Todd takes on the Stagecoach 400
The <a class="highlighted-link">Stagecoach 400</a> is a 400-mile bike race that starts in the high mountains about an hour north of San Diego and travels through the Anza-Borrego Desert down the coast of Southern California.
Todd’s journey began a bit south, in Pacific Beach, a coastal neighborhood in San Diego. A friend lived there, making logistics easier since Todd was flying in from CLE, and he could stash his <a class="highlighted-link">bike bag</a> and some other luggage there that he couldn’t take with him while on his ride.
Todd was not competing in the race, which takes place annually at the end of March. He still treated it as a challenge—to see how hard he could push himself and to experience something new. By the end of his five-day journey, Todd had accomplished both.
Day One: From the Beach to the Desert
Rolling out of Pacific Beach, Todd meandered around Sea World and wove his way through industrial parks before hitting the urban mountains. <a class="highlighted-link">Single-track trails</a> cut through a blend of rugged terrain and dirt roads until, alas, he found his destiny for the next many, many hours of riding: sand. And lots of it.
That first day was brutal: 90 miles of trudging and 9,000 feet of climbing.
“The sun dipped below the horizon as I reached the Viejas Reservation, exhausted — only to be met with a flat tire on the side of the road,” Todd said. “It was just the beginning.”
Day Two: Anza-Borrego and the Unwelcome Stalkers
Dirt roads greeted Todd with more climbing at sunrise, but a fast road descent soon dropped him into the vast expanse of the <a class="highlighted-link">Anza-Borrego Desert</a> .
The isolation was immediate. No people, no cell service—just Todd, his bike, and the relentless sand. For 40 miles, he slogged through deep patches that would halt him in an instant, forcing him off his bike. One of these moments led to a crash after sunset, breaking his handlebar-mounted bike light. In the dark desert, this was a serious problem.
“Luckily, I still had a headlamp to provide light, and if it became too critical, I would hold the light under my hand while riding—not ideal… lol,” Todd would later muse.
Navigation became a guessing game. His <a class="highlighted-link">Garmin Edge 530</a> struggled with accuracy because the trails were not obvious in the sand, and every time he stopped to check his pre-downloaded maps, he could only hope he was still heading in the right direction.
“Then, as I took a break to eat some gummies, I saw them—three sets of eyes glowing from a canyon ridge. Coyotes.”
Todd shouted, and they disappeared—only to reappear moments later. He had considered setting up camp, but the eerie persistence of this unwanted company pushed him forward.
“For the next three to five miles, every time I stopped, they were there, watching.”
While knowing coyotes rarely attack humans, Todd didn’t want to take any chances. Desperate to reach safety, he called ahead to the Iron Door Bar 10 miles away. It was 9 p.m. and they were closed. But the owner, familiar with the Stagecoach 400, sent a co-worker to open up just for Todd.
“What followed was the best frozen pizza of my life, three well-earned beers, and a newfound appreciation for human kindness,” Todd said.
The owners even let Todd camp right outside the restaurant, where he recharged both gear and spirit.
Day Three: The Breaking Point
A slow morning led Todd to Los Jilbertos, a Mexican spot in Borrego Springs deemed a must-stop by the Stagecoach “creators,” who first published the route on Bikepacking.com, and by those who have completed the route.
Little did Todd know, the next 30 miles after Los Jilbertos would try to break him. He started out with four liters of water to get him the 30 miles, but it wasn’t enough. Deep sand forced him to push his bike for three miles, slowing his pace and draining his energy—until his saving grace appeared: a small creek flowing with cold water.
“I collapsed beside it, slept, and bathed to cool down.”
There were still 20 miles to go until he would get to Sunshine Market, the closest resupply option. And then the route turned wild. Thick brush, washed-out trails, and relentless climbing led him to Coyote Canyon, the final climb out of the desert.
By this point, food and water were nil, and he still had 10 miles to go to reach civilization. As the temperature dropped, Todd pushed through his exhaustion until he stumbled into Sunshine Market—frozen, starving, and utterly depleted. The store didn’t normally allow camping, but the owner took one look at Todd and said he could pitch his tent behind the building. Needless to say, Todd was grateful.
Day Four: Idyllwild
Up to this point, most of the cycling had been—or seemed—uphill. At this point, Todd was approaching Idyllwild. <a class="highlighted-link">Idyllwild</a> was a mountain biker’s dream. Fun, flowing singletrack with beautiful views and relatively downhill terrain, which he desperately needed.
“I was finally adjusted to the long miles each day and riding at a comfortable pace. I felt like I could slow down and just enjoy the trails, stop at creeks, and not try to get ahead of myself.”
That night, he booked a cabin at Lake Henshaw to shower and get a break from sleeping on the ground, which became increasingly uncomfortable as he grew more sore.
Day Five: Eyes on the Prize
Todd was now feeling refreshed and ready to make one last push toward the finish. A short climb would lead to a long descent through the San Pasqual Valley leading all the way to Del Mar. The Pacific Ocean was finally – and once again – in sight. He felt he could slow down, and he stopped often to just sit on the beach and relax.
We can all relate to the relief and satisfaction of re-entering the modern world after some time in the wild—seeing other humans again and having unlimited access to water and electricity. But probably more satisfying is the realization of how much we are capable of enduring. Todd had completed the Stagecoach 400 in five days. In Todd’s words:
“I pushed myself harder than I have before. At times I regretted my decision, but the feeling of accomplishment was so satisfying and made all of the struggles worth it. Many of the highlights are ‘bad,’ but they are also the memories I cherish. I didn’t really know what to expect going into it, but this trip in particular was one that you feel the struggle during, then crave to do again once it’s over. It’s a difficult feeling to explain. The best way I can describe it is to find something that scares you a little bit and just do your best. I like the feeling of uncertainty of outcome when it comes to these types of adventures. My only goal is to just keep going and soak in the culture and natural beauty that the adventure comes with. When you are really pushing yourself, life becomes simple. I am not concerned with the complexities of work or various anxious thoughts that consume my mind in a normal setting. I am solely present in the moment and where I am going next. That is what draws me to bikepacking and what inspires me to keep exploring.”
About Todd
My name is Todd Dickerhoof. I am 30 years old and live in Northfield, Ohio. I studied Electrical Engineering at the University of Akron and am currently pursuing my M.B.A. I work in the automotive industry as a controls engineer, and this has taken me all over the world.
I have found that, while traveling abroad, my favorite way to explore cities is by bike. I like the sustainability of traveling by bike, as well as the slow—but maneuverable—way to move through cities. Once I realized flying with my bike is not as difficult or expensive as it seems, it opened many doors to explore new areas, train for races, and meet people from many different countries who share common interests.
When I’m not traveling or cycling, I also race dirt bikes, rock climb, and enjoy spending time exploring local trails throughout CVNP.
