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Climbing Lookout Mountain

When I first moved to Colorado, I lived in Cody Park, on the back side of Lookout Mountain off Lookout Mountain Road, for four months. I came here from sea level, and for a long time the slightest bike ride left me gasping for air with the exertion. I would ride the gently rolling terrain to the top of Lookout Mountain, peer down the other side, and gasp as I beheld six steep, rugged miles of uphill, bookmarked by switchback after switchback.

It looked beyond intimidating – it looked impossible!

Every day I would see cyclists whiz by, coming down after that climb up the front side, and I wondered how they did it. Were Colorado bikers made up of different stuff – massive hearts, legs of granite, and no pain threshold? Nothing back in Westchester County, NY, had prepared me for anything like this. I had been strong, but this was just impossible. I would never be able to do it.

Fast-forward three years. I have a new bike, lots of hilly Colorado miles on these legs, and increasing confidence with each mountain I climb. Last week I took my daughter to camp in Denver and was driving home on Rte. 6 when I looked up at Lookout Mountain, and suddenly was overcome by a burning desire to try it, a new confidence that maybe, just maybe, I could reach the top.

My bike was in the back of the car, I had clothing, shoes and my helmet with me, and I suddenly decided, go for it! I turned onto Heritage Road, parked by an office building, did a car quick-change (cyclists are adept at this), pulled out the bike and hopped on.

The first mile or so was downhill on a trail. Then I turned right onto 19th Avenue and began the climb up the epic front side of Lookout Mountain. I climbed. And climbed. And climbed. First one switchback. Then another. Up out of the saddle for the steep sections. Back down for the easier inclines. One mile. Two. Three. Four. The view was staggeringly beautiful. The work was hard, but my legs were strong. Suddenly the antennae at the top were looming above. Almost there!

“Just keep spinning,” was my mantra, a plan on Dory the fish’s “Just keep swimming” advice in the movie “Finding Nemo.” “Just keep spinning. Just keep spinning.”

And then I was there – at the top! Or so I thought. It turned out the hill keeps going for another two or three miles, almost to Cody Park Drive, before I was finally able to start the descent. By then I was ready for the climbing part to be over.

Wheee! Nine miles down with the wind rushing past my ears at 30-plus miles per hour; it was divine.

I guess I am a true Coloradan now: I can ride Lookout Mountain.

Join me, with members of the Evergreen Multisport Club, on a Lookout Mountain Loop ride this Saturday morning at 9! We’re starting at the T-Rex parking lot at Rte. 70 and 93.  (Learn more at http://www.meetup.com/EvergreenMultisportClub/

See you on the roads!

— The Hammster

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Cycling Season is Here … Want to Go for a Ride?

One of the big factors that lured me to Colorado was the divine road riding. I envisioned miles and miles of open road, surrounded by rocky ledges and ponderosa pines, warmed by the bright Colorado sun. And I was not disappointed.

Coming to Colorado three years ago from Westchester County, NY, where I had to ride 10 miles down the busy Boston Post Road, dodging cars and potholes and waiting at through countless traffic lights, before I arrived at any semblance of “open road,” the Foothills seemed like heaven on earth.

I’ll admit it took a full year and a half and the purchase of a carbon fiber bike with a triple chain ring before I acclimated to the altitude and stopped feeling as though I were drowning when I rode, and before I could finally make it up the three switchbacks to my hilltop home in the Kittredge corner of Evergreen, but it was worth it! The riding here is like nothing I have ever experienced. It’s rare I see more than one traffic light, even on a long ride. Yes, there’s a little congestion in downtown Evergreen, but that half a mile is nothing compared to the challenges I’m accustomed to back east.

The riding is literally heaven on wheels. Out Upper Bear Creek Road, past former vacation lodges that make me reminisce about Evergreen’s resort past as Mt. Evans looms into view. Up Buffalo Park past Alderfer/Three Sisters Park, encountering the sweet surprise of ridge top ranches. Out to the Brook Forest Inn. Twisting and turning on the North and South Turkey Creeks.  Soda Creek. Bear Creek Lake Park. Down the canyon road (74) to Morrison and back up (Ouch! Will the hill ever end?).

A freak hailstorm pelts me. A fast downhill freezes me, a jarring shock after the long, sweaty ascent. An elk jumps onto the road and almost knocks me down. A great blue heron flies beside me along Bear Creek, a twig in its beak. I’ve climbed Kenosha Pass, ridden around part of Turquoise Lake, enjoyed the freedom of the bike trail in Glenwood Canyon, explored Estes Park on two wheels. Once I left a piece of my knee on the bridge at Evergreen Lake (before they replaced it) when my skinny wheel went between two boards and I fell. But despite that mishap, which I considered my “baptism” to riding in Colorado, each ride has been more divine than the one before it.

But I have to admit one thing: I’m lonely. I miss having a partner or two, or four or five, to ride with. Team Evergreen is too intense for me. The Foothills Running & Cycling Club, which I helped found, decided to focus on Golden, leaving me high and dry (literally). I’m amazed that there’s no mid-level riding group in the mountain area for recreational riders like me, who just want to climb a few hills, pedal 10 or 20 or 30 miles or so.

Anyone interested in getting a group together for Saturday morning rides, or maybe Thursday evening, in Evergreen or Conifer or Kittredge or Morrison? Anyone want to sweat together up the big hills, then grab a beer and swap war stories? Anyone want to train for a biathlon or go on a road trip to bag a mountain pass? If so, email Lisa@HammsterMedia.com.  Let’s start a mountain area riding club, or even a multisport club. Join me on the roads — I’m ready to train with some company! Are you?

The Hammster

 

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Fire in the Back Yard

Yesterday I got an urgent text message in my cellphone through Reverse 911 that 100 homes were being evacuated near Pleasant Park Road in Conifer because of a wildfire.

Fire plume
View of the plume from a Kittredge hilltop

A fire? In CONIFER?? This is the sort of story I’m supposed to watch on 9News, riveted by the orange flames licking the edges of some distant canyon, not a few miles down Rte. 73 near the homes of a number of my friends. My husband and I ran outside and watched, openmouthed, as a giant plume of smoke billowed across the sparkling blue sky.

A few minutes later I discovered there was a second fire along Grapevine Road in Idledale, perhaps two miles away as the crow flies from our Kittredge house. I had driven right past that spot just two days earlier. Suddenly I felt incredibly vulnerable.

Natural Disasters

Everywhere that I have ever lived, there has been some sort of natural disaster to be wary of. Back east, where I lived two blocks from the Long Island Sound, we worried about floods, windstorms, and the torrential downpours that edged hurricanes. When I lived in Puerto Rico, a block from the ocean, we were also afraid of hurricanes, and a volcano erupted on the island of Montserrat. My husband lived in Tornado Alley for a while. I have felt the earth shake under my feet during an earthquake.

When we moved to Colorado, we thought we had found a home that didn’t seem to be a victim of Mother Nature’s irrational outbursts. No tornadoes, no earthquakes, certainly no hurricanes. But how wrong we were. Mother Nature is so erratic here – flooding us one season, parching us the next. (And of course, last year we did have a deviant earthquake.) We are at the mercy of the rain, the snow, the mercury – seesawing between abundance and famine. Those 330 days of sunshine a year that attracted us are also a curse!

As the fire rages in Conifer, a number of my friends have fled their homes, and many others live in the fire’s path. Friends and family from back east, who have seen our fire on the national news, call and email asking if we are OK.

A Fire Plan

Our family spent dinnertime tonight creating a fire plan. We prioritized what needed to be done if the Reverse 911 call came in about a fire in OUR neighborhood. Get US out safely, of course. Also the cats, important papers, hard drives, Grandpa’s violin, Great-Grandfather’s Revolutionary war epaulets, family photos, what else?

Our lovely cedar-and-stone house sits at the edge of 40 acres of beautiful ponderosa pines. There’s some comfort in the fire hydrant that sits at the edge of the front yard, but less comfort in the pine boughs you can reach from the back deck. Forget about “defensible space” — we chose this house because of the woods. We love the smell of the pine in the air, especially on windy days. But today, as I look at those pine trees, I see a threat.

So I’ll call my insurance company tomorrow, make sure I’m covered in case of fire, post the Family Fire Plan on the bulletin board — and pray I never need to use it. And then I’ll go help make sandwiches to help feed the firefighters in Conifer, and pray they get those flames stamped out soon.

Stay safe.

— The Hammster

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Accessible Arts

Arts and Culture

Yes, we left behind Broadway and the vibrant cultural life of NYC when we pulled up our northeastern stakes and moved to Colorado. But, looking back, how often did we actually go to see a Broadway show? By the time we paid for the show tickets, dinner in Manhattan, transportation by train and subway or parking if we chose the wrestle the traffic and drive, we could easily drop $500 to $1,000 for dinner a show. So we never did!

We loved to say Broadway was in our backyard, but it was a backyard that was beyond reach of our wallet.

But I discovered that the Broadway shows I couldn’t afford to go see in NY come to the Denver Center for the Performing Arts at much lower ticket prices. The theaters are smaller, so even the cheap seats have better views. The acting is just as good, but I leave the theater with a smile instead of stressing about the upcoming credit card bill.

And I can do community theatre here – not an option in NY, where all the Broadway wannabes scooped up the juicy community roles to pad their resumes. I started as a member of the chorus in “Once Upon a Mattress” for the Evergreen Chorale a year ago and recently finished a stint as one of six principals in “Quilters.” This fall … “The Sound of Music!” And in addition to Center/stage in Evergreen, the metro area is full of wonderful theaters – Arvada, Lakewood, Miner’s Alley in Golden, Stage Door in Conifer, and Town Hall in Littleton, to name just a few.

We love the Denver Art Museum, the Museum of Nature and Science, the Botanical Garden,  even Tiny Town and the Museum of Miniatures. It’s a regular cornucopia of arts at a fraction of the New York price.

–The Hammster

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Migration West

A Transplanted New Yorker in Colorado

I moved my family — husband B and daughters K and L — to Evergreen three years ago from the New York City suburb of Mamaroneck, in Westchester County. It was the dawn of the recession, and my husband had lost his job as CIO of a Manhattan Internet startup. We decided to use the job loss as an opportunity to relocate our family to a place that might work better for our daughters, who both have sensory issues. Perhaps living in a fast-moving, competitive cosmopolitan area wasn’t the best environment for them. Perhaps a few ponderosa pines and snow-covered mountains would calm their souls.

For B and me, avid outdoors people chronically frustrated by the necessity of riding our road bikes 10-15 miles through congestion and traffic lights just to find some semblance of an open road, the prospect of quiet mountain roads was enticing. So when I landed a job with a Denver nonprofit, we packed up our boxes, put the house on the market, said goodbye to our wonderful neighbors, and took a leap of faith.

So here we are, in Evergreen! I must confess that I still sorely, painfully miss New York City, and I think I always will. But Colorado has welcomed us with open arms in ways we didn’t even imagine.

Life is different. Is it better? Yes and no. In this blog, I will share the experiences and adventures of wrenching your entire being from the familiar, of plopping yourself down someplace new and trying to navigate a new course. Everybody should do it at least once in their lives, just to discover they can, indeed, land on their feet!

–The Hammster
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