Those were the words that greeted us as we rolled into the Aid station at Vail Pass. It was the last of three grueling passes, and the sign spoke nearly true. It was all downhill from there. Mostly.
Triple Bypass
The day finally arrived. 8 months and then some of training, preparing, dreading, and looking forward. 6 months of riding to work, and hitting as many weekend miles as the weather allowed. All the trepidation, all the excitement, it all came down to this day. I woke at 04:30 to the sounds of Reveille. It somehow seemed appropriate. We snarfed down some of my brother’s pre-ride nutrition (yogurt, oatmeal and fruit), had some coffee and our all-too-kind hosts drove us to the starting line.
It was hard to believe were finally there. Even as we rode to the park-n-ride where my registration packet waited for me, it still hadn’t sunk in that we were finally there. It was cool out, almost cold. Clear skies with no threat of rain, or snow, or sleet. The arm and leg warmers had already proved their worth, though I wish I’d packed my long fingered gloves. The Edge was fully charged, and ready to record. The bike was as tuned as it could be, and I was as ready as I’d ever be. I left my registration packet there, to be picked up after the ride, since I wasn’t sure we’d see our hosts again.
From the staging area, my brother and I set off for the start line, a mere mile away. Looking around, we saw all manner of bikes and all manner of body types. The majority was what you’d expect… thin and athletic bodies on thin athletic bikes. But there were heavier commuter bikes (my brother’s for instance), and even a few recumbents and tandems. I distinctly remember one woman on a mountain bike that couldn’t have weighed less than 350lbs. “Good for her!” I thought, “I hope you make it all the way!” I never saw her again.
There was no mass gathering. No cacophony of *clicks* as riders set cleats to pedals. With 3,500 registrants, there was no other way to start than on a first-come-first-served basis. We arrived at the start line, and immediately set off. Both Diane and Julie were there cheering us on and taking pictures.
Squaw and Juniper Passes
The climb up to Squaw and Juniper passes was already familiar to us. Most of it, anyway. We’d ridden from Elk Meadow to about 10,000ft on Wednesday. As on our previous ride, we took a couple of short breaks on the way up to take pictures, but for the most part, just kept a steady pace as we climbed up to 11,140ft. The climb wasn’t new, nor was riding in a large group. The chill air, on the other hand, wasn’t something I counted on. At 45°F, my fingers quickly became very cold, and finally numb. And that was at 7-10mph on the way up. In spite of the rush I knew it would be, I began to dread the flight downhill on the other side, knowing that the sun wouldn’t have time to warm the air by the time we got there.
At the top of Juniper Pass, we stopped briefly for fuel and to rest the legs. We were a little tired, but not overly so. The Aid Station there was fully stocked with food and drink, porta-potties and more bikes than we could count. Our energy level was just about where we expected to be, given our rides the previous three days. At that point, we knew we’d made the right calls on our prep rides, and our confidence was as high.
And then we looked down and noticed a single speed laying on it’s side next to our bikes. Someone was riding a single speed up three mountain passes, and over 120 miles.
Wow. Just wow.
Taking a moment to contemplate what would drive a body to ride a single speed up and over mountains, we saddled up, clicked in, and started down the back side of Highway 103 towards Idaho Springs.
I was right to wish I’d packed my long fingered gloves. By the time we were halfway down, my fingers were numb to the knuckles. I couldn’t feel a thing and had very little muscle control. I had to look to see that my fingers were actually on the brakes, and had to concentrate to apply any pressure. Needless to say, I was a little nervous about this particular predicament. I’m going 35-45mph down a winding mountain road, cliffs on one side going up, and cliffs on the other going down, and I had minimal control over my brakes. Don’t think that stopped me from enjoying the descent, however, or that it stopped me from taking full advantage of the opportunity for speed. It did not. I laughed through the pain and watering eyes, and took corners and curves like I knew the Torelli could. In spite of having nearly crippled hands, I had a blast!
Idaho Springs and seeing our Private SAG staff for the first time
The fingers weren’t numb for long, though. The temperature difference between 11,000ft and 7,500ft is amazing. Cold at Juniper Pass, it was almost hot in Idaho Springs. It was there, pulling into town, that we found our Private SAG for the first time. The GF, the hosts and both of their sons were there, and the GF was kind enough to offer her belly beneath her shirt to warm my still numb fingers. Matthew went to the van to see if my gloves were there, but came back empty handed. I wasn’t too worried at the moment, but knew that the next pass might offer additional numbness complications. Warmed inside and out by the show of support, my brother and I tried calling our parents, and he called his wife before setting off again. It was still hard to believe we were actually riding the Triple Bypass, and that we were a third of the way done!
The grueling climb to the Loveland Aid Station and Arriving Exhausted
The next leg of the journey was considerably less glamorous. The ride was pleasant and relaxed from Idaho Springs to Georgetown. Sure, we were climbing, but it was a relaxed climb through beautiful country. It was somewhere in here that our private SAG team came through with a pair of gloves for me. They only had one pair, and since my fingers had suffered the most, it was decided that I take them. They promised a pair for my brother later in the ride, but before the next pass at Loveland. They came through.
As I was saying, the ride was pleasant and relaxed through this next stretch. Then we hit Georgetown and soon after that, I70. At Georgetown we used a two lane bike path. Smooth and well maintained, it was a great path to ride. It was steep here and there, and uphill everywhere, but it was a nice, scenic and relaxed ride. That is, until I70.
I70.
A slow and grueling climb against headwinds, with cars and semi-trailers screaming by at 75mph and greater, I70 was anything but relaxed and scenic. It was hot, ugly, and by far the least enjoyable section of the ride. Complicating the situation was the fact that my water bottles ran bone dry several miles from the Aid Station in Loveland. Fortunately, a kind lady by the side of the road offered me some of the ice water she was holding for her husband who hadn’t ridden by yet.
I’ve never been in a ride before where the enthusiasm and support showed by the general populace, or those there for other riders was as high and generous. The “fans” (for lack of a better word) were, to the last, fantastic, and hearing people yelling encouragement along the route at unexpected places had a motivation value I can’t begin to describe. That alone was worth the months of training.
Leaving the monotonous and grinding I70 behind, we pulled into the Loveland Aid Station together, and found our private SAG team. They immediately noticed our high level of exhaustion. The previous leg tapped us in a major way. Not enough that we doubted our ability to continue, but certainly enough to turn a brief 5 minute rest into 15 or 20 minutes. Looking around, we weren’t the only ones suffering the effects of the high speed traffic, headwinds, and mile after mile of steady 4-6% grade. The GF came through by helping me stretch and massaging my shoulders, neck and back, and the rest of the team came through with the gathering of food and drink. A ways away from us, we heard the loud *bang* of a tube blowing out. It sounded like a gunshot, and startled everyone around. We don’t know who it was, and can only hope that they had the foresight to bring extras like we had. Not long after this, Matthew pointed out a road up ahead, far up in the mountains. We wondered if that was where we were headed. A semi-trailer could be seen, as small as an ant, and we took some comfort in that it appeared to be the opposite direction from where we were going.
Loveland Pass and a Photo Op
We set out from the aid station after about 20 minutes of rest, and began the slow 4 mile crawl up to Juniper Pass. The climb was a steady 6-7% grade the whole way up. There was little in the way of respite, and when the grade did drop briefly to 2-3%, it felt like we were going downhill. The road we’d seen before from the aid station proved to be exactly where we were going. Looking down at the aid station from that height, it boggled our minds that we’d climbed that high in that short a distance, but we took a great deal of pride in it, and allowed ourselves a nearly continual moment of triumph.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, and yet at the same time what felt like only a few minutes, we arrived at Loveland Pass, 11,990ft. Oddly enough, as tired as we were arriving at the Loveland Aid Station, we felt exalted and full of energy arriving at Loveland Pass. This was the pinnacle of the ride. As high as it would take us, up grades as high as we’d see. In some ways, though we were only halfway to the finish, we’d overcome the worst the ride had to offer, and it felt absolutely, without reservation, fantastic. The air was chilly, but not cold. The wind was stiff, but not buffeting. The crowd at the top was all of one mind. Triumph. My brother and I soaked it in for a while, took a few pictures and chatted with a few of the others already at the top. Though nowhere near the highest elevation in the country, we felt, without apology, like we were on top of the world.
Downhill to the Frisco AID station
Ready and eager to enjoy another downhill run, we pulled our gloves and arm warmers on, and side-stepping a semi-trailer making it’s way through the crowd, we hit the hammer ring for another hammerfest down the mountain. At first it was a repeat of the previous run, with the exception of warm fingers. We were racing along at better than 45mph, pulling tight corners and having the time of our lives. Then we came upon three cars. A dark green Toyota Forerunner, a silver Honda Accord, and another sedan of unknown make or model. My brother and I were grouped with four or five other riders, and the cars appeared determined not to let us pass. Pass, you ask? Yes. Pass. We were passing cars and trucks on the highway, and it was glorious… or it would have been had they been more cooperative. My brother found an opening and passed them on the outside, but I couldn’t find a path. I was stuck, at least for the moment between the Honda and the Toyota watching him scream ahead down the mountain. The Honda and I paced each other for some time, around this curve, and down that straightaway until finally, after I’d lost sight of my brother, I was given a path on the right. Taking it, I stood up on the pedals and hammered past both them and the car ahead.
I kept up the tempo, hoping to catch up with my brother, but I couldn’t find him. I pedalled harder, thinking he was just ahead in the next group, only to be disappointed. I was convinced that he was hopelessly out of reach when I heard at voice behind me say “On your wheel!” It was my brother! I’d passed him without even realizing it, and apparently gave him quite the chase as he struggled to catch and keep up with me. Soon after we reunited, the three cars we’d battled passed us. We were coming near the end of the fall, and the grade was lessening. We lightened up on the pedals and relaxed a bit as we rode into and through Keystone, over the Dillon Lake dam road and into Dillon, and finally through wetlands into the Frisco Aid Station.
Arriving at the aid station was rather surprising. One minute we were making our way briskly over paved wetland paths, and the next minute we turn a corner to be greeted by cheering, music and tents full of refreshment. Had there been a choir singing praises, I wouldn’t have thought it out of place. We reunited with our fantastic private SAG team, who, once again, proved valuable beyond measure with face wipes, water fetching and uplifting enthusiasm. Truly, I don’t think we could have done it without them.
We arrived at the aid station relaxed, relatively well rested for having already ridden 80 miles, and with the exception of the clouding of my contacts, in perfect condition. 80 miles, and neither of us were hurting. We were tired, but not exhausted. Our saddles were still agreeing with us, and our bodies feeling, if not completely fresh, at least not finished. It was almost unnerving to think that we’d ridden that far, with that amount of slogging elevation gain, and were still feeling as fresh as we were. We rested for about 15-20 minutes refueling and taking advantage of the restrooms before saddling up, clicking in, and hitting the path once again.
Grinding uphill to Vail Pass Aid Station and arriving tired, but excited
Straight out of the Frisco Aid Station, we hit what appeared to be a paved rails-to-trails path. Straight and steady, it presented a gradual climb of 4%-5% grades that just didn’t seem to end. It became apparent that it was not, in fact, a rails-to-trails path, as the grades became more erratic and the path more curvaceous. Tucking in behind a group of 5 or 6 riders, we made great time for most of this leg. They pulled us along at a great pace, until finally, we couldn’t stay with them any more. Letting them go, we pushed along on our own. The trail offered little in the way of even brief downhill respites, and, in fact, became increasingly difficult the closer we got to Vail Pass. While it was a difficult climb up the path, it was some of the most scenic riding we saw. Though short, some of the climbs were the steepest of the day, all-but-requiring we stand up and hammer the granny gear to just keep moving. I distinctly hearing the phrases “C’mon! Seriously!” and “This just isn’t fair!” through this stretch. I’m not unconvinced that it wasn’t I who uttered them. Unfortunately, the grind and our level of energy were such that taking pictures didn’t occur to us as often as it had in the past. While we got a few, we didn’t get as many as I wish we had. The vistas were breathtaking.
Around a corner, my brother and I were greeted with the glorious sight of the Avon Aid Station, posed at the top of a hill like a castle, complete with festival day flags, streamers and merriment. It was a tough climb getting up the final path to the gate, but it was well worth it. Our private SAG team was there, as enthusiastic and proud as they could be. We’d hit the final pass of the day. The final long climb was behind us. There was time to celebrate and take pride on our accomplishment, b/c it was all downhill from there. A lady was holding a sign that said “You’ve climaxed, now enjoy going down!” All too perfect. We were tired, but we were full of accomplishment and pride. 20 more miles, and all of it downhill… or so we thought. We refueled, rested a bit, took some pictures, and set out on our way.
Downhill run to Avon, and pulling 22mph against the wind on level ground
I followed my brother to the exit gate, but lost him in the crowd. Thinking he’d gone ahead and I’d missed him, I set out with feverish abandon. Pushing my big ring as hard as legs with 100 miles and 9,000+ feet of climbing would allow, I raced down the hill. Pulling nearly 35mph, I kept up the pace as long as I could, but never saw him. Thinking, once again, that he was hopelessly ahead of me, I relaxed a bit. Right about that time, I heard him say “On your wheel!” just like before, and we were off. For almost 10 miles we leap frogged each other, passing everyone we came across and being passed by no one. It was nearly as glorious as our race against the cars on the backside of Loveland Pass in raw speed, and more glorious in that we knew we were almost there. We’d gone over 100 miles at speeds we’d only imagined, and up grades we dreaded. Our elation was mounting with each hard pull. There was no pain, there was only the wind in our faces, and pride in ourselves and each other.
Arriving at the finish line exhausted and a little sick
About 12 miles out from Avon, or 108 miles into the ride, the route moved onto the streets and leveled out some. What were 5-7% grades on the downhill became ±1% grades. Additionally, we hit a headwind, which eliminated any effect the slight downgrades might have given us. Somewhere along this leg, my brother found an opening that I was denied, and pulled ahead, leaving me stuck behind slower riders. Try as I might, I couldn’t get around them. I was tiring, and traffic wouldn’t allow slow passing. Eventually I did pass, but by then, my brother had hooked up with another stronger rider and was able to draft him all the way into the finish line. They traded wheels, each pulling the other for a time before trading off again. I, on the other hand, pulled 22-24mph against the wind on level ground alone. Where I got that energy I don’t think I’ll ever know.
It turns out the man my brother was drafting had been chasing us since the Vail Aid Station. He saw us pulling hard down the hill and thought to himself “Those are the guys I want to hang with!” He caught up with my brother after he’d lost me, and they stuck together through the end. Now, here’s the kicker. Matt (that was his name) has been base training, and focusing on keeping his heart rate low. I’m pleased as hell that my heart rate didn’t rise above 187 for the ride. Matt’s never rose above 162. As hard as he was pulling my brother for those last 10 miles, he hardly even broke a sweat. Wow. Just. Wow.
As I pulled into Avon, definitely sweating from the effort, I passed our private SAG team walking along the road. They’d been held up in traffic, and we’d made far better time than they anticipated, and weren’t able to get there in time to meet us as we rolled in. Though they apologized, and obviously felt bad for not being there, I don’t think they realize just how much they helped all along the way.
When I arrived at the finish line, I found my brother waiting there for me. “Let’s cross the finish line together!” he said, and we did. In a way, it was nice that it was just the two of us riding across together, ignorant of the crowd. We took pictures of each other, congratulated one another on a job fantastically done, and slowly walked our bikes to a grass embankment before we collapsed on the ground.
Our private SAG team arrived shortly thereafter with their own congratulations. At the time, I was too tired to be visibly excited. In fact, I was so tired that I felt a little bit nauseous. I was sincerely concerned for a time that I’d be sick right there on the grass. Pride wouldn’t allow it though, and I fought it down with chicken, half a baked potato and a cheeseburger. My brother felt more energetic than I, and was kind enough to join our hosts in getting the food and picking up my packet. He exchanged his small woman’s jersey for a medium men’s jersey at the same time. In the meantime, I simply lay there basking in the joy of completion and wondering if I was going to win my battle with nausea. That last pull into the wind did it for me. Had I taken it easier for those final 10 miles, I would have been perfectly fine, but what would have been the point of that?
For about an hour, the GF, Diane, Julie, Matthew, Andrew and my brother sat on the grass near the finish line and just took it all in. Spirits were high, and though we were tired, we weren’t nearly so tired as we thought we would be. Though it took us 8 hours and 11 minutes in the saddle, it didn’t take as long as we thought it would. Though the climbs were hard, they weren’t as hard as we thought they’d be. In every way, we’d underestimated ourselves, and came out well ahead of where we thought we’d be. Our months of mental and physical preparation, combined with the outstanding support of our friends paid off far more than we ever imagined. We were tired, but I’ve had shorter rides exhaust me more than this one did. We were tired, but we were fully satisfied.
The Highway Patrol and Our Thanksgiving Dinner
After a while, we picked the bikes off the grass and slowly made our way to the car. It was slow only in part because we were tired. It was slow in larger part because of the crowd. There was still a very steady stream of riders coming in an hour after we arrived, and no sign of it diminishing. The boys climbed in Andrews IROC, while the rest of us climbed in the F150. We changed into clean clothes, and proceeded to head out for a quick dinner before driving the long drive home. No sooner had we hit the highway than a highway patrol officer pulled the boys over. Apparently, he didn’t like the way Andrew changed lanes. I think they’re going to fight the ticket.
That done, with appropriate levels of teasing applied, we left the boys behind and hit Ruby Tuesday’s for dinner. My brother and I had Shrimp Alfredo and shared a milkshake. For some reason, a milkshake sounded better than anything, and it was. My Ruby Relaxer came in a close second, though. The others basked in salads, steaks and wine, and were pleasantly surprised when, in addition to filling up their gas tank for all the driving they did, we bought their dinner for them as well. I really cannot stress enough the value of the support they showed us during the ride.
