The Red Bulletin Oct/Nov 2020 (US)

The confinement of COVID-19 had been
driving us crazy. We had to do something.
Something big but close. Something hard but
possible. Something fun!
“Ever heard of the Jackson Hole Picnic?” Martha
asked me one afternoon. She’d lived in Jackson for
a summer.
I shook my head.
“It’s a mountain triathlon. Bike 20 miles from
Jackson to Jenny Lake, swim the 1.3 miles across,
hike up the Grand Teton—over 7,000 vert—then
reverse it all.”
“Sounds like a solid day,” I said.
“We should create our own picnic,” said Martha.
“Right here in Laramie.”
We googled the Jackson Hole Picnic. It was the
brainchild of writer/photographer David Gonzales.
After failing twice, he finally did the picnic in 2012:
23 hours out and back. Gonzales says he named it
the picnic for two reasons: “You gotta bring a lot of
food, and it’s not an organized event.” Gonzales has
since created a few other picnics in mountain towns
in Montana and the Northwest. Always, participants
have to do it on their own, totally self-supported.
In truth, mountain climbers have been pedaling
to their projects for at least a century. In 1931,
alpinist brothers Franz and Toni Schmid bicycled
from Munich, 200 miles south through the Alps to
the base of the Matterhorn, made the first ascent of
the notorious North Face and then rode back home.
Moreover, the word “picnic” has been used
ironically in many alpine climbing tales, most
notably in Felice Benuzzi’s 1946 picaresque classic
No Picnic on Mount Kenya. Benuzzi and two other
Italians were being held as WWII POWs in Kenya.
They escaped the prison camp at night, trekked for
days, climbed the north face of Mount Kenya, then
returned across the savannah and snuck right back
into the POW camp. Glorious!
In five minutes, Martha and I mapped out our
own six-leg picnic: Bike 45 miles from the Pedal
House bike shop in Laramie, Wyoming, up to the
Snowy Range; cross Lake Marie by any means;
ascend the Medicine Bow Diamond—five pitches of
technical rock climbing—choosing your own route,
5.5 to 5.11; run or rapel off the mountain; recross
Lake Marie; ride back to Laramie.
“You can get across Lake Marie any way you
want—swim, paddle, canoe—but everything has to
be carried on your bike up and back,” she declared.
“Boats, ropes, climbing gear, PFDs!?”
“Everything.”
After watching a couple YouTube Jackson Hole
Picnic vids, Martha said, “Looks too much like a bro
fest. We should require male/female teams.”
The next day we pitched our idea to Joel Charles,
chief bike mechanic at the Pedal House.
“I like the co-ed requirement,” said Joel.
“Sausage and eggs! Why don’t we call it the ‘Laramie
Brunch?’ ”
So we did.
It would be a local event for local outdoor
athletes. No sponsors, no professional athletes, no
prizes. You ride your own bike, whatever it may be,
climb with your own gear and wear your own
clothes. By the end of the week, we had four
2-person teams:
Justin Bowen, 28, a serious rock climber and
grad student (in watershed management) who has
lived in Jackson Hole for six years; and his partner
Alice Stears, 26, serious cyclist and Ph.D. candidate
(in botany), who once rode from Missoula, Montana,
to Eugene, Oregon.
Martha Tate, 32, an emigration attorney, ice
climber, globetrotter and adventure gal; with me,
61, as her comrade.
Amanda Harper, 30, a mountain guide, mountain
bike racer, co-director of the University of Wyoming
outdoor program; and Joel Charles, 42, sometime
climber and former bike racer, father of Josie, 3.
Matt “Large” Hebard, 43, a former savage bike
racer and present savage ice climber, father of two
sweet daughters; and a mysterious female partner
none of us had ever met. Large insisted her name
was Rihanna and claimed she was a CrossFit badass,
gorgeous as a model.
Martha, the author,
Justin and Alice
celebrate a
surprisingly quick
ascent.
It would be a local event for local
outdoor athletes. No sponsors, no
professional athletes, no prizes.
THE RED BULLETIN 73