The Rarefied Air of Ray McPhee

There’s nothing obvious about Ray McPhee — no glinty-eyed betrayal of unquenchable drive ― to hint that this recent high school graduate just joined Santa Barbara’s elite ranks of extreme endurance cycling.

In fact, in person McPhee speaks with measured precision and displays a conspicuous lack of youthful braggadocio. But just one month ago, McPhee ― now 17 ― let his legs do all the talking.

That’s when he rode his custom-built, blue titanium Stinner bike up a three-mile stretch of old San Marcos Pass Road, one of the most violently twisting and gravity-defying inclines in all of Santa Barbara County. He did this no fewer than 72 times. Then he rode back down again.

In the span of three days, McPhee would sleep just twice, totaling four hours of shut-eye. Otherwise, for 66 hours and 10 minutes ― night and day ― McPhee’s head was down, his legs churning, his ass on the saddle. 

For 436 miles, he navigated slicing switchbacks on a skinny but scenic roadway that defines the cusp between suburbia and the national forest. Drivers were mostly considerate, but challenging roads attract challenging drivers. On the ascent, McPhee said he averaged four to six miles an hour. Coming back down, he averaged 30. For the record, that’s fast.

Twice the previous year, McPhee attacked that same stretch of San Marcos Pass — running roughly from Cathedral Oaks Road up to the legendary Trout Club community by Highway 154. The first time, McPhee made 24 ascents. The second time, he did 48. Even one lap would challenge the climbing abilities of seasoned road warriors.

This summer, he hit 72. That’s a cumulative climb of 88,000 feet. For the record, that’s a lot.

McPhee calls this “fun.” He also acknowledges it’s “crazy.” “Doing what I used to think was impossible is so cool,” he said. “I get to be part of a small but mighty community.” The ocean views coming down the mountain aren’t bad either. They never cease to startle.

This event is known as “Everesting,” a noun turned into a gerund. The goal is to find a steep incline and ride one’s bike up it as many times as is required to achieve the same elevation as the tallest mountain in the world. From base to peak, Mt. Everest sits just shy of 30,000 feet.

According to an outfit purporting to track such things, 20,300 distinct human beings worldwide have engaged in some form of Everesting since 2014. Since COVID, the event gained momentum among a niche population of endurance athletes. 

Of those 20,300, only 25 have reportedly completed a triple Everest. Of those, only two are from Santa Barbara County. That’s McPhee and Dan Connell, a hardcore long-distance endurance bike racer and world explorer from Goleta. That’s some rarified air McPhee is breathing.

McPhee describes Connell — who goes by the nickname “Dirty Dan” ― as his mentor and inspiration. “He really lit the fuse here,” McPhee said more than once. Connell radiates more a spirit of adventure and fun than the implacably grim determination one typically expects from high performance endurance athletes. In YouTube videos, he comes off like a mix of John the Baptist with a touch of Burning Man. He doesn’t just race impossibly long distances; he travels the world, carrying backgammon boards. 

As for McPhee, Connell is eager to repay the compliment, calling his younger comrade in climbing — who just graduated from Olive Grove Charter School ― an inspiration too. When Connell launched his own triple Everest ride just a year ago, McPhee was on hand to cheer him on by riding laps with him. The two have stayed in touch since.

What impresses Connell about McPhee is how relentlessly he pushes his own boundaries, and keeps on pushing them. With Everesting, it’s all about the boundaries. Nobody stays in the saddle more than 25 hours without confronting some. At 40 hours, it’s more the dark night of the soul; purgatory turns to hell. McPhee was not spared. 

Before the race, McPhee harbored some doubts he could pull it off. Once he got started, he eased into the groove and began to really enjoy the ride. But as the hours ground on, it helped to have other riders such as Connell show up and do laps with him. “That really brought a smile to my face,” he said. Some completed as many as 15. Nearly 60 people joined in.

Even at night, there was traffic. McPhee always had a car behind him, its lights illuminating the road ahead. He kept himself going with music. “Rap is my favorite genre,” he said. “Anything with an especially loud prominent bass line.” His favorite time was sunset. 

Zooming downhill at 30 miles an hour when sleep deprived poses obvious challenges. Descents are hard on the hands, and when the ride was over, McPhee’s hands hurt almost as much as his butt. 

Even with the companionship, support, and booming basslines, McPhee experienced tough times. That’s when mental conditioning proved more important than all the miles McPhee had logged in during his three months of training. “I was able to realize it would not last forever,” he said. “I would get myself back into a flow state.”

There was one flat along the way. A good Samaritan rider appeared almost immediately and swapped out wheels until the flat could be patched. He took one minor slide.

McPhee used the event as a fundraiser for the SAGE Trail Alliance, a group of volunteers that maintains the trails around Saige Hill. He raised $4,500 for the effort.

What now for Ray McPhee? He’s looking to jump into long-distance marathon racing. He’s taking a gap year off of school and is working for Lone Wolf, a high-end bicycle suspension maker here in Santa Barbara. For the time being, he has no plans of taking on a quadruple Everest, though he’s not ruling it out down the road. 

Three days after completing the triple, he was already back on the bike, taking a training ride. But, he stressed, it was “nice and easy.”

What does nice and easy look like for McPhee? It was only 50 miles long, he said. “And nice and flat.”