It's About Us

Nobody really knew where they were going.  

Sure, they had the routes. Most of them had loaded the maps onto their bike computers. Lael? Of course. Miranda, ever prepared. Rule-following Ellen? For sure. But Kate, Sarah, and Maude? Sorry-not-sorry, we don’t have it!

Regardless, everyone knew that the van transporting the espresso machine would be parked somewhere about nine miles in, and that Lentine would be there waiting for them with a gorgeous breakfast spread. Then, they’d ride about 50 more miles, climbing some 7,000 feet through the wrinkled folds of the Santa Ynez Mountains. Beyond that? Mystery. These were never-before-ridden dirt roads scratched into private ranchland north of the coast, and this was a never-before-assembled group of women.  

They’d been brought together to share their passions, to talk about their unique approaches to the sport, to inspire one another. How they’d do it was up to them.

Barely one-third of the way into the ride, Anna goes over the bars and rams her knee into Lael’s rotor. It’s a slow-motion crash, the kind that always stings more in pride than pain. Then, Maude takes a wrong turn, and a few of the girls briefly detour through a dry creek bed to get to the singletrack. They had been warned that there were sections where the route might not appear to go. No one is concerned. Conversation flows. While they wait, Michaela spots a red-headed woodpecker.

Anna decides to keep riding. At 25, she’s the second-youngest (Michaela is 22) and still incredulous that she’s out here with these women—many of whom went from hero to peer in a matter of years.

“It’s really cool to have a moment when I look up and I'm like, ‘oh I’m here with a brand but mostly with these insanely talented, cool people,” she says.

Just like the shallow Santa Ynez River winding through their route, inspiration is flowing across ages and disciplines. Ella, Kera, and Miranda — the ‘gravity riders’ — blow everyone’s minds as they finesse the climbs and rip the off-camber descents. “If I had to go to a downhill camp, I don’t think I’d ever make it home,” Lael says.

By mid-afternoon, most everyone has realized that the pace — not quite party, definitely not race — is making the ride longer than expected. Ellen studies the map and finds a shortcut past the final climb. But Kate wants to ride the full route. Any takers?

Lael grins and raises her hand. Of all the women, she should be the least likely to want to ride longer. Not even 48 hours earlier, she had crossed the finish line of the Iditarod Trail Invitational 350, a 350-mile fat bike race that follows Alaska’s historic Iditarod Trail. She won the race just after midnight on Thursday and somehow managed to get herself and her gravel bike to Santa Barbara on Friday afternoon. She is nowhere near recovered and has the cold-weather cough to prove it.

“Well, I'm here! If I’m here of course I want to do the ride,” she says before she and Kate pedal away. The rest of the group exchanges knowing glances and giggles.

“That tracks,” Sarah says.

But does it? That a cross-country world champion and the world’s winningest ultra-distance bikepack racer would simply ride off together after meeting for the first time the night before? By traditional definitions, they are not teammates.

“At the end of the day, a team is really just a group of people who share a common goal,” Kate says.

So in that sense, yes, it does track.

Back at the ranch house, over heaping bowls of turmeric-dusted rice, tofu, pickled onions, and microgreens, everyone is buzzing. A pair of bib shorts gets passed around—wrong size for Maude, so now they’re up for grabs. No one is talking about training or races. Those things feel distant. The present moment is too sharp, too clear, for anyone to look elsewhere.

For Sarah, who came into the weekend in a funk after injuring her knee in Tucson, riding with the group was a reminder: Even though it can feel like I’m doing this alone, there are others going through the same thing.

“It’s so special to be with people who deal with the same stressors that can make me feel isolated,” she says. “To be able to time a get-together like this in a beautiful place and do a pretty hard ride without even thinking about it—that’s amazing.”

Later, curled into worn leather couches around a wood-burning fire, they share their goals for the year. They are wide-ranging and disparate. Ella wants to win the overall Enduro World Cup, Lael the Transcontinental. Michaela is working on self-confidence. Anna is honing her process. No two have the same goal, but as each speaks, recognition flickers across the others’ faces.

The next morning, after another bowl of buckwheat porridge, they gather for the final ride. The usual suspects don’t have the route loaded, but by now, they trust those who do. Kate takes off early to finish her intervals. Miranda’s tire won’t hold air, so Ellen does a quick swap.

“It’s about us,” Anna says. “That’s how you elevate women in sport. You just give them the space to do what they want. It’s like, ‘Here’s the route — you go. Make this what you want.’”

Camp supported by Snow Peak.