Camp V to Paonia
Today was our last 100 mile day, and it started perfectly. We rolled out of the hotel under high clouds. The pavement was smooth, black butter, and there were no cars to be seen. Fresh Legs jumped out in front, and I quickly hopped on his wheel. We cruised down the road, losing elevation, and soon entered a land of giants.
Towering cliffs, the colors of all the red crayons, supported the weight of the heavy sky, and offered a constant reminder of our insignificant impermanence. Willows and cottonwoods clung to the river banks, while sage and juniper flung themselves across the red. I watched the river wind sleepily in its banks, and couldn’t help but imagine what it must have been millions of years ago. I pictured a torrent of water, hundreds of feet deep, with eddies the size of four football fields and rapids that could flip a cargo ship. Every turn in the road brought another mesmerizing vista. We pedaled deeper into the heart of the canyon, and I wished we could ride in there forever. For 55 magical miles, we did. It was one of the most perfect sections of road I have ever ridden.
Sadly, the canyon came to an end, and impassively spit us out. We stopped for a delicious lunch by the side of the road, soaking in the last views of the canyon before moving on. As I was perusing the table of food, I said out loud to myself, “Should I have two cookies or three?”
Kurt, who was standing next to me, said, “Three cookies. You don’t want to bonk again.”
Yes. Truth.
The road tilted up, and we started climbing. The heavy clouds from the canyon pulled an Elvis and left the building. Once again, I felt like a boiled tomato. We found ourselves in another canyon, baking like cookies on the hot asphalt, and dealing with a long section of road construction. I felt the magical morning canyon slipping further and further away.
We slowly made our way to the top of the climb. Well, it was the top of the climb according to Garmin. Sometimes, though, Garmin is full of shit. Once we reached the “summit,” we still had another six miles of climbing before the actual summit. Mentally, I struggled. After a long climb, 15 miles in this case, my brain expects a lovely descent as a reward for all the hard work. I had to convince myself that another six miles of climbing was fine. The sun was slowly boiling my intestines, but it was fine. My stomach was pretty sure it didn’t want to deal with the food I had just eaten, but it was fine. Every pore in my body was leaking sweat, but it was fine. Six slow miles passed.
Finally. Finally! We reached the real summit. I felt the road tilt down just as the heavy clouds returned to the party. Down we went, watching the miles tick by. 25 to go, then 20, then 15. The road plunged downward as our speeds ticked upward.
“Hi, sheep!” I called out as I whizzed past a small herd of bighorn sheep.
10 miles to go, then 5. I watched my odometer tick over to 100, then 101, then 102. Finally, Mark, who was in front of me, pulled off the road into a big pull-out.
“I think this is where we stop,” he said.
I agreed. I felt really good, but was definitely feeling the fatigue of another long day in the saddle.
Tomorrow, the mileage is much shorter and the climbing gets much steeper. We head back to the high altitudes, summiting around 11,000 feet. Maybe I should have had four cookies.
Total miles: 102
Total elevation gain: 3,927
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