Vapor Trail 125; The Hardiest of the Hard, the Toughest of the Tough

Saturday, September, 7th, 8:10pm MT; Absolute Bikes, Salida, Colorado, USofA; the riders meeting for the 9th Annual Vapor Trail 125 was underway. Super-organizers Shawn Gillis, Earl Walker Jr and Tom Purvis reviewed starting procedures, course details and post-race beer protocols. As I stood near the back, I looked around at the sixty-four other Vapor competitors. Damn, never have I seen such an intense group of people, the hardiest of the hard, the toughest of tough. Do I really deserve to be associated with these powerhouse athletes? Am I out of my league, am I insane?

Among those gathered were several of my friends. Some folks I recognized and a few more I knew only by reputation. The cyclists assembled had completed–and in some cases won–some of the biggest mountain-bike races anywhere, including various 24 hour races, the Colorado Trail Race and the Tour Divide. This boy from Canada was ready, however. I had a plan and would stick to it. If I did, I was confident I would finish the hardest one-day high-elevation endurance mountain-bike race on the planet. At least, that’s what I was trying to convince myself of.

At the stroke of 10pm, with a police escort leading us out, the streets of Salida were lined with supportive friends, loving family members, cheering spectators and several bewildered restaurant-goers. The temperature was warm, the sky was star-filled and our legs were pumped. It’s on!

The first section of the 125 mile Vapor course includes a few miles of pavement before turning to dirt-roads, climbing nearly 3,000′ of elevation to Blanks Cabin and the Colorado Trail, the first section of single-track we’d tackle. At the appointed spot, the big-boys took-off while I stayed true to my game-plan; conserve, conserve, conserve. It would be a VERY long night and day of riding; no need to blow-up early.

Having recently ridden this section of trail twice, at night, I knew what to expect. There were a few short sections of hike-a-bike, lots of fast, rolling trail and plenty of very rocky technical stretches that could easily end your race early. I took no chances but still rode with confidence. Nearing the end of the trail is a section of very steep, very tight switch-backs, all covered with sand. The rain had begun to fall about 30mins earlier making the trail a bit more challenging. BANG, CRASH, UGH! What the hell just happened?!

Concentrating on the trail ahead of me, I failed to notice the thick tree branch jutting-out at hip level. The right end of my handlebar smashed in to it at full force, pitching me over the bars and on to the wet sand. Though my pinky finger was sore, I and my bike suffered no real injuries. Ten minutes later I arrived at Aid Station #1. It was 1:39am.

There, a fire was roaring; breakfast burritos were being served by my friends John and Rickie while riders came and went. Everyone was in good spirits and the rain had stopped. Refilling my bottles and hydration-bladder, I soon rolled-out into the darkness a bit after 2am, beginning the long, slow dirt-road climb that follows Chalk Creek past Alpine Lake, Iron City, St Elmo and Hancock. Resting at a gate for a minute or three to have a quick bite to eat, my friends Kimberly and Dominic rolled-up. Kimberly and I would spend the better part of the next 10hours riding together. The stars were out and the temperature was about 10C[50F]. It was about 4am.

After a couple miles of narrow single-track the trail makes a left-hand turn straight up and over the Alpine Tunnel and the Continental Divide. Immediately we were off our bikes, hiking up that tough, loose, rocky trail. Joined by two others we plodded along before reaching the summit; about 3,000′ of elevation gain since Aid Station #1.

From atop the great divide, we would descend about 1,000′ riding past the remnants of the rail-way that once served this mining area and the abandoned yet charming Alpine Tunnel station. But as we all know, what gets to go down, has to go up. With the temperatures hovering at 6C [43F], we then began climbing our way to Tomichi Pass, another 1,000′ of elevation to endure. Sometimes riding, sometimes walking, the profiles of the huge mountains all around us could just be seen, stars and bicycle headlamps floating high above. It was magnificent, like nothing I’ve ever seen. Here, you really get a sense of what it means to experience this great planet in all its rugged grandeur. I didn’t know if I should laugh, cry, smile or cheer. Instead, I just kept on riding….

Beyond Tomichi Pass is a hike-a-bike section of truly epic proportions. Gaining more than 3,000′ of elevation over just two miles, the trail is ridiculous, completely unridable. It’s never more than two feet wide with nothing to save you if you should take a bad step and tumble. Some shoulder their bikes for this section, others[including myself] push the bike forward a couple feet, take a few steps to catch-up, then push the bike forward again, inching it over the loose rocks and scree. The grade of this trail–although, the term trail used here is far too gracious–is about 10-15% and the switch-backs seem to go on forever, as does the height of this great mountain.

As Kimberly and I made our way up this massive peak, the sun was beginning to rise. Above and beyond the mountains to the east, the sky was turning the softest shades of pink, blue, teal, orange and red. Though I wanted to keep on hiking, I couldn’t help but stop and stare at the warm jacket of beauty that was enveloping this majestic land. Honestly, I had tears in my eyes. This is the universe at it’s most sublime.

After fifty minutes, Kimberly and I reached the top; 12,400′, she a few minutes ahead of me. The moment I joined her the sun broke over the mountains, blinding us with orange, yellow and white luminescence. There could not be a better place to witness the dawn of the new day than right there. We were the two most fortunate people in the world. All the suffering we had endured and would endure still was so worth the struggle, for that single moment was like no other. What’s more, we were about to enjoy the greatest sixty minutes one could ever have on a mountain-bike. We were about to descend the Canyon Creek trail!

For the next hour and over fourteen miles, we would descend more than 3,500′. The trail is narrow, fast, and glorious. Starting well above the tree-line, the trail cuts a path across the mountain-side before stabbing into the forest. Just as I hit the cover of trees, I lost my nerve on a rocky section and crashed; a victim of too little speed rather than too much. Leaving just an lumpy abrasion on my right hip, I jumped back on my bike and continued to rip down that hill, eventually catching Kimberly who had started down five minutes before me. Now, I must apologize dear reader, but no words can possibly describe just how incredible this down-hill section truly is. You will just have to come down and earn it for yourself.

Arriving at Aid Station #2 at mile 65 just after 8am, the most remarkable volunteers took care of our every need…and more. They cleaned my drive-train and lubed my chain. They filled my water bottles and hydration-bladder, even asking if I wanted any performance powder etc. added. They had pancakes and sausages cooking; regrettably, pancakes upset my stomach and I don’t eat meat. Instead, I hungrily lathered peanut-butter on a banana, devouring it in seconds. Greatest of all, they had COFFEE!! If you know me at all you’ll understand just how much of a life-giving treat it was to be handed a cup of hot black coffee by a smiling volunteer after having been on my bike for the past ten hours. Heck, they even offered to take our lights and superfluous cold/wet weather clothing and have it transported back to the race finish. Heaven is a place on earth and it was Aid Station #2.

Leaving around 8:30am, we enjoyed a dirt-road descent for a couple miles before the sharp left-turn that announced the start of the nine mile Old Monarch Pass dirt-road climb. Some people really dread this climb and the few souls I passed along the way reinforced that sentiment. I, however, was feeling good and simply approached it as I would any road climb. I found the right gear, dropped my shoulders and spun my way up that road to the summit, another 2,100 feet of elevation completed.

At the top are about two miles of single-track before arriving at new Monarch Pass, Aid Station #3, elevation 11,312′. The skies were blue and totally free of clouds, the temperature was an idyllic 18C[63F] The time was 10:21am

Again, the volunteers were all smiles and helpful hands; they checked-over my bike, offered me a chair and lots of encouragement. Fellow Canadian, Roland, was there, hastily handing me food and my drop-bag containing a full change of kit and the specific foods I wanted with me for the rest of the day. I’ve got to say, there’s something really motivating about seeing such a friendly face as Roland’s after having been on the bike for more than twelve hours. Thanks pal.

Wanting to change my cycling shorts for the clean ones in my drop-bag, I asked if anyone would mind if I simply got changed right there in the middle of the parking lot. “I’m an EMT, I’ve seen it all; doesn’t bother me” said one of the volunteers. That’s all the permission I needed. Dropping my shorts and exposing my bare skinny white ass, I turned around to see a group of middle-aged women getting ready for their own Sunday morning ride. I shrugged my shoulders, applied a fresh coating of chamois butter and got dressed. Yelling farewell to all, I began one of my most favourite sections of trail anywhere; The Monarch Crest Trail.

Having ridden this eleven mile trail many times over the past few years, I know it well. It starts with a bit of a grunting climb with a few other steep, rocky pitches thrown in for good measure. Riding above the tree-line for most of it, the views are truly awe-inspiring. Passing a few fellow riders I’d been leap-frogging most of the race, I was soon hurtling down-hill with supreme confidence and a huge smile. I was in my element, it was brilliant. This really is what mountain-biking in Colorado is all about. If you ride, you owe it to yourself to experience this trail at least once, maybe a dozen times just for good measure.

After just one hour Kimberly and I arrived at Marshall Pass and Aid Station #4 to the loud cheers of Sydney and her crew. They fed us and filled our bottles; the gave us chairs and shade to sit under and sent us off with hugs and encouragement. We would need it all…

Just beyond those smiling faces is a relatively short–500′ gain–climb before the start of the exhilarating Starvation Creek trail that descends deep within the mountain-side Aspens, along the creek that gives the trail its name and over a section of very technical, sketchy rock scree. Not wanting to risk a broken arm nor a sliced side-wall, I chose to walk that section but bombed the rest of it. Good times!!

At the bottom of Starvation we cross over Poncha Creek to be greeted by a friendly, smiling EMT, happy to know we wouldn’t need her services. Here, we turn about face and climb. Now, I’d not previously climbed this trail, but its infamy is well known. At the bottom, I asked Kimberly what to expect: “It’s long, steep and rocky.” For many, it’s a hike-a-bike climb, especially since those 2,000′ of elevation gain start after already having ridden 93 miles[150kms] since 10pm the night before. I was feeling okay, however, and figured I’d just ride slowly until it got too much…it never did. Creeping along at 3mph[5kph] I rode the entire thing! Once at the top the course takes us back to Sydney’s big smile at Aid Station #4. The round-trip took me about 2hrs 10mins, Kimberly arriving just 10 minutes later and all smiles. Popping a few more ibuprofen, electrolyte tablets and some cold Coca-Cola, Kimberly and I rolled out. It was 2:30pm and the temperature was a balmy 27C[80F].

Just after we got started, Kimberly commanded me to hit the Silver Creek Trail single-track ahead of her. It would be the last time we’d see each-other until reuniting at the race’s finish. Silver Creek starts with a climb that always causes me to grunt and curse. It’s steep and rocky and though I still felt good and was riding a steady pace, I was getting tired. Though, certainly not quite as exhausted as some others I’d seen late in the day.

Completing that climb, we got reimbursed with the Silver Creek trail descent. Again, riding within the lush Aspens, over smooth rolling single-track as well as another section of tire-killing rock scree. Crashing on that section twice this year, I opted to get off the bike and walk; prudence trumping pride. Back on the saddle, I was tearing it up, bombing down that hill, blasting past Aid Station #5 and onto the Rainbow Trail. I knew this would be the last section of single-track and I really wanted to finish the day in nineteen hours. It would be tight, particularly since the Rainbow Trail has many steep descents that turn hard then pitch you back up the other side of a ravine. Having slightly bent my rear derailleur hanger somewhere early on Rainbow, my two lowest gears weren’t really available to me. As a result, I was off my bike and walking up every one of those climbs. Although I knew it meant I wouldn’t reach my goal of a sub-19hr race, I didn’t let it bother me. I just enjoyed the remarkable views that look out over the mountains and valleys all around.

Okay, I lied. At one point late on the Rainbow Trail, I came across a not-too-steep but very rocky climb. “Are you kidding me!” I yelled with frustration “When does this end?!” Not knowing this trail very well, the endless ups and downs was starting to get to me. Though I was fast on the flat and downhill sections, my legs were beginning to protest the climbs that lay around every corner. I kept thinking to myself “this must be it, the steep switchbacks down to the road must be around the next corner.” When they weren’t, I’d cuss, again. Of course the final single-track descent did eventually present itself.

Hitting the road, I was looking forward to a fast rip through the town of Poncha Springs, Salida just a few miles further. Nope, not today. Rather, with my front brake rotor slightly bent and rubbing against the brake calliper, there was a head-wind all the way down hill! So, instead of putting my head down and attacking, I sat upright, relaxed and just cruised on down as the cars zoomed past.

Making my way into Salida, the occasional car would drive by, the passengers leaning out of the windows, yelling, screaming, clapping, cheering me on. It was such a great feeling. I was nearly home.

At 5:10pm and after nineteen hours and ten minutes, it was over. I rolled across the finish-line at the back of Absolute Bikes where my friends Reilly, Taf, Craig, Shawn, Scot, John and several others cheered my arrival. Just fifteen minutes later, Kimberly and her huge smile crossed the line.

Way back in January, I had set a goal and committed myself to achieving it. Nothing would stop me and nothing did. The feeling of knowing I’d completed the hardest one-day mountain-bike race anywhere was truly empowering.

Thinking back to the racers meeting the night before, I finally acknowledged that I am a part of that crowd, I am the hardiest of the hard, the toughest of the tough. They are my people and I am one of them. It was one of the proudest moments of my life. After all that training, after all those miles, after all that self-inflicted suffering, it was over and I was triumphant.

Such an event takes a huge amount of commitment and dedication. But it also takes countless hours of organization and tedious logistical planning. Without the selfless commitment of many, many volunteers, none of it would have happened. Riding those nineteen hours, I witnessed the passion of so many, not just on the trails, but at the Aid Stations, at the start/finish and well behind the scenes. To you all, I offer my most sincere gratitude. You are what mountain-biking is all about, you are why these races exist and without you none of us would have accomplished what we did this past weekend. Thank you.

Now there is just one outstanding issue; what’s next….

For the the full results, please click here.

For the Garmin data from my ride, please click here. [sorry, but my cycle-computer battery died as I was climbing up Poncha Creek Trail; I guess after more than fifteen hours, it had had enough]

Check out this video of the race’s start. Watch closely and you’ll see yours truly roll past.

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