The Big Ring Push

We left mid morning when the weather was still cool so that most of us were thoroughly layered in our cycling gear. It was early spring in Colorado and the ride, as patched together as it was, was supposed to take us up through the foothills until at last you could crest the top of a climb and gather in the full expanse of the Rockies.  Our mood was optimistic even as the sun would shine upon us at any moment and as quickly tuck away among a rolling bank of gray clouds.  And yet, there was some slight hesitation from a few. Being as it was, our teammate Jordan, had determined a route he had only studied from a map. But, he assured us, it would be a good one.

The journey began on familiar roads, from Jordan’s house up through the north end of Golden, cross highway ninety-three to begin our ascent up Golden Gate Canyon. Here was, as someone like Josh would add, where the fun starts.

The switchbacks begin immediately. Steep rock walls rise up in vertical relief. Turn a corner and they drop away down a chasm of grass and rock scree. At the bottom a few old cars lay in waste. It’s a wonder how they ever got there. Meanwhile, spinning the pedals along, the world turns all angles and shifts through vivid shades of green, the pine trees giving way to the dust and gray of a stone walled ravine. It is obvious, we have quickly left behind the safety of the eastern planes and the deadening flats that spread towards Denver and beyond.

Not to worry. There is Matt and Josh, and Dan and Cyrus to round out the usual crew. We steadily make our way when we arrive at a juncture to where the journey from the known world detours and winds into the distance.  Curiosity beckons and the urge to discover compels.   “No cars!” Jordan opens up with enthusiasm, “I’ve ridden this part before” and suddenly it becomes evident, this is the way to White Ranch State Park. A few of us have run the trails there in the past. High up in the hills the park is laced with the dirt paths and the technical terrain we so desperately crave to add depth to our otherwise cement laden training routine. We ride past the entrance just the same and now our way has become merely a line on a map only one of us has seen.

We were already one casualty down. Dan couldn’t go any further. He had been badly sick all week. We surmised that he had fallen ill with a new disease the media had just plugged. Swine flu! What a filthy thing for sure. He quickly interjected that he was done and that was that. There was some hesitation from the group as we were about to lose our only safety beacon. Dan was fully equipped in his usual knee high socks and a rather dated neon yellow jacket. The material bordered on what appeared to be some sort of shag carpet, as opposed to the usual scrap of lycra or technical fabric. This was true vintage awesomeness, the origins unknown except to say he wouldn’t be looked over by cars. We were certain at least that this would keep him out of harms way returning home. For us we could now not be sure.

The road turned to dirt from here and the earth settled upon a rolling backdrop of high alpine fields dispersed by trees and the occasional sprawling ranch, complete with horses, barns, and all the trappings. Move along a mile, where the isolated pine stands thicken into woods and look to the right and below. There, among the thicket, a house stood, and a tower bulged and rose from it’s side, encased in glass and steeped in cedar planks.  Someone lived here and spent money on this and it was a wonder why it was put so far away and what do you do with this little lookout perch? Search for forest fires in your million dollar log cabin mansion?

The other concern that arose amongst our candid crew was how someone might go about getting groceries to the premise. Was it a matter of a forty plus minute drive for a gallon of milk at the grocery store? Maybe they had a personal helicopter? That would do the trick, we could only imagine the logistics of conducting such an act when the dirt road dropped out from under us and a mile later, with 600 feet of elevation loss, we were safely back on pavement.

“Jordan, are you sure you know where you’re going?” It had to be asked. It had to be asked multiple times, like when we first got on the dirt road, as sketchy as it looked, and now it was all the more pertinent seeing as certain people did not want to go back up it. “Relax, we’re good.” was the standard reply. Sure, sure, except when we end up two hours too far up the road. Exploratory ventures cease to be exciting when the destination is not entirely determined and the point of departure gets further and further away.

Alas, we arrived at Peak to Peak highway, the quasi projected point of our turnaround. This mystical strip of pavement is much hyped by the lore of the Peak to Peak bike ride that takes place every year on it’s oxygen deprived byways. The ride attracts a significant number of cycling enthusiasts as it rises to over 14,ooo feet in some places. We had only managed to summit at nine thousand feet and from where we stood at this desolate intersection the allure of traveling along it was not so obvious. Some pleasantries ensued about potentially taking the highway or skimming back through Golden Gate. The new route was determined based on which had less climbing and which was potentially shorter. Reason eventually won out but not without a good fight as it’s always pertinent to present the other side of things! Time for the descent.

Snow was now drifting down. The flakes were wet and there were not many of them, just enough to realize the weather had turned cold. Arm warmers were pushed back into place, jackets were applied. And the switchbacks, how they once provided relent from the ever increasing grade of up, now proved perilous as our seventeen pound carbon fiber twigs launched into them and down. The fellas took off from here. Maybe it would have been nice to get in with them but much scenery had yet to be absorbed. The canyon reflected a significantly different light in the careening free fall that is vertigo.

Trees were still green, rocks were still gray. Only the the thin line of yellow running down the center of the road now held relevance too. All was a blur. Pray that this piece of  carbon composite can hold up under these thinner than thin tubular wheels. Pray that the car behind doesn’t make a pass and this body ends up adding a nice dash of red to the landscape.

Click a few gears and push the big ring. This was the way to withdraw from the heights. Every man for himself until we arrive safely at the stop light. Less than a mile away from home and someone adds a remark. “Man that was a solid ride!” Turns out Josh was in the big ring the whole time. That includes going up!

6,000 to 9,300 of elevation difference from bottom to top and some variations inbetween!