Don’t Die During the Durango Death Ride

I nearly died on Tuesday.

Seriously, I nearly flew off a fifty foot cliff at about 45mph on my road bike.  It was, without question, one of the top three scariest moments of my life.  I’m still in near disbelief that I’m here to tell the story.  But I am, so I will.

Wanting one more really big ride before the Vapor Trail 125 on September 7/8th, Reilly and I decided a two-day road ride was in order.  Researching routes, we opted for the iconic 233mile Durango Death Ride.  The irony of the name would become apparent near the end of our two-day road-riding adventure.

Driving west to Ridgway, CO Sunday evening, at 6:55 Monday morning we began a counter-clockwise riding of the San Juan Skyway, excepting the part to Cortez.  Those 220’ish miles would take us to the towns of Telluride, Dolores, Mancos and the city of Durango where we stayed at a motel for the night.  Snaking our way around these mighty 14’ers, we climbed and climbed, summiting the Dallas Divide(8,970′), Lizard Head Pass(10,222′) and Hesperus Hill(8,091′).  Tuesday we’d climb Coal Bank Pass,(10,640′) Molas Pass(10,899′) and finally, Red Mountain Pass(11,075′) on our way through Hermosa, Silverton, Ouray and back to Ridgway.

The weather was mostly warm and sunny, though we did take cover once or twice to wait-out the lightening and the rain that really never materialized with any force.  We both felt great and rode well.  We joked and laughed, we pedalled in awed silence of the vistas around every turn.  But you don’t want to hear about that, you want to know about the moment it all nearly went horribly wrong.

Reaching Red Mountain Pass, the thunder and lightening returned.  We zipped-up our rain-jackets and made for lower elevations.  For the most part, it didn’t rain all that hard but the roads certainly were wet.  We didn’t care; we had reached our last pass of the trip and had only downhill miles all the way back to Ridgway. “Let’s take this hill!”  Reilly commanded.

We were flying down that mountain road, passing cars, trucks and tractor-trailers.  One pick-up truck with a long horse-trailer was getting in our way; we were getting impatient.  Looking down the road we spotted a short tunnel that we’d soon be passing through.  Beyond it, the road was clear of traffic.  Just as we entered the tunnel, we both stood up and hammered on the pedals, blowing past that truck, surely infuriating the driver with our cavalier riding.  As we exited the tunnel, the road weaved slightly; left right left right.  But the road was clear and I was hauling-ass so I cut a line straight through those curves.  Reilly was just behind and to my right.  Damn we were cookin’, havin’ a blast, feeling like champs!

BANG!! PSSHT!

“OH NO!”

My rear tire was totally flat.  It was raining and I was flying down a twisty mountain-road at about 45mph with a truck somewhere behind me.  The road began to make a right turn; my trajectory was going to shoot me over the edge of a fifty foot cliff.  Because I was going so fast and because the roads were wet, I knew that if I tried to turn too soon, my rear wheel would immediately wash-out, throwing me to the ground, sliding over that cliff to the boulders below.  All I could do was stay on the front brake for as long as possible and just hope I could slow down enough to safely turn back towards the road.  Three times I felt the tire begin to roll off the rim and the rear wheel begin to drift.  Each time I’d regain control.  It was terrifying.

Beyond the white line signifying the edge of the road were no more than six inches of pavement and another six of loose gravel.  “Holy crap I can’t believe this is happening,” I thought to myself as I continued braking, staying upright, maintaining control; not so sure if I was breathing, however.  With two inches left of pavement, I turn the front wheel ever so slightly and continued rolling along-side that precipice.  “Oh crap, a car!”

Yup, now I had to contend with a car coming towards me, I in it’s lane.  Fortunately, they saw me and gave me plenty of room.  Passing behind the car, I quickly checked to make sure their weren’t any cars behind me.  I rolled to the shoulder on my side of the road where Reilly was waiting, wide-eyed and panting.  I dumped the bike, sat on the ground, put my face in my hands; barely able to fathom what just happened.  I came SO close to going off that cliff.  It the fall didn’t kill me, I would at least have been nothing more than a bloody and broken mess of flesh and bones.

After I finally calmed down, we walked around, looking at the spot where I nearly died.  We both were totally stunned, totally shocked and shaken over what just nearly happened.  Even now, I can hardly believe that I didn’t crash, that I kept it all under control, barely–but sufficiently–skirting death along the edge of that cliff.

Getting back on the bikes we continued down-hill, though, at a much more modest pace.  In Ouray, we stopped for a strong cup of coffee to help calm our nerves.  From there, just nine miles of fast, straight, gradual downhill miles with a strong tail-wind.  Back at the van, we congratulated each other for such a great ride and, for not dying on the Death Ride.

Looking back at the scene of the crime

Looking down at what was almost my rocky, watery grave.

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