2017 Ride The Rockies

For me, this story begun on August 24, 2016 – the day I was hit by a pickup truck on a rural Virginia road.  I was left with a broken clavicle and thumb and a totalled bike.  The recovery took months, as did my comfort of riding on roads with cars again.  It was a long journey but one thing kept me focused more than anything else – the 2017 Ride the Rockies bike tour of Colorado.

I had prepared for this ride like no other – since January 1, I had nearly 2,000 miles of training and using the software that tracks my fitness, I had never been in such good shape.   

  For the third year in a row, I rode with Team World Bicycle Relief.  Together we raised $25,000 – translating to 170 bicycles to people in Africa.  Each bicycle represents a life radically changed – as distance is no longer a barrier to opportunity.  Most their bikes go to students, and of those, 70% to girls giving them opportunities they could have only dreamed about.  If interested in contributing, here is my donation page.

On this year’s team was Claire Geiger from World Bicycle Relief (her first time), my Gartner colleagues Bob Brese and Rob Ison,
Pete Hubbel and Melissa Watson who I recruited from the annual Storming of Thunder Ridge century ride, and Renee Lockey, recruited by Claire at WBR.  Another team member had to bail at the last second but still did a great job fundraising.  This year we broke $20,000 – enough to buy over 135 bicycles for people in Africa.

Every good story needs a monster and going into this ride, I really had nothing – there were no significant challenges in my way.  But the TSA was kind enough to help me with the plot of this story – I now had a challenge.

 In reassembling my bike for the ride, I discover that the TSA had lost my left cycling shoe during an inspection of my bike box.  When riding at this level, cycling shoes are critical pieces of equipment. Moreover, because of my on-going knee issues, the cleats on bottom of my shoes were celebrated with millimeter precision. All this was out the window and it looked like I would miss at least the first day.  And even if I did get new shoes, the adjustments would not be the same.  My emotions were cycling between anger, fear, and panic.

With the ride starting at sunrise the following morning, things were looking bleak but then a hero arose.  I called Kristi Mountain Sports in Alamosa and got Eric Burt (the owner) who had one pair of shoes left and with a few adjustments, they fit.  Eric worked late, drove to pick me up, even offered to lend his own shoes if the ones he had didn’t fit.  For the full story of Eric’s awesomeness, read my Yelp! review.

So now I had new cycling shoes with cleats, but without the adjustments made with my bike fitter, would my knees be okay for the ride?  My story now had a monster.

Team WBR did indoor camping (i.e. sleeping on gym floors with a few hundred of your best friends)  but I slept horribly.  Between several lights being left on, to a freezing wind blowing in the gym through an open door, to fretting over my shoes, it was impossible for me to rest.

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The first day was believed to be the second most difficult ride of Tour going from Alamosa to Pagosa Springs, climbing Wolf Creek Pass along the way.  With my new cycling shoes, I was concerned that we were starting with such a challenging route.

Bob, Pete, Rob, and I started as a group.  The uninspiring 60-mile a gradual uphill route to the base of Wolf Creek Pass lent itself to riding in a pace line and we averaged 22 MPH to Aid Station 1. If this was any indication of the day ahead, we were up for something awesome.   Unfortunately, this was was not to be.  Shortly after the first aid station, we hit a stiff head wind that continued to grow stronger. By the base of the climb, the headwinds were blowing at 15-20 MPH.

Despite the wind, the trip up Wolf Creek Pass was awe-inspiring.  Among the inhospitable rocky ledges of the canyon, fir trees grew tall and narrow.  Each turn relieved a different beautiful landscape – each looking like a Bob Ross painting. The wind was unrelenting coming in from 45 degrees in the front – so pace lining provided no shelter.

We could hear small pebbles rolling down the steep roadside cliffs that we passed.  Off to the left was a river ushering the winter’s snow melt to the valley below.  Punctuating everything was the sound of the rushing wind blowing through the canyon.  The combination of the views, smells, and sounds awakens the senses but when you are at battle with a demonic headwind, you tend to narrow your focus and shift to “get it done” mode.

We briefly stopped at Aid Station 4 ( mile 61) before moving onto the summit.   Only seven more miles.  But any experience with Ride the Rockies will tell you that when there is a short distance between aid stations, it invariably means that you are about to suffer.  And we did.

The wind grew stronger as to test our resolve.  Dozens of cyclists were either walking their bikes uphill or pulled over to take a break.  It was tempting to rest but we kept pushing.  Each year, it is not uncommon to have a day when I ask myself, “Why in the world did I sign up for this?” When this falls on Day 1, it can be a challenge to quickly bounce back.  While I pushed on, I thought of all the first-time riders, hoping this wasn’t going to tarnish their overall experience.  Everyone was hurting and probably wondering why they signed up too.   This was a day that required a certain level of grit.

Near the summit it got even steeper but as the road twisted, we got a small but merciful tailwind.  We kept climbing. Our legs were tired. Our shoulders were tight as the wind required us to hold our handle bars tighter than usual.  We were not smiling.  And then we heard cowbells. This amazingly awesome couple were at the last bend cheering us on and this gave us the strength to keep going.

It may have been a mixture of exhaustion and a sense of deep accomplishment, but I experienced something like a “runner’s high” at the top and all the uncomfortableness was replaced with a sense of elation.

Starting the descent was initially exciting as there was a roller coaster like drop-off where the road ahead just disappears.  But the same demonic wind that tried to break our spirits on the ascent was there to test our courage on the descent.  This was a white knuckle ride with winds blasting us from multiple directions.

At one bend, there was a beautiful overlook – I remembered it from my 1996 ride when we climbed the west face of the Pass.  So I jammed on my brakes, took in the beauty of the mountains and valley below and took some pictures.   Bob and I continued our descent as the cold mountain air gave way to the warmer temperatures of the valley.  The final 18 miles had a stiff but manageable headwind.

The topology of the valley was vastly different than the east side of the Pass.  We rode through gentle, fence-lined meadows with glistening streams, as trees lined to road providing shade from the sun.  And not far in the distance were the steep mountains rising into the sky giving a sense of safety and intimacy.

In spite of the wind, we averaged 17 MPH – a respectable speed.  We were one of the first 90 bicycles in the bike security area.  And the best news was that with the new shoes, my knees weren’t hurting.  Yet.

Other Day 1 Photos:

 

 

 

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Today I started alone and finished with a group of old and new friends.  And the very end included an experience that was one of the highlights of the ride.

Finding a flat on my bike, I asked the others to go ahead without me. The day immediately started with a 3-mile climb.  The morning air was cold and crisp, requiring arm and leg warmers.  The low sun bathed the countryside and distant mountains in a warm inviting light.  As we started our initial climb, the I could see the weeds blowing to show that we had a slight but friendly tailwind.

I met up with Renee and Claire at Aid Station 1  (12 miles in).  We pushed for about 13 miles but as we ascended Yellowjacket Pass, the back of my knee started bothering me so I dropped off and took it a little easier.  The climb was not too easy or hard, and except for the Chimney Rock mountain, it wasn’t overly memorable.

Photos from the climb to Yellowjacket Pass:

On the summit of Yellowjacket Pass, I saw my friends Sharon Madison and John Genell of the Wish for Wheels team who are always a blast to ride with and we agreed to head out together.  Also with us was Lisa Smith, another incredible rider and another “Wish Girl”.  We tore down the back side of Yellowjacket Pass at breakneck speed and a perfect pace line riding just inches apart.  There is a skill in keeping a consistent distance between each other’s wheels (often 3-6 inches for advanced riders) that requires constant micro-adjustments of brakes and power.  If even one person doesn’t do this well, you end up with the Slinky effect.  Riding with Sharon, John, and Lisa was pure joy as we rode together with one mind.

Being from Virginia, it can sometimes be a challenge to hang with advanced riders who train at altitude but whatever insecurities I had going into RTR were assuaged today.  I was able to be an equal participant among some pretty impressive riders.

The first 15 miles of riding with the Wish for Wheels group didn’t seem to affect my knee but at the climb that started at mile 45, the pain in back of my knee started to get more pronounced.  About 3 miles from the summit of the final climb, I dropped off to take it a little easier.  I finally reached the aid station at the top (mile 53) and I found myself partially limping.  I met up with the group and used the opportunity to stretch all my leg muscles which helped a little.

 We headed out to Durango with a larger cohort of Wish for Wheels riders along with Ron Kiefel, retired pro rider who participated in seven Tour de France races and holds an Olympic bronze medal.  It was a fun ride and my knee wasn’t bothering me as much.  The last several miles had an unbelievably fun downhill.  I took off sprinting down the hill when Ron zoomed past me.  I sped up and got on his wheel so I could coast in his slipstream to let my muscles recover a bit.  After a turn I then popped out and passed him.  It went on-and-on all the way down the hill.  If Ron were riding a kids tricycle, I would feel a sense of accomplishment to hang with him on a downhill.  But with both of us being on road bikes, well, this was an incredible day in my cycling life.  To give credit where credit is due, much of what I know about descending I learned from Ron.  Acording to Strava, I had the fastest descent of the entire day.  While I wish I could be a better climber, it still feels good to be really good at at least one thing.

When I got in, I called my bike fitter Chris Richardson, owner of The Bike Doctor of Waldorf (Maryland) to talk about my knee. By this time, it was really hurting and I was wondering if I was going to finish the ride.  Chris has a freakish encyclopedic knowledge of all things related to bikes and bike gear.  While he didn’t carry the brand of shoe I had to buy on Saturday, he knew everything about it.  He said that the shoe I had tends to run a little lower than others and that I needed to lower my seat post 3mm.   It was hard to believe that 3mm would make a huge difference, but I have learned to trust him on these things.  Following his advice, I lowered the saddle.  I was wondering, will this really make that big of a difference?

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Day 3 is a loop day – the ride starts and ends here Durango.  With my knee bothering me and the hardest day of the ride tomorrow, I decided to play it safe and sit the day out.  It is only 39 miles anyway.   While not an easy decision, it was a lot easier to make than I thought.  There was nothing I needed to prove to myself this time around.  Entering this ride in the best shape of my life, this was my eighth Ride the Rockies and there is no doubt I had the ability to finish it.  So I spent the day continuously icing my knee and getting a leg massage.  It is feeling better, but tomorrow is a really hard day.  Will I be able to put this behind me?

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Today was the day everyone was worried about – 83 miles, three mountain passes and a lot of climbing.  Had it not been for the wind on Day 1, today would have been the hardest day of the tour.  With my knee issues, I started the day with trepidation.

In anticipation of a long day, the riders were up especially early.  In Ride the Rockies, people usually start getting up around 5:15 but today there was significant activity at 4:45.  I sleep horribly on these rides and didn’t see any reason to rob myself of any more sleep than I needed to so I slept in and was one of the last people to leave the school.  I woke up at 5:30.

When I rolled out, the sun was low and while the dawn’s sunlight painted the distant mountains with a warm welcoming light, we were still riding in the night’s shadows.  The mountains were rocky and covered with trees, with edges so steep that they could qualify as cliffs.

Considering my knee issues, I started today easy.  It helped that the first 14 miles were flat.  From mile 14-25, there was a respectable climb taking us to an aid station near the Purgatory ski resort.  I wondered that if I was able to ride past purgatory, what would await me on the other side?  At mile 30 we started our climb of Coal Bank Pass.  It was a standard Colorado climb, difficult but but never too steep.  The downhill was spirited but short.

 

Following Coal Bank Pass was Molas Pass.  I caught up with Pete and Bob at the top.  Bob and I enjoyed another fun downhill (Pete had the good sense to take descents at a safer speed).  At the base was the relatively untouched town of Silverton, looking like a movie set from an old western.  The businesses along main street had flat, wooden, angular surfaces, and the road was dusty.  I almost expected to see a saloon with two swinging doors and a hitching post in front.

 

 

 After the detour, Bob and I started our third, final, and hardest climb of the day – Red Mountain Pass.  This climb and then descent into Ouray is called the Million Dollar Highway, and after eight Ride the Rockies, this was my first trip to this fabled road.

The climb up Red Mountain was the longest of the day but thankfully, we had a slight tailwind to help us in certain parts.  When we ponder history and think about taming the West, we rarely think about how we also tamed nature.  But here we were on a road that had no business being there.  The mountain was pure rock with pitched edges, and yet humanity tamed the mountain to allow vehicles to travel along its treacherous and inhospitable topology.  As I climbed higher and higher, I could look down the edge and see 1,000 feet down to the road we were riding just 30 minutes ago.  This feeling of accomplishment quickly evaporated when I looked up to see another road far, far above me.  There was still much work to be done.  At this point, you stop trying to calculate how much effort it will take, you just keep pedaling.  At one part, I could hear Ellen DeGeneres singing, “Just keep pedaling, just keep pedaling…”

We were all tired, running out of steam, and then we heard the cowbells.  The blessed cowbells.  This let us know that we were close to the top.  This sound of encouragement gave us the power to finish the climb.  After the aid station at the top, Bob and I set off for what promised to be a screaming descent.

The trip down was harrowing at first.  The severe pitch had hairpin turns so tight that we had to ride our brakes all the way through.  But then we were hit with such indescribable beauty that I realized that if mile 25 was Purgatory, then mile 60 was Heaven.  I turned a corner and saw sheer rock walls that took my breath away.  After the second bend, it was something different, even more spectacular.  Each bend revealed a creation so grand that it touched our very souls. Riders were so full of emotion that they no longer could keep it inside.  Some screamed, some laughed, some cried.  In my 49 years, this was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

There was an aid station in Ouray, Colorado that has to be the most beautiful place to live in the United States.  It is often called the Switzerland of the United States.  This old mining town that now lives on tourism is one of our greatest gems and few know about it.  At the aid station, everyone was sharing their experiences – there was a certain release just to try and describe what we just witnessed and experienced.

The ride from Ouray to Ridgeway was mostly downhill and fun.  The mountains and cliffs were a dark red that kept our gaze until things got flat.  Bob and my bikes were two of the first 100 in the bike security area.  So although I was late to leave, somehow I had ended up passing most the riders.

That evening, Bob, Pete, Claire, her friend Jess, and I went to Ridgeway – first to a great microbrew, then to Taco Del Gnar where we had the best tacos ever including a Korean Short Rib taco (Braised boneless beef short rib served on a flour tortilla and topped with spicy shredded kimchi cabbage), a pork belly taco, and another just as interesting.

After dinner it was back to the gym – three more days to go.  And the best news of the day was that my left knee didn’t hurt – Chris’ advice to lower my saddle by 3mm was exactly the right prescription.

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Today had the option of a short, mostly downhill 32-mile ride, or a 52 mile ride that included a 10 mile hill to climb.  We chose the harder option.  Bob, Rob, Claire and I set out on this cool morning.  As we hammered to the first aid station, we picked up a fifth rider, Steve.   When we arrived at Aid Station 1, we had averaged 24 MPH for the first 20 miles.  We all felt great.  As we were getting to know Steve, we learned it was his first RTR and he decided to do the ride since it was starting in his home town of Alamosa.  He was a strong rider, but had some ailments that were due to some rookie mistakes.  We helped give guidance as to how he could overcome these and suggested he ride with us the following year.  It was great to meet him.

Steve was skipping the 10 mile climb, so we parted ways and off we went.  The climb was not too terribly difficult or inspiring, it was just a grind.  After taking a quick rest at the aid station at the top of the climb, we got on our bikes to head back down.

Rob and I raced down the entire 10-mile hill – it was steep, but not steep enough to coast in a race, It also lacked many turns.  Often turns are what separate riders – the more skilled riders can take turns at speed, opening up gaps between them and their opponents.  But on a relatively straight road like this, there was one thing that determined who was going to win – power.  Rob had passed me and it took significant effort to catch up but I did, so I rode in his slipstream for a bit and then darted past him giving it all I had.  Once I thought I had a comfortable lead, I let off a little to allow my oxygen-starved legs a rest.  Then Rob flew past me on my left.  and so it went, back and forth.  near the end, I had built a significant lead so was again resting my legs when I saw his jersey in my mirror turn a corner at full speed.  We were maybe 1-2 miles from the bottom and I had no option but to give it everything I had again.  I questioned the wisdom of spending so much time anaerobic on Day 5 of 7 – would my muscles bounce back?  But this was about pride so I pedaled through the pain and just barely eked out a win.  It was well earned, Rob made me hurt.  And on any other give day, he may have won.  But win or lose, it was a fun competition.

We recollected at the bottom of the hill and then went on to Montrose.  The initial small hills were killing my legs – I just didn’t feel like I had much gas left.  But with maybe four miles left, I took the lead of our pace line and pulled the group in.  We were on fire, averaging 27 MPH the whole way.

In Montrose, Pete, Bob, Rob, and I went to Horse Fly to get some well-deserved and delicious beer and burgers.  I also had an inspired idea to bring all my dirty laundry into town and stuff them into a fixed-rate box, and mail them back home.  So for $13, I freed up a ton of space in my bag.

That evening, we got a text that made my week.   Steve (the rider who started the day with us) texted us with the following message:

 

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This was the penultimate day and you could see a collective fatigue in the riders’ faces.  Some people were looking drained, their steps had less of a spring.  But we were mostly done – just two more days.

As not to let us off easy, mother nature gave us a tenacious and furious headwind for the route’s initial 14-mile climb.  While the pitch wasn’t nearly as steep as previous days, riders were in their easiest gear; each pedal stroke a deliberate action.  We stopped to get pancakes at Aid Station 1 and take a rest.  To me pancakes are nothing more than delivery vehicles for liquid sugar (a.k.a. syrup) and on this day, I made sure they were properly doused.  The next 14 miles were a slog with a determined headwind.  By this point, strength didn’t come as much from legs as from sheer determination and the will to carry on.  Not every second of RTR is fun, and this was definitely not fun.

But then something wonderful happened.  The sun came out, the warm air changed the dynamics, and the wind shifted in our favor.  We cycled to Blue Mesa Reservoir, a crystal blue lake that reflected the snow-capped mountains in the distance.  So much of where we rode was high country desert so seeing water was a nice change of scenery.  Bob and I powered along the reservoir in our own pace line, and enjoying speeds in the 30s.  We did a quick stop at the final aid station and then powered into Gunnison.

 

At the end of the day I had asked people if given the choice of today as it was, or a windless day, what they would prefer.  Most chose the windless day option but me, I would suffer the punishing headwind again for 40ish miles of a strong tailwind and cycling in the mid-30s.

That evening Melissa, Claire, Jess, Rob, Bob, Pete, and I had beer and pizza (beer and pizza were becoming a habit).  As we climbed the stairs to the second floor, my leg muscles screamed.   While I was feeling good overall, my body was giving me unsubtle hints that it was ready for the ride to be over.

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On any given day, today’s route would seem fairly average, and it was.  But today was Day 7, the last day, and our legs were tired.  The climb up Monarch Pass wouldn’t be easy with our accumulated fatigue, but the knowledge that we were almost finished gave many of us the strength to power through.  Although the day’s course was 66 miles, broken down it didn’t seem so bad.  The first 34 miles were a gradual up-hill but mostly flat.  The next nine miles were the climb up Monarch Pass, and the final 23 miles were all downhill.  On a day like this, I am only really focused on getting to the top since gravity could bring me home even if my legs were shot.

The morning started early.  The riders were collectively insane waking up in the 4:00 hour.  We didn’t feel the need to rush and when we left the gym, we were only maybe one of five people left (of hundreds).  And this was at 6:00 am.

Bob, Claire, and I headed out for our last journey together of this ride.  The day started off with another strong headwind, so we rode in a pace line to Aid Station 1 (16 miles in).  In spite of the headwind, we averaged 19 MPH.  An over-the-shoulder picture of Bob and Claire showed at one point that our pace line had picked up maybe 10 additional riders.   We then hammered to the second aid station – still keeping good speed.  At this point, we split up since Claire is a much faster climber.  Bob and I made the ascent up Monarch Pass.

The road was mostly on the outside, with sheer drop-offs along the side.  At times we could look back at the ground we covered, watching cyclists far below struggle like we did.  The pass is not terribly difficult, but is is long and has a consistent grade.

And then, the final cowbells.  I LOVED those people and was going to miss them.  We were near the top.  A few minutes later we could hear the music from the DJ who was at the final aid station.  Bob, Claire, and I all connected again and took photos at the Monarch Pass sign.

     

After a big ride like this, there is often a big let-down when it is over.  You spend months training, your whole life is largely focused on this goal, and then suddenly, it’s done.   It is a rather abrupt ending to something that took months and countless hours to prepare for.  And while we still had 23 more miles, it started to feel bittersweet.  We had had such a great week together and this was the final aid station.

The three of us powered down the mountain at crazy fun speeds and as it flattened out, we rode in a pace line.  With the finish line close, I felt on fire and took the final pull.  Through Salida there is one Strava segment where we didn’t just have a good time for the day, we had the second best time ever on that stretch – blowing through the town at 39 MPH (thanks to the police for blocking intersections for us!).  We crossed the finish line, three abreast, awash in the fresh emotion of doing something epic.

 

 

Bob’s fiance Jennifer surprised him and showed up at the finish line which made it all that much better.

After the finish, we did some more talking, found our bags and took showers, disassembled our bikes for transport, and enjoyed greasy burgers and fries.  And then it was over.

One may wonder why people do a ‘vacation’ like this every year.  It is a week of getting up long before the sun, a week of porta-potties, sleeping on gym floors (if you do indoor camping), getting terrible sleep, and facing some nasty adversary from nature whether it be wind, rain, sleet, or snow.  It is a week that pushes you physically where you have to rely on raw grit to keep going at times.  I wonder this too.  Then I think of the movie A League of their Own when a player complains that it has gotten too hard.  The GM Jimmy Dugan says, “It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard… is what makes it great.”   And I think in the end, this is a big reason I keep coming back.  I love the vistas, the smells, and the sounds of nature, feeling a kinship with all the living things I encounter on the ride.  I love meeting interesting people who come from around the world to do this ride.  But I also like that it makes me unique, and helps build my capacity to suffer and persevere through adversity.  I like that it makes me stronger not just physically, but mentally.

In over eight tours, I can’t say that there has ever been a bad itinerary, but this year’s course had some of the most beautiful routes I have ever seen.  On top of the superlative beauty was a camaraderie that is built among people who share the same experiences and struggles.  It was a year where I was fortunate to make new friends (Lisa, Brielle) and strengthen existing friendships.  And in the process, Team WBR  radically changed the lives of over 140 people.  If somehow every memory of the ride were erased and the only thing I could remember was that we changed the lives of 140 people, it would all be worth it.

If you are inspired and want to join our 2018 team, e-mail me a mrobrien AT gmail.com.   Here are the details of riding with Team WBR:

1) You need to raise $1,470.  Each bike is $147 – so this is enough for 10 bikes

2) If you are on team WBR, you bypass the lottery, automatically getting into the ride

3) We have a series of phone calls to help get you prepared.  Topics of calls include: a) a call with a coach to talk about training for a ride like this at altitude, b) how Ride the Rockies works – what to expect, c) logistics – transporting your bike, getting to the start and finish line, etc., d) what to bring and how to pack (with a list of things you can get from Amazon), e) sleeping options, f) help with fundraising.  We cover other things too but these are the biggies.  You also get experienced riders who are happy to talk 1:1 with you about questions you have.

4) Since everyone rides at their own speed, there is no expectation that we ride a one big group, but typically there are pockets of riders of similar skill who ride together.  Then we socialize together in the evenings.

5) You are left with an incredible feeling that you helped transformed the lives of 10 people and were a source of light in this world.