Final Thoughts – CTR 2012

As I sit in my motel room in Salida I see-saw between disappointment and relief. I know I did not have the energy to tackle another 250 miles of the hardest and most remote half of the route. I was worried about my food since it would have taken an extra day on top of my plan. And yeah…I was homesick too. Nothing like hard, strenuous physical exertion to break you down and heighten your emotions. I am an even keel kind of guy, but out here on the trail it was either whooping with bliss or cursing and yelling into the emptiness.

It’s true, I am relieved to be done. No more pushing, I must have hiked and pushed 30 miles worth of the 265 that I completed. I was prepared for some hike-a-bike but not nearly as much and as hard as it was. It took me 5 hours from the Gold Hill trail head in Breck to the crest of the ten mile range, only 8 miles. 8 miles in 5 hours! And I got myself into pretty good shape. Granted, I was mostly riding during my training.

But with that relief there are questions: could I have kept going? should I have kept going? was today just a bad day and I would have woken up tomorrow feeling better and back in it like I did on day 3? Who knows, but those questions will always be there and that sucks.

This was only the second mountain bike race I’ve ever done. Now that is just plain silly! As the race website states: ‘If you’ve never done a multi-day endurance ride, don’t start with the CTR’. Now in all fairness, I had done several bikepacking trips prior and had in fact ridden from Segment 1 all the way to Mt. Princeton. So I was not a rookie, but I was not a racer – and I think experience there is priceless. All my previous trips had been based on ‘getting outside’. This one was focused on speed and distance: no stove, limited gear (not limited enough) night riding, pushing the limits, gaining on other riders, keeping up the pace to stay ahead of other racers. Previously my trips were all about the great outdoors: freeze-dried meals and hot oatmeal, coffee breaks, photography, down time in camp, reading, writing. It’s hard to say which was more fun – certainly the race format was more trying and pushing myself physically beyond previously established limits was not necessarily ‘fun’, but the touring style does not afford that option to dig deep and find your personal barriers. Pushing through those barriers and prevailing can be the most rewarding experience of any outdoor adventure. But so is reading a good book under clear skies in the great outdoors!

So what now?

I should try another race that will give me a better chance of success. Less mileage and less hike-a-bike. Then maybe I can come back to the CTR. I enjoyed the race format more than I thought I would. It was fun to have the other riders out there and share experiences and feel a part of something bigger and better than just a bike ride (which is basically what it is when you go out touring on your own).

Here is a parting image from my race on the CT this year. It’s 6pm and I roll out from Copper feeling like a true adventure racer. I have struggled through some serious hardship on the ten mile range, been riding since 6am, and now have fresh legs and fresh supplies for the next segment. Also it is beautiful out. The sun is shining and getting low in the sky. I pass Tom on the trail who is having trouble with a front derailleur (I tell him I got rid of mine for that very possibility!) I am flying through the ski resort as the CT winds it way through ski trails and around the golf course. I feel as good as I ever have on a bike. I see another racer far ahead climbing now. At every bend he disappears, but I gain on him and getting into race mode I decide to catch him and I do. He is filtering water at a creek. He’s Dave from Yakima and he calls me a ‘third lunger’ when I tell him I’m from Bailey. I leave him creek side with all his gear spilled out on the bridge and spin on ahead. Further up the trail I see Kevin coming my way. I ask him if he’s all right and he says he heading back to camp in a nice spot he just passed. So in a span of one hour I have now passed 3 racers. Nice! Finally, it is just me and the broad, brilliantly green Guller creek valley sweeping up ahead of me to Searle Pass. I pass by an old campsite I used a couple years ago and keep spinning. As night creeps in and the last of the soft light filters away I stop for a moment to enjoy the last of this day. It’s incredibly quiet and still, I can see weather spilling over the crest above, but it is still nice down here and deathly still. What an amazing country. I feel extremely lucky to be here, now. Extremely blessed. I think of my family and miss them badly. I say goodnight to Sienna and imagine rubbing her back to sleep. I say goodnight to Ava even though she’s been asleep for hours. And I thank Wendy for giving me this opportunity and I thank my Mom for coming to help. All the months of training and prep were really all for this moment – this one fleeting feeling of true freedom and adventure. Nothing but my gear and this trail snaking out in front. All the decisions are mine to be made, all the mistakes too. I am accountable only to myself. As darkness moves in and the winds pick up I move into survival mode again and get the bivy out and hunker down.

The fleeting moment is gone, but now looking back on those four days it is the one part that sticks out, that stays with me, that will keep me going. I’ll find it again somewhere!

Colorado Trail Race – Day 4

Day four dawns colder and blustery with scattered cloud cover. It feels like rain. I get up reluctantly this morning and feel the effects of the last three days settling into my core. I pull on wet shoes and damp socks, pack up my gear and get rolling.

I don’t feel at all into this anymore. Yesterday was an incredible day and now this morning I have no energy and no excitement for more rough trail and slick tree roots and vegetation heavy with dew along the trail that just gets me more wet. I retrace my steps back to the trail which I had crossed unknowingly the night before in the dark, good thing I slept in the trail head parking lot.

I drop down to Cottonwood creek and pass by a rider who is packing up his gear but I don’t even say hi. He is sort of behind a tree off the trail a bit and engrossed in his packing and shoving, but still I could have shouted out. Signs of my mood. He (Dominic from Poncha Springs) eventually passes me on the trail and we ride for a little bit. He stayed at the Cottonwood Hot Springs Inn last night, which is right on the Cottonwood Pass road detour that everyone passes. I even pulled into the driveway pull-off and reminisced about staying there with Wendy and Sienna years ago. But I never even considered staying there! Man I am jealous of him as he tells me about his dorm-style room and a good soak in the hot springs that gives the place its name. I feel that I should have stayed there and gotten a good rest and recovered from yesterday. But I didn’t and I had another fitful night in the bivy. He passes by. He is not wearing a shirt – it’s 630am, chilly and I have an extra layer on. Turns out he finishes the race – not surprising!

I stumble along on the rough trail and am generally in a foul mood angry at every stumble, every rock that I slip on and especially when I bang my now sore shin into the pedal once again. And my rear derailleur is acting up – ghost shifting and falling off the big cog into the hub and really just pissing me off. I realize that I gave yesterday everything I had and I just assumed I would wake up and get rolling, but I can’t shake this funk and begin to think about pulling out and how to bail off the route and how Wendy is going to pick me up and where and when. It is all I am thinking about. I can’t imagine the effort needed to keep rolling for another 250 miles.

Eventually I decide to get to the Mt Princeton Hot Springs resort and reassess. It is only 14 miles away, just get there and then reconsider everything. Don’t think about pulling out now. Also, I have to fix this derailleur. So I pull off, get rid of my jacket, get my tools out, flip the bike over and give my bike it’s first tune up in 215 miles – not bad! I tighten the barrel adjuster and tighten the low limit screw bringing the chain back in line. I apply some lube and then repack once again. Getting back on the bike which is now shifting perfectly and running quietly I get a little lift and get some of the spirit back.

It is mostly climbing to the road portion down into Mt Princeton which is the actual CT. They should find a reroute for backpackers. But for us bikers it’s awesome, ripping fast jeep road down to ripping fast paved roads with the chalk cliffs looming high overhead. It’s an awesome descent down into Mt. Princeton and I am hooting and hollering!!

I see Nick, Adam and Crissa? at Mt. Princeton (haven’t seen them since Day 1) and also a couple other guys in the little store. They are gone when I come back out. Adam, Nick and Crissa appeared to have all camped together last night only a couple miles ahead of me on the trail. They have gotten some hot food and are drying out gear. Crissa does not look well and is lying on the ground trying to recover from last nights bouts of vomitting – no fun! She asks, ‘you haven’t been nauseous on this trip?’, and I say, ‘no, not at all’. I will regret those words later.

I get a big plate of pancakes and hot coffee and look at my maps for the next stretch and realize it is only 20 miles, not 30, to US-50. Not bad right? Well, not when looking at them on a map. But even then I realize that I am way behind my plan for this day. It is already approaching 11am, I have only covered 14 miles and I need to cover 70 with one of the nastiest hike-a-bikes on the whole route in there. Not gonna happen – doesn’t take me long to realize that. So what then? I decide to just get to US-50 and reassess. Seems the best plan is to think of the next landmark, not Durango!

After drying out gear and not taking any of the food Crissa is throwing my way, ‘I am trying to lighten my load’, I saddle up and head out. I’ve got my cue sheets clipped to my stem since I am now officially on trail that is new to me. That is exciting. I can still feel the lag in my legs though and know they are not nearly up to the challenge ahead.

It’s hot when I reach the Chalk Creek trail head set back on a beautiful little dirt road deep in the valley. I just want to kick back on these decks I see with grand views up valley. Back on the trail, it’s once again a steady climb, then a road crossing and then the beginning of the nasty Raspberry Gulch climb. Pushing up switchbacks I have had it. So sick of pushing my bike. I pass a hiker with two dogs and she says that it’s a short way to the top and then ‘like 10 miles of awesome downhill’. 10 miles! I know for a fact that can not even be close to the truth. But I thank her for the encouragement all the same. I gain the small knoll and do get a nice little downhill, but then it’s climbing again. Up, down, up, down…this section – Segment 14 – does have some nice stretches but it is living up to its infamy. I had read and heard from other trip reports about how not to underestimate this section. But I had done just that. Never really gave it much thought in all my planning and projecting.

I pass a north bounder, Dan. He had set out from Durango on Monday and now here we are passing more or less at the half way point. He has a tight rig and a bright blue Salsa singlespeed. He seems in good spirits and we only chat for a minute or so before heading off in our own directions.

At this point my stomach starts to hurt, gas building up to painful proportions and then big, long farts. I have to bail into the woods and relieve myself eventually and then this goes on for the next three hours. Big buildups of gas, painful cramps, than off into the woods. I run out of toilet paper and things get ugly. I am crawling along the trail now, making little to no headway it seems. I know my plan is blown and Salida is now on my mind and what is the quickest way into town. I look at the cue sheets and see CR-240 in 2.5 miles. But before that I spend another three sessions in the woods and the last one is in a huge downpour with thunder crashing overhead. Nothing more dignified than diarrhea in the woods with no toilet paper in a huge rain storm!

So I finally get to 240 and there is really no decision to be made at this point. I see a bathroom at the trail head and thank the good Lord. After I finish up in the bathroom I get on the road and head down and don’t look back. My race is done. The most dissappointing part is that I was just getting to the trail segments I have never done. Everything up to Mt. Princeton I had already ridden in previous trips. Bummer.

I fly down the road – when you bail on the CT you bail and down you go quickly! I get to the highway and spin into Salida. I stop at a Walmart and go buy a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I have parked my bike out front of the store in front of three homeless guys. I have to admit I look as ragged as they do in wet, muddy rain gear and a mud plastered bike and bags!

I get a motel and use the bathroom several more times, take a shower eventually and sit down on the bed. I fall into a serious trance, just sitting there staring at the wall totally drained. No idea how long that lasts, but eventually I get up an appetite and start eating and won’t stop for almost two days.

I”ll write up some final thoughts in the next session.

Colorado Trail Race – Day 3

At 330am I look out of my bivy and realize that it is a crystal clear morning with a sky full of stars and a moon like a spotlight. Since the beginning of the year I had been excited about the chance to ride under a full moon in the high country and knowing this is my chance I jump at it. I climb out of the bivy – sore and achy – in the darkness and pack up my gear. I shove a mini muffin down my throat and get my lights going. I know I am the first to rise among the other racers nearby – I know of at least 3 racers who camped nearby.

Regaining the trail I measure my pace and get my heart rate up and shed my jacket. I can hear my breathing and my heart pumping and that is it. My lights shed a small cone on the trail in front and that is all I am focused on. After a couple switchbacks I know I am nearing tree line yet again. As I make the final switchback which brings me straight up over tree line and toward the final crest of Searle Pass I am heading directly into the full moon which is close to setting behind the Continental Divide. I turn off my lights and enjoy the highlight of my race.

Stars shine brightly and the moon illuminates everything. I sit at 12,100 feet in the moonlight and am in awe of my surroundings. Here I am above treeline while the rest of the world sleeps – even most of the racers are still sleeping. I see the shadow of the crest a few hundred feet above, feel the chill in the pre-dawn air, see soft details in the ridge lines and valleys down below and I hear marmots scampering around in the rock scree above. Amazing!

The ride from Searle Pass to Kokomo Pass is all tundra riding and you feel like you are cruising along the roof of the world. It is awesome, ride-able terrain and the mountains feel like they are just slipping away below you. The sun is just starting to peek over the distant ranges and my lights are off now. It is still cold but I am now switch-backing again up to Kokomo. Finally I hit it at sunrise and take a break. The descent into Camp Hale is fast and furious and cold. The sun is on the other side and will not warm up this side quickly. I take numerous breaks to warm my hands and wet feet – stomping them on the ground or swinging them in arcs. Finally I hit bottom at the old 10th Mountain Division training grounds from WWII in Camp Hale. I take a break in the sun near some backpackers who are packing up and getting ready to tackle the brutal climb that I just descended at mach speeds! One guy asks me, ‘what the hell is going on – we had bikers riding through the trail last night at 10pm!’ As he put it, ‘that is one hell of a way to recreate!’ Indeed buddy.

I see Nicole pass by starting the Tennessee Pass climb – either up or down on this trail – so I pack up and saddle up. Race on! At a road crossing I make a wrong turn and start climbing up the road. Dave from Yakima, WA – who I had met last night – passes by the opposite way without a word. Odd. Then Nicole is on the side of the road looking at maps and asks ‘is this the right way’. I say, ‘I think so.’ She follows and we climb together…the wrong way. Sorry Nicole! So we turn around and fly back down the road to the trail which had just crossed the road, but with a very faint trail marker. We talk about why Dave didn’t say a word, he obviously knew we were going the wrong way. Must have thought that would violate the self-supported ethos – but come on man, we aren’t setting records out here!

Nicole and I climb together. She is from LA, but lives in Crested Butte during summers studying marmots in graduate school. She is on a Specialized 29er and looks strong. On downhills she leaves me in the dust. We eventually pass Dave, and he says something like ‘well, that was awkward huh.’ Nicole and I don’t think so – could have just said. ‘Hey, going the wrong way’. But ah well, everyone runs their own race out here.

Eventually Nicole leaves me behind. I get to Tennessee Pass and see her about to head off down the highway, the wrong way. So since I had steered her wrong before I yell to her and point the way to the trail. She is thankful and we hit a piece of trail magic together, sharing a bag of Cheetos and drinking Pepsi in a can. Nice! We get to the road detour into Leadville and with those big wheels she is gone again.

I spin into Leadville on a nice highway detour – the smooth pavement and the high cadence is such a nice change from the trail. And the views of the Collegiate Peaks is awesome. I go straight to the Burro Cafe and order a huge ‘Miners Platter’ breakfast. Corned beef, cajun potatoes, eggs, biscuits. People stare at me and wonder. But in Leadville, a bikepacker is not such a novel site. Maybe in the touristy Burro Cafe it is! As I dry out some gear in a little park in town, a tourist waiting for his wife says to me, ‘looks like you are living out of your bike.’ Ha! I had never thought of it that way.

I had seen Nicole hit the Safeway and I don’t see any other racers in town so I feel like I’ve gotten a jump on a few racers I was with yesterday. With bags packed again, stomach full, more food for the next leg and my iPod going again I fly out of town jumping off curbs and hitting some banked pavement. I feel like a little kid. This is so awesome!!!!

On Halfmoon road I see nasty clouds building over Colorado’s high point, Mt. Elbert – right where I am headed. Two riders come up behind me on the dirt road and startle me a little as I am into my music. The guy doesn’t acknowledge me in the least, just keeps talking to the woman with him about the Leadville 100 course and where it goes and the next turn off. She at least says hi and asks if I am doing the Colorado Trail. But the guy just keeps talking to her, hardly even looks at me. I guess that is the Leadville 100 crowd for you! Maybe I won’t jump on the bandwagon. Plus he was pointing out a powerline road…no thanks!

At the Mt. Elbert trail head I just keep plugging along back on the trail now and eventually begin the short hike to the Mt. Elbert trail junction. At the junction begins one of the best sections of the trail, fast flowy downhill with easy little ups and then more down, down, down. From here all the way to the Clear Creek road is one of the best stretches on the trail from the start. I love it! Twin Lakes comes into view and the singletrack around the lake is great. Somewhat reminiscent of Fruita riding with all the sagebrush and 4″ wide singletrack.

I take a break at the Twin Lakes dam as more rain comes down, but it is light and moves through fast. A guy comes over and asks about the race, ‘so what, you just camp out?’ Well, some of us do! The guy that finishes in 4 days sure doesn’t! Brie comes over also and hangs out, she was going to offer her car as shelter from the rain and I thank her but tell her about the self-supported bit. She is supporting a friend who is pre-riding the Leadville 100 course by stationing her car as close to the aid stations as possible to simulate the race setting and I say, ‘what, she can’t carry her own stuff’ as I point to my bike! I start liking this race style more and more. Simple and self-sufficient: under your own power, no outside support, from point A to point B. No stages, no time bonuses, no cutoffs or SAGs, no sponsors, no aid, no media. Just you, your bike and this ridiculously difficult course and this unbelievably beautiful setting. It is clean and made for you to achieve your own personal glory. I had listened to a song earlier on my iPod, ‘Bound for Glory’ and that’s how I feel. Corny, but true!

Brie wishes me luck as I saddle up once again and ride a short stretch of the Leadville 100 course – maybe all I’ll ever ride of it. I get back on the CT and wrap around Twin Lakes. Eventually I am climbing again, but it’s a short one and I’m flying downhill again. I hit the Clear Creek Road and see a massive rain storm directly in my path. Donning rain gear, tightening up the hatches and getting back on the bike lightning strikes close and thunder crashes hard overhead…I am ducking again, can’t help it! The rain really starts coming down and by the time I get to HWY-24 (another detour) it is torrential. I have all my lights on, rear blinky included, and am just riding along…what else to do. The rain eventually subsides as I pick up the dirt road into BV that parallels HWY-24. I take shelter in an outhouse alcove as more rain comes, and I promptly fall asleep – been on the bike now for 14 hrs. As soon as I wake up and look toward the road I see none other than Nicole cruising by. Damn – caught me napping! So I saddle up and tail her into BV where I run into her at the City Market. Somehow she missed that storm. She is dry and I look like a drowned rat covered in mud. It’s all timing with these storms!

At the city market I load up on 3 days worth of food the best I can. I am new to this and really don’t know what to buy, so I do my best: beef jerky, peanut butter, salami, shelf stable cheese, twizzlers, bars, vacuum bags of tuna, nuts, chocolate. I have no stove, so I have to buy smart. Who will ever know if that food would have worked since I never ended up needing it.

I repack in front of the City Market and then go to Kay’s burger joint and get a double burger with bacon, fries and a coke. After talking with Wendy and family again I am back on the road by 8pm. The first 5 miles of Cottonwood Pass go by fairly easily, but for the last 5 it is dark and I have my lights on again climbing ever so slowly up the pass to the trail head. Storm clouds are building again and I start stressing about getting caught in a storm so close to camp. My legs, after 85 miles are screaming at me and I have a chill and am weary to the core. Finally, I hit the trail head at 930 and dive into the trees to set up camp. Mercifully it does not rain until I get into the bivy and have everything sorted for the night.

For me, this day was the biggest ever on a mountain bike. 17 hrs and 90 miles, clear from outside Copper to 10 miles outside Buena Vista. What a day!!! And I gained time on some other racers. Four or five others moved out of Buena Vista before I did, but I’m sure they have not gotten much farther on the trail than me tonight so I should be able to stay with them tomorrow. I hunker down for another rainy night as the wind picks up and I go through the motions of holding the bivy overlap shut.

Colorado Trail Race – Day 2

The ascent up Georgia Pass is cold, wet and enshrouded in fog. I can only see maybe 100 yards. Normally it is one spectacular viewpoint. As I get near the top, close to 12,000 feet I get passed by a runner! He is followed by his support guy on a bike. ‘Sully’ is running the entire Colorado Trail to raise money for Autism and he is faster than me uphill. We get to a ‘Trail Angel’ cooler off the trail near the Georgia Pass road and he is stoked, ‘best friggin thing I’ve seen all morning’ he says. Touche. We each down an ice cold Sunkist and I head off for the downhill.

Coming off of Georgia I am still cold and the trail is slick and muddy and full of dangerous tree roots just waiting to slip me up. Eventually it warms up and I get to the West Ridge climb which is a steady walk for me near the top. I meet Wendy, 68 years old, who is also a racer and I am impressed. Go Girl! Her tent had collapsed on her last night in the rain and I told her then that she knows what it’s like to be in a bivy sack in the rain! You can feel every drop that falls. The descent off the West Ridge is a screaming fast one with tight switchbacks that require some concentration. I dry some gear off in the strong sun at 1030 or so but darker masses of clouds are already building. By 11am I am at the Gold Hill trail head. This is a big milestone on the ride, being 100 miles in and the start of the nasty ten mile climb. I meet another of Sully’s support crew who rode in from Buena Vista to meet him here and ride the next section with him.

The next 8 miles were some of the hardest damn hiking/biking I’ve ever done and I became supremely frustrated and downtrodden as I climbed ever higher and higher. All I can say is, thank goodness the thunderstorms never formed because as Sully put it (who passed me again up here) we would have been ‘nuked’!

The trail starts climbing right away but I still have some leg power at this point and I climb probably the next two miles passing families out for nice hikes and people with dogs making me homesick again. Eventually I am walking/riding again. Off the bike…on the bike…off the bike…on the bike. With 4 miles to go to the crest I am mostly walking and pushing. I finally am just pushing. Nearing tree line things get really nasty, precipitously steep and loose and I have to put the bike up perpendicular to the slope and then climb up two steps to it, then move it up again and climb up to it. I fall down exhausted at the top of this steep pitch and realize I am at tree line. Things just get harder above tree line and I am limping along. Sully passes me at this point and he is tired but determined and he gives me a big high five and says ‘awesome job dude’ and passes on. Absorbing some of his energy (he has put on over 30 miles on foot at this point in serious high country) I decide to get my ass up and push on, but it just gets harder. Steep and rugged and loose and I slip and bump my shins against the pedal and curse. But finally I reach the crest and see Copper sprawled below and the ten mile range running sharp to the south. Breckenridge’s Peak 7 seems so close (I am near the summit of Peak 5) The trail off the back side down into Copper is a screaming fast plummet off the top of the world and my hands are about to fall apart from clamping down on the brake levers. Finally, I hit the Wheeler Trail, plummet some more and hit HWY-91 outside Copper.

I spin down to the gas station/coffee shop off of I-70 near Copper Mtn and run into a bunch of riders that I was with yesterday at times. Everyone is cooked from the ten mile climb, and as it turns out I am not the only one with thoughts of pulling out of this race. The ten mile climb takes its toll on riders! I get some food (a microwaved ham and cheese hot pocket and a chocolate frosted donut – seems so wrong) and hang out outside with Kevin, John, Nicole and Tom. Tom says he got 2 hrs of sleep somewhere around the gas station and is heading off to ride through the night (turns out he camps near me this night). John heads into Copper resort area for a restaurant. I talk to Wendy and get a little pep talk and am inspired by people on facebook and email cheering for me. I’m back in it!

By the time I get back on the road I have hot food in me, fresh food in the pack for the next leg, gear repacked and my iPod playing tunes. I feel like a new man and hit the highway mashing the pedals. The trail through the Copper resort ski area is a blast and I am flying. Since I had done so little pedaling throughout the day my legs are fresh. I blast tunes and fly along singletrack on a beautiful evening – no rain today!!! I climb to about 11,000 feet and find a nice spot for a bivy. It is 830 and I feel a fresh wind and can see rain higher up…so much for no rain. Learning from last nights mistake of camping under dead trees which offer no cover I snuggle my bivy into a tight copse of spruce and face downhill – so the rain I can see coming over the pass will not blow directly into my bivy. It works pretty well when the rain does come, it is lighter than last night, but I manage to stay dry. I wake at one point with a mouth so dry I can’t swallow…I frantically claw out of my bivy and half crawl over to my pack to get at my water. Also, I hear a squirrel or something trying to get into my pack and watch my helmet go flying off the pack as it tries to get in. I yell and throw stuff at it in the dark and I see its silhouette run off. I am not using NOLS approved camping techniques here in this race!!

At 330am after off and on rain since 9pm I awake to gloriously clear skies full of stars and with a full moon like a spotlight I can not go back to sleep. So I get up. The race is on!!

Colorado Trail Race – Day 1

The start at Waterton Canyon is pretty mellow and quiet, mostly hushed chatter and nervous excitement. The race organizer gets on the tailgate of his truck and gathers the 60 or so of us around and reminds us of the rules and then states that we should go out there and ‘lose some sleep, get wet and have the adventure of our lives’! Not hard to do in this race…

We roll out from the parking lot onto the gravel road of Waterton Canyon in a huge peloton of bikepackers at 6am sharp. I slip into my own little world on the six mile gravel road climb up to the Strontia Springs reservoir checking out other guys and gals setups but not really chatting with anyone – guess I am a little nervous and not really up for chit chat, mostly wondering what on earth I have gotten myself into. I probably ride too hard on those easy six miles and get to the singletrack behind 4 other guys. The guy in front asks if the guy behind him wants to pass, and he says ‘don’t worry man, we’ve got all day’, and I respond, ‘all day? more like all week!’.

I’m feeling good in Segment 1 and soon I am on my own in the cool, early morning, dew-covered, slightly overgrown trail down along West Bear Creek. I get to the South Platte approaching the first real big climb of the trip at mile 17 up to Chair Rocks as the day starts to heat up. By about the 8th switchback or so I am sweating heavily (signs of bad things to come) so I strip down to a short sleeve and carry on. I get into my home turf of the burn areas in Buffalo Creek and start to experience the first of numerous and ridiculously painful cramps in my legs. I must have gone too hard, sweated too much, and not eaten properly in the early morning jitters at the start. So my body is highly depleted of salts and electrolytes and my legs start seizing up.

At the CT crossing on Hwy-126 outside Buffalo Creek I get to see Mom and Wendy and the girls who give me a nice little visit and a cheer onward. Later in the day I am wishing I hadn’t seen them at all (just made me more homesick!)

I am in mid-conversation with Scott from Santa Cruz later when my legs cramp up again and I can’t even get a word out to him that I have to stop. I half fall off my bike onto the side of the trail and can’t find a position to ease the cramps, so I just lay there watching my leg muscles constrict into golf ball size lumps wanting to scream out but trying to act like nothing is wrong as others racers pass me by. I never see Scott again, and wonder the rest of the trip what he must have thought happened to me!

The cramps last for the next 25 miles into Bailey and I never, ever, ever again want to experience that pain. Rain has been falling lightly on the ride into Bailey and I can see heavy rainfall ahead on the road ride to Kenosha. There are a bunch of racers stripping the Conoco in Bailey of most of their food. I get some Lays potato chips hoping to ease the cramps. After eating lunch and stocking up on food for the next push I roll out of my hometown and shortly catch up to a few riders on the dirt road to Shawnee. Thunder is crashing hard overhead and we see strikes of lightning hitting the ridgeline on the opposite side of the highway. The thunder is so loud that I am instinctively ducking! Then the rains unload in a torrential downpour and the three of us riding together can only laugh. We are soaked!

After 5 miles of dirt I regain the highway in Shawnee under clearing skies and begin the 15 mile pavement ride to Kenosha on US-285. There are narrow shoulders in spots and the ride is harrowing as big rigs and RV’s rumble past throwing up heavy rain spray. By the time I reach Kenosha I have already shed my rain gear and have dried off pretty well. There are a bunch of racers at the pass: Calvin, John, Crissa, Nick, Adam and myself. Todd from Jackson Hole comes the other way (a 5-day finisher from last year) and he gives us all a pep talk about the coming trail! His effort is done though for some reason and he is meeting a friend to take him home. So much for his big talk!

After fixing a busted water bottle cage (yes, already broken gear!) I set off from Kenosha back on the trail leaving a few racers at the pass. The weather is again looking grim so I don rain gear. It is about 7pm and I am feeling the effects of a long day. Another 6 miles or so and I am slowly walking up Georgia Pass with John from CO Springs, Larry from Reno (has the same shoes as me and has mentioned that fact several times in passing today!) and a guy from Minnesota. I bail first and set up camp wishing them good luck as they head into the darkness. I set up my first bivy and spend a few minutes getting everything organized and then sit down to eat dinner as it starts to rain…again! Dammit! I hastily shove food in my mouth and then climb into my bivy. It rains ALL NIGHT…heavily. My bivy is leaking and I am forced to try and hold the opening closed and up above my head so water isn’t pouring in. By morning it is misty and humid and the upper half of my bag is wet. My shoes and socks are soaked and my rain gear is damp and I am not well rested. I begin the slog up Georgia Pass in a strangely mist enshrouded forest in cold, wet gear.