Words and Photos by Brett Davis @bdavis IG - @brettdavis
Thirteen years ago, the idea formed for a self-supported bike-to-ski adventure from my doorstep in Durango, CO, into my backyard of the rugged San Juan Mountains. Initially, I sought to pedal 240 paved miles along the famed San Juan Skyway dropping grand ski lines along the route. From its inception, I knew this idea would be difficult to make a reality due to all the elements required for success. The San Juan snowpack is notoriously one of the world’s most dangerous with “persistent instabilities” being the two most used words in every avalanche forecast from November through early April. Finding a trusted and skilled partner who could backcountry ski steep and technical lines and who would welcome some suffering on a heavy-laden bike would be a challenge. Throw in getting the necessary 18 days off from work and the fickle mountain weather, and I would need some serious luck along with precise planning to pull off this adventure dream.
Eighteen days of self-supported fun requires a big bike to carry all the gear.
My odyssey of failure began immediately. For one reason or another, the adventure was stymied each year–a partner bailed, too little snow, too much work, etc. Each spring, I watched with disappointment from my kitchen window as the snow melted away on the high peaks, leaving me scheming for the next attempt. My 2019 attempt was both my closest and most painful attempt, as serendipitously, everything came together. I had a willing and experienced partner, we had great support from numerous sponsors, and we had the time needed to accomplish our ski goals. Mother Nature, however, had other inclinations for us.
The spring of 2019 was one for the record books when it came to snowfall. What had been an average winter transformed itself into a monster producing unprecedented avalanches from those “persistent instabilities.” Pedaling out of Durango in mid-March, we knew our hoped-for spring-like conditions would not be in the cards for us. Instead, our ski tours and consequent ski lines would have to be significantly scaled back to meet the circumstances. Dreams of skiing steep lines down couloirs had turned into a quest to make flowy turns down low-angled slopes covered in bottomless powder. Powder addicts, we became, as the snow gods kept the snow hose on southwest Colorado. Each morning, we would let some air out of our tires and pedal up a quiet snow-packed road to untracked glades of old-growth aspen. The disappointment of not skiing steep lines was erased with each face shot of Rocky Mountain cold smoke.
Riding in a winter wonderland.
It doesn’t get any better than this.
On day five of the trip, the storm broke, and it was time to move on to a new zone. Crunch. Whoosh. Gasp. Pain. The amount of time it took me to write these four words is how long it took for the 2019 trip to come to an unexpected and brutal halt. With the momentum from 80lbs of bike, including backcountry skis, camping equipment, food, and everything else needed to live in the winter wilds, I hit the pavement with a quick and decisive thud. A slushy patch of snow and ice, along with too much speed for the conditions, were the contributors to the trip-ending accident. As the five different doctors and numerous x-ray technicians would say throughout my hospital stay as they shook their heads in disbelief, “You must have hit really hard to fracture your scapula and break three of your largest ribs.”
THE WORLD COMES TO A STOP
After a full recovery and the band back together for another attempt at the adventure dream, 2020 looked perfect. The snowpack was more spring-like, with “persistent instabilities” noticeably absent from the avalanche forecast, and the logistics were all in place–until the world as we know it came to a screeching halt. The pandemic had consumed the planet and squelched the plans of all humanity. As a consolation prize I joined everyone in the world of Zoom while sneaking off to pursue skiing all the local peaks within 30 minutes of the house. The Twenty-two Project was a lifesaver and kept me engaged and healthy through the crisis.
More pedaling to ski cut short due to the pandemic.
Trading powder for corn. Great skiing was found.
Work took precedent during the 2021 and 2022 years. Neither my potential partners nor I were able to carve out the time from our day jobs to make any serious attempts. The odyssey would have to continue.
A BOUNTIFUL SPRING
During the spring of 2023, the snow kept coming like it did in 2019. As far as my bike/ski adventure was concerned, it all seemed for naught as my work schedule was once again overloaded with plenty of guided ski, river, and desert trips for students to oversee. My schedule would not be free until late May. With the snow still falling and the snowpack growing when it should be dwindling, an improbable plan began to form in the recesses of my adventure mind. I reached out to all my previous partners to see about their availability for a late spring attempt. With as much snow as we had and were still getting, the month of June could yield the necessary conditions to end the odyssey. It could also be a true backcountry adventure with the ability to leave the pavement of the San Juan Skyway behind for more preferred rugged four-wheel drive roads that crisscross the local mountains. The options for remote ski lines and solitude from motorized traffic were abundant and got my imagination churning. Going off-road would up the difficulty factor with some inevitable pushing and post-holing with a heavy bike on the docket, but it would provide the experience I had been seeking since the project’s inception.
Pedaling into the backcountry to finish my odyssey.
My attempt at getting the crew together went initially well, but soon fell apart with summer obligations. Every potential partner had things come up and were a “no-go” for a June trip. After speaking it over with my wife, Diana, it was decided I would go it alone–though not truly alone as the talented award-winning filmmaker, Greg Cairns, along with an assistant would be following me along to capture the journey and thus, make good on some deliverables for the project’s past and present supporters. The film crew, however, would be anonymous in the background with little influence on the trip and its outcome.
The talented Greg Cairns in his element. Photo courtesy of Luca Doehling
The Ultamid 2 in its element, with lots of ski lines to behold.
On June 4th, I pedaled into the heart of the San Juan’s in search of those steep ski lines that I had dreamt about for the past 13 years. I found them patiently waiting for me to climb and descend. The conditions were ideal, with many dream lines ticked off the wish list. Each early morning start led to a beautiful sunrise and gratitude for finally being in the right place at the right time. They say, “Things happen for a reason and in due time.” Just as Odysseus learned some valuable life lessons from his ten years of trials and tribulations, so did I during my 13 years of trying to make an idea a reality. The physical actions of the trip were the easy parts to this long journey. It was the spaces between actions that were challenging and where the greatest lessons were learned.
