My room is quiet and cool, Xanadu (my cat, not an exotic escort) is curled up against my outstretched arm, barely flinching at the banal sports jabber emanating from my alarm. This is it... time for the Blue River Century! The previous 12 hours were spent stuffing my belly with high calorie foods, tuning up the road bike and mentally preparing for the task ahead. All my gear and food was carefully laid out so my sleep-deprived brain had a mere two objectives to worry about: get into the truck, drive to Keystone.
On the way up, I rocked out to Weird Al, Bad Religion, Crystal Method and a little They Might Be Giants. Arriving a little after 6:15 AM, I slowly assembled my gear for the ride...
Excitement builds as the riders begin to congregate on the starting line. The sky is overcast and cool, great weather for a long ride! At 7:11 AM, the ride begins with miles and miles of downhill! Little pelotons form amongst riders; I find myself in a pack up near the front. We cruise down Route 9 through the Gore Range peaks to Ute Pass, where the strain of the hill begins to break apart the packs of riders. The uber-hardcore riders are already zipping back down the out-and-back pass by the time I'm within a mile of the first aid station. I tuck in behind a trio of strong riders, two gals and a guy and reach the first aid station in good style.
I did bring along my camera to record my
Blasting down Ute Pass, I zip by lines of bikers clawing uphill, some in good fashion... some not. The ride back into Silverthorne becomes a bit hypnotic, as I get into a rhythm of pedal strokes. I am passed by only one person, a woman who was either a manic body builder or a fan of anabolic steroids. Where most people have calf muscles, it appeared she had implanted a human buttocks. Even NFL running back have smaller legs. I should have snapped a picture.
Eventually at mile 45 or so, I pulled into the picturesque aid station at Dillon Lake, where the goldfish crackers flowed like wine.
The next leg was a big push from Frisco to Copper Mountain, then up Fremont Pass. Again, I tucked in with two other riders on the climb up the pass. I felt like I was really working hard, harder than I'd like--and 30 minutes into the climb realize I'm still in one of my hardest gears. Oops! As it turns out, the guy I did the climb with would be my riding buddy for the rest of the day, a good bloke from Denver named Ralph. As I reached the Smiling Moose Deli sponsored aid station, the sky opened up and the rain did wash upon the Earth.
After a wet and slightly perilous descent back into Frisco, we rode up and over Swan Mountain Road, where I hooked up with a bunch of riders in the lead pack. Together, we rode back to Keystone at mile 95. Our final aid station awaited as the sky grew darker and darker.
This was it, the final push. Nothing was particularly sore on my body, but my legs didn't have the power they had 7 hours previously. I knew it would be a grind--10 miles uphill, topping out at 11,990 ft is no easy task. My first goal would be the A-Basin ski area, which was 7 miles from Keystone. From there, it was a quick 3 mile jaunt to the summit.
As I began the climb, I felt a numbness in my spirit. I was going to make it, no doubt about that, but I began to feel a mental fatigue to match my spun-out legs. In between pedal strokes, I would hear the soft jingle of Talus' collar on my bike. I remembered how strong my little dog was, struggling to his feet to give an earnest greeting even when his brain was being invaded by a horrible disease. I owed it to him to be strong, to live for both of us, to suffer a bit so the sweetness of normal life would be exaggerated for a time. A gritty determination filled the void. The rain became more steady and began to downpour, mixing in with snowflakes and sleet.
At A-Basin, Ralph caught up to me. We gave each other mini-pep talks and went for the final push. Eventually, he opened up a little gap between us and we both pushed on. Talus continued to carry my spirit as I pushed up towards the final goal. With half a mile left, I could see the sign designating the summit. I pushed harder and the weather got colder. With a few defiant pedal strokes, I joined Ralph at the summit and cajoled a tourist to snap our photo.
There was a bone chilling cold in the air--mid 30's air temp and rain/sleet equals perfect hypothermia weather. We began a wet and wild 10 mile descent to return to Keystone. My body was racked with cold and my hands grew numb but I knew as long as I could count to ten in my head, hypothermia had not yet set in. Amazingly, a half-dozen or so cyclists were still pushing for the summit on my way down--cheers to them!
Eventually, I broke away from Ralph, whose poor hands were colder than mine. I had soaking wet but full-fingered gloves, he had fingerless gloves. As I rounded the final bend to return to Keystone, my body shivered hard from the wet cold but I felt overall pretty good. The lousy weather had scattered the post-ride party and it was all I could do to unhook my pack, grab my keys and load my bike into my truck. I stripped off my wet clothes and sat with the heat turned up full bore, trying to get my soggy skin rewarmed. I was way happy, not too tired and glad to be back at Keystone.
While the conclusion was a little anti-climatic, the ride was awesome. I drove home with a goofy, half-chattering smile on my face. Even though I had the heat blasting the whole time, it wasn't until I indulged in a 45 minute shower back at home in Boulder that I really began to thaw.
I'd highly recommend the Blue River Century for bike enthusiasts--I found that I really enjoyed the challenge, the scenery, the camaraderie and the places my mind went during the ride. At times I was zoned out, listening to music. At others, I thought of friends, dreams, aspirations. I felt good and strong and missed those who have slipped from this world. I fantasized about a good meal. I wished I was going home to Talus. I never felt bad or frustrated, maybe a little cold but never unhappy.
It's a weird thing, to ride your bike for 100+ miles in a day. A strange sort of endeavor, but one I thoroughly enjoyed. For all the time we put into the various minutia of life, it felt so good to be doing something out of the ordinary with a group of like-minded individuals. Huge props to Marie (who posts comments on this blog from time to time) for making her dream a reality and giving those who are up to the challenge a forum to push our bodies, hearts and spirits.
