CT Uber-loop of Pain
The Colorado Trail(the CT) is massive on every scale. It stretches 486miles over eight mountain ranges within the mighty Colorado Rockies. Starting at a low of 5,000′ on the outskirts of south-west Denver, most of this multi-use–and mostly non-motorized–trail sits above 10,000′ reaching a dizzying peak of 13,271′ before arriving in Durango. Much of the single-track meanders it’s way through forests of aspen, varieties of spruce, pine and fir while some is well above the tree-line, a barren land of rock and grass. While most of the trail is ridable, about 50miles is just too tough and/or too steep, forcing riders to push or carry their bikes up and over. There are also a few sections that are closed to mechanized vehicles but if you are bold enough to race the Colorado Trail Race,(CTR) detour routes of much suffering are provided.
Saturday-Monday this past weekend, Reilly, Aaron and I rode a more-or-less out-and-back 225 mile self-supported adventure that included the first 125miles of the CTR. Let there be no mistake, it was tough, damn tough. But equally, it was glorious, absolutely glorious.
By the numbers, we rode 225 miles with 22,000′ of climbing over 3 days, riding 14, 13 and 7.5 hours a day respectively under temperatures as high as the low 90’s. Going into this ride, I had greatly downplayed it’s level of difficulty. In my mind we would ride a bit of road then get onto the Colorado Trail; we’d take bike-paths in and out of Denver, re-ride the same section of the CT, pedal along a bunch of dirt roads and finish with a 3 mile down-hill spin on asphalt. A pleasant little ride with camping in the mountains. How sweet, how nice, all butterflies and bunny-rabbits. Oh Bowling, how wrong you can be. So, so very wrong. Blow by blow, here’s how it all broke down.
Day 1, Saturday, 5:45am; Aaron, Reilly and I met in Salida to load bikes and by 7:30 we had arrived in Jefferson. Parking Aaron’s truck on the side of route #77, the pedals were soon turning as we began three monstrous days of riding. The day’s route took us north out of Jefferson on dirt roads for a couple miles before hitting our first section of the Colorado Trail. There we climbed single-track for a while before descending to Kenosha Pass, elevation 10,000′. We turned onto highway #285 and coasted down hill for several miles into the town of Bailey where we enjoyed breakfast at the Cutthroat Cafe. With eggs and coffee swirling about our bellies, it was a few miles of dirt road before the riding began in earnest.
Just as we turned onto a 30mile/50km long section of Colorado Trail single-track–that’s right, a 30mile section of single-track–we noticed a table, awning, water coolers, several people standing about and a plethora of runners looking haggard. “Is there a race going on?” Reilly yelled as we rode past. Yes, indeed, we were about to share the next several miles of trail with dozens of trail-runners involved in some sort of race. Some of those we encountered smiled and let us past. Some others grimaced and let us past. A few grimaced and couldn’t care less about the fact we were sharing the trail with them and made no effort to let us go ’round. It was a little frustrating for us, though, I am sure they were even more frustrated. I would be also if I was a runner. Yes, we certainly did make every effort to give way to those running towards us(it was an out-and-back race) Reaching a dirt-road crossing where the runners turned around, we found a water spigot, filled our bottles and continued on.
Day one was to be generally down-hill, from a high at Kenosha Pass of 10,000′ down to Denver’s 5,600′. But honestly, we spent a lot of time tackling seemingly endless switchbacks that took us up and over two passes on that 30mile section of single-track. It was tough, tougher than any of us anticipated, but more-so, it was rewarding, vastly rewarding. For quite a while we were deep within the thick cover of fir and spruce trees. All of a sudden, the rocky terrain around us became completely visible as the trees disappeared; we had entered the Hayman Burn area.
The beauty of life lies not in its permanence but in it’s perpetual change. In June and July 2002, a wild-fire south of Denver burned over 138,00 acres, representing Colorado’s largest ever. Twelve years later, the land is coming back to life with grasses, plants, flowers and shrubs taking hold with only the occasional living tree standing tall. Otherwise, the ground is littered with the burned-out corpses of trees, cast about haphazardly like toys left behind by a child while some still stand tall like wooden skeletons watching over their fallen brethren. It’s beauty was inescapable, the land barren and burned while fertile and flourishing. I had to stop several times, stand and look in awe. Magnificent.
Where the CT ends, Waterton Canyon begins. For 6.5 miles, dirt roads follow the South Platte River into Denver. When the dirt ended, bike paths took us into town where we stopped for pizza dinner and two days worth of food provisions. Turning around and retracing our steps, Aaron pointed out the parking lot that is the official start of the 500mile Colorado Trail Race. That evening and for the next two days, we would follow the race’s route as we climbed and climbed over single-track, double-track, dirt roads and even a section of smooth asphalt. But first, we had to find camp.
As the sun disappeared and darkness settled in, we pedalled back up the Waterton Canyon looking for a spot to spend the night. About a mile or two in, a pick-up truck stopped us and advised that the Canyon was officially closed and we would have to turn around and leave, no camping permitted. “Oh, but we’re riding all night, heading to the Colorado Trail and eventually back to Salida” we announced. “Well, so long as you promise me you will leave the Canyon and get onto the CT, I’ll let you continue.” Agreeing to this, we said goodnight and continued on.
Now, honestly, our plan had actually been to camp in the Canyon but now we knew we had better get ourselves off this City property and onto the CT. We hit the trail, climbed up a bunch of switch-backs and found a nice flat spot to spend the night. After 14 hours and 100miles, we lay under the stars, surrounded by trees as the sounds of the forest lulled us to sleep; bliss. Day one was in the bag. Tomorrow, the real work would begin.
Day 2, Sunday, 7am; camp was packed, breakfast eaten–we decided that for a trip of just two nights, we would forego cooking equipment which meant no coffee; I suffered in silence–and we were back on the bikes, climbing and climbing for the next several hours. We passed several tents with campers still asleep, while those who were awake stared in disbelief as we cruised past under the moist morning canopy of trees. That cooling roof soon fell away and the sun began to burn down upon us as we rode, and walked, up over those granite mountains. Refilling bottles and emptying bladders at yesterday’s spigot, we arrived at the end of the single-track where the runner’s had their aid-station the day before.
Arriving a couple minutes behind the others, I joined them sitting in the dirt, commenting that I just didn’t have any punch, I was walking technical climbs I might have otherwise ridden. I wasn’t alone, they too were feeling the miles and the mountains. As we sat there discussing the rest of our day’s route, a fellow nearby was getting ready for a multi-day hike. Overhearing us lament the sun and the miles, he walked over offering us donuts! Our eyes bulged, our mouths salivated and our stomachs yelled YES YES YES! Thanking Matt ten times over for his generosity, he then walked back to us, offering a cold can of Coca-Cola for us to share. It was magnificent; a cold, crisp dose of caffeine that we all relished. “Ya, I’m also a cyclist, so I get where you guys are, how you’re feeling.” Matt, we can’t thank you enough.
From that little parking spot, we headed south on what is known to racers of the CTR as the Tarryall Detour; established because the next section of the Colorado Trail passes through the Lost Creek Wilderness Area, a region closed to mechanized vehicles. In previous years, racers would take the route we rode on day one but in reverse; up the dirt road to Bailey then along the highway to Kenosha Pass before getting back on the CT. Last year, however, a detour adding about 60miles was instituted, taking riders south on dirt roads along Buffalo Creek, past Wellington Lake and Cheeseman Lake before hitting the paved route #77 north towards the Tarryall Reservoir.
Sunday was warm; rather, it was hot, damn hot, well into the 90s F/30s C, with the sun blazing down upon us. Riding again within the Hayman burn, we enjoyed no tree cover, just sun sun and more sun. When motor-vehicles would pass by, clouds of dust would envelope us, causing our eyes to burn, particularly Aaron’s. Hour after hour under the hot sun, we climbed and climbed, always hoping the next bend would send us downhill.
At one point, near the end of our 13hr day, I rolled up on the others as they sat at road-side. I unceremoniously dropped my bike to the ground, sat down and barely said a word. I was a total zombie, my legs felt like they were no longer a part of my being, just these pained stumps that kept moving up and down to a rhythm that came from habit. They got up and started to ride. I sat there, crossed-legged, staring off into space. After a few more minutes, I grunted to standing, picked-up Isabelle, dusted her off, got on, and kept on riding till we found camp.
There, I was out of water but a friendly couple in their RV were happy to give my sorry looking self a few bottles of water. We three ate in silence and were soon fast asleep, 13hours after our day began but again under the stars….
Day 3, Monday, 5:30am; awake and feeling weak, tired, drained of energy. That morning I also woke with quite a lot of pain in my right achilles, something new to me. It was painful to walk on and limited my ankle’s range of motion…pedalling was awkward. Figure I must have tweaked it during a section of hike-a-bike the day before.
With the rising sun still hidden behind the mountains we’d ridden around all day Sunday, we had a cold start to day three, descending dirt roads for a few miles before hitting the asphalt of route #77. There we turned right, about 30miles south of where Aaron’s truck was parked. The new pavement and early hour made for smooth, wind-free riding up and down the endless rollers. I was still feeling weak, always trailing the others as we climbed. After about an hour on the bikes, we stopped at road-side for water from an irrigation ditch; we all were nearly out.
While Reilly filtered water I attempted to open burrito’s plastic wrapper. My hands did not have the strength to grip the plastic and tear it open, I had to grip it with both hands and tear it open with my teeth. This isn’t good, I thought to myself.
Nearing the Tarryall Reservoir around 9am we came across the Stage Stop Saloon which we’d been keeping an eye out for. There we hoped to get some food for the day. Though the saloon did not open till 10am, the sign on the shop’s door said they were open for business and to knock. So we did. A minute later, Pat arrived at the door, very willing to help out a few hungry cyclists. We each bought a bunch of snacks and devoured them as we sat on the porch chatting with Pat about the CTR and the Pro Cycling Challenge. Turns out he’s quite a fan of cycling. Last year the CTR racers caught him a bit off-guard. This year he’ll be ready and fully stocked with everything hungry cyclists might want.
Energized by the food and the break, I was feeling much more alive as we continued north on the pavement then east and north-east up dirt roads towards our next two sections of the Colorado Trail. The first section was 6 miles of beautiful single-track with several spots exposed to the north winds that were now starting to howl. Reaching Kenosha pass from the south-east, we stopped for another bite to eat. Crossing #285 we resumed riding the glorious single-track that is the Colorado Trail. Descending for a little bit we soon found ourselves climbing yet again, the mountains just not quite ready to let us go without a little bit more suffering. After 7.5 hours, we were back on the dirt roads that first led us out of Jefferson three days earlier.
Back in Salida and congratulating ourselves for a job well done, we stood in the Arkansas River enjoying the therapeutic benefits of it’s cold water. Thirty minutes later the pain in my achilles was gone.
Those three days were at times really tough while at others, truly magnificent. We climbed & climbed, the sun beat down upon us. We pushed our bikes up hills and flew down the other side. We camped under the stars and rode within a scorched earth’s renaissance. We met several kind people and enjoyed hours of silent solitude. I felt strong at times, weak at others. More than anything, I felt truly present in my mind, my body, my soul and in life. There were many times when I really escaped myself, really let go, completely undistracted by the realities of my existence. I simply pedalled, breathed and lived.
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