The Fat Pursuit Commute

Words by Kurt Refsnider

Photos by Kurt Refsnider and Eddie Clark

Kurt Refsnider racing his fat bike in winter

Last year, an unexpected lesson was how much I enjoy bikepacking to bike races. Four days of singletrack to the Downieville Classic? Two weeks of gravel to the Unbound XL? A couple days of remote desert two-track from home events in Arizona? Those adventures and the accompanying races stand out vividly among the highlights of my 2025 season. 

But pedaling to a race in the depths of winter, and with skis? I can't say either of those had ever crossed my mind until the week before this year's Fat Pursuit event when I found myself holding an old pair of Fischer Revolution skis up to my fat bike. Yup, the skis could indeed easily be strapped to the bike, along with my voluminous pile of winter camping gear. But could I pedal to a race in winter and show up to the start line with dry clothes, thawed race food and water, and ready to push myself on skis? That struck me as a fascinating endeavor carrying far more uncertainty than the ski race itself.

riding a fat bike to a xc ski race

Fat Pursuit is a winter ultra near West Yellowstone created by winter cycling champion Jay Petervary and held on a sprawling network of groomed snowmobile trails. There are 60- and 200-km distance options, and like most winter ultras, there are bike, foot, and ski categories. In its twelfth year, the event has cultivated a robust community of dedicated winter enthusiasts and has as one of its goals helping participants become more skilled winter adventurers. After having raced and won the longer distance on bike a few times, I decided to try my hand (and triceps) this year at the 60-km distance on skis even though I've only been on skinny skis a handful of times in recent years.

For me, riding to events expands the experience into a far more immersive and memorable one, one that fosters a deeper connection and familiarity with the broader region, seems to carry far more uncertainty, builds confidence, and expands the my opic view that so often revolves tightly around race-day performance. Yes, I really do think it can be that powerful of an endeavor! This 80-mile ride was no different from those others aside from being much colder, on a considerably more heavily-loaded bike, and crunching along on 5"-wide balloon tires often with just 4 psi.

Racing cross country ski race in winter

I pedaled away from my yurt home for the winter around noon just as an icy fog broke revealing the jagged peaks of the Tetons to the east. They gradually disappeared over my right shoulder as I made my way north, valley roads giving way to soft but rideable snowmobile trail and a crisp blue sky overhead. Winter trails tend to be fickle and unpredictable, and before long, I was postholing through miles of drifts. But conditions always improve, and by sunset, I was contently rolling up a canyon near Island Park along the rushing Warm River beneath a pink sky. I stomped out a tent spot in the thigh-deep snow above the falls, melted snow for dinner, and then slid into my lofty sleeping bag for the night.

cross country skiing after biking to the race

After a full day of pedaling on wide white trails beneath ominously dark clouds, I arrived at the pre-race meeting as heavy snow began to fall. The crowd of racers was buzzing with both excitement and concern about what approaching storm would mean for the 60-km course in the morning. I smiled knowing my skis that'd glide right through fresh powder (unlike a fat bike) and that it felt like the hardest part of my weekend adventure was already complete. That's not to say the ski wasn't tough (it sure was - my triceps may never forgive me for that!) or that race-day conditions were easy (they sure weren't!), but it carried so much less uncertainty for me than did the ride there.

 

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