Posted on

What Kind of Crazy Would Ride Mountain Passes?

Well … me.

When I first moved to Colorado, I was amazed to witness the things cyclists can make their bodies do here. Coming from a sea level community of rolling hills just outside New York City, I was not prepared for the concept of riding on big, steep mountains. They just looked impossible.

I lived in Denver for a couple months, where the riding is relatively high but flat, and really enjoyed it. When my family arrived, we lived for a few months in a cottage on the back side of Lookout Mountain, where we’d see these seeming gods whiz by on their bikes day after day. They would climb up the steep, daunting mountain from Golden, push through miles of relentless uphill, switchback after switchback, and make it to the top with what looked like little effort, then speed down the other side.

I thought their hearts must be the size of basketballs, their veins huge, their determination incredible, and their pain thresholds incredibly low. I could barely get my heavy aluminum Cannondale to the top from the relatively easy other side without succumbing to an asthma attack.

 Then I learned about mountain passes. Colorado is full of them, paved roads to the top of high mountains. And many Colorado cyclists spend their free hours riding up them – on purpose. I couldn’t understand how it was physically possible! Independence Pass — 12,103 feet. Fremont Pass — 11,318 feet. Kenosha Pass — 10,001 feet. Vail Pass — 10,666 feet. Up. On two wheels. Pedaling. What were they, crazy? Superhuman?

Then my husband Bob, a rabid cyclist, caught the bug, upgraded the gears on his bike, and started spending spring and summer weekends attacking passes. My daughters and I were with him for his first, at the end of a Fraser vacation. We dropped him off in Tabernash, went out for lunch, then drove to the top of Berthoud Pass (11,315 feet), where he arrived a few minutes later, sweaty but triumphant. (He made a major miscalculation, though. In his desire to get up, he failed to realize that the best part of climbing a pass is then getting to whiz DOWN! He never made that mistake again.

For me, just getting three-quarter miles up the hill to our house in Kittredge was impossible. A trip to Velo Swap (veloswap.competitor.com/ ) a year and a half changed that, when I emerged with a used-but-awesome carbon fiber Specialized Ruby Elite with a triple chain ring and upgrades galore. A week later, I made it up the hill home by pedaling instead of pushing. Triumph!

First Pass

Last summer, we went camping at the top of Kenosha Pass, south of Bailey, and I tried to ride it – up and back from Como. Holy mother of God, despite 65-mile-an-hour traffic whizzing by and brisk headwinds, I made it to the top. Ecstasy! I had ridden to the top of a mountain pass!

Over Labor Day, we went camping at Turquoise Lake, outside of Leadville, where I tried to ride around the lake but found its steep hills still daunting. I did ride up most of Tennessee Pass, but the lure of the lake pulled me back to the campsite.

New Attitude

This year, however, something has changed in me and Bob’s encouragement has had a lot to do with it. I have attacked more and more difficult hills here in Evergreen – Witter Gulch, the loop from Alderfer/3 Sisters to Brook Forest Road. My confidence is increasing. Bob took me up Lookout Mountain a couple weeks back – and it wasn’t difficult On the 4th of July I rode to the top of Loveland Pass. Now, instead of surviving the final hill up to my house, I am attacking it.

This past Saturday, I spent the morning volunteering with the Evergreen Chorale group assisting riders on the Triple Bypass bike ride (www.teamevergreen.org/triple/). They were riding 120 miles, from Buchanan Park in Evergreen, over Squaw and Juniper Passes, then Loveland Pass, then Vail Pass, into Avon – and some were spending the night and riding back the next day. I helped last year and thought it was an unattainable goal for me. This year, something has shifted. As I watched riders go by – some of them lean and chiseled, but others flabby and big and heavy and, well, normal looking —  a new thought crossed my mind: “Hey, maybe I could do this.

Uh oh

When my shift ended I rode halfway up the mountain from which they came toward Echo Lake, and it wasn’t difficult at all. I do believe I am acquiring Colorado cycling legs. Who knew it was possible?

Looking for a Pass?

If you’re looking for a pass, there are a couple of excellent websites that can help you out.

See you on the roads!

 

Posted on

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