On August 21st, 2021 I completed the Triple Bypass ride on a fixed gear, I hope you enjoy the story.

The Idea

One of my brother’s close high school friends Matt lives in Colorado and hit me up about this ride. My theory was that getting Matt was trying to get me on board as a way to make it easier to convince my brother to join. Those who know me well know that I’m not one to turn down an opportunity for an epic ride in the mountains with big miles, big vertical gain, and most importantly, high altitude, so I immediately responded that I was in! Here is the route:

Naturally, I decided to rope Chris in, a close friend and dependable outdoor adventure partner. We’ve both spent time enjoying that region of Colorado in the winter, and the idea of exploring it during the summer held obvious appeal. Given our experience riding long distances (remember that time we rode 400 kilometers from Mill Valley to Cambria?), we didn’t feel any intimidation from the ride stats except for the high altitude (we live at around 6.5k elevation, so while we consider ourselves altitude adapted, those high mountain passes in the Rockies are on another level). With this in mind, I casually entertained the idea of doing it on my fixed gear. I can’t remember if I raised the idea first or if Chris asked if I was going to do it fixed given my past history of irrational fixed gear endeavours. Regardless, this concept did the job for creating the deep sense of intimidation that one experiences when exploring the limits of ones capabilities. My previously longest fixed gear ride was a 200k loop connecting Redwood City and Santa Cruz. The Triple Bypass would require more elevation in fewer miles and add the extra spiciness of high altitude, an interesting proposition. As an experience fixed gear rider, my immediate concern was the extended descents. Chris suggested I throw on a freewheel and coast them, but I countered that at that point I might as well run gears (that’s fixed gear logic for you!).

Training

On paper, the Triple Bypass course profile looks quite intimidating, even without the fixed gear component. In particular, I was eyeing the second pass which appeared to cover over 4k elevation change (albeit over 30ish miles). I searched around for some local climbs that had similar stats and came up empty. My best option was Mt. Rose, which had the highest elevation in the area (8,911 ft) and is considered the premier HC climb in the area.

Perhaps the most difficult part about training for this ride was pulling myself off the mountain bike. This year I had the wonderful experience of acquiring a short travel 29er trail bike that I was happily ripping around every trail in Tahoe that I could find. The thought of giving up views like this for riding intervals on pavement was not a happy one, but with my registration paid and commitment to my brother and friends in place, I had no choice but to face some self-induced suffering.

My structured training started about two months before the ride (it’s worth noting that I had been mountain biking 10+ hours a week since the snow melted with a major gravel ride thrown in, so I was not starting from scratch), and I decided to target climbing endurance (roughly 60 minute efforts) which involved a serious amounts of tempo and threshold intervals mixed with zone 2 endurance miles. My plan used one month blocks, with rest day on Monday, followed by an endurance ride on Tuesday, two days of intervals on Wednesday and Thursday, rest day on Friday, long endurance ride with intervals on Saturday, and a long endurance ride on Sunday. Weekday rides target ride time of 1h30, Saturday 3 hours, and Sunday 2 hours. I decided to do my Tuesday and Sunday endurance mile rides on my mountain bike to keep my spirits high (and spend time on the trail with my dog). My weekday intervals were done on nearby climbs (I constructed a portfolio of local climbs that matched my various interval durations). I chose climbs rather than flat roads since I wanted to target the climbing muscles that would get me over Triple Bypass (there’s basically no flat on the profile). These intervals increased in intensity over a month long block.

My first test came on July 17th, when I put in a solid tempo effort on Mt. Rose (204W over 1 hour). The amusing thing about this ride was that it turned out there was a bunch of cyclists at the top who were in the area for the Death Ride. The Tamarack Fire had unfortunately forced the cancellation of the event, so many of these climbing specialists had fled north to do Tahoe’s premier climb. It’s rare for me to find cyclist who appreciate the concept of fixed gear riding in the mountains, so I was ecstatic when I pulled into the rest stop at the top of the climb to have one cyclist from a large group remark “No way, on a single speed? Don’t tell me it’s fixed.” We bantered about gear ratios, and I mentioned that I was training for the Triple Bypass. Naturally, some of the group were also Triple Bypass riders and they reassured me that if I could do Rose, I would have no problem on that ride. One offered some advice: “It’s a long false flat from Idaho Springs to Loveland, so be ready to climb after 20 miles of 3%”. I’ll have to admit that while this raised my spirits about the possibility of achieving this endeavour, the feeling in body when I got home that day quickly dampened those effects. My body was rocked from the major effort, including the extended descent (descending on a fixed gear requires you to brace your body on the bars as you try to spin as smooth as possible, making it an intense upper body workout with extra pressure on your hands, all on top of having to climb out of the saddle and leverage your pedals using the bars on the way up). This confirmed my biggest worry, that the descending was going to be the hardest part about the ride. It also strengthened my doubts as to whether this ride would be possible, would I be able to put in a training ride that convinced me that everything would be okay?

My structured training was going great (I rarely, if ever, missed a day, and my intervals were high quality, just barely hitting my targets), but as the event loomed over there was an ever increasing feeling of doubt as to whether this would be possible. My wife, who will rightly state that she always believed in me, reminded me of Paul Rozelle’s epic Mont Ventoux fixed gear ride. Revisiting the story rekindled my spark, the Triple Bypass was easier on paper, so I needed to do it for Paul.

I’ll be in honest and say that up until August 1st, I was still worried about whether I would be able to carry this out. On that day, I did a “calibration ride” that involved riding Mt. Rose twice. My hope was that if I could simulate the pace for Triple Bypass and feel good, I would be good to go for the actual ride, without having to actually do a ride with the exact stats. My plan for this ride was Zone 2 on the first lap and tempo on the second lap. This would setup a similar plan for Triple Bypass: Zone 2 on the first pass, tempo on the second pass, then just ride to feel on the third (hammer it if I was feeling good, limp if I wasn’t). During this ride, I felt excellent. My first lap up I managed to stay in Zone 2, and after the descent I got an espresso, orange juice, and toast from a cafe in Incline (to simulate the aid station experience). This all set me up for a solid tempo effort up the second lap. My on bike nutrition and hydration was perfectly executed, and I rode home tempo because I felt so good. I had finally reached a point where I knew I would be okay for the big ride and took great comfort in knowing that I could just simply maintain my fitness for the next few weeks and have no problem with the ride.

The Bike

Somewhere during the depths of my suffering (i.e. training), I decided that a few bike upgrades might help with motivation. I quickly discovered that the pandemic affected supply chain would make sourcing parts an endeavour as difficult as my intervals. The new parts would include a Sugino 75 DD2 drivetrain, a Whisky carbon canti fork and a matching cockpit. I figured that I might as well put on a new Phil Wood headset and matching seatpost collar while I was at it. These parts were slated to arrive the week before Triple Bypass (naturally I put off this project until waiting on shipments would produced adequate anxiety). Finding a lightweight track wheelset for clincher tires was proving difficult (I found various tubular options), and I resorted to ordering a Mavic wheelset from a track cycling shop in the UK. However I was thwarted by the fact that Mavic was closed on summer holiday and my wheels would not be shipped until the day before the ride, forcing me to cancel the order. No matter, it’s all in the engine anyways.

My original goal was to build the bike myself, isn’t the appeal of riding fixed the simplicity of the bike? But with the ride rapidly approaching, I decided to find a local shop to do it instead (I didn’t want to risk messing something up), and I was fortunate that the wonderful folks at Pacos Truckee could fit me in. I remember bantering with the mechanics Cody and Owen about the bike, explaining the build as a “fixed gear pass hunter” for the Triple Bypass ride and beyond. I mentioned that one day I would replace the frame with something lighter, but that I was having trouble finding a lightweight road bike geometry with bottle bosses and track ends. Cody retorted “That’s because they’re two different sports!”. No matter, I take solace in the fact that this gives me a perfect excuse to work with a custom frame builder. Lightweight steel? Titanium? Carbon? Who knows what the frame the future holds.

The day I picked the bike up, I rode out from the shop and set a new PR up Donner Pass, an auspicious omen, and snapped a photo of the fixed gear pass hunter ready for Colorado and beyond:

Turns out having a local shop do the build was an excellent idea. The next day I set out for a ride only to have my crank arm slip on the bottom bracket. I brought it back in to have them tighten it up and I was on my merry way (they remarked that the bike had been on the stand a few times during the day so maybe at one point the arm was attached but not tightened properly). Who knows what would have happened if I had undertaken the build myself, so I was glad to have the help of some experts.

The Ride

Arrival and Acclimation

I arrived in Colorado on Tuesday night with plans of acclimating before the Saturday ride. We rented a home in Silverthorne which was at 9k feet which provided a great base for testing the altitude. The drive from California was eventful, with a major thunderstorm closing I70 due to flash flooding. We were forced to take a 2.5 hour detour to the north on some winding mountain roads. This included an expected visit to the towns of Leadville and Steamboat, two cycling destinations that I will surely be returning to. We finally arrived after midnight after having started at 4am that morning, but having three drivers to switch off helped avoid the perils of drowsiness (it was like taking pulls in a paceline!). While we lost some ever important sleep that night, we were comforted by the fact that we had budgeted a wide window to prepare for the ride.

I had planned for this week to be a taper from my structured training perspective. I find that after just two days of rest and/or easy riding, my legs feel excellent. With that in mind, I figured I could do some 1-2 hour rides with some tempo intervals thrown in to keep my legs and mind awake. These rides greatly boosted my confidence as my fitness felt excellent and my fatigue was waning. The altitude seemed to have little to no effect on my form.

In the days before the ride, I reviewed my pacing strategy: zone 2 on the first pass, tempo for the second pass, and ride to feel for the third. With the stats of the second climb looming, I saw no reason to burn any matches on the first climb. This would hopefully set me up for the fabled negative split.

Start and the First Pass

Ride day started off fairly uneventfully. I didn’t sleep super well, probably some combination of altitude and anxiety, also the foreign bed. I woke up immediately from my alarm and down a breakfast of coffee, oatmeal, and a protein shake (this included some CBD tincture that I’ve been experimenting with and seeing great results in my recovery and performance). One special supplement I took this day was Shilajit ([from Hanah] (https://www.hanahlife.com/products/shilajit)) to test supposed ability to mitigate altitude effects (alongside its very apparent, yet subtle stimulation effects). I had already tried it on my Mt. Rose calibration ride which had been a success, so I was hopeful it would give me a little boost today. I was glad that I had spent the night before preparing my ride gear, nutrition, and hydration (I even had my kit folded and ready on the top of the dresser and bike loaded onto the car!), so all I needed to do was do one last check that I had everything I needed, threw on the kit, and hopped into the car.

The truck was out of the driveway at 4:45am, I drove to the startline with my wife in the passenger seat who was so generously acting as our shuttle driver today. We arrived at the rider drop off near a church at 5:45am, right on time, and I was glad that my last check as I unloaded the truck revealed that I had not forgotten anything. It’s nice to start a big day off with everything happening exactly as you planned. I ran through my pre-ride checklist, reviewed my pacing plan, and prepared for the long day of turning the pedals ahead of me. During this moment, my wife gave me a hug to send me off, and complained about its quality (sorry, I had a lot going on my mind!).

The parking lot was still dark, and filled with that buzz that accompanies an event like this. People were unloading bikes left and right, cars nervously trying to navigate the various clumps of people and equipment, bike lights shining and blinking as people set off in search of the start area. My brother and I did a few laps around the lot in search of Matt to no avail, but we eventually decided he was in the lot across the street and we quickly found him. Meeting up in these situations is always tricky with the chaos of the crowds. Finding our fourth friend, Derek, was a little trickier, but we eventually completed the group at the start line. This ride has no mass start, instead there was a constant stream of riders crossing the line and heading towards the first pass. Looking up the rode to see the endless line of cyclists with blinking tail lights was quite a beautiful moment, I can only imagine what the experience is like for PBP, one day I’ll see it for myself. I do remember an amazing fan jamming on a real drum set on the side of the start line, which made for a fun vibe as the first light of day welcomed us. Here’s a photo of the bike at the start line.

Riding up Squaw Pass was an enjoyable affair. There was a tangible buzz in the endless stream of cyclists, everyone still full of energy and excitement. It was during this section that I started the most conversations about my bike. People were quick to comment and chat as we wound our way up the mountain. There was an amusing split between giddy excitement and tongue in cheek anger and frustration.

“Imagine having your hardest gear, now that’s all you have”

“Singlespeed!? Don’t tell me it’s fixed!”

“Fixed!? Come on man!”

Physically this climb felt easier than expected. Some combination of the cool weather, the taper from training, and the big group event energy had me feeling like a million bucks (I exclaimed these exact words to my riding partners at the first aid station at the top of Squaw Pass). This was my first experience with an aid station at an event like this, and I have to admit that while I was initially shocked by the pure magnitude of riders milling about, the easy access to hydration, nutrition, and bathrooms felt like quite the luxury. I remember topping off my water bottles, grabbing some orange slices, and a PBJ (yum!). At this point, I felt excited to conquer the rest of the day.

The First Descent

As anyone who rides fixed gear will understand, the descending was actually a major concern for my ride plan. I knew my comfortable sustained cadence was around 120 rpm, and I was curious to see how my body would handle the extended (10+ minute) endeavours. I like to descend in the drops since this helps with controlling the bike while moving the legs quickly, but holding this position for the entire descent would mean extended periods of pressure on my neck and upper body. I find that descents require a significant amount of engagement of the arms, shoulders, and core to brace the bars and control the brakes.

Right after the summit, we were greeted with one of the best vistas of the day (partially due to a cosmic alignment of clouds and light):

I almost didn’t stop, but was glad I did since this seems to be the best photo I took during the ride (from an aesthetic perspective). I think it does well in capturing a taste of the epic views that we enjoyed all day.

Since we had regrouped at the aid station and left together, Matt and Larry quickly dropped me on the descent (damn freewheels and derailleurs!). This road was fast and smooth with banked turns, so I don’t blame them for enjoying the ride down after their first effort of the day. I settled in for the long haul as a continuous stream of cyclists blew past my measly 25 mph speed. I even saw some riders descending on aerobars which seemed a bit unnecessary and aggressive for an untimed section of the ride. After spinning for possibly the longest continuous period of my life, I had to switch my hands to the hoods to give my body a refreshing change of position. Doing this while descending around 25mph is quite a scary endeavour, especially with the rapid cadence.

The twisting descent took us into a gulch that was quite exciting as the towering walls rose around us. I got a sudden urge to the user restroom and wrestled with the desire to pull over, but saw two reasons not to: (1) it seemed dangerous to stop and start again with so many cyclists descending at high speeds, and (2) Matt and Larry were ahead of me, and I was determined to minimize the gap. Time seemed to stretch as the urge intensified, but I finally arrived into Idaho Springs (the lowest elevation point of the day) where I found Matt and Larry cheerfully waiting near some port-o-potties. I took one look at the line and decided I was better off finding a discrete tree behind a building. This nature break, combined with the relief of finally being past the longest descent, put me an exceedingly good mood.

The Second Pass

With the first climb and descent out of the way with no drama, I was excited to tackle Loveland pass. My plan for the day was to ride tempo for the false flat that leads up to the pass, and I was warned not to burn matches at this point since the approach was long and there were two major passes left. This section of the ride followed a narrow bike path which meant that I had to surf wheels to make progress at my tempo (wasn’t sure if there would be any oncoming traffic so I only went into the left lane when hopping from one wheel to the next). I quickly found a group of two other riders who were riding a nice tempo that matched my pace and I decided to strike up a conversation to see if they wanted to work together. This made for a fun time as we snaked around cyclists towards Georgetown. The friendly chatting helped to pass the time on what was otherwise a fairly uneventful section of the ride. The legs still felt excellent, I had good company, and the path was smooth and rolling (with some noticeably short and steep pitches that required some muscle to get over on the fixed gear).

Arriving at the Georgetown aid station provided another welcome opportunity to indulge in the food, water, and restrooms. Matt and Larry were riding a solid pace, so I didn’t have to wait long for them to arrive. We were greeted by the sounds of a train which made for a quaint experience in the small mountain town. The interesting thing about the design of the ride was the two aid stations that broke up the second pass into three climbs. So, while on paper it looks quite intimidating, these breaks with food and water really helped to make it not feel like one long slog.

As we rolled on from Georgetown towards the next aid station at Loveland ski area and the base of the second pass, I fell into pace with a friendly rider from Colorado Springs. We chatted about life in the mountains (I had mentioned I was from Lake Tahoe). For whatever reason, he questioned me about whether I was growing anything, I mentioned our apple trees and the current tomato drama (persistent frosts plagued our early growing season, and now late season frosts were threatening our still green tomatoes that had managed to make it this far). He told me not to be discouraged because he lives at a similar altitude and every now and then he gets a bumper crop season. At some point during the middle of our chat he realized that I was riding a fixed gear and gave me complements. I took it as a complement that I was riding at a pace where I could keep things conversational and one wouldn’t even realize that I was turning over a ridiculously high gear.

The Loveland aid station was bustling and I quickly found treats including soda, chips, and fruit. Once again I took a moment to appreciate these luxuries that I did not have to carry myself. Looking around I noticed some ski lifts that reminded me that this area held world class skiing during the winter. At this time of year, it held a different beauty that comes with high mountain passes.

After regrouping with Matt and Larry, we rolled out for the main attraction. Loveland pass was a steady gradient, so I plodded along at my tempo. I noticed at this point that my power numbers were in a lower zone relative to my heart rate, which I expected at this high altitude. I reminded myself to ride to my heart rate zone, so I didn’t burn too many matches before the final pass. My tempo had me smoothly passing riders until I fell into stride with a friendly cyclist from Pennsylvania. I jokingly asked if it was considered New England (I spent enough time on the East Coast to know this would start up a lively discussion) and we settled on mid-Atlantic. He told me, that like my brother, he had scoured the nearby farm roads for the punchiest climbs available in order to train for this ride. This reminded me to be grateful for the multitude of fun climbs in our area.

At this point in the ride, we started to see many riders struggling, some even off their bike walking or taking a break on the side of the road. It would make sense that this high altitude pass would find many testing their limits, but perhaps the most demoralizing part was the third pass looming beyond Frisco. These riders certainly had a long day ahead of them, but fortunately for me, I felt great and chugged along smoothly to the top. The last few sweeping turns were quite memorable, high above treeline with sweeping vistas. The expansive landscape almost felt lunar, accentuated by the grey clouds rolling in.

At the top, I was pleasantly surprised to find an orderly queue of cyclists taking the obligatory photo with the sign marking the pass. People were even kind enough to offer to take the photo of the cycling in front of them. Here’s proof that the fixed gear pass hunter conquered Loveland:

I didn’t linger too long, knowing that Matt and Larry would makeup time on the extended descent. I threw on my warmers and vest, and remarked about how ecstatic I felt to be on the home stretch of the ride, with not a doubt on my mind on my capability to see the finish line. I did, however, have to test my patience once again with another long descent at 120 rpm. I was glad to have brought long fingered gloves as the overcast skies and high altitude meant chilly temperatures even in the middle of the day.

The Loveland descent wasn’t quite as memorable as the first one, perhaps I was starting to get into that head-space where I shut everything off as I focus on keeping up with the pedals. I did get this lovely photo snapped by a professional photographer.

I do remember being buzzed by Matt and Larry as they made quick work of the descent with their cursed freewheels and tall gears. The road was smooth with nice sweeping turns, which made me further question my choices. From one perspective, the limited top speed of the fixed gear did afford me a chance to spend more time appreciating the views.

When passing through Keystone at the end of the descent, I was flagged down by Matt who had found his family happily cheering for us on the side of the road. It was great to see some friends and enjoy their company. With this emotional recharge, we pressed on towards Frisco with Swan Mountain road ahead of us. I remember laughing with Larry as I read on my bike computer that this would be a “climb”. The stats seemed paltry compared to our passes for the day. The sweeping views of Dillon reservoir did make for an enjoyable experience, and I made a quick job of getting up and over without a pause at the top.

Being familiar with this portion of the ride from our acclimation days, I fell into a calm tempo on the winding bike path to Frisco. Once again, I enjoyed the comforts of an aid station, topping off on nutrition and hydration. I was pleasantly relaxing waiting for Matt and Larry to arrive only to learn via text from Larry that Matt had taken a digger on the descent off Swan Mountain Rd. Matt does like to descend fast, so I wasn’t too surprised, but I was worried about how bad the damage was. Given Larry’s lack of emergency tone in his text, I hoped for the best and settled in at the aid station to wait for them. They arrived fairly quickly after the text, and I as glad to see that Matt had already received some aid from a fellow cyclist carrying some supplies. The man staffing the medical tent removed the bandages to examine and clean the wounds which appeared to be purely on the surface.

Matt asked if he should continue the ride, and the medic joked that he couldn’t answer about his will power, but there was no medical reason why he should stop. With the relief of no lasting injury and the rest, hydration, and nutrition from the aid station, we rolled out for the last 27 miles up and over Vail pass.

The Third Pass

The approach to Vail pass followed a bike path that wound through scenic mountain meadows filled with an abundance of foliage and flowers. We encountered some mild headwinds which didn’t phase me much given my experience with daily winds in Tahoe. At this point of the ride, people seemed significantly less chatty, most just focused on reaching the end which was in our sights. With no one to talked to, I settled into a comfortable tempo and pedaled along the smooth path. The climb itself was fairly uneventful in my memory, with the only difficulty being the late afternoon clouds dropping a sprinkling of rain on us. Fortunately it was not enough to be a nuisance, but I did remind myself to take it slow on the descent with the slick pavement. I do remember some noticeably punchy sections as the path followed twisting switchbacks up some steep slopes.

Reaching the top of Vail pass felt fairly unremarkable at this point of the day. There was a final aid station with water and at this point I had zero worries about finishing the 15ish miles left to descend into Vail. I did run into my new friend from Colorado Springs (the benefactor of the high-altitude tomato bumper crop), and he jovially told me there was talk about me in the crowd.

Did you see the guy on a steel singlespeed!?

Turns out his buddies were the riders wearing Eliel kits that I had given a shout out to while passing up the pass. We had a friendly talk about how they were some of the nicest pieces of kit that we own. With the sun shining and the bike path still sparkling from the moisture, I put on my vest and warmers and settled in for the final descent of the day.

The twisting nature of the path immediately suggested an opportunity for an overzealous cyclist to make a bad mistake. Of course, as I rounded a corner midway down the descent, I saw a cyclist in the grass being attended to by medics. For the first time, I was grateful for the “speed limiter” imposed by my fixed gear descending. The wet paths combined with my lack of fenders resulted in an ample amount of muddy spray covering me, my bike, and most importantly my sunglasses. I could no longer see the screen of my bike computer, but I decided that at this point I didn’t really need the information and pressed on without resolving the problem. This experience did remind me as to why randonneurs are so big on full coverage fenders, add that to the TODO list. I vividly remember that at the end of the descent, I passed a cyclist who was heading uphill, reminding me that there was a whole reverse perspective on this ride, something to look forward too :).

The Finish

Arriving at the finish line at Vail turned out to be a more exciting affair than I expected. I had never participated in a group start/end event like this, and it was my first experience being corralled into a finish with barriers lined with cheering fans and an announcer. Cheers to the professional photographer at the end who snapped these photos proving that the fixed gear made it over all three passes.

Reflection

Perhaps my favorite part of the ride was the “closed” route. Related was all the planning, signage, and personnel that enabled me to relax and enjoy the journey. These are the sort of comforts you don’t realize you’re missing out on when doing DIY rides. I also can’t forget to mention the friendly crowd that made everything feel easier, as well as the aid stations which really lightened the burden.

Fitness wise, the ride was easier than expected. This was likely due to my anxiety going into the event that motivated me to do some of the most productive training of my life. The steady gradients made the fixed gear aspect not as difficult as one might imagine. I think I could have run a 17 tooth in the back which would’ve helped on the descents. The second pass was made a lot easier than the route profile might suggest given the two aid station positions that effectively broke it up into three climbs

What’s Next

At the end of the ride, I was left with a bit of a worrying realization. I suddenly thought that to reach this level of fitness next season, I would need to put in the same effort in training. Does this cycle just continue until one year I decide to give up on peak fitness? My worries were assuaged when doing some research that suggests a low volume of riding over the off season is enough to maintain fitness, minimizing the amount of rebuild.

I also was left with an empty feeling stemming from the fact that this peak event wasn’t as difficult as I had imagined. Should I have set my sights higher? An obvious next target that’s local is the Death Ride. But now I’m having grand ideas of epic tales yet to be written. Paris-Brest-Paris? Transpyrenees? A reprise of Paul Rozelle’s Mont Ventoux? It’s always exciting to have so much to look forward to in life.

On Yoga

You may be wondering what this all has to do with yoga, and if that’s true, I applaud you for making it this far. However, it’s rather simple, I’m a yogi that enjoys cycling, so the relationship really reflects the nuance of my own human experience. To this end, the full connection is left an exercise for the reader, but here’s a few ideas to get you started:

Training for an event like this has an obvious connection to abhyasa. My thoughts about having to redo this training next year brings to mind vairagya. In this, we find the core elements of a well known sutra. Related are the concepts of tapas and aparigraha. Breath control (pranayama) is an essential aspect of endurance sports, while the patience and concentration required for long fixed gear descents at 120 rpm provides an opportunity to practice dharana (and perhaps in that experience you’ll find dhyana). Dig deeper and you might find all the limbs of yoga manifested, even samadhi.

And, yes, finally we can discuss asana. Throughout my training, I maintained a traditional daily practice. It helped me avoid any imbalances developed from workouts, and provided me a baseline that allowed me to reflect on the effects of hard efforts. Surprisingly (or not), I progress in my practice, deepening my supta kurmasana to a point where I could reliable bind with 3 fingers, and adding in second series postures up to ustrasana. After event day, I practiced the same as I would any Sunday, and I was surprised to find my practice unaffected, validating my feelings that the day’s effort was less than expected.