I'm gonna do a seven day bike tour in Colorado next year. Any interest in going with me? I pressed Send and the text message whooshed away to my best friend, Denise. I waited. Three bubbles appeared.
Day Six: 46.6 miles 3,901 feet of climbing max elevation: 9,678 feet max grade: 8.2%
Day Seven: 81 miles 2,913 feet of climbing max elevation: 8,776 feet max grade: 15.4%
Do you think I can do it? Denise is a marathon runner and cycles intermittently as cross training. She is an aerobic monster, is intimately familiar with long stretches in the pain cave, and lives at 7,000 feet elevation.
I know you can do it! I wouldn't have asked if I had any doubt! Whoosh went my reply. I waited, watching the bubbles appear and disappear. Denise was thinking carefully about her response. Finally, it came.
Ok. I'm in.
The Colorado bike tour that we were discussing was a seven day, fully supported bike tour through the high mountains of Western Colorado. Each day, we would ride anywhere between 45 and 82 miles, climbing the high passes in the process, including two passes over 12,000 feet. We would be with other cyclists and two guides on the tour. We would have van support for snacks, water, and gear hauling. Each night, we would stay in a hotel and eat dinner in a restaurant. I was beyond excited. Denise was quite nervous. We registered in October for the July tour to get the early bird discount. We purchased new gear that we might need, trained hard, and before we knew it, it was go time.
"Tell us something about yourself not related to cycling. I'll start. My name is Greg and I love music." Our group of ten was standing outside the meeting hotel in Grand Junction on the morning of the last day in June. We were about to embark, but Greg and Leslie, our guides, were doing an ice breaker first. We went around the circle. Denise was next, followed by Jim who was quite tall. I don't remember what he shared about himself because my mind was playing games in order to remember the names of everyone. As Jim talked, all I could think was Big Jim. Next in line was Andy, who shared that he had been on multiple bike tours with the company we were going with. He was accompanied by his friend, Melissa, who said she was more of a hiker than a cyclist. Standing next to Melissa was Debi, who told the group about one of the first concerts she had ever attended. Next came Tom, who shared that he qualified for the Kona Ironman in October of this year. Triathlete Tom. Tri Tom. Then me. Then Leslie, our other guide. Three more cyclists would be joining us at our destination later today, so we piled in the van and took off up the road to our starting location.
Day One: 62 miles 3,425 feet of climbing max elevation: 10,719 feet max grade: 11.9%
The guides were letting us out roughly ten miles from the summit of Grand Mesa. We would climb to the top, then descend down the other side to a small town for lunch in the park. From there, we would ride the rest of the way to our first night's hotel. The group of seven plus Leslie the guide all rolled out together. We started climbing immediately so the group split up quickly. Denise and I rode together, me in front and her several yards behind. We set an easy pace, not wanting to crush ourselves on the first day. I was aware of effort at altitude so was monitoring my output but felt great as we continued up to the summit. Soon, we were there. The views were remarkable, massive in scale and hard to capture with photos. We had not yet entered the forested parts of the mountains, and without trees to obscure the view, we could see for what felt like hundreds of miles. Denise and I paused at the summit of Grand Mesa to absorb the views surrounding us. Then it was time to descend. Down we went, carving corners, accelerating on the straights, moving with the speed of the minimal traffic that shared the road. Miles and miles we descended until we reached the small town at the bottom of the mountain. We followed directions to the town park and found the van there, a table prepared with lunch fixings, chairs scattered about the lawn. Denise and I made sandwiches, then chose two chairs together and slightly apart from the group. Both introverts, we sat and observed. The conversation was expectedly awkward as it tends to be among strangers, but everyone was pleasant and excited to ride. We finished our lunches and mounted up. I realized I didn't have the afternoon route downloaded on my Garmin, so Big Jim and Tri Tom were gracious enough to let Denise and I leave with them. We wound through the back roads, making turns, climbing short punchy hills and descending the same. We made small talk when we could. The skill that both men possessed on their bikes was evident of lots of Time In The Saddle (TITS). These guys had a countless amount of TITS. They knew how to ride and I immediately felt comfortable riding with them. The pace was easy as we rode through farmland, cherry orchards, farm stands selling produce, and soon the van passed us and pulled over at a wide spot in the road. Greg was driving that day, and he hopped out and flagged us down. We pulled over, refilled our water, had some snacks, and hid in the shade by the side of the van. The heat coming off the pavement was intense. I didn't know how hot it was, but I could feel a headache starting to tickle my temples. The four of us hung out for a while, then Greg gave us the green light to pedal on. We had another twenty miles or so to go before we reached our final destination for the day, so we shoved off. The heat encouraged an even more relaxed pace, and we enjoyed the farmland rolling by, noticing the high peaks emerging in front of us. Big Jim took the front as we neared the town and lead us easily to our hotel for the night. I felt great. I was in my happy place, loving everything at that moment. As I stood on the lawn in the shade, reeling from endorphins and the heat induced headache, I heard a voice.
"Want some cherries?"
I looked up and saw two smiling faces standing in front of me.
"Cherries?" one of the smiling men said again as he held out a bag.
"Yes, I would love some," I answered. I plunged my hand into the bag and pulled out a fistful of bright red cherries. I'm sure we introduced ourselves. Perhaps we made small talk. I honestly don't know. All I remember was those cherries were the sweetest, juiciest, freshest, most delicious cherries I have ever tasted in my life. I gobbled them down, then asked for more. Through the endorphin headache haze, I realized that these two smiling men were two more of our group that were joining us. How I came to find out their names were John and Dave, I don't know. All I know is those cherries were transcendent.
We checked into our rooms, showered, did laundry, and watched a torrential downpour outside the windows. Dinner wasn't until 7:30, so Denise and I lounged in our rooms, hungry, tired, ready to go to sleep but needing to eat. The group met in front of the hotel at 7:15 and walked to dinner. The rain had stopped and the evening was cool and refreshing. I felt my headache start to ease.
Then we walked into the restaurant. As it happens in small towns, this particular restaurant was the only place open. On this night, the torrential rain that had just fallen had flooded the kitchen in a foot of water. The place was filled with customers, the staff was overwhelmed, and the owner seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I felt my headache return with gusto as we took our seats in a waiting area. I was beyond hungry, beyond tired, my brain felt like it was trying to squeeze itself out of my ears, when kind and generous Cherry Man John sat down next to me and tried to visit. (John, if you are reading this, I apologize from the bottom of my heart for being completely disengaged that evening.) I attempted small talk, but nothing was working in my head. I gave up trying after a few minutes, and John discreetly moved to a more lively section of the group.
And that's when the shoeless man entered the room. I was 60% sure I was hallucinating, so I leaned over to Denise and whispered, "Is that guy not wearing shoes?" Denise shook her head no, and we both watched in awe as he snagged a towel from one of the waiters, sat down in a chair, dried off his feet, put on his socks and shoes. He calmly stood up and proceeded to make his way around our group, introducing himself as Will. He was the final member of our group, and by far had made the most memorable first impression of any of us.
We finally were seated. Dinner itself was long and uneventful. By the time my food came, my body no longer wanted to do anything but lie supine on a soft surface in the dark. I choked down some pasta, asked Denise if she was ready (she was more ready than me), and we made our exit back to the hotel.
Day Two: 48 miles 5,190 feet of climbing max elevation: 10,000 feet max grade: 10.8%
half of the ride is gravel
I awoke on the morning of day two with a lingering headache. I was sure as soon as I started riding it would go away, so I ignored it and Denise and I headed down to breakfast with the rest of the group. The night before, Greg and Leslie had messaged the group and asked us to do a staggered start this morning. Our group of ten had a wide variety of speeds, so they had divided us into three groups to help with coordinating aid stations and lunch. Group one was to leave immediately after breakfast. Group two, which included Denise, Big Jim, and the three new guys, was to leave an hour after group one. Tri Tom and I made up group three, and we were told to wait a half hour after group two for our departure. Greg was riding that day, so he left with group one. Leslie was driving the van, so she hung out with the rest of us, seeing that group two made it out on time, and chatting with Tom and me to keep us there until our designated departure. Finally it was time, and we rolled out under heavy clouds lingering after last night's rain storms.
The first part of the day started in a lovely canyon, climbing gently at river grade. Tom and I chatted, getting to know each other a little better as we pedaled. The pace felt really good, and before we knew it, we saw the sign for Kebler Pass. We made the turn and hit the gravel. Let me clarify a few things. First, we were all on road bikes. Road bikes are made for paved roads, not gravel roads. Second, it had been pouring rain all night. Did I mention we were on road bikes? Nice road bikes with fancy components and slick tires. Greg and Leslie told us about the gravel, assured us that the road was smooth and our bikes would perform just fine. There was a group wide outcry, but Greg assuaged our fears. Plus, none of us wanted to ride in the van to the summit. So here we were, riding wet gravel on fancy road bikes. And you know what? It was so fun! We climbed and climbed. We had officially entered the mountains, and the smell of damp conifer hung heavy in the air. Wildflowers covered the hillsides, and the grass was almost blindingly green. The air was cool and heavy with moisture, and as an afterthought, I realized my headache was long gone. Up we went, navigating pot holes and wash boards. Groves of aspens lined the road, whispering to me as I slowly pedaled past. There was no where else on the planet I would have rather been.
At some point, Tom pedaled away in front of me, and I caught up with Jim and Denise. We rode together to a large clearing where the van had parked for lunch. The table was laden with delicious food. Our lunch field was covered in bright yellow balsamroot flowers, and as we ate, the clouds began to part. Mother Nature was smiling on us. The group of ten converged there and dined lightly. We had more gravel and more climbing before the summit.
Denise and I shoved off together, and up we went. The higher we rode, the better the scenery became. We climbed and climbed and climbed. I wondered if we might climb forever, but no. All too soon, we reached the pavement and the summit. Disappointed that there was no sign at the summit marking our location and elevation, we took a few half hearted photos and shoved off into the descent. The pavement ran out for a few miles, so we were back on the gravel and taking the descent slowly. As we got into town, once again Jim lead us to our hotel for the next two nights.
We performed the usual routine of checking in, showering, doing laundry, and then headed to dinner. More pasta but at a reasonable hour. My body was ready for food, and I ate heartily.
As we left the restaurant, I spotted a chocolate store across the street. Denise, Tom, and I had to pay a visit. I don't remember what either of them purchased, but the choice I made forever changed the way I think about peanut butter cups. This particular item was called a "Peanut Butter Bucket." It was a home made peanut butter cup, but covered in dark chocolate, filled with whipped creamy peanut butter laced with chocolate, and was approximately four times the size of a normal peanut butter cup, hence the name "Peanut Butter Bucket." If the cherries from day one were transcendent, this peanut butter bucket perhaps altered the course of my life forever. It was rich and creamy, the sweet and bitter chocolate balanced with the slightly salty peanut butter. It had the perfect texture of firm dark chocolate and soft creamy filling. In short, it was everything. I took a solid fifteen minutes to eat it, savoring every single bit, and with every bite I exclaimed, "Oh my God this is amazing." I may have dreamed about it that night.
Day Three: 46 miles 2,000 feet of climbing max elevation: 9,575 feet max grade: 8.4%
Day three was a layover day. We were staying in the same hotel again that night, so had a free day to do whatever we wanted. Most of the group and the guides decided to ride up to the ski area above town, and for those of us who wanted more gravel, the road continued on to a scenic vista. Because the ride was an out and back, and there was no van support today, those of us who wanted to ride left together. We immediately started climbing up the bike path toward the ski area. Trophy homes dotted the hillsides among the wildflowers and grasses. We wondered how many of the homes belonged to full time residents and how many were second or third homes for the ultra wealthy. We continued climbing up through the ski resort and all the condos associated with it. Soon after, we reached the end of the pavement. Debi and Jim opted to keep going, but Tom, Will, Denise, and I chose to turn around. Our plan was to ride back down to town, then continue south on the highway to another town and maybe stop for lunch, then ride back. On our way down, we passed Greg and Leslie coming up. Greg turned around and jumped in with us, and down the five of us went.
We made a quick stop at the hotel for bathrooms and water refills, then headed out on the highway. It was all downhill to the next town, and Greg set a fast pace that I didn't feel like holding. The three men rode away and Denise and I cruised along, enjoying the easy loss in elevation and the slight tailwind. Seventeen miles passed quickly, and as we pulled into the tiny town we saw the guys lounging in front of a hotel / restaurant.
"We were hoping to convince you to go another ten miles to the next town for lunch," Tom said with a smile.
I looked at Denise, then back at Tom. "Um, give us a minute to talk about it." In my head, I was thinking that we had 17 miles to ride uphill back to our hotel, and all of it would be into a headwind. The road we were on was a busy two lane highway with a big shoulder, noisy with traffic. After being in the high peaks yesterday on quiet, lightly trafficked roads, I was done with the highway. Denise and I talked about it, and we both agreed we were done and ready to turn back. I expressed as much to the guys. They understood, and we all rolled on, they to the next town for lunch, us back to our hotel.
I am still glad we turned around when we did. That 17 mile climbing headwind ride back to the hotel was a grind. Halfway through, I realized that I had not been eating enough during the previous two days. My legs weren't burning. They just refused to go. I kept trying to convince them to push, and they vehemently refused. I had fallen off the side of the bonk abyss, and I needed more than a ladder made of bars and electrolytes to climb out. I expressed as much to Denise, and told her it was going to be a creepy crawl back to the hotel. Denise, to her credit, said all the right things. She was in no hurry, and neither was I. I ate all the snacks I had with me, we stopped a lot, I complained, I peed behind trees on the side of the road, I drank, and eventually we got there early afternoon.
I immediately ate the sandwich that I had made that morning. Then I went to the guest refrigerator, looking for salad fixings that Leslie had put in there. Instead, I found the leftover pizza from dinner last night. I ate two pieces. Still hungry, I went back to the room and ate a protein bar I had in my bag. Finally, I felt my strength returning.
After a short nap, I wandered outside to see what was happening, if anything. Denise was sitting on the front porch of the hotel with Debi, Melissa, and Andy. I stopped and chatted with them for a few minutes, then made my way across the street to the van to get some electrolytes. As I was walking, Dave pulled up on his bike. He had just finished his chosen ride for the day, and he was beaming. His endorphin glow was contagious, and I grinned at him.
"Yeah?" I said.
"Yeah!" he replied.
"Yeah!" I echoed.
"Yeah!" he exclaimed again.
With that, I made my way to the van and he made his way inside. That was the shortest conversation I had the entire trip, yet it conveyed everything that needed to be said.
Because it was a free day, we were on our own for dinner. Denise and I walked into town around 5:00 and found a Mexican restaurant. I ordered a burrito and ate nearly all of it. Conveniently, the chocolate store from yesterday was right across the street. Yes, indeed, I got another peanut butter bucket, and absolutely yes, it was just as delicious as the first one. I truly felt like I could have eaten two of them, but I also wanted to sleep that night and knew I would not sleep well with sugar racing through my veins. Either way, when we got back to the hotel, I finally felt like myself again. My belly was pleasantly full, my strength had returned, I felt happily tired rather than hungry tired. It was time for bed.
Day Four: 75.5 miles 4,600 feet of climbing max elevation: 12,126 feet max grade: 7.2%
The morning of day four dawned clear and bright. I felt good after my heavy refuel and a solid slumber. Little did I know upon awakening that the ride on this day would prove to be the most thrilling, exhilarating, endorphin pumping, adrenaline boosting, absolutely fun day I have ever had on my bike.
Will had been added to the group with Tom and me. Our start time for the morning was 8:50 am, so after the other groups left, we sat in the lobby and chatted, killing time. At one point, I mentioned that I felt like we were being put in time out. From that moment on, we became Team Time Out. Finally, it was departure time. We rolled out, retracing the ride we had done the previous day down to the town where Denise and I decided to turn around. We had a slight tailwind, and in the cool morning air, we flew down the road. After our fast 17 mile descent, we turned and immediately started climbing. We were in a narrow canyon, climbing at river grade, with a delightful kicking tailwind. The canyon was beautiful, thick with conifers. A river flowed next to the road, and the ever present wildflowers continued to put on their colorful show. Traffic was light, and the tailwind felt like a gentle hand on my back, softly pushing me up the road. At the head of the canyon, we climbed up a short, steep grade to a lake ringed with high peaks. We rode around to the back of the lake, then made another turn and started climbing in earnest. The grade was steady but mellow, never more than 7%, which made finding a climbing rhythm easy. Tom and Will pulled away, and I settled into my groove. The scenery was breathtaking, my breathing was slow and steady, my legs found a comfortable tempo and spun along, and the tailwind continued heavy at my back. At one point, I was so overwhelmed with the magnitude of my experience, I felt tears welling in the corners of my eyes. I was so completely and thoroughly happy. I wished I could stay on that climb forever.
At about six miles from the summit, the van had pulled over for an aid station. Most of the rest of the group was there, so we chatted and snacked, preparing for the final push to the summit. Denise and I left together, still with a lovely tailwind, and started climbing. I truly didn't want it to end, so I consciously slowed my pace, savoring the high mountain air and the gentle rhythm of the climb. Sooner than I wanted, we reached the summit. The views were magnificent, and so was the wind. We snapped a few photos, quickly getting chilled after the sweaty climb. It was time to go.
Tom, Denise, Jim, and I all plunged off the summit together. Tom quickly took the lead, and as we hit the first few switchbacks, the screaming tailwind off the summit demanded excellent bike handling skills. I knew I wanted to get away from the summit and away from the side winds through the switchbacks, so I allowed the road to accelerate my bike. Tom was ahead of me about 30 yards by then, far enough that I could easily see his lines through the corners and could still see and react to any obstacles in the road.
I have never in my life felt confident in saying that I ripped a descent. Until that day. Tom and I RIPPED that descent. As we got down off the summit, the switchbacks ended and the corners became smooth and gentle, intermixed with long stretches of straight. We had a whipping tailwind and the road had been freshly paved only a few years prior. There was no traffic, so Tom and I took the lane and plunged. I geared out quickly and couldn't pedal, but the wind and the pavement thrust me faster and faster down the mountain. I watched Tom closely, mimicking his lines through the corners, following him through the straights. My brain was furiously processing the information flying at me, the road, the trees, any oncoming cars, the corners, Tom, my bike under me, my hands on the hoods, my feet on the pedals, the absolute assault on my senses. Every ounce of my energy was focused on the here and now. At one point, I became dimly aware of the ache in my neck and shoulders from holding the weight of my upper body, but my brain shoved aside the pain quickly refocused on the task at hand. Faster and faster we went, diving down the mountain. at some point reaching what felt like maximum velocity. Tom was still roughly 30 yards ahead of me, and I could see him glance back from time to time, making sure I was still there. He never touched the brakes, so neither did I. We continued our downward plunge at breakneck speed. The canyon finally ejected us out into the open plain, but the descent never softened. If anything, the wind strengthened as it exited the canyon and only served to shove us forward with more determination. It felt like the mountain was taking a gargantuan exhale, and Tom and I were caught up in the tumult, being thrown down the road by the wind and the pavement.
After 20 miles of absolute madness, we finally touched the brakes as we rolled into town and up to a stoplight. As we came to a stop, Tom looked over his shoulder at me. We both exploded with laughter, shaking our heads in disbelief that we had both actually just done that. The light turned green and we pedaled slowly through town, pulling over at a coffee shop on the main street to wait for the rest of the group and the van. As we unclipped and took off our helmets, we both succumbed to another fit of laughter. We tried speaking but only a few words came out. "Did we?" "I can't..." "What the..." "That was..." "I've never..." More laughter, more head shaking. Finally I was able to utter a complete sentence. "That was the single most fun experience I have ever had on my bike." I will not share our maximum speeds, but suffice it to say that neither of us have ever gone that fast on a bike before, and we both agreed that we never would go that fast again. We happened to hit the perfect storm of descending: smooth road, steep grade, open corners, heavy tailwind, minimal traffic. And holy shit was it fun.
Day Five: 66 miles 4,544 feet of climbing max elevation: 12,095 feet max grade: 7.8%
Team Time Out had a departure time of 8:30, and Greg was joining us today. The four of us left under bright blue sky and cool air. The beginning of the ride was once again gravel, and the washboards and pot holes kept us on our toes as we navigated down the road. After a short bit, we hit the pavement and the pace increased. We were on another river grade climb in a gorgeous canyon, and I settled into the pace of the group, feeling the miles pass by easily as we cruised along the road. I was lost in the ride and the scenery and was surprised to see the van at a pull-out for our first aid station. Denise, Jim, Dave, and John were all there. We visited and ate, then Denise and I left together. The real climbing began, and as in the previous days, I eased off the pace to prolong the climb. The scenery continued to impress, with high mountain peaks in every direction and the scent of conifer trees heavy in the air. I stopped several times to take pictures, waved at Leslie as she drove by in the van, smiled at the few oncoming cars. I was in my happy place once again. A few miles below the summit, the van was pulled over for another aid station. I stopped, not ready to finish the climb, but Denise pressed on. I had more food, took more pictures, chatted with the other group members as they pulled in. I was in love with everything at that moment.
Reluctantly, I clipped in and pedaled on, riding the final few miles to the summit with my head on a constant swivel to see all the sights I could see. The summit was not as dramatic as the previous day, was significantly more crowded, and was equally as windy. Once again, we snapped a few photos and got on our way. The descent on this day was the exact opposite from yesterday. The road was rough with tight sharp corners and the wind was roaring up the canyon into our faces. Because it was the Fourth of July, there was more traffic on the road. This was the perfect storm for a slower, more deliberate descent, rather than the whimsical free ride rip of yesterday. My arms and hands were sore from the rough road, and as we descended further and got closer to town, traffic got worse. I was ready to be done. The last seven miles through town felt like it took forever, but we finally arrived at our hotel.
We checked in, went through the now familiar routine of showers, laundry, and dinner, then retired to our rooms for the evening. As I lay in bed, I thought about the day. On its own, this day was an epic day by any standards. Big climb, lots of miles, stunning scenery, great riding companions, summitting Independence Pass on Independence Day, finishing in one of Colorado's most iconic mountain towns. Epic. But. Yesterday happened. The "weeeeeeee" factor of yesterday made today feel, well, less than epic. Funny how our perspective changes.
I woke up this morning feeling outstanding. Before I even got out of bed, I knew whatever the ride was today, I was going to hammer it. I assumed that after five days of existing above 8,000 feet, my body had acclimated. I had so much energy I felt like I was going to explode. My recovery score was the highest it had been the entire trip. I was well fed, well rested, and ready to go.
Today was another free day, and there were two options of rides that we could do. Both were out and backs up canyons. We could do one or the other or both. Everyone in the group chose to ride up the first canyon, so we all left together.
Leslie took the lead and navigated us through the twists and turns of the bike path network that would take us to our canyon road. We followed her like dutiful ducklings, calling out obstacles and people on the bike path. After a few short miles, we emerged on the road that would take us eight miles up the canyon to a dead end and our destination. We fell in line, Greg in front. As we started climbing, Greg increased the pace slightly. We hit a small downhill and he jumped ahead quite a bit, so I hopped out of line and hammered to catch him. Tom followed, and up we went. Greg held his place in front, pushing the pace incrementally faster. Tom got in behind Greg, and I brought up the back. I felt amazing, the voice in my head urging me to stay on their wheels, to keep pushing, go for it, don't hold back. My breath was racing with my heart rate, and for the first time on this tour, I could feel the sting of hard effort in my legs. I dug deeper as Greg increased the pace again. Come on. Stay with them. You got this. The sting in my legs morphed into a burn and it felt so good. My heart rate increased again, and I consciously tried to control my breath, forcing air deep into my lungs as we continued to climb higher and higher. With a mile and a quarter left, I felt my legs starting to slow. No! Keep pushing! At least get to one mile to go! I dug deeper still and forced my legs back up to tempo. The grade had increased, and Greg had pulled away off the front. Tom had fallen behind him by several yards, and I had fallen behind Tom by several more yards. Keep them in sight. One mile. You got this. I pushed harder still, barely hanging on but knowing I was so close to the summit. Three quarters of a mile. Half a mile. A quarter mile. And then I saw Greg pulled over at the top, catching his breath. Tom reached the summit and rode in circles in the road to cool down. I arrived soon after and did the same, a huge smile on my face. It felt SO GOOD to push that hard. It had been a long time since I had dug that deep, and I loved it. My legs felt shaky from the effort, and it made me smile even more.
The rest of the group arrived in stages. We took pictures, chatted, enjoyed the stunning scenery. We were all getting chilled in the high mountain air, so it was time to go down. Greg, Tom, Denise, Will, and I all left together. The eight miles back to the bike path passed quickly, and when we arrived at the bottom, we all stopped to decide what we wanted to do. Greg, Tom, and I wanted to ride up the other canyon. Denise and Will opted out, so they pedaled back to the hotel while the three of us continued on to the next road and the next canyon.
I knew I emptied the tank on the first climb and expressed as much to the guys. Tom agreed, so we watched Greg ride away up the canyon as Tom and I soft pedaled, chatting, pointing out lovely scenery, sharing stories of past and present. Twelve miles later, we saw Greg, once again pulled over at the turn around spot waiting for us. We stopped, refilled our water in the restaurant, chatted with some random people milling around outside, then headed back down, back to the bike path, back to the hotel.
We rode up to the van in the parking lot. Greg opened the back of the trailer and started pulling out food. He pulled out random bits of this and that, some leftover salad, fruit, cookies, whatever else was handy and easy. It didn't matter. It was one of the best parking lot meals I have ever had. Standing there in the bright sunshine, my body and brain high on endorphins, I was once again in love with the world. Everything felt great, and I never wanted the day to end.
Day Seven: 81 miles 2,913 feet of climbing max elevation: 8,776 feet max grade: 15.4%
Our last day. I woke up sad. The past week had been more than I had ever hoped it would be, and I didn't want it to end. The morning dawned cold and clear, and we had lots of miles to do that day. The first group was on the road by 6:15. Team Time Out, plus Greg, had a departure time of 7:45. We rolled out together, making our way across the busy highway to the bike path that would take us 30 miles down canyon. The four of us rode easy, chatting along the way, comfortable with the group and the pace. We delighted in the scenery and the easy loss of elevation, savoring our last morning together. Thirty miles passed quickly, and it was time to make the turn and start heading up the canyon to our final summit of the trip.
Greg jumped in front and set a steady fast pace. The three of us fell in line behind him, happy to let him work. The canyon was lovely, the air felt good on my face, and I could feel the sting in my legs from the hard effort yesterday. After a few short miles up the canyon, we caught up to the van at the first aid station. The four of us topped off our waters and had snacks. I was feeling a bit of fatigue and figured the guys would catch me anyway, so I headed out solo from the aid station. I wanted some alone time to soak in the scenery of this last day, to be fully present in the moment. I set a comfortable pace and spun along, waving at passing cars and tourists taking photos. I was at the base of the pass more quickly than I wanted to be.
Full disclosure, when I looked at the elevation gain for this day compared to the previous days, I was underwhelmed. The real climb to the summit was a short three miles, with a few thousand feet in elevation gain. We had been climbing passes with over 5,000 feet of elevation gain with a ten or twelve mile climb. Somehow, I missed the obvious. Short climb. Nearly 3,000 feet of elevation. That equals STEEP. And yes, indeed, I had wildly underestimated those three miles. I watched my speed fall as I crept slower and slower up the mountainside. I started bargaining with my legs. Ok, legs. Let's keep our speed above 6 mph. We can do that. 6 mph. That's nothing. You got this, legs. Come on. And I did keep my speed above 6 mph. It became a game for me. My mind would start to wander and I would start to slow even more, then remember no! 6! Let's stay above 6! So it went for those three miles to the summit. Most of groups one and two were there when I arrived. Tom and Will rolled in shortly after me, followed by Greg. We took our obligatory summit photos, then all left together, along with Denise and Jim. It was a great descent down down down the other side.
Leslie had agreed to find a spot to park the van around mile 66, and those who wanted could end there and get in the van. When we got there, everyone opted to be done except for me, Jim, and Tom. Andy and Melissa were further down the road, and we thought we would catch them and the van could pick us up where ever we all congregated. So on we went. I would like to mention now that the temperature on my Garmin said 97 degrees, and we were riding into a headwind. (Tom and Jim, if you are reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting me sit on your wheels). After a few short miles, I was deeply regretting my decision to press on into the heat and the wind, rather than get into a cushy air conditioned van. I kept gazing down the road, hoping to see Melissa and Andy and the van. Sadly, I saw none of those, so we pressed on. It was hot. It was windy. I was tired. I was watching our mileage, and as we were approaching the 80 mile mark, I thought, Ten more miles and we will be to the next town. They definitely will stop there. I can do ten more miles. And then. Look up ahead! There's a cyclist! It's Melissa!! We rode up to here and asked where Andy was. "I haven't seen him since the summit," she replied. Our hopes were crushed. Ugh. Our group of three became four, and we limped along, fighting our private mental battles through the heat and wind. And then. "There's the van!" Tom yelled. "The van!" I repeated. My heart soared. We slowly rolled up, clicked out, and stood for a moment. The sun beat down on our sweaty faces as we partially smiled and partially grimaced, happy to be done but sad it was over.
We all piled in the van for the ride back to Grand Junction and the starting hotel. There was some visiting, some quiet, talk of upcoming trips that we had planned. I watched out the window as the landscape changed from heavy forest back to the high desert from where we started one week ago. It felt like a lifetime and an instant simultaneously. I was caught in that place of bittersweet, not wanting the tour to end but also missing my husband and my critters.
As I glanced around the van at the eleven other passengers, I smiled to myself. I was deeply grateful that my best friend came along with me, pushing her own limits to indulge mine. I had made some great new friends as well, which is not an accomplishment I take lightly. My heart was full, my soul was happy. There wasn't a single thing I would have changed about the trip. I loved every second of it, even the type two and type three fun. I hope from the bottom of my heart that I see these people again on another tour down the road. This was the trip of a lifetime, and I can't wait to do it again.
Total Elevation Gain: 26,573 feet
Total Distance: 425 miles
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