Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park ascends up to 12,183 feet as it passes over the Continental Divide, connecting the cities of Estes Park and Grand Lake in Colorado.  It is the highest continuous road for automobiles in the United States.

The weather had started to trend colder and wetter, and I still had my heart set on riding over Trail Ridge Road from Estes Park to Grand Lake (and back) in 2014.  I knew it was important to not wait too long since Winter hits the top of Trail Ridge Road early and often (see photo of snow plow).

Trail Ridge Road being plowed in Spring (303 Cycling)

The idea for this ride came from my friend, Phil, with whom I had twice ridden up the eastern side of Trail Ridge Road, to the Alpine Center, and back down (43.8 miles, round trip; ~5037′ elevation gain).  Phil couldn’t follow through on what I feared was the last good weekend, but another friend, Chris was game for the extended journey. We booked Sunday, September 14 for the attempt.

Trail Ridge had been used by native Americans to cross the mountains between  their home lands in the west and hunting areas on the east side. Arapahoe Indians called the trail located on the ridge as “taienbaa” (“Where the Children Walked”) because it was so steep that children could not be carried, but had to walk.

Trail Ridge Road profile starting from Grand Lake and end at Estes Park  (Wikipedia)

Our ride would start just outside Estes Park (and a bit inside the northern entrance to RMNP), and would take us over the Continental Divide, near the Colorado River’s headwaters, and end just outside of the western entrance to RMNP (near the town and body of water called “Grand Lake”). Of course, from there, we would have to turn around and retrace our path to get back home. Our cycling adventure would cover approximately 80 miles and would climb (and descend) about 8,700 feet of elevation, and nearly all of riding would between 9,000′ and 12,000′ of elevation (more mileage above 9000′  than the 120-mile Triple Bypass ride).

 The Start – 6:30am

We started up the Trail Ridge Road in the dark at 6:30am, shivering from the freezing temperatures the weatherman predicted we’d find.  We started at such a terrible, cold hour to reduce the traffic we’d dodge (tourists sleep in) and to minimize our exposure to the possible afternoon thunderstorms (moderate likelihood; devastating consequences).

Photo of Many Parks Curve in 2013, taken at dawn. The shadow of photographer (me) can be seen on right half of photo.

Riding hard to warm up, we quickly passed West Horseshoe Park, where the road signs warned of frequent encounters with bighorn sheep, deer and elk (but, I guess they slept in as well), and then we went by the Horseshoe Park Overlook before we finally had warmed up enough to shed some clothes.  We stopped at the intersection merging US-34 with US-36 to remove a few clothing layers and eat a bite of food, and then we turned right to follow Trail Ridge Road past Hidden Valley.  From Hidden Valley (9,239′), we knew we had 10.5 miles of 5% grade road that climbed 2,898′  to reach the Rock Cut (approximately the start of the up and down traverse to the Alpine Center, 4 miles away).  That was our first objective.

A photo I took of Brian at Rainbow Curve in 2012, with Ypsilon and Fairchild mountains in the background.

We continued upward, passing Many Parks Curve and later a sign announcing we were 2 miles above sea level (5280′ x 2 +10,560′). Higher still, the trees we passed became increasingly beaten down by the brutal weather they endure for much of the year.  After we passed the Rainbow Curve, a tourist favorite for the amazing views of the northern end of RMNP, we passed through the treeline.  The next 11 miles would stay above the treeline, which meant no protection for cyclists from the freezing wind we were sure to meet.

Treeline is the edge of the habitat at which trees are capable of growing. Beyond the tree line, trees cannot tolerate the environmental conditions (usually cold temperatures or lack of moisture). The tree line should not be confused with a lower timberline or forest line, which is often defined as the line where trees form a forest with a closed canopy.

~ Wikipedia

Amazingly, we didn’t have the wind I’d always before had to endure.  Feeling lucky and fast, we hurried through the Rock Cuts (12,137′), and started the 4.5 miles of riding which would remain at an altitude of around 12,000 feet. We started down the first long descent of the day, and enjoyed the rest as well as the awesome feeling of speed.  But all too quickly it was over, and then we had to climb back up every one of those ~400 feet of altitude and then some to reach 12,183′ (the highest point on Trail Ridge Road).  One last fast descent led us past the Gore Range Overlook and then to the Alpine Center, which we reached at 9am.

As I feared, it was closed until 10:30am, which meant no source of water to replenish our dwindling drinking supplies.

Alpine Center (11,717′) – 9:00am

After putting on my rain jacket to cut the wind (and windchill), and with dehydration looming, we set off down toward Grand Lake. I had never traveled Trail Ridge Road between the Alpine Center and Grand Lake; I was excited to be exploring a new part of RMNP.

From the Alpine Center, the road immediately hits the hairpin Medicine Bow Curve, which displays a sign indicating the State of Wyoming can be seen in the distance.  And, as the road steepened, so did our speed.  I quickly lost my body heat and started shivering.

Continuing the decent, the road reentered alpine forest and then reopened as we approached Poudre Lake (the official “source” of the Colorado River). The sunshine felt so good.  Once past the lake, we went over the Continental Divide, the virtual line marking where all water east of the line flows towards the Atlantic and all water to the west flows to the Pacific.

Trail Ridge Road map (by Darekk2)

Trail Ridge Road route Sept. 14, 2014

Once the road reentered the forest (and we lost the sun), I had to stop to put on my fleece jacket under my rain jacket. I just couldn’t stand the shivering it any longer.

Chris went by me while I changed, and then I happily spent the next 30 minutes chasing him down, warmly.

Two miles after the last of several hairpin curve, we went past a sign for the Colorado River Trailhead, which facilitates a modest walk to the Colorado River where is it only a small stream.  This also coincided with the end of the steep descending.

Continuing toward Grand Lake, I was still hurrying to catch Chris.  This distraction was welcome given how dull (flattish, straight, not much to see) it was to ride this 10 miles of road simply to get water at the Kawuneeche Center.

Dehydration on a long bike ride leads to phone calls to annoyed wives who have to drive a long way to bring stupid husbands home.

I caught Chris after a few miles of this flattish section, and then we continued down the road that was getting warmer and warmer, especially to those wearing fleece sweaters beneath rain jackets.

We reached the Western RMNP entrance around 11:30, and after stopping to make certain we could get back into the park, we continued another mile down to the Kawuneeche Center.

Kawuneeche Center – 11:30am

Ah, the half-way point.  All we had to do was turn around and go home.  Unfortunately, it had taken us 4 hours to do the first half, so we were going to have a long day.  But first, lunch!

After a 30 minute lunch break, and topping off our water bottles, we started for home.

The reclimb of the flattish 10-11 miles of road was a misery, but then we got to enjoy (translation:  suffer on purpose) the 2,604′ of climbing from the Colorado River Trailhead to the Alpine Center (about 10 miles of 5% grade road).  And, going slower allowed us to enjoy the scenery whenever we managed to get ahead on our breathing and didn’t have to stay on the edge of the road to let the cars go past.

Once we passed Medicine Bow curve and turned to head toward the Alpine Center, the brutal mountain winds found us.  It was unreal; only the 40 mph, freezing winds on Pikes Peak were worse.  Fortunately, we only had to ride 1/4 mile before turning off to get more water/food at the Alpine Center.  We arrived at 1pm, and we found that the tourists had decided to come to the Alpine Center.  Not one parking spot was available, and cars were crawling through the lot hoping to catch someone leaving.  It reminded me of shopping on the day before Christmas.

Average daily summer wind speeds at the Alpine Center are about 48 mph with gusts up to 79 mph. During summer, winds are generally most turbulent at midday and least turbulent at sunrise.  Alpine visitors have a unique opportunity to be standing in a breeze one moment and a hurricane-force wind the next.

~ National Park Service

Alpine Center – 1pm

We decided to stop for a lengthy rest inside the gift shop to get our bodies ready for the long push exposed to the terrible wind.  The tourists were packed into the already overstuffed (with stuff for sale) gift shop / café; I suppose they were hiding from the wind as well. Everyone was startlingly friendly. We were approached a number of times by people who wanted to talk about cycling.  It was quite fun until there was a gigantic crashing noise which indicated someone had knocked over one of the large glass structures containing breakable, expensive items for sale.

That was our cue to head home.

We started up the first climb toward the Gore Range Overlook, competing with cars for road space and heading directly into the teeth of the wind.  The pace of riding was painfully slow, but at least I had put on all my clothes to avoid hypothermia.

Fortunately, the wind direction remained largely out of the west, so we only had to deal with the headwind during the opening climb.  Generally, we had side-winds, which was unsettling but not physically challenging.  And on the last climb of the day, we actually had a tailwind pushing us up the mountain.  Nice!

Fairly quickly we reached the Rock Cut, which left only the descent, albeit a very long one.

After an hour of careful avoidance of speeding cars and oblivious pedestrians for an hour, we reached my 4Runner at 2:30pm.

Finish – 2:30pm

We had hoped for a 6 hour ride, but took 8 hours including over an hour of stoppage time.

The ride not only took longer than I thought, it felt harder than I expected.  After-the-fact, I attribute it to the long exposure to high altitude….or old age.

We had ridden 81 miles and climbed (and descended) 8,700′.  A worthy effort for a day in the Rocky Mountains.

Another great ride was in the books.

See Mountain Ride Reports listing

shiv·er  \ˈshiv-ər\
: to undergo trembling : experience rapid involuntary muscular twitching especially in response to cold

After completing in the Mount Evans Hill Climb in late July 2014, I knew that I had to ride the only other paved road to the top of a Colorado 14er:  Pikes Peak (14,110;).  After a bit of a search, I found the Pikes Peak Cycling Hill Climb was scheduled for August 26, 2014; I signed up as soon as I could figure out how (it’s a long story).  Little did I know that the Pikes Peak Cycling Hill Climb would be an epic adventure rivaling my most extreme mountaineering adventures.  Three hours worth, anyway.

A view of much of the Pikes Peak Tollway, including the Crystal Resevoir (the start of the race), the lower switchbacks lead to Glen Cove (the 1/2-way point of the race), the treeline, and the start of the infamous “Switchbacks” above treeline.

I had done a lot of riding since my first organized ride, The Triple Bypass in July 2014.  The road cycling thing had begun to feel like old-hat: I was no longer consumed with attention to every variable or stressing over potential disasters.  For the Pikes Peak ride, I really only had two major concerns:

1. What would the weather be like at 14k?
2. Would my lingering illness-related breathing issues (asthma?) be resolved by race day?

Both questions would be slow to resolve, and the answers would reveal themselves rather dramatically.

On Saturday the night before the race, as I lay feeling sorry for myself in my Manitou Springs motel bed, I wondered why I put myself into such a miserable place.  I wondered how I could leave my family so early on a Saturday evening to live alone for a night in a dirty hotel room attempting to watch Bronco football on a TV with reception so poor as to be unmatched since my teen years watching Benny Hill reruns on a UHF station.  The uncertainty of my health and the weather, and the dread of waking up at 3am was making me feel stressed and unhappy; and I wondered out loud why I did this to myself.

But almost immediately, the answer came.  I did it because I loved it.  The feeling of stress and misery vanished, replaced by a feeling of anticipation and excitement.  Although I did retain a hope that I wouldn’t catch anything serious in the nasty room which had not been adequately cleaned since the previous night’s occupant.

I awoke before my alarm and made ready for a hard morning workout.  My first task was to check the weather for the morning. I was surprised at the low temperatures for the early hours (high 40’s), which suggested very cold temps nearly a mile higher, on the summit.  At the least the question of whether to wear my arm and leg warmers was resolved.  I ate, dressed, packed up my car, and left for Pikes Peak at 4:15am to pick up my packet at the tollway entrance, and then drive another 7 miles to the starting line.

I didn’t know what sort of speed I could sustain over the 12+ mile, nearly 7% grade course, so I didn’t have much to go by in predicting a finish time. I understood that I had to finish within 3 hours to get a medal, so ‘better than 3 hours’ was my original goal. As always, I hoped to do better than the minimum, and I planned to go as hard as I could. I definitely would not stop, give up, quit, or die before reaching the summit, as per usual.

Official map

The day before the ride I discovered that the course pro records were only about 10 minutes over an hour (~10 mph), I decided I would do much better than 3 hours but still could not guess at a time. On the Mt Evans ride, I averaged just under 10 mph, but that route is not nearly as steep on average. I just didn’t dare hope for under 2 hours.

After dropping off my summit gear bag (I would not make that mistake again), I arrived at the start line with my jacket in my pocket and 5 minutes to wait.  I managed to secure a spot close to the front, near mile marker 7; the ride would take me to the Pikes Peak summit, just past mile maker 19, for a 12.4 mile ride gaining over 4,700 feet of elevation.

As we waited, the riders around me worried aloud about the wind we all could hear blowing through the tops of the trees. High winds plus cold temps would make for a very difficult day.  I was pleased that I had put on my arm and leg warmers.

“More than 300 riders took part in The Broadmoor Pikes Peak Cycling Hill Climb in the early hours, braving it through bone-chilling temperatures, low visibility, steep cliffs and furious winds at their head.

And the higher they climbed, the tougher the conditions became.

‘Just being a part of this climb this year is an incredible achievement. The times don’t matter,’ elite rider LeRoy Popowski said.”

~ The Gazette

Mile Markers 7-9 (2 miles)

The race started at 6am, and I took off very fast to maintain my near front starting position. The first mile was a mild incline and was behind us very quickly.  The second mile was a bit steeper, but also went by quickly.  The 3^rd mile began at mile marker 9, and that was also the start of the hard climbing.  The wind was occasionally strong but didn’t seem life changing, unlike previous mountain rides.

Mile Marker 9-11 (2 miles)

I stayed with my group for about 1.5 miles of steep climbing, but I could not catch enough air to sustain it. I lost contact with the group as I focused on getting enough air.  As feared, my lungs were not working well, and I was suffocating.  It was tremendously disappointing, but finishing was the priority.

Mile Marker 11-13 (2 miles)

I stayed with the effort, though, concentrating on fully exhaling and inhaling. And, slowly my breathing improved. I was able to pick my pace back up and keep my breathing under control. And I stopped losing ground to the other riders that I could see.  I also started drinking my water to prepare for a stop at the 1/2 point at Glen Cove.

At 6:50am, when I reached the half way point (near mile marker 13), I checked my watch and was amazed to discover only 50 minutes had gone by; I was under a 2 hour pace.  I hadn’t finished my 1st bottle of water, so I decided to skip the aid station.  I’d stop at the next station further up the mountain.

Mile Marker 13-16 (3 miles)

Emboldened, I pushed harder. I started passing the people who had earlier crept by me. And the wind started getting worse.

I started up the switchbacks as I left the trees, and the wind transformed into an opponent.

Watching the riders ahead of me fight uphill like salmon swimming up waterfalls, the experience was surreal. The buffeting of the wind felt like some of the worst mountaineering experiences I’d suffered through. There were times when I was moving <1 mph, so slowly that I could only barely go faster than the riders who had gotten off their bikes to walk up the road. And, the wind-chill was deadly.  The real fear of death or injury combined with the extreme effort made for a powerful feeling of adventure.

In a weird part of my mind, I loved it.  It was a thrill to be a part of it, right up to the point that I couldn’t feel my hands anymore.

While I knew I should do it to protect my core, I hadn’t put on my jacket yet; I kept thinking I could finish without it due to the massive calorie burn. I didn’t want to lose the time.  I did have on arm and leg warmers, but my well-ventilated, full-fingered gloves were not nearly enough. My hands were so cold I had to keep looking down at my hands to make sure I wasn’t inadvertently pulling on the brake levers.

At 7:35am, the small group I was with finished the switch back section just after mile marker 16, and sped up to capitalize on the temporarily easier terrain before the last 1.5 miles of climbing.  I had 25 minutes to finish under 2 hours; surely 25 minutes was enough to ride 3 remaining miles to the summit.

My legs were still strong, especially when standing on the bike.  While I could no longer stay with the group while I sat in the saddle; I could close the gaps whenever I would stand up and brave the brutal wind.  I decided to pass by the final water station as I hadn’t even started on my 2nd bottle due to an inability to take a hand off the handlebars; I just didn’t dare lose any control while under attack by the wind.

“High winds that forced the windchill factor below 20 degrees thrashed the riders who attempted the 12.4-mile climb to the peak’s 14,115-foot summit.”

~pikespeaksports.us

Mile Marker 16-19 (3 miles)

I couldn’t find mile markers anymore but the ride organizers put up kilometer remaining signs starting with 5k (3 miles).

At 3k (1.86 miles), the final climb was on.  But this final stretch averaged 10% grade.  It would be very painful.

I was feeling strong despite getting progressively hypothermic.  I wasn’t even feeling cold anymore, just numb, as the wind-chill was finally penetrating my core. The thought to put on my jacket was never out of my mind, but I just couldn’t give up the time. I really wanted to beat 2 hours, and it looked like I would be just a couple minutes slow already.

Riders were stopping left and right, and I was determined to stay with this group, and I would sprint to the finish, so help me God.

1 km to go.

I was going to make it for certain; but ‘under 2 hours’ was getting away from me. I couldn’t afford the distraction of calculating an estimated ETA…I just pushed as hard as I could.  The group was bunching up and continued to drop jacket-less guys who were too cold to keep up the pace. We went by another couple guys who had accelerated away from my group a few miles before.

The visibility was bad as we were finishing in a fast-moving cloud. Through the haze, I could see the finish line. This was my time.

I accelerated, finding speed I didn’t think I still had to pass the entire remaining group, ‘counting coup’ as I went by each one.

I finished at approximately 10:05 am.  I did not finish in under 2 hours.

My finish time was 2:05:55, yet, I still felt I had recaptured that portion of my pride lost during my weak finish to the Mt Evans Hill Climb.

“With bone chilling temperatures, 40 mile per hour winds and a dense fog limiting visibility at the summit this year’s event was a true challenge to every rider!”

~Pat McDonough, Event Director

The race was over for me, but the adventure was still on. I had to get out of the freezing wind NOW.  The thought of taking summit photos never entered my mind.  I was focused on survival, which meant escape the wind, get on more clothes, and get the hell down.

And as I scanned the mostly blank summit area, I realized I had no idea where to find my gear bag or find shelter. There were a couple parked vehicles next to a building in the distance; I rode over to the parked vehicles hoping one of them had my gear bag. A guy in a down parka rolled down his window and told me to put my bike in the van if I wanted a ride down. I asked where I could find the gear bags.  He said to look in the Cog Railway building, and pointed to the other side of the summit. I walked my bike as quickly as I could over broken, sloping ground where I found a door in what appeared to be an abandoned building.  I tried the door and was surprised it opened.

I went inside the abandoned building to escape the wind; I would at least be able to put on my jacket.  But when I entered I found a dozen people milling around or sitting on the floor amid a sea of gear bags. I had found it!

It wasn’t a warm room, but it had my gear.  Unfortunately one-half of the bags looked exactly like my own, which I eventually found at the far end of the room. By this time, I was shivering violently and struggling with stiff fingers to open the bag and put on my fleece sweater. I finally got the fleece on and my rain jacket over the top. My hands were starting to thaw and hurt, so I decided to accelerate the process to end the pain. I put my hands on the skin of my torso, which didn’t feel much warmer but still worked. Absolute agony. The thawing pain was severe; I hurt so badly I was afraid I’d throw up. It subsided after 5 minutes that seemed to last an hour.

I looked in the gear bag to see what else I had managed to pack; I found a balaclava and a pair of socks. I did not find the hand warmer packs which I had expected and counted on to keep my hands warm on the ride down. (I later found the hand warmers in the front seat of my car).  But it was enough; I would definitely ride down.

I put on the balaclava, which prompted another rider asked me if I was riding down. I replied “I had to”; I just couldn’t come all this way and then ride the bus down. Still, he had a point. It was cold, the wind was dangerous, and I was not starting from a warm base.

I consumed the 2nd bottle of water I had carried from the parking lot, and then filled it again out of habit.  There was zero chance I would take a hand off the handlebars on the descent.  Then I left the building and started down the road.

Almost immediately, I started shivering.  But I was making decent progress down the winding road, also weaving between the riders and walkers who did not look up from their misery and efforts. Occasionally, the wind was too strong and I slowed to nearly a stop to keep from crashing.

I was shivering so badly my arms were pulling on the handle bars, twisting my front wheel as I was trying to stay upright despite the blowing wind. The combination of uncontrollable arm twitching and violent gusts of wind made for some of the least well controlled riding of my life…all while riding along-side a steep cliff.

But I made it.  A few hours later I was home and pulling myself together to join my wife at her company picnic.

A couple of days later I found I had finished 17th of 96 finishers of the “Citizen’s Ride”. Not too bad for an old dude.

See index of Mountain Ride reports

“For five years the Red Rocks Century, formerly the Healing Wheels Tour, has been known as the toughest and most scenic of the Colorado Front Range cycling events.”

~ 303cycling.com

Iconic photo of Red Rocks Century

I selected the Red Rocks Century from among a number of great sounding rides.  I was originally interested in the Copper Triangle (8/3), and then it was the USA Pro Challenge Experience (8/10).  I settled on the Red Rock Century because of the low cost (boring, eh?) and its reputation as being hard (yes, seriously).  I was also attracted to the relative closeness of the start/finish to my home; I could be home in the early afternoon.

The Red Rock Century would be my 2nd long organized ride; my 1st was the Triple Bypass.  This one would be 96 miles vs. 120 mile with 10,200′ vs. 10,900′ of climbing. While shorter by 24 miles, the Red Rocks route would be somewhat steeper.

I wondered how much better I would ride than I could muster on the Triple Bypass.  My endurance and speed seemed to be getting better over the last few weeks.  The week before, I rode from Lafayette to Brainard Lake, and then through the town of Raymond on my way to Lyons.  I made it home after 6 hours, completing a 84 mile / 7400′ ride.  And, the previous weekend, I had finished the Mt Evans Hill Climb in under 3 hours. I was feeling very strong and confident.

Unfortunately, three days before the Red Rocks ride I started to come down with a cold, or some cold like symptoms.  I hoped it was allergies, but it didn’t seem like it.  Over the next couple days, the symptoms didn’t get worse, but they didn’t go away.  I stopped my workouts all together (no taper) to fend off the illness, imagined or otherwise; but, it didn’t seem to do any good.  I resolved to proceed with the ride no matter what, and just take it slow.  I hoped that by going slowly, I could ride 96 miles and climb 10,200′ of elevation with an illness.  Consequences be damned!

My only other concern was getting lost.  The route seemed complicated, and me with no GPS or bike computer, I had to rely on a map in my pocket.  I just couldn’t see how that was going to work.  I hoped for good signage.

Red Rocks Century Route (I had to recreate to get the correct altitude gain)

I arrived at Bandimere Speedway, the start of the Red Rocks Century, at 4:45am for a 5:30am race start.  I was the 5th vehicle in the lot that could hold 2,000 vehicles.  I picked up my packet and made ready to ride (after waiting for the organizers to run to the store to buy a box of pins). During a brief start delay at the start line, I looked around at the mass of riders around me and was surprised to only see 100-150.

We set off at 5:40am, following our police escort (5,767′ elevation).

I was delighted to find myself among the first 30 cyclists on the road.  Maybe I’ll get a high finish!  But, no; I quickly realized that the fast riders would, annoyingly, be going by me all day.  Rather than a buzz kill, though, I found this inevitability to be a motivator; I’d stay away as long as I could, dammit.

So much for my plan to take it easy.  But what the heck, I felt great.

I started passing riders until I got behind a strong-looking, largish (for a cyclist) fellow on a $5,000 bike who looked like he knew what he was doing without going too fast for me to follow.  I decided to ride his wheel for a while.

The pair of us pedaled north up the frontage road adjacent to C-470, then turned onto Alameda Rd heading west through North Dinosaur Park.  After a climbing, winding few miles (~4.5 miles overall; 500′ of climbing; 2.1% grade), we turned onto Trading Post Rd to descend past Red Rocks Park to reach Red Rocks Park Rd on which we descended toward Morrison reaching Bear Creek Rd (Hwy 74) after losing most of the elevation gains of the day (~6 miles overall).

We would climb to the famous Brooks Forest Inn for the next 19 miles, gaining 3,000 feet; 1,000 of which would occur in the last 3.5 miles.

The first 15 miles of this section wasn’t too bad.  I followed my lead-out for about 1/2 this distance until I got squeezed out in a merging of two groups.  Rather than go to the back or sit in the wind, I powered ahead to catch a guy in a Copper Triangle Jersey who had blasted past both groups earlier but was still in sight.  I caught up to him after about 20 minutes and hung on his wheel.  He was fast!

Luckily for me, the Copper Triangle guy knew where he was going.  I followed him through a complicated multi-way, weird-angled, stop-sign intersection; I had no idea where to go and saw no sign or mark on the road until after we were through the intersection.  We picked up another rider (Tony) who said he had been dropped from the lead group, and he couldn’t figure out where to go, either.

The three of us turned onto Brooks Forrest Rd, heading toward our first water/food station of the day (the 1st scheduled water station had not opened yet when we went by).  With the grade steepening, my earlier extravagant energy expenditures began to catch up to me.  With about 2 miles to go to the top of the climb, I got dropped.  I didn’t bonk; I just could generate enough power anymore.

I put my head down, got into my lowest gear, and spun my legs as best I could manage (creating an oxygen-free dead zone along the way).  And, I kept Tony in sight.  Eventually, the top neared and, at 8:45am (25 miles in; 8,918′), I stopped for a much needed rest.  Copper Triangle guy was gone already, but Tony was just leaving.

I discovered, to my horror, that the aid station didn’t have any electrolyte replacement other than Poweraid. Crap! (I left my Nuun at home thinking there was a zero chance of this outcome). Yuck. I filled and finished a bottle anyway, and then refilled both bottles. I also ate a banana and a Clif Bar, counting on a long descent down Shadow Canyon Rd. to digest. Then I took off, seeking to catch Tony if possible.

Surprisingly, I caught him quickly, and we traded leads back down to Hwy 73, which we followed back into Evergreen (after a quick recovery from a wrong turn).  As we approached Bear Creek Rd from the opposite direction, completely turned around and not finding any route signage whatsoever, we stopped to consult the map.  We correctly divined a left onto Bear Creek Rd was the way; and then, we barely managed to notice the turnoff to the left to Upper Bear Creek Rd.

This beautiful cycling route had turned into orienteering exercise.

We followed Upper Bear Creek Rd for 4.5 miles, passing Evergreen Lake and then turned right onto Witter Gulch Rd (42 miles in; 7451′ elevation).  WARNING:  if you ever see this name on a road sign, and you are not ready for a leg destroying climb, flee.

Witter Gulch Road was a beautiful ride.  It would be one of my favorites if nearer to my home.  It is 4.6 miles of 7.1% grade (including many double digit spots), gaining 1,736 feet to reach Squaw Rd at 9,187′.   Apparently, the last 2 miles of Witter Gulch Road was only recently paved; the last 3 miles is a sustained climb of almost 8% with multiple switchbacks near the top.  Thankfully my Mt Evans ride had prepared me, mentally, for this leg killer.  Tony wasn’t so fortunate; he kept saying it was steeper than anything he had ever done.

Tony led the first part as my legs were still recovering.  When it was my turn, I found I was strong again.  I pushed hard to reach Hwy 103.  At the end of the road, Tony was starting to fall back a little bit (~30 feet); after the last switchback, I yelled back that it was almost over.

Turning onto Hwy 103, I happened upon a group of riders from Evergreen.  We chatted for a while, while the grade allowed a bit of talking.  They laughed about how much I would ‘like’ the Floyd Hill climb back to Evergreen. And, Tony was gone.  I’d dropped him somewhere since the start of Hwy 103.

After a few miles, the Evergreen group pulled off the road to enjoy the views.  So I was all alone, not chasing anything but the clock.  Except for the two real cyclists who rode past Tony and me earlier, I was still among the first 5-10 riders as far as I knew.  I liked the feeling and didn’t want to let anyone get by me without earning it.  So I kept pushing.

I found the aid station at Squaw Pass at 11:15am and stopped to refill my bottles and grab some food.  As I was leaving, Tony pulled in.  I asked him what happened to him.  He replied, “I got my ass kicked!” He wished me well, and I took off with fresh legs to climb to Juniper Pass (54.5 miles in; 11,148′) and then to fly down past Echo Lake to Idaho Springs (71 miles in; 7,500′).

The descent was fun and fast.  It was my 3rd descent from Echo Lake in over the past month; I knew the road well.  As I entered Idaho Springs, I had some idea of where to go but managed to catchup to another rider who seemed to know where to go.  Together we passed through downtown and found an aid station at a public restroom I had used many years ago on a rafting trip.  As I arrived, just leaving the aid station was my old pal, Copper Triangle guy, who I’d last seen before the top of the climb to Brook Forest Inn.

Another bottle refill and a banana, a quick pee, and then another hello to Tony who was just puling in, and then I left chasing Mr. Copper Triangle.  He was somewhere ahead of me, but I was lost.  I tried to use 25th street to cross under I-70 (per the instructions) but couldn’t figure it out. I backtracked and then sprinted ahead to stay within sight of another rider who had passed me (#3) during my wandering.

We followed the on-ramp to I-70, but stayed on the far frontage road and then to a bike path which followed I-70 along the canyon wall, which skirted the I-70 tunnels.  Frankly it wasn’t much of a bike path:  patches of dirt and wildly undulating terrain. But since the route was still descending, I was strong enough to catch up to my new guide, but my climbing legs were dead. The last climb, Floyd Hill, would not go easy for me.

We crossed under I-70 to US-6, and then took the steep ramp to Evergreen which I had always wrongly imagined was an on-ramp to I-70 (76 miles in; 7,200′).  This was Floyd Hill, the 1.8 mile, 6% grade segment the Evergreen riders told me with a chuckle I would enjoy.  I did not.  My new guide was too fast, and I was too slow; but, I held on long enough to catch up to my original target, Copper Triangle guy.

The two of us climbed up the steep ramp in the burning sun, sucking down the exhaust from 100 cars backed up due to the tunnel blasting delays.  It was a hell.  Slowly we approached Evergreen. My legs were spent; I couldn’t keep up sitting in the saddle, and so had to stand up to claw back any gaps.

Another (and last) rider passed us (#4 so far for my day), and then the hard part was done.  We exited Floyd Hill (Hwy 40) onto Rocky Village Dr. (80 miles in), and then lost and gained a hundred feet over the next 4 miles to connect with Evergreen Parkway.  We rode north on Evergreen Parkway a short way to reach Kerr Gulch Rd (84 miles in; 7,784′) and the descent back into Morrison.

The descent was nice except for the volume of cars driving down the two-lane, winding road with only an intermittent shoulder.  I stayed behind Copper Mountain guy to make sure I could find the finish line.

Thirteen miles later we hit Morrison and a confusing intersection.  I followed the police officer’s directions and ended up ahead of Mr. Copper Mountain on a bike path for the last couple hundred yards of riding.  I raced ahead with visions of a top 10 finish.  As I passed under the finish arch at 12:40pm (96 miles in), I couldn’t find a single Official to ask for my official finishing time (I didn’t know that no one keeps track in a Century ride). And since the shorter route options had already finished, the finish line expo area was jam-packed with people. So, I had no idea if I had my top 10 finish; I admit it was a letdown.

And then I saw Tony.  We congratulated each other on a good day of riding, and then the sky opened up and dumped rain.  We sat under a huge tent eating our free fish tacos & free beer as I told him of finally catching Copper Triangle guy.

I finished in 7 hours, including 40 minutes of stopping time.  That’s about a 15 mph average, which is about the same as I did on the Triple Bypass.  I’m satisfied.

P.S. – I did finally come down with a cold the next day.

See index of mountain ride reports

Mt Evans parking lot seen from summit. Photo by Footwarrior

I first stood atop Mt Evans in 1997, after an amazing car ride up the highest paved road in the United States.  The Mt Evans road first opened in 1931, and was planned as a segment of a 150-mile road linking Longs Peak (14,259′) to Pikes Peak (14,114′). Alas, the road yet extends only 14.5 miles to just below the Mt Evans summit at 14,130′, fulfilling a 100-year-old prophecy to become, “…a road that starts nowhere, ends nowhere, and never gets there” (W.F.R. Mills, Commissioner of Improvements, 1915).

But as far as cycling is concerned, it is certainly enough.

Official course map

Prior to 2014, I had returned to the Mt Evans summit four times to hike or climb some snowy aspect of the mountain. The last time I did so was 10 years ago, in May 2004, when my good friend Brian tricked me into riding my old mountain bike from the parking lot at Echo Lake (10,500′).  The excuse was the Forest Service road would be closed to car traffic for the day due to recent snow fall, and we could have the road to ourselves for once.

The affair was total misery for me (and a funny story) as I was not nearly in shape for powering an old, heavy bicycle up 7 miles of steep road carrying an extra 50 lbs of blubber and snow climbing gear (click to see and laugh about my Mt Evans Climb and Bike Ride trip report).  I have long desired to return to do it right, and reclaim a bit of my dignity.

I waded and crawled, I rolled and hopped, I cursed and yelled.  And then I finally lost my cool completely and swore out loud that I’d never do another snow climb.

With my last drop of energy, I crawled onto the road; and then I stood up, collected myself once more, and thought, “that was a good bit of exercise.”

~ excerpt from Mt Evans Climb and Bike Ride trip report

Mt Evans summit on the left with Summit Lake and the highest paved road in the USA below (taken in 2002).

On July 26, 2014, full of cycling confidence after successfully completing the Triple Bypass Ride (120 miles; 11,000′ climbing) two weeks before, I started riding up toward the summit of Mt Evans once again, this time from Idaho Springs, a little over 27 miles away and nearly 7,000 feet below. The 49th Annual Bob Cook Memorial Mt. Evans Hill Climb would keep the cars away and bring my dignity within reach.

Awaiting the start of the Mt Evans HIll Climb Gran Fondo

The Gran Fondo didn’t start until 7:20am, but I needed to arrive before 6am to carry out a number of tasks:

1. avoid long delays for I-70 tunnel blasting (did it)
2. secure a reasonably close-in parking spot (did it)
3. have enough time to get my race packet containing my race numbers which had to be pasted/pinned to the various parts of my body and bike (did it)
4. send some clothes to the summit to wear on the ride down (decided I didn’t need to do it; big mistake)
5. secure a good placement in the Gran Fondo mass start (did it)

The Mt Evans Hill Climb came highly recommended.  It is advertised as one of the great cycling climbs in North America; not only a test of physical fitness, but also a means to measure a rider’s mental toughness. Heck, I guess there just aren’t many places where riders can climb for hours on end without a rest, which must be the definition of ‘awesome’ in cycling climber-speak. Starting in Idaho Springs, road grades to Echo Lake average 3.5% for 6.7 miles and 5.8% for 5.8 miles. Echo Lake to the summit averages 5.6% for 5.5 miles, then 4.1% for 2.7 miles and finally 5.7% for 4.25 miles through 11 switchbacks to the top.  Still, the experienced riders say the Mt Evans Hill Climb isn’t hard due to the grade.  It’s hard due to (1) length of the climb, (2) the gain in altitude, (3) the high altitude (low oxygen) reducing the ability to produce power, and (4) the challenge of staying hydrated due to drier air.

They also say, half of the challenge is in the mind, and patience is the key:  ‘focus on small victories along the way’, ‘focus on the 10 feet in front of you’, and ‘find a mantra to repeat or sing to yourself for motivation’.  And, lastly, ‘when you reach the summit, take in the splendor and accomplishment of riding up one of the highest peaks in America.’

Anyway, they had me at ‘no cars’.

Heading up on the relatively flat road out of Idaho Springs, I found myself conflicted between my twin objectives:  (1) conserve energy to make sure I could finish (ego preservation) and (2) go fast enough to beat my 3 hour time estimate (ego maximization).  This internal conflict was made more difficult by my lack of bike computer or even a watch; I couldn’t tell how hard I was working or how fast I was going.  I had to go on feel alone.

The pack thinned out pretty well after the initial few miles.  The very fast riders were quickly gone, never to be seen again.  Luckily, I did find a strong rider my age who was pulling a pace just above what I liked; he must have started further back in the pack and passed me a few miles in.

I figured I’d stay on his wheel for as long as I could, which turned out to be quite a while.  He was a chatty fellow out of Grand Junction, having a quick conversation with everyone we passed along the way.  As we approached Echo Lake, I was looking forward to taking a short but needed rest while I refilled my water bottles.  We sprinted along the lake, taking advantage of the short downhill section just before the Ranger Station; I had no problem burning through my energy reserves knowing I had a rest coming.  As we neared the Ranger Station, I could see the aid station was not what I expected. They were handing out filled water bottles as we went by…no stopping.  No rest. I was going to have to do the 27.4 miles and nearly 7,000′ in a single push, doubling the height of any single climb I had ever done.

Mt Evans road above treeline (CDOT photo)

As we got above treeline, I was starting to struggle to stay with my ‘rabbit’. We did have a chat along the way where I assured him that I would not have brought my cyclocross bike up Mt Evans if I had a lighter weight bike. He estimated we were on a 3 hour pace, which by then sounded like a very good time.  Around mile marker 5 above the Ranger Station, my rabbit got away from me and my tiring legs; and I picked up another, somewhat slower host.

This point is also about where the riders can see the rest of the ride, and I assure you it is a soul crushing sight to see so many miles of winding, treeless road that must be ridden before a rest.  Fortunately, I had been scarred by this sight 10 years earlier and was psychologically buffered against such a reaction. I followed my new rabbit to about mile market 9 where I passed him on the short descent to Summit Lake (12,830′) over shockingly rough, winter-broken road.

Joe nearing the top of the Mt Evans Rd

The 1/4 mile downhill ended at a sharp left bend which led to a final 5-mile, 1,400′ climb along guardrail-less road hanging over cliffs above oblivion. And, for the first time, I was alone, riding up the first of 11 switchbacks all by myself, battling the wind without any help.  I could feel the growing empty spaces in my body that used to contain my vast reserves of energy. And, now, the altitude was getting very high, and my limiting factor was shifting from muscle strength to available oxygen.  Unable to collect enough oxygen to fully power what remained of my muscles, my body temperature plunged.

I kept spinning my legs.  I also kept looking up to catch of glimpse of something familiar, something to give me hope of a near conclusion.  This was an incredible, memorable ride, but I wanted it to be over.

I finally could see the astronomical observatory tower located near the summit, and then I knew the end was near.  I kept spinning my legs.  I knew to look for mile marker 14, the signal for the final half-mile; but, I couldn’t remember to look at the signs as they went by.  I kept spinning my legs.

The money shot.

I came around a final right hand switch back to find a 100 yard sprint finish, but, I had no ‘kick’ to give. I kept spinning my legs, and crossed the  finish line at 10:13am for a ride time of 2 hours & 53 minutes. This time represented an average speed of 9.5 miles per hour, below my hoped for 10 mph which was based on nothing.  I was never so happy to be finished with a ride.

26th of 85 riders in my age group who finished the ride (31st percentile)

78th of 334 gran fondo riders who finished the ride (23rd percentile)

I rode my bike over to the Mt Evans sign to collect a personalized photo.  When I finished (see photo), I looked back toward the parking lot to find the food and water. Instead found a man standing in front of me.  It was Brian!

I nearly had a heart attack over the shock of his presence.  Brian explained that he had climbed Mt Beirstadt and then traversed the Sawtooth Ridge to Mt Evans to say hello.  I am often amazed by my cancer surviving, great friend.

Joe and Brian on Mt Evans, in front of the ruined Crest House, a restaurant and a gift shop that burned down on September 1, 1979

As we chatted about the day, I started shivering.  I realized then that I should have had a jacket brought to the summit for me to wear while riding down at 30-40 mph through the cool air. Later, I found out that the all-time high temperature measured for the Mt Evans summit is 65F.  This wasn’t it (45F). There was little wind on the summit, but flying downhill on my bike was going to be brutal. But Brian saved the day by giving me his fleece jacket to wear on my descent. What a guy.

The descent to Summit Lake was still freezing.  I flew down the steep, twisting road, teeth chattering and hopping the bike over the worst of the cracks in the pavement. The short climb from Summit Lake warmed me enough to stop the shivering, but the road was still a broken and cracked mess. Once past the Ranger Station, the descent into Idaho Springs was a delight. With good roads and minimal traffic, got my speed fix for the day.

And, then it was over.  I had done it right this time.  I had reclaimed my dignity and even captured a bit of pride to call my own.

Now I just need to do the Pikes Peak ride to earn that “14er x 2 Cycling Cap” I’d read about. Who wants to join me?

Time after time, I find that an ambitious adventure goal combined with an equal willingness to suffer optimizes personal reward. I’ll admit this statement may not sound sane; heck, it doesn’t even feel true during my adventures. But, while large goals lead to large rewards, overly large goals lead to failure and bitter disappointment. For me, complete satisfaction comes only when I give my maximum effort and use all my courage to just barely succeed in an adventure. My pursuit of this feeling, perhaps a bit too casually, is the backstory to my Triple Bypass Ride adventure of July 12, 2014.

Photo of my bike model borrowed from internet

When I finally got into road biking in June, 2014 after a 15-year courtship with the sport (I finally bought a bike), I immediately started looking for adventure and fitness in organized, long, mountain rides. I quickly stumbled upon on upcoming Triple Bypass Ride, which I’d heard about and secretly coveted in the past. The ride was only 2.5 weeks away, but I was able to secure a spot in this long-ago sold-out event by buying a registration from a guy whose wife forbade his repeat participation. This left almost no time for training, but that suited me just fine. I would have signed up if the ride were the next day. I just didn’t have any doubt I wanted to do it. And the Triple Bypass Ride sounded like just the sort of challenge I was looking for, particularly since I had never in a single day ridden more than 40 miles or gained more than 5,000’ in elevation.  And, I immediately told everyone of my plans.

Official Triple Bypass Map and Elevation Profile

Having publicly committed myself to the effort, I surely would hate to not to finish (DNF). No doubt most people thought my DNF was a near certainty, making such an outcome especially embarrassing. Heck, I couldn’t even allow some uncontrollable factor, such as weather or mechanical breakdown get in the way since that would be a too convenient excuse. My ego insisted that I push the chance of any failure to as close to zero as possible.

Two Weeks To Go

(dominant emotion:  excited to do this fun event; anxious to figure out how to do it)

Once registered for the Triple Bypass, I immediately set out to determine what to bring and how to carry it with me along the 120-mile course. I read articles and blogs, and discovered, with no surprise, that good weather is not ever to be expected. In fact, the mountain weather has been quite horrific on past Triple Bypass rides, including slushy snow and freezing rain, lightning storms, and daylong drizzle. I started buying stuff: rain jacket (waterproof & lightweight & highly visible color), arm/leg warmers, shoe covers, rain gloves, and bike packs to carry it all.  Naturally, this was just in case my good weather luck failed to save me.

My research also revealed that many people consider the Triple Bypass to be their ultimate endurance achievement, and is only attempted after years of training and multiple experiences with shorter, less demanding mountain rides. Oh, yeah. The sense of fear and thrill, essential for great adventure, was growing in my mind. And, I could feel it in my body. This was going to be a great adventure.

It did occur to me that I wasn’t certain I could do it, and I had no idea how long it would take if I could finish. I thought I should see how hard I could ride on the one weekend I had before the big day. I decided I would do my first long bike ride, targeting 80 miles and 7,000’ in the foothills west of Boulder. My plan was to just keep riding until I was home again, and then I’d be able to estimate my finish time for the Triple Bypass. And, I’d also be able to tell Susan when to come get me in Avon (assuming I could not get a standby seat on the 5 pm bus back to Evergreen and my car).

One Week To Go

(dominant emotion: building excitement plus increasing stress)

On July 4th, I set out from home at 7:30 am, planning to ride a loop around Lyons, Ward, and Boulder that would cover approximately 80 miles and 7,000’ of elevation. I planned to get water in Ward and again in Lyons if necessary. Of course, I had no idea how long it would take; I told Susan I might be gone for as long as 8 hours based on my experience the week before on RMNP’s Trail Ridge (climb 5,000’ and travel 40 miles) that took 4.5 hours (including a mechanical issue).

My ride was great at first. I had a fun ride out to Lyons (I reversed the loop direction at the last-minute), racing everyone I could find. Once past Lyons, the climb up to the Peak-to-Peak highway went slowly, as I had burned up too much of my leg strength racing to Lyons. Oh well, a lesson learned. The descent was a blast interrupted only by a stop for water and a bar. I even added an extra climb up Old Stage Road before heading home. I stopped at Lefthand Canyon Road & Highway 36 to call Susan to tell her that I’d be home before 2 pm and that there was no way I’d need more than 9 hours to do the Triple Bypass. But by the time I neared home, the low water (4 water bottles in 6 hours) and food consumption had me light-headed and exhausted. I was not just bonking, I was on the verge of passing out.  And, it took me 3 days to fully recover!

It was an important lesson. I needed to eat and drink much more and do so continuously throughout a long bike ride. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. And, I needed to avoid tiring myself before the hard climbs; racing for ego sake was a mistake to avoid. But, I also learned that I could ride long enough to do the Triple Bypass.

A bit wiser, I established a Triple Bypass game plan to conserve and continuously replenish my muscle fuel to avoid the bonk. I would stop at every rest stop for water and food;  I knew from recent personal experience to avoid dehydration, which would overwhelm all my other efforts. And, I would strictly avoid pushing myself too hard at any point to avoid becoming irrecoverably exhausted or sick to my stomach.I just had to reach Vail Pass (90 miles)…it would be downhill the rest of the way.

All that was left was the weather. To see if the weatherman thought my weather luck would hold, I checked the long-range forecast to find day after day of bad afternoon thunderstorms. Crap. I’d have to find a way to carry my new bad weather gear. And, I’d have to ride faster to have any chance of avoiding the bad afternoon weather.

Official map provided by ride organizers

The Day Before

(dominant emotion: exhilarated; full of adrenaline)

I took a ½ day off from work on Friday to pickup my ID stickers in Evergreen, get familiar with the parking / start area in the daylight (ride started pre-dawn), and practice pack my gear to see what fit in my limited carrying capacity (unless I wore a backpack) and finally resolve what I would bring.

I also did a final weather check and found an 80% chance of thunderstorms starting at 1pm; the rain and lightning risk would almost certainly find me on the ride by 1 pm. I had until then to get off the high passes, and I maximized my chance of doing so by starting early. So the plan was to start at 5 am, the earliest allowed start. And, to aid going faster, I decided to not bring a backpack, and just carry what I could carry in my pockets and on my bike.

Race Day

Start

(dominant emotion:  excited to be a part of a big event; worried by the massive uncertainties)

I arrived at Bergen Park in Evergreen at 4:40 am to find it alive and crawling with people, cars and bikes. I was far too late for a great parking spot. I drove around a bit and squeezed in as quickly as possible. After taking one last look at the pile of gear that I would leave behind, I rode toward the start line, one of hundreds of riders (3,500 were projected for the ride). I went across the start line at 5:10 am, according to the starting official who I asked as I rode past. I was the only rider without a bike computer or even a watch. We left Bergen Park heading West on Squaw Pass Road (Highway 66 turning later into 103) traveling toward and then over Squaw & Juniper Passes.

It was a surreal experience, riding in the dark along side and behind 100’s of bikes with red and white lights steadily shining or blinking in unique patterns. It was a poor time to be dazzled by the pretty lights. I focused on looking at the backs of the riders ahead of me to avoid touching tires. Later, the dawn breaking over the mountains made for a wonderful memory.  I stole a moment to wonder if I could just follow other cyclists or would I eventually need to navigate for myself.

I started riding at a light pace to warm up and make sure I retained enough strength the get over Loveland Pass, 60 miles up the road, as well as be able to ride the entire 120 miles. It felt a little strange going so slowly; my breathing was so slow I felt like I was sitting behind a desk. I probably couldn’t have stayed with it at all except everyone seemed to have the same plan.

1st Rest Stop – Juniper Pass (see #1 in course profile)

(dominant emotion: torn between going faster vs. being conservative)

As the road toward Squaw pass (9,807′) steepened, the crowd started to thin out and the faster people made themselves known. My pace crept higher. I didn’t try to stay with the fastest few, but I felt confident enough to go faster. I found a group of big, strong guys and stuck to their wheels. A nice descent after Squaw Pass reminded me of the pleasure of speed, which I continued in a fast climb to Juniper Pass (11,140′). After 18 miles, at 7am, the 1st aid station appeared from around the bend (7:08am stop). Even though I didn’t need a rest, particularly not right before a long, steep descent into Idaho Springs 18 miles away, I was obedient to my plan, which was to replenish the 2 bottles of water/electrolyte consumed between the start and each of the five aid stations, and to eat during the ride and at the aid stations. I also started texting Susan to keep her apprised of my progress.

Me: Top of 1st pass. 2 hrs so far
Susan: Woo hoo!!!! Great job

It was an amazing sight: heaps of bananas, orange slices, Clif bars and shots, and sandwiches. Thinking that I could digest while descending, I ate a banana, ½ a PB&J, a Clif bar, drank a bottle of Cytomax, and grabbed 2 Clif shots for future use. After about 10 minutes, after I couldn’t think of anything else I should do, I set off down toward Echo Lake and Idaho Springs, gradually disregarding my plan to rest while coasting down the road. I passed Echo Lake (at the entrance to Mt. Evans Road) and continued to Idaho Springs at a fast pace.

At the bottom of the descent, the riders were thinned out pretty well with only about 20 or so around me. As we entered Idaho Springs, we were greeted by the residents lining the road with signs waving and cow bells clanking. Their enthusiasm and encouragement added fuel to my fire, against all logic and expectation.

From Idaho Springs, we followed the frontage road for another 11 miles to the 2nd aid station just before Georgetown at Georgetown Alvarado Road, where I stopped at 8:15am. I enjoyed the sightseeing along the way from a much closer and slower platform than offered by my normal 70 mph drive up I-70. I also found another group of guys to follow, this one a bit faster than the first.

2nd Rest Stop – Georgetown Alvarado Road

(dominant emotion:  exhilaration; having a blast!)

At the 2nd rest stop, I refilled my bottles and established a pattern of peeing at every opportunity. I consumed half a banana and a peanut butter & banana sandwich (a lifetime first). All of this only took 10 minutes, as this was when I started feeling stressed about my time spent at the rest stops. I didn’t want to waste any time I might need to dodge the rain (and to have a respectable ride time). What resting was actually necessary was the big question I could not answer.

Susan: Hope you are feeling good!!! (sent earlier)
Me: Good so far.
Me: Loveland pass coming up. That is the key

The frontage road passed by Georgetown and then transitioned into the new Bakerville- to-Loveland Bike Path adjacent and parallel to I-70 through Silver Plume and Bakerville, ending just before the Loveland Ski Area.I was amazed to discover that it was possible to ride a bicycle along the I-70 path without actually using the highway. Along the way I found a muscle-bound cyclist, cruising alone at a fast pace, and I locked onto his wheel.  We passed many riders over the next 13 miles. He was doing the Double Triple (I could tell from the color of his bike #); I figured his need to save something for the return trip would suit my need for a moderate pace. He held a brisk pace all the way to the Loveland Ski Resort aid station without looking to me to take a turn pulling, despite the wildly undulating terrain (they don’t smooth out the grade for bike paths). We reached the aid station at 9:57am, just under 5 hours after I started.

3rd Rest Stop – Loveland Ski Resort 

(dominant emotion: disappointed but determined to finished)

I decided to take a longer rest; the weather was holding and I was starting to worry about how hard I had pushed to stay with the body-builder. I was feeling a bit of  pre-cramping in my quads and generally could feel the energy draining from my body. I was only 56 miles in, only ½ way mileage-wise, and still had 2 of 3 passes to surmount. Quick math said an optimistic 10 hours to finish, which was disappointing and left me vulnerable to the approaching thunderstorms. I started worrying that I might be in trouble.

Susan: How is weather? (sent earlier)
Me: At Loveland rest stop.
Me:  Weather ok so far. Threatening
Susan: Yippee!!!
Me: Starting to breathe hard
Susan: Pace yourself!!!
Susan:  Hardest part will be the last 20. How many miles to go?
Me: Halfway I think.
Me:  The next 4 will be the hardest. The last 30 are downhill
Susan: Hang in there!!!

I found a place to sit and stretch my back, which felt so good it was hard to stay focused. I also kept pumping the fluids and and carbs, continuing to focus on real food. After a wonderful 20 minutes, I got back on my bike and started up Highway 6 toward Loveland pass.

Satellite image of route with elevation and grade profile. Grades: 0%: a flat road; 1-3%: Slightly uphill but not particularly challenging. A bit like riding into the wind; 4-6%: a manageable gradient that can cause fatigue over long periods; 7-9%: starting to become uncomfortable for seasoned riders, and very challenging for new climbers; 10%-15%: a painful gradient, especially if maintained for any length of time; 16%+: Very challenging for riders of all abilities. Maintaining this sort of incline for any length of time is very painful.

Photo of Loveland Pass highpoint marker borrowed from internet

Loveland pass was only 4 miles away but that just meant a shorter distance to gain 1,200 feet to get over the 11,990′ high-point. I got into my low gear and spun my legs, passing many people along the way. It was a grind interrupted only by having to smile for the photographer (I didn’t buy this photo; $$$). I focused on working my legs, and, suddenly, I was done. The road didn’t quite reach the top of the world, but it sure felt good to be done climbing. I pulled to the side of the road to send Susan a text at 11 am that was not delivered due to a lack of a cellular connection.

Me: At top of pass (not delivered).
Me:  Downhill for a while (not delivered)
Susan: “…..”

The backside of Loveland Pass is spectacular. And, I don’t know what happened to all the riders. I had the road almost to myself. I sped down past A-Basin and then Keystone, where the road leveled out. There was still a bit of a down angle but also a miserable headwind eating my momentum. I got as small and pushed hard to get out of the wind, but almost immediately I felt a twinge in my hamstring. Cramp. Crap. I sat up immediately to avoid the full on cramp. I stood up and stretched my legs as I had seen Tour riders do. I was able to keep going, but had to go easier on the legs.  I also had to go fast enough to keep the riders ahead of me in sight so I’d know where to turn.

Photo of Hwy 6 descending from Loveland Pass toward A-Basin Ski Resort (borrowed from internet)

4th Rest Stop – Breckenridge H.S.

(dominant emotion: hanging tough but worried; happy to only have 13 miles of climbing left)

The route turned west onto Swan Mountain Road which goes over Swan Mountain, climbing 500 feet of some of the steepest grades despite not being a mountain pass. The descent was fast and tight (steep!), ending in Breckenridge at the 4th aid station. I stopped for a 15-minute break to let my muscles collect fuel and electrolytes, hoping to stop the progression of cramps. The weather was still holding, but dark clouds were brewing over Vail Pass. I felt the pressure building to hurry, but I feared ending the ride prematurely in a ball of cramped muscles.

Me: In Breck now, 77 miles in
Susan: Love you!!!! Weather?
Me: Ok so far. It’s a blast.
Me: 13 miles to go to end of uphill
Susan: You can do it you can do it rah rah rah!!!  Proud of you!!!

I set off alone on the Frisco bike path toward Copper Mountain but quickly got onto the back wheel of an older guy (probably my own age) who was doing the Double Triple. He was a bit slower than my earlier pace setters, but that suited me just fine. My hamstrings would seize if I pulled too hard, and my quads would simply quit after a few seconds of standing. I only had to ride 13 miles to finish the rest of the uphill section.

Photo I purchased from official photographers of Triple Bypass. The prices were too high to get more than one.

The two of us passed a few people on the twisting, crowded, and narrow bike path, but mostly just kept a steady pace.  I should say a steady effort, since the bike path continued in the crazy up and down pattern established between Georgetown and Loveland. After a short distance, we were passed by a small group moving just slightly faster. My pace-setter decided to hang onto their wheel, so I had to up the effort a bit to hang on as well.

The entire group eventually started trading lead-outs, significantly upping the pace. Fortunately, the closer we got to Copper Mountain, the stronger I felt. I was surprised and delighted. We hit Copper Mountain Ski Resort after 7 miles, and after stopping for a red light (my 2nd of the day), I took off in an adrenaline-fueled sprint. The grade increased quickly and soon I realized I was alone. But now feeling good and only having 6 more miles to Vail Pass, I continued to press forward, standing to climb the steep sections while pushing a big gear on the flatter sections. My legs continued to feel strong as well as less and less inclined to cramp. I arrived at the last aid station atop Vail Pass at 1:06pm (just after a 1pm photo opp; see photo).

5th Rest Stop – Vail Pass

(dominant emotion:  relief! I was going to make it!)

What a relief! At that point, I knew that I would make it. I had ridden 8 hours and had nothing but downhill ahead of me. I would not only finish, I would have a respectable time despite my cyclocross bike and lack of training. I loaded up again on liquid and food, and even, finally, ate the Clif shots I had stashed at the 1st aid station. They were rather gruesome but felt like just the thing for a final energy suck.

Me: Top of vail pass. Downhill from here
Susan: Woo hoo!!
Susan:  We will have a prize for you (photo of giant berry pie)
Me: Awesome
Susan: You are!!!
Me: I’ve been fighting cramps
Susan: Oh no!!! Drink drink drink!!!

Photo of Vail Pass Summit sign borrowed from internet

I started down alone after a 10-minute eat/drink/pee break. I just flew down the bike path despite an incredibly strong headwind, slowing my pace only periodically to avoid flying into oblivion. I wasn’t certain of the route, so I just stayed on the bike path heading downhill. I quickly reached Vail, exiting the bike path onto the old Frontage road. The headwind was even worse on the flats. I pushed to catch up to a large rider ahead of me so I could hide from the wind and follow him to the finish. Another rider went by at a much faster pace, and I jumped to his wheel instead.

This new guy was very strong. I hung on and took a turn in the front while we picked up more riders. At end of my next turn in the front, I moved over to drop to the back…only to find no one there. I looked back just as the strong rider flew past me with 2 new, stronger riders on his tail. Shit.

I had seconds to decide whether to chase. Fortunately, I was on a slight downhill grade which allowed me to power up to close the gap. It was good that I did as I had no idea where to go once exiting Vail.  I followed this group up a frontage road until it turned into a bike path.  On the short uphill sections, the group would again open a gap on me. But my legs would not quit; I closed every gap. The winding bike path roughly followed Highway 6 until dumping us onto that poorly maintained highway just outside of Avon. It was an exhilarating experience. And, adding danger to the mix, the poor road was full of holes.  I had to watch the road ahead of the riders in front of me, as they were not reliable about avoiding or signaling obstacles.

I took this photo of my medal (1 of ~3,500) given to Triple Bypass finishers. It is laying in the grass next to the finish line in Avon, CO. The photo is available for any who want to borrow it.

The Finish – Avon (living on adrenaline and endorphins; great while it lasts)

We entered Avon in a sprint, and enjoyed the cheers of the crowd. I finished at 2:10pm, for a 9-hour ride, including approximately 65 minutes of rest time. With a moving time of about 8 hours, I averaged 15 mph. Not bad for an old dude riding a pair of fat, knobby tires on a perfectly fitted, brand-new, fire engine red bike.

Me: Finished
Susan: You rule!!!!
Susan:  Doing the happy dance here!!!
Me: (photo of Triple Bypass medal
Susan: Today you reminded me why I love you so much
Me: Luv u too

Official map provided by ride organizers

Susan and I made plans to do the Triple Bypass together in 2015. It is a great experience made perfect by perfect weather. Susan was also delighted to avoid driving 5 hours to get me when I was able to get on a shuttle back to Evergreen (and my car). On the ride back, I chatted with a guy who opened my eyes to many such rides held in Colorado. This was going to be a very good summer.

Lessons Learned:

1. Do not try to lose weight on the bike; eat and drink more than enough
2. Avoid any deficits in water or calories; eat and drink multiple times per hour
3. Focus on real food; many hours of processed goo will make you sick
4. Consume a lot of electrolytes, especially sodium
5. Work with other riders to combat the wind
6. Descent is an effective but dangerous place to pick up time
7. Avoid needing a rest; recovery is impossible unless on a long descent
8. Be ready for weather by using lightweight junk; leave bulky, high-quality gear at home (plastic bags, latex gloves, etc.)

2014 Triple Bypass By the Numbers:

RIDERS

• 4,600 Total Riders
• 3,500 on Saturday
• 1,500 on Sunday
• 1,000 Double Triple Riders
• 30 Relay Groups
• 43% of the riders were first-timers
• 83% Men
• 17% Women

TOP STATES REPRESENTED

1. Colorado
2. Texas
3. Illinois
4. Minnesota
5. Nebraska
6. Missouri

COUNTRIES REPRESENTED

1. Japan
2. Mexico
3. Canada

For a cold but clear late October Saturday morning, Brian had identified a new route on the 1st Flatiron as a target for our ongoing, weekly search for exercise and adventure.

And he was so right, aided by a bit of poor preparation by the Joe and Brian team.

While it is a Cardinal sin of climbing to fail to prepare due to mere laziness, in this instance our lack of preparation might just have been the flavoring that made the day so good.  Perhaps there is an argument for purposefully leaving without all the information just for the sport of living by your wits.

From my own CliffsNotes: Rules, Laws, etc. 

1. Climber’s Luck Maxim: luck is not an attribute, but rather a symptom of preparation (with a nod to Branch Rickey); good preparation plus determination = good luck plus success
2. Silver Lining Maxim: sometimes, good things come from setbacks, if you let them.  “When it gets dark enough, you can see the stars” (Salk). “Adversity reveals genius, prosperity conceals it” (Horace) also known as “Necessity is the mother of invention”.
3. The ‘Path Less Traveled‘ Axiom: finding your own path or using a seldom used, less well known route adds to the adventure and can get you into some serious trouble.

Below is an annotated photo showing our route (in red) and the well established Kamikaze Overhangs route (in blue), at far as I can tell (but don’t take my word for it).  I believe we correctly started on the Kamikaze Overhangs route, but then spent most of the day climbing between the Kamikaze and Zig Zag routes before finally finishing on the Kamikaze route at the very top, after skipping 2 of the 3 official ‘overhangs’.  Along the way, and in spite of all our errors, we found good climbing and great adventure, and enjoyed the heck out of living by our wits, such as they were.

We met at the Chautauqua parking lot at 8:30am, which was a bit later than normal to allow the cold morning temperature to reach into the 40’s before we put flesh on stone.  As we navigated the flood damaged trails toward the start of the climb, we talked about the day’s adventure.  I had read the route information Brian emailed but neglected to bring the printout of the Mountain Project page.  Hoping that Brian had prepared better, I inquired as to his readiness. He indicated he had studied the page and memorized the key bits of beta.

I should point out that, at this point, my judgment remained handicapped with the misunderstanding that the route was a new route, found only on easily updated Mountain Project (MP) website.  And, while I failed to recognize the route name on the MP page as a long established route, I had placed great significance on the sparseness of the information and lack of user comments offered.  I interpreted this as evidence of a general lack of information in the climbing community.  It was a poor assumption, yet it explains that my only regret was in the forgetting to bring the hard copy I had taken such care to print out.

I announced that I’d rely on Brian’s memory as I knew almost nothing about the route.

I did happen to recall some mention that the route started “a couple switchbacks above Fandango” and so, without seeking any confirmation from Brian, I headed to that spot, the site of last week’s climb.  When we arrived at Fandango, Brian announced that we had gone too far.  After a bit of back and forth, we agreed to go up a couple switchbacks to check it out.  I thought I could recognize the start based on the photos I had seen the day before. Once we hit the next section up, we both agreed it was the right start.

Pitch 1 – the 1st roof

I thought I should take the 1st pitch since Brian would naturally want the crux roof further up the rock.  Brian agreed and indicated that the route went straight over the lichen covered roof about one rope length overhead and directly below a tree with slings.  I recalled the pitch had an ‘s’ rating indicating run-out. Brian added that there was an alternative route to the right somewhere that  was easier.  I assumed the escape right was near the direct roof, and it was my intention to find it.  As it turned out, I didn’t find it because the alternative route is the Zig Zag route start, which goes right early in the climb and stays far right of the tree with slings.

The potential for a long  leader fall is indicated by an ‘s’ (serious) … after the rating of the climb.  A climb rated ‘s’ will have at least one notable run-out the potential for a scary fall.  ~Rossiter

I slowly worked my way up the rock finding little pro to ease my mind and wandering widely to make use of the few opportunities presented. I tried to make out a path to the right, but nothing looked good.  I continued higher until I was below the thickly lichen covered roof which I  surprisingly found to be quite easy and well protected.  I pulled over the roof and setup a belay at the slung tree.

Brian quickly followed, remarking that the route finding was surprisingly abstruse.

Pitch 2 – which way do we go?

Brian took the second pitch.  He started straight up a gully that didn’t seem to lead anywhere, and then he veered right to setup a belay below the next roof obstacle.  Unfortunately, neither of us knew that the Kamikaze Overhangs route continued straight up from the slung tree past the 2nd roof and again straight up to the 3rd roof and crux.

After Brian called ‘off-belay’ but before I could fully clear the rope from my belay device, Brian started hauling the rope and jerked my belay tool from my hands.  I noted with regret, as I watch my $30 ATC-Guide Belay/Rappel Device tumble down the 1st Flatiron, that I had no backup device and had only an faint memory of tying the Munter Hitch knot that I would need for the remaining belays and for my rappel from the 1st Flatiron summit.

I followed quickly to explain the situation to Brian.  We agreed to switch-off use of Brian’s belay device so the leader would get a proper belay.  Then we took turns trying to remember how to tie a Munter Hitch.  I finally got it right (“you know it when you see it”) and we practiced a few times before I started up.

I inquired about the route.  Brian admitted he wasn’t sure whether we were on route, but he was confident (he saw a photo) we were to aim for the dead tree above the large roof about 200-240 feet up, nearly straight above.

Pitch 3 – aiming for the dead tree

I skipped some interesting looking moves straight up and instead took the path of least resistance, taking a generally up-and-right line.  I worked past the 2nd roof section and then ran out of pro placements.  I spied good pro in the dihedral some 20-30 feet up and to my right, and so I worked over to it.  I placed a perfect cam with great relief and then paused to enjoy the reduction in stress and to examine the remaining route.  At this point, unbeknownst to me, I had joined the Zig Zag route, although I almost immediately moved left of that line as I was aiming for the dead tree which was up and back to the left. Just as I was leaving the Zig Zag route, I I passed an obvious path over the roof that didn’t look very hard.  I didn’t think it could be the crux and continued past to set up the belay.  This path over the roof is also on the Zig Zag route.

I could see that the direct path to the tree was through a chimney-like weakness in the roof.  Since I recalled reading about a chimney, I figured it was the proper path and planned to belay below it if I could place a solid anchor.  Another long run-out section got to just below a section of the 3rd roof with a good horizontal crack that held three bomber pieces for my anchor.

Brian came up quickly but paused at the Zig Zag line through the roof that I passed up.  He said it didn’t look right and besides he didn’t see a fixed pin, which apparently was the key piece of evidence marking the proper route.

I told him I thought the route might go up the chimney since I recalled reading something about a chimney, and besides, I didn’t see anything else.  He said he didn’t remember anything about a chimney (it turned out that the photo with the dead tree was of a guy in the chimney, who was off-route).

1. Ben Franklin’s Rule of Shared Information:  “Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see.”  ~Benjamin Franklin

Pitch 4 – the chimney

With no way to know that the Kamikaze Overhang crux was just around a corner further to the left, Brian took off toward the chimney about 20 feet up and slightly left from the belay.  After a fruitless search for the confirming fixed pin, he cruised past the 3rd roof obstacle.  He continued up and out of sight, running out most of the rope before stopping.  After a lengthy Munter Hitch tying session he brought me up.

I found the chimney-like obstacle to be balancy and steep but made moderate with a sold, but painful hold hold half-way up.

The rest of the pitch was rather run-out like most of the earlier pitches ending in the first (and possibly last) place it could, about 150 feet above roof.

Pitch 5 – joining the ridge line

I took the last bit of new route climbing, joining the well-known ridge line at the 2nd to last false summit.  I hoped to reach the true summit, and claim the fun finish for myself, but our 200 foot rope was about 20 feet too short.

Pitch 6 – the finish

Brian led the final bit of climbing and I quickly joined him.  The next challenge was to rappel 90 feet using a Munter Hitch.  I got the knot tied after only two tries and gutted out the free hanging rappel with a tighter than normal grip on the rope.

We stopped for lunch at a rocky outcropping that permitted an inspection of the route. We both spoke of later checking for more information to figure out what we’d really done. I was certain we hadn’t done the entire route properly, but I thought we had done most of it.  I couldn’t imagine we had missed nearly the entire thing after the 1st pitch.

Thinking back, now that I am safely sitting in my home office chair, I don’t know if being better prepared would have added to or detracted from the overall experience.  It certainly would have been a safer day.  Yet it was also have been a significantly less adventurous one.   There is a special stress and thrill that comes of not knowing if the route will work or if we’ll have to bail out or resort to the ultimate ignominy:  wait for rescue.

I suppose I shouldn’t rationalize about being careless, or better said, about being insufficiently prepared.  But I am certain we need to go back and give it Kamikaze Overhangs the respect it deserves.

List of Errors:

1. Did not know where the climb started
2. Did not know the options on the 1st pitch:  only to reach the slung tree by climbing straight up through the lichen or off to right
3. Dropped my belay device
4. Did not know to go straight up and over the 2nd roof obstacle
5. Did not know how to find the 3rd and main roof/overhang:  only ‘knew’ (it was bad advice) to aim for a dead tree based on an anonymous photo of the roof route

Post Script – 11/2/2013

We went back to do it right when we had another good weekend of weather only 2 weeks later.

And, now that we’ve had another look at the rock, I would say that there is no clear route for the 2nd pitch, only blank, licheny sections of unprotectable rock that you must find a way through.  Having done so, I claim victory.  I took the 2nd pitch and looked at all options straight up and right (poor pro and slabby climbing over crumbling pancakes barely attached to the rock, and, finally left where I found adequate pro and moderate climbing difficulty.  I angled back right toward the roof separating me from the  rock layer that I correctly assumed would lead me to a belay below the crux roof.  To mount the roof I used the corner where the roof turned upward to form a dihedral.  There I found good protection for a liechen covered, thin high step.  From there I had climb straight up 40′ to reach a lower angle seam that I followed to the dihedral that I followed to just below the crux roof.

The crux roof was much better than the chimney option we took on our earlier errant effort.  Brian led the left hand option and setup a belay after only 50′ to provide a good belay for my move over the crux.

The finish was nearly identical to our previous attempt except for the amazing crowds on the 1st Flatiron ridge and summit.

The Sharkstooth taken on approach in July 1992

I did my first rock climb of 2013 on June 30  and was amazed to discover that this latter-day cyclist missed his rock climbing days. It had been over a year since I had done any climbing on non-snowy or icy rock, and afterward I found myself actually moved to happiness simply by thinking of possible climbs to do this summer. And then, after a wonderful day in Eldorado Canyon State Park July 6th, my mind moved immediately to Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP). I wanted alpine rock, and what better place to start than Sharkstooth (12,630′), the location of my very first alpine climbing adventure 21 years ago this July 10th.

In truth, I suppose I might have gotten ahead of myself a little bit.

The jump from moderate climbs on Eldo’s Wind Tower to RMNP’s Sharkstooth is a rather dramatic one:  a short walk from the car at 5200′ elevation for few 2-3 pitch climbs in the sunshine vs. a 5 mile approach in the pre-dawn dark over rough trail and talus gaining 2700′ to begin a 5-pitch climb that would take 4 hours to ascend another 650′ and 1 hour to descend for a 10-12 hour adventure. But I had done it many times before, and so it did not feel like foolish overconfidence to claim I could do it.

And Brian agreed with only the slightest hesitation.

Sharkstooth seen from Zowie in 2010

With such a plan in hand, due diligence includes checking the weather report to understand whether the climbing window is wide, narrow, or closed for the targeted day.  The month of July is the height of the thunderstorm season for Colorado and its high peaks, and depending on our overall speed we would need 6 to 7.5 hours after first light to do it: a 30-60 minute talus hop through The Gash to the base of Sharkstooth plus a 30 minute climbing prep (including breakfast) plus 5-6 hours of climbing/descending to get off the mountain. And this not counting another 45 minutes would get us below tree-line, and out of the danger zone.

The thursday forecast was for ‘showers and storms starting at 9am’, but the friday forecast would rule for a saturday climb.  While waiting for friday’s report, below is a ranking of possible weather forecasts, from worst to best that I carried in my mind:

Storms starting:

1. at or before 10am, meaning less than 6 hours to finish (nope; reschedule)
2. at 11am, meaning about 6 hours to finish (everything goes perfectly plus we hike out in storm; take a chance?)
3. at noon, meaning about 7 hours to finish (everything goes perfectly; go for it)
4. at 1pm, meaning about 8 hours to finish (probably safe; definitely)
5. at 2pm, meaning about 9 hours to finish (very safe; a no brainer)
6. at or after 3pm, meaning 10 or more hours to finish (no weather risk at all)

On friday afternoon, the forecast improved to ‘storms starting mostly after noon’.  We decided to proceed and make every effort to start fast, maintain speed and finish safely.

This ‘go fast’ strategy required three tactics:

1. get up very early to start hiking very early
2. hike as fast as possible (i.e., hiking fast as possible in the dark)
3. reach the trail-less talus right at first light (daylight needed for navigation) to avoid lost daylight
4. be first on the rock to avoid having to wait for other climbing parties

Just to be safe, we decided on an extra early start to give ourselves some extra margin for age-related slowness now that we are both over 50.  We decided to meet in Boulder at 2:15am and drive together to the Glacier Gorge trailhead in RMNP for a 4am targeted hiking start. The only obstacle to starting even earlier was the need to have some daylight to navigate the giant talus field in The Gash below Sharkstooth; if we got there too early we would have to wait for the sun to catch up.

The Day

I got up at 1am and met Brian at 2:15am. After throwing my gear into his truck, we started from Boulder right on schedule and arrived at the trailhead (9,240′) a bit after 3:30am to find only 1 or 2 cars. We assumed they were left the day before by bivying parties since no one could be crazy or worried enough to arrive even earlier than us. After an bit of last minute dumping of extra gear and water to save weight (and needless suffering), we started up the star and moonless trail at 4am.

We made great time in part by not stopping to rest. It was about 5:15am as we approached Andrews glacier in the dark. Brian said, “headlights,” and my heart fell. Damn. As I looked to where he pointed, Brian said, “I wonder what they are doing up there?” They were way off the hiking route to Sharkstooth and seemingly headed toward nothing that we knew. “Perhaps they are planning a climb up that way,” Brian said hopefully, but without conviction.

Approach to the Sharkstooth via the Loch Vale trail and junction to Andrews Glacier & Pass

The sky was lightening quickly and was sufficient to start across the talus when we arrived at 5:30am. The lightening sky also revealed a cloud filled sky.

It wasn’t long until we could see that they were headed toward Sharkstooth.  I said, “Let’s go faster.” And we did.

We used a patch of snow to gain a chunk of ground on the other party, and a short distance later, we passed them. They didn’t know the area, but they were not slow.  And now that we were showing them the way, we had to keep up the brutal pace. We did it. We arrived at 6am, about 15 minutes before they did, ensuring a clear path to the top.  When they arrived, we discovered they had started hiking at 2am and simply got lost in the dark.  One of the cars at the trailhead was theirs!

It is worth noting here that we only took 2 hours to hike 5 miles and ascend 2,700′ to reach the base of Sharkstooth. That is 2.5 mph and 1,350 feet per hour, with 20 lbs of iron in the pack.  That pace is off my personal speed chart and a full 50% faster than we managed almost 17 years ago as 34 year old men. With such evidence in hand, I am pleased to report that Brian has regained nearly all of his pre-illness strength, and that my increased cardio fitness (and lower weight) has held off the ravages of age for a bit longer than expected.

Pitch 1:

After changing into dry, warm clothes and consuming a bit of breakfast and 1 of 2 liters of water I brought for the day, I started up the rock at 6:30am, taking the most obvious dihedral.  My fingers quickly froze as I slowly worked past the wet vegetation, straight up to a large ledge directly below the slot marking the start of the 2nd pitch.  They key for us was to stick to the route we knew to minimize any lost time.  The sky was not yet threatening, but did look like it could rain in the next few hours.

Pitch 2:

Brian continued straight up until reaching a ledge at the top of the prominent left facing flake.  I followed the rope without much thought for route finding until I reached the flake.  I paused to decide whether to face climb the rock to the left (as I had done before) or simply layback up the flake.  I decided to do the classic layback to reach the belay in style.

Pitch 3:

View of Estes Park from top of 3rd pitch

I continued straight up the steep but bucket-filled terrain to reach a big flat ledge that marked the start of a recognizable arete. Every variation of the NW Ridge route must hit this ledge, as it is the first part of peak that actually forms a ridge.  The views are spectacular off both sides.  This was the longest pitch of the day, taking nearly the entire 200′ rope.

At this point, the clouds seemed to be thinning.  It seemed that we would get lucky with the weather, as we have so many times when we show proper respect.  Still, it looked to be raining in parts of RMNP, so we stayed alert.

Pitch 4:

Brian climbed up the off-width crack and belayed at the next large ledge below the white face.  I followed after taking many photos in a foolish attempt to capture the majesty of the views from that spot.

Pitch 5:

I took the last pitch, starting by moving left of the white face and climbing the rough rock toward the summit.  I stayed left to avoid rope drag, continuing past the next big ledge to belay a few feet below the summit level.

We untied and scrambled to reach the summit at 10:30am.  We enjoyed the views for a moment before heading down to get some water; it had been 4 hours since our last drop of water.  And, while the weather had held, we were still at least 1.25 hours from treeline.

Panorama from Sharkstooth summit July 2013

The Sharkstooth rappels are always interesting for the questionable anchors; we sacrificed a sling on on the middle anchor where the slings looked particularly aged.  After downclimbing the final 70 feet, we scrambled down few hundred feet over blocky talus to reach our packs.  I found that the marmots had knocked my pack down from a ledge in a vain attempt to get my food (I had carried it with me).

View of Petit Grepon and Sky Pond from Sharkstooth rappels

We got back to the packs right at 11:30am.  With the improvement in the weather, we stopped to rehydrate and eat lunch before starting the long walk to the trailhead.  I finished my last liter of water and a couple Larabars.

The steep descent was brutal on my aging knees, but we kept up a good pace to get to treeline before any late arriving weather spoiled the day.  We continued back down the way we came up; I was dreaming of ice for my knees.

We arrived at the trailhead at 2pm for a 10 hour truck-to-truck roundtrip.

Not bad for two 51 year olds.

Timeline:

• 1:00am – I wake up before alarm goes off after 3.5 hours sleep
• 2:00am – leave the house for Boulder
• 2:15am – meet Brian at 29th street mall and leave together for RMNP
• 3:30am – arrive at Glacier Gorge Trailhead parking lot
• 4:00am – start hiking toward Sharkstooth
• 5:15am – see headlights ahead of us
• 5:30am – arrive at turnoff for The Gash and The Sharkstooth; first light
• 6:00am – arrive at base of Sharkstooth (15 minutes ahead of other party)
• 6:30am – start climbing
• 7:15am – finish 1st pitch
• 8:00am – finish 2nd pitch
• 9:15am – finish 3rd pitch
• 9:45am – finish 4th pitch
• 10:30am – finish 5th pitch; arrive at summit
• 11:30am – descend to base; eat lunch
• noon – packup and leave for trailhead
• 1:00pm – arrive at Loch Vale
• 2:00pm – arrive at trailhead and leave for home
• 2:30pm – stop in Estes for ice
• 3:30pm – arrive in boulder
• 4:00pm – arrive home 14 hours after departure to hike 10 miles, ascend (and desend) 4000′ of elevation, burn 4000 kcal
• 4:05pm – soak in hot bath until cooked and pruned

It was one of those days.  The weather was warming and clear in Boulder, and I was suffering from a strained bicep tendon (from the previous week’s Tangen Tunnel adventure) and an Achilles tendon (that started complaining the day before for no discernible reason).  I wanted to do a bike ride to protect my sore bits.  Brian was determined to get to the high country, and while he preferred skiing, he would settle for a hike in RMNP to Black Lake or Sky Pond.

As the more reasonable of the two, I agreed to go to RMNP.  And, it was a great adventure, even if it was a bit on the quick side.

We left my house at 8:30am, after waiting for Susan to return from her predawn hike.  On the drive in, the clear skies allowed us to see that the mountains were socked in above treeline.  We started hiking at 10am and made quick time to the Black Lake – Loch Vale junction (Glacier Junction?).  Based on a previous day review of the RMNP weather report, I was worried about how solid the lakes would be for hiking on.  I wanted to head to Sky Pond to minimize the hassle of thawing lakes.  Brian thought we might be getting into bad weather at Sky Pond, but I convinced him we would be fine so far below the Continental Divide (where we have experienced numerous freezing hurricanes).

The Cathedral Spires seen from Loch Vale

We made quick work of the trail to Loch Vale, and discovered the lake as frozen as we’ve ever seen.  We continued up over and then past the lake, following a well-beaten trail in the snow.  The trail was surprising populated with a dozen or so of hikers, skiers, and ice climbers, but still empty compared to a summer day.

As we approached the waterfall below Glass Lake, the weather began to reveal its unfriendly nature.  We worked up to the right of the waterfall area and then back left to avoid the rocky summer scramble which was covered in ice and snow.  We found 3 fellow adventurers doing an ice climb on some beautiful waterfall ice, in the bitterly cold wind and blowing snow;  the belayer must have been suffering in the seriously cold and strong wind.

Brian climbing past the sign pointing to Sky Pond

We crossed the frozen pond beneath the climbers despite their warnings of  falling ice, and then we started up the steep snow covering the frozen waterfall.  There were enough firm patches for us to make it up the 30 foot slope, albeit with some difficulty.  When we crested over the top, we were greeted by a blast of constant 50 mph wind.  I hid behind a boulder as I endured a bit of suffering to add a down layer to my clothing.  It was either that or just go home.

Properly insulated, I could focus all my energies on route finding and stable footing over the icy boulders and frozen standing water.  As we crossed Glass Lake, we encountered a 2-man party heading toward safety.  The lead fellow looked official (read:  guide) while the fellow behind looked frozen and afraid.  The official looking fellow asked if we were okay, and admonished us to “make good decisions”.  He then told us roughly the location of a snow cave he had built and then left for better conditions.

The visibility was very poor, with the snow fall and blowing snow, but the air cleared periodically to allow us to find our way.  We hoped to find the snow cave for some shelter while we ate our lunch, but the directions were a bit vague, the area large, and the conditions did not encourage exploration.  After reaching Sky Pond and hiking along the Petite side for about 1/2 the length of the lake, we turned back to avoid freezing to death.  Brian said he was shivering already.

The Cathedral Spires seen in a brief moment of visibility. Taken from Sky Pond.

We backtracked to a hollow between the two lake where we’d found some windless air on the way in.  The wind was again muted in the low-lying hollow, and we found further shelter in a snow well beside a large boulder.  There, we stopped for lunch around 1pm, which also allowed us to enjoy the accomplishment of the day while extending the sense of adventure.

I quickly ate my frozen food and finished my water (in an insulated bottle holder).  And, before long, even my down layer wasn’t enough.

We started back and quickly lost our bearings in the near whiteout.  But we knew the area and a 15 degree adjustment put us back on our old tracks.

Crossing Glass Lake was challenging as the wind turned our bodies into sails, pushing us while we had near zero friction on the ground.  I managed to find my way and maintain my footing by traversing the lake perimeter.  The waterfall area descent was a fun glissade after I was able to catch a glimpse of the bottom and know that I wouldn’t hit rocks or go over a cliff.

Self portrait taken during a lull in the wind.

And then it was just a matter of slogging back to the parking lot.  Before heading for Boulder, I stopped to use the latrine and looking down into the pit, with immediate regret, I was reminded of the quote from the movie, Wall Street:

… if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.  ~Friedrich Nietzsche

It is an exhilarating experience, the living for a while so close to the edge where the slightest miscalculation could result in death.  It is even fun when you know you can get out whenever you want to go home and get warm.

The news headline the next day about the fatal avalanche on Ypsilon Peak, several miles to the north of Sky Pond, was a grim reminder of the risks we all take when we venture onto dangerous ground.

Estes Park man presumed dead, hiking guide author rescued after avalanche in RMNP – Boulder Daily Camera

The Bear Peak Loop route map – 12/1/2012

Oh, the joy of a warm December day stolen from a frozen Winter season.  On a 70F December 1st,  Brian wanted to shift from cycling to hiking.  While I was reluctant to abandon a fantastic cycling season, I agreed to be agreeable.  My only proviso was to start small and gradually build up our fitness level, since I hadn’t done a serious hike in over a year.  In fact, it has been two years.  Brian agreed and we chose South Boulder Mountain with an option on Bear Peak.  It was a good plan.

Brian and The Maiden

We started up the Mesa Trail (TH at 5,641′)at 8:45am trying to remember how to hike and remember what we used to bring.  Before we could get too far into the laughing about how long it had been, we noticed a sign that indicated that the trails to South Boulder Peak were closed and there was no access to Bear Peak without hiking over to NCAR (about 5 miles) to ascend the Fern Canyon trail.

It is always a challenge navigating the arbitrary rules of the Boulder Open Space Tyrants.  I have come to feel that their rules should be broken out of principle.

I asked Brian if he wanted to drive over to NCAR or just head out to see if we could find enough adventure despite the closed trails.  He hated the thought of getting back in the vehicle and wanted to proceed.  The main idea would be to hike to The Maiden, with an option on climbing the ridge to Bear Peak (8,461′).

Brian below the Devil’s Thumb

We took the standard route toward Shadow Canyon only to find that  the Homestead trail was also closed.  Brian’s comment was ‘I’m glad I don’t live here.’  I couldn’t blame him.  We backtracked and took the Towhee trail to link up to the Mesa trail, hoping that it would lead to Shadow Canyon but prepared to simply scramble up the front side of The Maiden.

It all worked out and we eventually came to the bottom of The Maiden, I believe near the present end of the Shadow Canyon trail.  We turned uphill and enjoyed reliving the scramble that we’d done so many times before.  We arrived at the ridge line near Jamcrack Spire flatiron and traversed over to the start of The Maiden’s Standard route at around 10:30am.  We stopped for a drink and for a change of clothes to combat the suddenly brutal wind.

The great Flying Flatiron seen on a scramble from The Maiden to the Bear Peak summit

Brian was feeling strong, apparently, and wanted to opt for the ridge bushwhack to the summit of Bear Peak.  We’d done it a couple times before, so we knew it went without too much technical difficulty, but with significant physical exertion.  We weren’t in shape for such an effort, but the thrill of high places and the thought of one last day of good weather allowed us to ignore the damned consequences….and there would be consequences.

Up we went.  The first thing was to scramble back up to the ridge line.

Then, carefully creeping along the ridge line with serious falls awaiting the ‘Uncareful’ (read: other people), we progressed toward the Bear Peak summit.

The initial going was easy and allowed us to stay on the ridge to pass over the top of the Fat Iron (a very good climb, by the way, which has a spectacular view of The Maiden).

We then approached the Devil’s Thumb which is merely the highest of several impassable pinnacles on the ridge.  We dropped down to the east to traverse the low angle, east-facing rock face.  The route-finding became tricky for a short section due to exposure.  I told Brian that I didn’t know where it would lead us, but at least it was going somewhere.  Brian replied, “Good enough.”  It did in fact feel familiar; it was probably the route we’d taken to climb the Devil’s Thumb some years ago.

South Boulder Mountain burn damage from June 2012 fire, seen from near Devil’s Thumb

We exited the steep face into the less steep rock below the Devil’s Thumb  (a good but short climb).  The ridge was still impassable, so we continued traversing the eastern rocks until we could enter the gully below the Devil’s Thumb and the Flying Flatiron.  Aiming for the junction of the Flying Flatiron and the primary ridge line was a good route that worked and also allowed us to reminisce about the impressive and terrifying Flying Flatiron summit.  The ‘terrifying’ aspect related to the temporary nature of the pile of rock comprising the arch summit.  When it goes down someday, you don’t want to be on it.

At that point, we were able to scramble back to the ridge where we could see the an impressive view of the Devil’s Thumb, and we could also begin to see the fire damage from the June 2012 “Flagstaff fire”.

Then we hit a section of ridge that we had some memory about…it was a bad memory.

Looking back down the ridge toward Devil’s Thumb and the Plains below

The ridge line looked impassable  but we recalled it was just barely passable for the distance required to reach the next milestone, the Angle Wings.  And ‘barely passable’ was good enough as there was no other way to proceed, either via the east face or by descending to the west.  We slowly crept along the cliff face just west of the ridge line, taking care not to fall to our deaths or get into a jam that would require serious risk-taking to escape

Brian was back in his old form, moving without hesitation and finding the least risky path.  By the time we reached the Angel Wings, we were able to descend to the ground to hike up to the north end of the Angel Wings Flatiron.

We stopped for a drink on the crest of the south end of the Bear Peak ridge.  It was a wonderful 50’x50′ spot that was begging for a tent.  And, it was 11:45am…and I was getting very hungry.  I said out loud that we had 15 minutes to reach the summit.

After the enjoyable pause, we started back up toward the summit, but now we were on the edge of the burn area.  We moved even more carefully as we tried to avoid becoming covered in charcoal   After about 50′ Brian said, “I’ve been wondering about the orange color that seems to only be on the tops of the branches and logs…do you think it is fire retardant?”  Of course that was the answer.  Heck, I hadn’t even noticed.  With now another thing to avoid, we were happy to leave the edge of the burn area after only a few minutes.

Brian resting on the edge of the burn zone from the ‘Flagstaff Fire’ of 6/2012. Bear Peak is visible in the distance.

The rest of the way was uneventful except for the increasing hunger.  I managed to get us lost again on the final climb up to the summit block.  We ended up taking the exact same path as we did in 8/2011 when I crawled through a tree infested with ladybugs and inadvertently carried away one million of the little gals.

We reached the summit at 12:30pm.

It is always true, the hungrier I am, the better my food tastes.  My two peanut butter Cliff’s Bars were the best food I’d eaten in months.

After such a hard effort to reach the summit, we are always reluctant to leave.  I suppose there are many reasons.  But the cold and wind was persistent and I was losing the body temperature battle, so we left after 30 minutes.

Joe insists on a summit shot…Bear Peak

And now we would pay the price of stubbornness   Since Shadow Canyon was closed from the top and we didn’t move the vehicle to NCAR, we’d have to hike down the Fern Canyon trail and then hike 5 miles back to the South Mesa trail head   Yuck.  At least our biking fitness was holding up to the hiking/scrambling effort.

We quickly worked our way down the exposed summit ridge, like two mountain goats who had never taken a break from hiking.  I felt true pleasure from the overdue exercise of skills long in the making.

And then, down the Fern Canyon trail.  Down, down, down.

After about 0.25 mile, I could feel that my legs were getting tired.  It was a bad feeling, since I was so many miles from my 4-Runner…and had so many feet of elevation yet to lose.

After another 0.25 mile, I begged for a rest.  I hoped that a short reprieve would revitalize my muscles…but no.  It was then that I knew I was in trouble.

A look back at the ridge line we traversed (left to right) to reach Bear Peak and then descend the opposite direction to complete the Bear Peak Loop.

Heck, I knew I’d make it home, but I KNEW I was going to suffer for days for my brazen disregard for the laws of physics.

Down, down, down.  My legs were mere noodles.  I was just trying to control the fall as I resisted gravity with every muscle, ligament and bone at my disposal.

After an eternity, we reached the cut-off for Shanahan Trail, which we took to reach the Mesa Trail.  And then only another 4 miles to reach the car.  We made it, naturally, and, I only twisted my ankle twice in the process.

6.25 hours, 8.5 miles RT and 2951′ of elevation gained (and lost!).  What happened to the ‘start small and gradually build up our fitness level’ plan?  My legs were getting stiff before I got into my 4-Runner.  I was in for a rough recovery.

Post-Script (12/3/12):  I have barely moved in the last 36 hours, and have little hope of improvement for another 36.  (12/5/12):  I am still too sore to move correctly but am now certain that I have not permanently crippled myself.  I expect to be ready to go again by the weekend, but no sooner.

Brian’s comment via email on 12/3/12:

Joe:
Our basement staircase took on a malevolent side yesterday, bringing fear every time I went down.  Like the Amityville Horror.  The stair rail got more use than it had all year.
Brian

If you’ve been paying attention, you’d know that Brian and I failed on an attempt on the 4th earlier this year (see 4th Flatiron Slowfest).  Now, climbing the 4th in March is plain crazy, but in January is flat out stupid; let’s just say I didn’t feel too badly about not finishing on the earlier effort.  But now, since the weather has been in the 70’s for 2 weeks and the snow is essentially gone,  we had to finish it.  We just had to.

We started up at 8am, which was strange since that was the plan (I was on time).  We hiked up the trail at a brisk pace and made ready to climb at the base of the 4th by 9am.

Brian announced that he’d like to do the ‘chimney pitch’ which required me to take the first pitch. I accepted.

Pitch 1

I scrambled up the 1st pitch, which is only 75 feet long to a nice ledge.  I remembered to bring my rock shoes, and I enjoyed the security at every step.

The squeeze chimney at the back of the 4th Flatiron cave

Pitch 2

Brian took off toward the cave with a grim determination to crawl out the hole in the top.  He pulled through and setup an awkward belay to bring me up.  I scrambled up to the opening of the cave, handed up the packs, and then barely fit through.  And, I mean barely.  It was a near thing, and I nearly had my harness pulled off as I ssssqqqqquuuuueeeeezzzzeeeeddddd through.  I most certainly would not have fit through 20 lbs ago.

Brian put it well:  the chimney was worth doing…once.  He named it the Commoner’s Cave (a corollary to the Royal Arch)

Joe pulling his body through the narrow slot on the 4th Flatiron chimney

Pitch 3

I stretched out the 200 foot rope to make a nice ledge.  I even got in a few pieces of pro.

Pitch 4

Brian took the entire rope length to reach the only nice ledge in the vicinity.

Pitch 5

I took the finish to the 1st piece and continued on to the start of the next pitch on the 2nd piece of the flatiron.  We stopped for a brief snack at approximately 11am. We paused long enough to fully appreciate what a beautiful day we had to enjoy….and once again appreciate how lucky we are to live in Colorado.

Pitch 6

4th Flatiron East Face Route

Brian took the sharp end into the gully and stopped quickly after finding a good belay spot.  He had learned a hard lesson the last time, when he couldn’t find a belay and had to simulclimb over terribly exposed and slippery rock to reach the hanging garden.  I didn’t blame him one bit.

Pitch 7

I could not find much pro along this entire stretch that nearly reached to the Hanging Garden.  It was a bit unnerving.  I was forced to setup a belay in a a sea of thorn bushes.  I got a hundred tiny thorns imbedded in my flesh for my trouble.  I also froze to death as the wind picked up in the natural wind tunnel.  I luckily remembered to bring a jacket, which I wore for the rest of the day.

8 – Scramble to Garden

Brian finished the scramble to the garden and then we walked to the backend of the garden…. and then out to the 3rd and final piece of the 4th Flatiron. Unfortunately, neither of us could remember how to finish this damned route.  I remembered descending a bit and then taking a right curving line to get back into the big gully.  Brian remembered nothing. Note:  I read later that the ‘official’ route is to walk directly across from the Hanging Garden and head up and left.  I’ll try to remember that.

Pitch 9

But Brian doesn’t scare off; he accepted the challenge and took off.  He didn’t get any pro for a while, but eventually made it to the base of the wide portion of the big gully.

Pitch 10

This was hard, for a mere 5.4 route.  Water polished rock with no pro.  I didn’t let myself think about it too much and just kept moving up.  Eventually I did start finding pro, but the slick difficulty did not relent until I reached a nice ledge below the exit to the final crack.  A part of the problem was the wet mess leftover from the snowpack in the center of the gully where otherwise there might be better footing.

Brian on the summit of the 4th Flatiron

Pitch 11

Brian flew up the final pitch.  I remembered thinking that this was the crux pitch on previous climbs, but not this time.  It was 3rd hardest, at most.  We arrived at 3pm.

Descent

The descent off the overhanging ledge is always tricky.  I didn’t hesitate this time and just downclimnbed until I could jump.  Brian remarked, “always anticlimactic”.  I responded, “it felt climactic to me”.  It really did.  Be ready.

We then followed our line from our earlier Tangen Tunnel climb (see Winter Tangen Tunnel), staying on the ridge line as we climbed and passed a series of ribs to reach the descent trail from Green mountain.

Joe on the 4th Flatiron summit with Bear Peak in the background

At 5pm, we arrived at the parking lot.  I was surprised that we managed to do a 9-hour day without much difficulty.  Not too old, I guess.

Keys to climb:

1. Do the chimney once, then not again
2. Watch the rope drag on the 3rd pitch
3. The 2nd piece of the 4th is only 40 feet from the top of the 1st piece
4. Be prepared for stemming in the big gullies
5. Go straight across from the Handing Garden to start the 3rd piece
6. From the summit of the 4th, it’s just under 2 hours to the car
7. On the hike to Green Mountain trails, stay on the ridge crest and find the line of least resistance

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