The Epic Ride

Over the course of my cycling adventures there has been a multitude of long hard rides that stretched the limits of my physical and mental endurance. Climbs like the Going to the Sun Highway, Trailridge Road, and Mt. Evans are just a sampling. One a few occasions I have surpassed the hundred mile mark, with the longest being 124 miles. But when discussing epic bike rides there is one that stands out amongst the rest. It is not the longest or the one with the most altitude gain, but it is the epic ride.

Back when I lived in Leadville, Colorado my favorite ride was always the one to Minturn and back. Since Leadville is located at over ten thousand feet above sea level you really have to go down before you can climb. This particular ride, which I had done a few times before, certainly involved a lot of descents and ascents. As I left my back alley apartment off of Harrison Street the sky was a luminescent blue, with only a few clouds. There was a slight chill in the air, but that was to be expected because it was only March and winter still maintained a pretty solid grip on this mountain town. To protect myself against the cold I added leg and arm warmers to my cycling outfit.

I headed north out of town and soon turned onto Highway 24 heading towards Minturn, thirty-two miles distant. After a short chilling downhill descent I rode the open terrain of the upper Arkansas River Valley. Soon the climb towards Tennessee Pass began. It’s not really a hard climb because it lacks both gradient and length, but it is incredibly scenic. After about three miles I am immersed in a canopy of pines lining the road and soon summit the top of the pass. Clicking the gears I begin the descent, which includes three really tight switchbacks which always serve as a test to my bike handling skills. The next five miles is a blur and rush of wind as I fly down the mountainside. The sense of exhilaration is incredible and I pedal constantly to stave off the cold. Reaching the bottom of the mountain I pass the empty fields of historic Camp Hail, where the men of the infamous Tenth Mountain Division trained for combat in World War II. For the next few miles it’s undulating terrain with a short descent and some nice tight switchbacks. Just before the mountain hamlet of Redcliff the pain and climbing begin in earnest. For three miles the steep road clings to the red-colored mountainside. The ride across the green arched bridge is breathtaking and always gets my adrenaline and happy thoughts pumping. I love this climb! I always feel a mix of fear and awe. Getting out of the saddle I struggle to maintain a semblance of momentum up this beast of a climb. My face becomes a combination of concentration and pain. Is that the top? Of course not! I always get confused about where the summit is. Finally I reach it and begin another five mile descent to the outskirts of Minturn. I stop at a gas station to fill up with water and snacks, but get back on the bike as soon as possible to avoid allowing my muscles to cramp up.

Now comes the harder part of my journey. Leaving the town of Minturn it’s five miles of climbing. Right from the beginning a series of switchbacks leaves me craning my neck to see around the corner hundreds of feet above me and that isn’t even the top! Keeping a steady pace I work my way to the top while enjoying the scenery in the valley below. Before I reach the top the sky becomes threatening and a few raindrops warn of impending doom. If it rains the descent to Redcliff will be treacherous, almost outright suicide. Luckily the roads are still dry as I reach the summit and descend the exhilarating technical turns to the valley road. My quick analysis of the weather is very grim indeed, but I hold the power to getting home. Riding along the valley the rain begins again, and this time it’s with vigor. In short succession my jersey, shoes, and finally shorts become sodden with moisture. The temperature has also dropped a few degrees and visibility is rapidly diminishing.

I’m going as fast as I possibly can to get out of the rain and cold and to simply stay warm. As the rain persists I curse my misfortune. As I pass Camp Hale the yellow sign marking five miles to the summit disappears in the wet mist. Soon the cold rain becomes white snow flakes. This is really going to be interesting, positively epic. The road goes up and I have no choice but to follow. Fortunately the exertion from riding my bike up a mountain allows some traces of warmth to permeate my body. Only a few cars pass and without stopping disappear into the snowy mist. I am torn between flagging down a ride and continuing to suffer in this quiet tranquil climb. The whiteness that surrounds me traps me in my own small world. I’m in what athletes call the zone and the adrenaline is pumping seemly effortlessly through my body. I can’t shift me gears or use my brakes and haven’t been able to do so for some time now because the bike is laden with ice.

I’m a good way up the climb, maybe three of the five miles and know that I can reach the top in relative safety. But as the snow continues to fall and my bike become increasingly clogged with ice I begin to seriously worry about the descent off Tennessee Pass. I’ll just have to wait and see what fate will befall me at the top. The switchbacks signal that the top is quick approaching. Coming out of the final switchback I sprint out the last hundred yards, mainly from force of habit. To my great relief the snow has stopped falling and I can at least be assured a clear descent. Although I want to continue without delay to maintain what semblance of warmth I have, I am forced to stopped and dislodge the ice from my bike. My chain and cassettes are jammed full of ice, but with a little convincing it relinquishes its hold. I also scrap along the down tube to free my shift and brake cables. Fortunately I will be able to use my brakes on the descent and this is a good thing.

As for myself, my clothes and body are chilled and soaking, but my spirits are soaring from the conquering the snowy ascent. Beginning the descent my body begins to visibly shake and I strain even harder to reach the bottom. It only takes a few minutes, but I am seriously cold. As a reach the valley floor I am relieved that the wind has not arrived in full force to prolong my struggle to reach the warmth of home. As one would assume with a town that rests so high above sea level the last portion is uphill. This last mile long climb serves as a sadistic form of punishment against one cyclist who seeks to reach the small town of Leadville. Today is no different, but I force my cold exhausted legs to spin the cranks one after the other. The climb is over and it’s only about a mile to my apartment. I make a pitiful attempt to break the twenty-five mile speed limit, but the day’s ordeal has sapped all the strength and warmth from my body.

I fumble with the keys outside my apartment and then rush into the blast of warm air. Setting my bike against the wall I rush into the bathroom for a quick warm shower before jumping under the warm covers of my bed. I’m still shaking, but the warm and cozy featherbed, combined with fleece pants and jacket eventually return my body to normal. As a drift off into a tired well-deserved sleep my mind wanders back to the ride. Thank goodness it’s over with. That’s one story not to tell Mom, but what a great one to tell my friends. One things for sure, that was one incredibly epic ride!