos. I once stopped at a roadside stand and had the best peach cobbler of my life. The key is to keep the engine stoked so you never hit empty. And you get to enjoy the local cuisine as a bonus.
Host
So you're not just surviving on energy gels and sports drinks. You're actually eating real meals. That sounds more like a culinary tour than a sufferfest.
Guest
Exactly! I've had barbecue in Texas, maple donuts in Vermont, and Navajo tacos in Arizona, all while on the bike. It's part of the adventure. And the act of eating becomes a reward, not a chore. You're fueling the machine, but you're also tasting the journey. That's a far cry from suffering.
Host
Okay, but what about rest? Sleep deprivation is a hallmark of ultra events. People hallucinate, they fall asleep on the bike. How do you manage that without suffering?
Guest
Sleep is another tool, not an enemy. I plan strategic power naps—20 minutes can reset your brain. Some riders use a sleep schedule, like 90 minutes every 24 hours. The key is to listen to your body. If you're seeing dancing purple elephants, it's time to pull over. I carry a bivy sack and a sleeping pad, and I've learned to fall asleep anywhere. The rest strategy is part of the puzzle, and when you get it right, you wake up feeling refreshed, not wrecked.
Host
But isn't it dangerous to be riding while that tired? I've heard stories of riders weaving into traffic.
Guest
That's why route choice matters. Most ultra events are on low-traffic roads, gravel, or trails. And the community is hyper-aware of safety. You don't push through dangerous fatigue. You stop. The goal is to finish, not to be a hero. That's another misconception: that you have to suffer to prove something. Safety is part of the strategy, and it's non-negotiable.
Host
You mentioned the route. You get to ride through wild places. That's a big draw for me. What's the most memorable landscape you've ridden through?
Guest
Oh, there are too many. But one that stands out was riding the Colorado Trail at night. I was on a mountain bike, climbing above treeline, and the stars were so bright I could see the Milky Way casting shadows. I stopped and just lay on the ground, looking up. No suffering, just pure awe. That's the stuff you can't buy. It's a privilege to be out there, and it's a reminder that the world is beautiful.
Host
That's powerful. So the environment becomes a reward. And you said you go further than you thought possible. How does that happen without breaking down?
Guest
It's a mental trick. You break the distance into manageable chunks—just get to the next town, the next water stop. And before you know it, you've covered 200 miles. The first time I did a 300-mile ride, I was terrified. But I focused on the process, not the outcome. When I finished, I realized I'd been capable of more than I ever imagined. That sense of capability is incredibly empowering, and it's the opposite of suffering.
Host
So it's not about gritting your teeth; it's about being smart and trusting the process. I think I'm starting to see the light. But I have to play devil's advocate: what about the inevitable bad days? The rain, the headwinds, the mechanical failures? Surely those cause suffering.
Guest
Oh, they're part of the story. I've had days where I was soaked to the bone, shivering, and fixing a flat tire in the dark. But I call those 'type two fun'—miserable in the moment, hilarious in retrospect. You embrace the suck. The difference is, you're not a victim of it; you're a participant in an adventure. You learn to laugh at the absurdity. And when the sun comes out, it's like a rebirth.
Host
Type two fun. That's a great way to frame it. So the suffering is transformed into something else. It's not suffering; it's just a challenging part of a larger joyful experience.
Guest
Exactly! The joy isn't the absence of difficulty; it's the presence of purpose, beauty, and growth. When you're riding through a thunderstorm, you're alive. You're not watching life through a screen; you're in it. And that's why ultra cycling doesn't equal ultra suffering. It equals ultra living.
Host
Ultra living—I like that. So for someone who's never done an ultra but is intrigued, what's the first step? How do they start without getting into a world of hurt?
Guest
Start with a manageable distance, maybe a 200k brevet. Get a professional bike fit first. Practice pacing on shorter rides, learn your nutrition, and experiment with rest. Join a community—there are tons of friendly randonneurs. The key is to approach it with curiosity, not a grim determination. You'll be surprised how much fun you can have.
Host
So it's about building up gradually and enjoying the learning curve. It's not about jumping into a 1000-mile race and hoping for the best.
Guest
Precisely. And if you do it right, you might find yourself in a diner at 3 a.m., eating pancakes with strangers, and feeling like you've discovered a secret world. That's the magic. The suffering is a myth; the joy is real.
Host
I think you've convinced me completely. Ultra cycling isn't a test of endurance so much as a celebration of what the human spirit and body can do when they're in harmony with the environment. It's a strategic, beautiful, and yes, joyful pursuit.
Guest
Absolutely. And I hope more people give it a try. You don't have to be a superhero; you just have to be willing to enjoy the ride. The bike can take you places you never imagined, both outside and inside yourself. And that's the ultimate joy.
Host
Well, thank you for this eye-opening conversation. You've redefined ultra cycling for me, and I'm sure for our listeners. To everyone out there, if you're curious, get a bike fit, pack some snacks, and go find your own adventure. Until next time, ride on and enjoy the journey.