Stumped by Nature

Welcome to this issue of Stumped by Nature, where we notice nature lurking just beyond our screens, curate a list of outside-y events in Austin, and build community with other folks in the thick of the startup ecosystem.

In this week’s issue:

🚵‍♂️ A Modern Misogi

🌤️ Upcoming outdoors events

Let’s dig in!

-Nicole

PS. ATX Outsiders is a community for Austin business leaders and creatives who get outside together, launching February 16.

Founding memberships are limited, and this is your last chance at the lifetime membership rate.

A private LinkedIn group, a monthly event, and people worth meeting in the wild.

NATURE SPOTLIGHT

Some experiences don’t fully metabolize until you put language to them.

And so, welcome to the Misogi Series.

Misogi: an intentional nature-based quest, often at moments of transition. It’s chosen suffering that releases what’s no longer serving and returns you to daily life slightly more integrated than you left it.

I asked for your stories. They’re arriving. What a delight.

First up: Andrew Harbert, mechanical design engineer in Austin. He also happens to be my brother.

Here’s the story:

When my sister asked me to write about my misogi, I didn’t want to give a highlight reel or a hero story. Vapor Trail 125 wasn’t that kind of experience. It was messy, humbling, and mostly miserable. But it was also clarifying in a way that only real physical limits can be. What follows isn’t a race report — it’s the honest version of what happened inside my head and body over 22 hours in the Colorado backcountry.

What was happening in your life when the misogi emerged?

Nothing dramatic was happening. No crisis, no transition. I was riding, working, and living life as usual when a friend sent me a text about this race I’d never heard of, Vapor Trail 125, with relatively little notice.

What hooked me wasn’t the race itself but the scale of it. The absurdity. The way it seemed like a stretch, but not impossible. I underestimated it. I went in more confident than I should have.

Still, the question lodged itself in my head:

Do I actually have what it takes?

Once it was there, I couldn’t let it go. I had to find out.

What did this quest involve, practically?

Finishing Vapor Trail 125 was the goal. It’s widely considered the hardest single‑day mountain bike race in the country, but the organizers often call it a “vision quest,” and that framing is closer to the truth. Unless you’re a pro, you’re not racing other riders; you’re racing the course, the altitude, the dark, and your own psychology.

In 2024, the race sold out at 125 registrants. Thirty forfeited their $200 rather than line up. Ninety‑five started. Fifty‑nine finished.

The race starts at 10 PM. You ride straight into the Colorado backcountry in the dark, with storms rolling around the mountains and lightning flashing in the distance. Average elevation is over 10,000 feet. Temperatures drop to freezing. You climb more than 17,000 feet. The course is 126 miles long. There are long stretches with no easy bailout points. If you quit, you’re finding your own way out.

It took me 22 hours and 13 minutes to reach the finish line.

Why this, and not something else?

The mountain bike has always been the cleanest way for me to test myself. It demands full‑body engagement and full attention. There’s no faking it. You either have the legs, the lungs, the handling, the smarts, the grit, or you don’t.

Vapor Trail was bigger than anything I’d ever attempted. More remote. More dangerous. More unknown. Any weakness, whether physical, technical, or mental, would be exposed. It scared me in a way nothing else had. And fear is an excellent motivator for me; it points toward something worth doing.

What surprised you while you were in it?

How fast everything fell apart.

The “neutral” rollout was immediately too fast. My heart rate was higher than it should’ve been, and I dropped to the very back just to survive the pace. My right knee started hurting almost immediately, a joint that never gives me trouble, and it hurt the entire race. Storms were circling the mountains. Thunder rumbled. The headlights of the sweep vehicle felt uncomfortably close behind me.

Then the first cutoff came up way too fast. I burned the entire matchbook trying to make it. In the panic, I didn’t get any calories in. The trail demanded my full attention, and slowing down to eat felt like a guaranteed DNF. By the time I reached Aid 1, I was 4.5 hours in with almost no fuel. That mistake shaped the next twelve hours.

And that’s where the real surprise hit:

The mental collapse.

The 17‑mile climb after Aid 1 was the darkest place I’ve ever gone on a bike. My heart rate was jacked, my power was nonexistent, and riders streamed past me. I couldn’t hang on to anyone. I couldn’t think straight. I was certain I’d blown the race. The thoughts were relentless:

* You worked so hard for this, and you’re failing.

* You have no business being here.

* You bit off more than you can chew.

* You’re going to DNF after all this.

* You even compromised your morals and bought a road bike for training, and for what?

It wasn’t a moment. It was hours of that. Hours of believing I was done, while still pedaling deeper into the mountains because my wife was volunteering at Aid 3 and I had no real choice but to get to her. Or lay down and die. I was certain my soul had already left my body anyway.

And then there were the hallucinations. Shapes shifting at the edges of my vision. Nothing dramatic, just the quiet, unsettling kind of wrong that tells you you’re far past any familiar limit.

The biggest surprise was that I kept going. Even when I was sure I was done. Even when I felt hollowed out from the inside. Something in me refused to stop.

How did the plan change along the way? What were the pivotal moments?

The plan began falling apart immediately with the too‑fast rollout, and had completely disintegrated by the first aid station. The pivotal moments:

* Aid 1 → the first death

I’d spent nearly two hours sprinting to make the cutoff, burned every match I had, and done it on an empty tank. That’s when I realized just how far off‑script the day had already gone, and when I first thought I was done. Riding another 99 miles felt absolutely impossible.

* The big hike‑a‑bike → the second death

I mistook an earlier climb for the infamous hike‑a‑bike and felt a flicker of relief thinking the worst was behind me. When I realized my error, I felt despondent. The real climb was long, steep, and soul‑crushing.

* Aid 2 → the resurrection

Aid 2 was a campfire stop after sunrise. A mechanic gave my bike a NASCAR‑style tune‑up, I got warm food and coffee, and for the first time all day I could actually pedal. The climb afterward was the first time I felt like myself again, even though it didn’t last.

* The final singletrack → the last death

My GI system revolted, my power disappeared, and even the slightest incline turned into hike‑a‑bike. All the mistakes of the day had compounded to leave me completely shattered and utterly spent. I had nothing left to give, but I still had to get myself out. And I was too close to the finish to quit.

What physical details still linger?

* The dark, wet singletrack at 11,000 feet in the middle of the night

* The feeling of swallowing food I didn’t want but desperately needed, and thinking I was about to barf it back up

* The porcupine that wasn’t a porcupine, and the rock I later thought was my dog

* The feeling of moving through a cold, empty void, alone on the mountain while my thoughts unraveled

* The total‑body soreness when I was finally finished

Did anyone misunderstand what you were doing in a way that stuck with you?

People thought it was crazy to take on something like this, and they were right. What stuck with me most, though, was realizing how crazy it actually was once I was in it.

What role did place play? Would this have been different somewhere else?

Place is everything in Vapor Trail. The altitude, the remoteness, the night start, the storms rolling around the mountains — it all creates a kind of isolation you can’t fake.

Texas has big rides, but nothing like this. The mountains add consequences. They add danger. They add logistics. They turn mistakes into something more than inconvenient.

What didn’t change, despite all the effort?

Doing something like this resets your baseline for “hard,” but daily annoyances are still annoying. The race didn’t turn me into someone new; it just revealed the parts of me that don’t break.

What felt more true after?

That I can endure the seemingly impossible. My limits aren’t where I thought they were. And that’s the whole point of a misogi.

Now that you have some distance, what was this all about?

Testing the limits. Dealing with fear. Vapor Trail gave me the hardest hours I’ve ever had on a bike. Maybe the hardest hours I’ve had, period. The physical challenge was enormous, but the real misogi was the mental battle — the hours after Aid 1 when I was convinced I’d failed, convinced I didn’t belong there, convinced I’d made a huge mistake, and still kept going.

It was horrible to be in that place, but also rare and strangely beautiful. We don’t get many chances in modern life to find out what we’re actually made of. This was one of them.

What would you not recommend others copy, and what would you encourage?

Don’t copy the pacing error that led to the nutrition error that put me in a massive hole. Even with all the research in the world, inexperience shows up fast in a race like this.

What I would encourage is choosing something that forces you to confront your limits. Something physical, unforgiving, and real. A challenge where the outcome isn’t guaranteed. Modern life doesn’t give us many chances to bump up against our perceived limits, or our real ones.

What’s one thought you keep coming back to from the experience?

A longing to find a comparable challenge. A longing to repeat this one. I raced it again the next year with much better results, and I want to push myself even harder this year. But nothing will ever compare to the first attempt — the question of can I do this?

Is there a place where readers can follow you or your work?

I’m on Strava, but I keep a low online profile. I want to do things like this for myself, not for attention or praise.

I don’t think everyone needs to do something as extreme as Vapor Trail. But I do think there’s value in choosing something that scares you a little, something that forces you to find out what’s actually there when the easy parts fall away. This was mine. And I’m grateful for it.

UPCOMING EVENTS

🗓️ February 14: Austin Ruck Club: post-ruck Barton Springs dip encouraged

🗓️ February 14: Waltz Lesson + Dance Party: at Pease Park

🗓️ February 14: Doeskin Ranch Guided Hike: Take a little journey to Bertram

🗓️ February 14: Clean Lady Bird Lake: Participate either from the shore or on the water

🗓️ February 14: The Board Walks Stroll with life’s big questions

🗓️ February 15: Sunday Yoga in the Forest

🗓️ February 15: Scion Swap 2026: Exchange small branch cuttings from dormant winter fruit trees

🗓️ February 15: Founders + Friends Beginner Pickleball

🗓️ February 16: Beginning Backyard Birding series: Side note: there’s a not-zero number of VC Master Birders in Austin

🗓️ February 16: Invasive Species Removal workday at Jacob’s Well. Good for angst. Good for the environment.

🗓️ February 17: Gardening in Texas: Tomato Time!

🗓️ February 18: Group Skate: Beginner friendly. Dress code: pink

LOCAL FARMERS’ MARKETS

👩‍🌾 Arboretum Food & Artisan Market Saturdays 11am-3pm

👩‍🌾 Barton Creek Farmers Market Saturdays 9am-1pm

👩‍🌾 Lakeline Farmers Market Saturdays 9am-1pm

👩‍🌾 SFC Farmers’ Market Downtown Saturdays 9am-1pm

👩‍🌾 SFC Farmers’ Market Sunset Valley Saturdays 9am-1pm

👩‍🌾 Texas Farmers’ Market at Bell Saturdays 9am-1pm

👩‍🌾 Texas Farmers’ Market at Mueller Sundays 10am-2pm

CRITTER CORNER

Fun fact: a group of armadillos is called a roll.

That’s all for this week! 

In the meantime, I hope you also decide not to lie down in the dirt and die.

-Nicole

OPTIONAL SIDE QUESTS

🪵 Are you sitting on a misogi-esque story? Spill.

🪵 Do you need to commission a writer? I’m happy to discuss projects that might make me cry in public/funnel my experiential/existential dread into essays like this one.

🪵 Is this newsletter not your vibe? Forward it to your enemies to make them suffer too.

💰It’s safe to assume there are affiliate links, and I’ll monetarily benefit from any purchases you make. Hooray, capitalism! So far, this newsletter has generated $3.46 of cold hard cash. 💸