It is about 4pm on Friday (Date). Nick and I have just completed a seldom or never ridden dirt and gravel ride over three remote Colorado mountain passes approaching or exceeding 12,000 feet above sea level. We’re smashed. Smashed, if you are unfamiliar with the term, is a word that the kids these days use in place of “exhausted”. I think it’s a great descriptor.
I stared up the rusty colored scree field and strained to make out the solitary post just barely peaking above the ridge line that topped it. That was the prize. That was the summit of Imogene pass, the second summit of the day, the crux of the ride. The post was not far as the crow flies, maybe only a couple hundred feet away. It felt much further, infinitely far all things considered. Our progress was painstakingly slow. The fatigue and altitude had quietly stolen away all of our spit and venom all day long leaving us with dry mouths and heavy legs. The 4×4 road surface was generously strewn with wet, coarse rock. We shuffled on our feet.
I swiveled left nervously, my eyes following the ridge line west until they found their target about a mile away. A dark wall of clouds was quickly approaching us. Only ten minutes earlier they had seemed twice as far away. The clouds didn’t move if you stared at them but if you turned away they darted closer at an astonishing pace. Now they were nearly on top of us, thumb and index finger shaped like an O, ready to flick us off the mountain.
A quick mental calculus painted an obvious picture: We weren’t going to make it. We were only a half mile from the summit, a distance that we could cover in a few minutes on a normal ride, but at 12,600 feet with steep gradients ahead of us it would take us more than fifteen minutes to cover the ground.
“What do you think?” I asked Peder, hoping he would contradict what I knew to be true.
“It’s going to hit us.” he said. So much for that. “But I really don’t want to high tail it back down to Telluride.”
A strong gust of wind hit us, a light rain along with it. If we turned around now we would fail to complete our planned loop but if we went for the summit we’d get t-boned by the storm; completely exposed on a ridgeline at 13,114 feet.
Words by @kaizergilroy, Photos by @denvercx & @kaizergilroy
I was pulled out of my morning reverie by a text from Peder – “Evans today. Interested?”
After a week of Thanksgiving gluttony, some singletrack shred, soaking in hot springs and live music, my palette was satiated, but I felt guilty at my weekly mileage total of 15.5. With no group ride intel for Sunday, I figured maybe I’d do some solo adventure. I would find more singletrack and laugh while descending something that would greatly benefit from a dropper post.
Rodeoer Mike Smith aka “Donkeyslayer” has put together a geat open invite ride in his native territory and we are helping to spread the word.
(questions should go to mike at wwmd (at) comcast.net)
October 15, 2017
Ride Time 8am
It’s 10am on a Thursday morning in late August, I’m getting ready for a bike ride and thinking about the year so far. It’s the time of year when people start asking themselves where the summer went and why didn’t they get that thing done that they wanted to do this year.
I’ve asked that question more then once this year myself and the answer is always the same: You can never get it all done, you can only try your best.
I’d heard of The World’s Worst Climb™ in passing comment and conversation.
There were rumors of a dirt switchbacking climb snaking up the near vertical mountain slopes that wall in the historic town of Georgetown, CO. Rumors they were though. Nobody I knew had ever done it. I think the first photo evidence of its existence may have come from Matt Deviney on Instagram. Or maybe it was a photo linked on Strava? I can’t remember.
NOTE: This writeup and photos were kindly submitted by Alex Munz. Alex hails from Amsertam, Netherlands
In a region far, far away (imagine Star Wars music), two lycra padawan’s were heading out to conquer the mountains… okok i stop.
Anyways Cyril and me (Alex) we went out on a big bikepacking adventure. We had the crazy and of course awesome idea to do the Tour de Grandes Alpes on our bikes. With panniers and our tents, cooking gear, cloth, shoes, rainjackets… bikes were way to heavy :D
The Rodeo Rally that we threw with Via Bicycle Cafe was too much fun for a single post, so here’s a second helping featuring our video edit of the day’s adventure. We had SO. Much. Fun. out there with everyone. See y’all soon!
Beer, watermelon, cool air, way-past-midnight tacos, are the natural ingredients to fuel the night ride. When the light fades and the dark blankets the trail, some go to bed. Others heed the rally cries to pedal. We all came looking for something – what I’m not sure – but I reveled in mystery riding at night. Rarely do I feel lost while riding a bike. When your vision is dulled, your other senses heighten, and your sense of place is muddied. Throw in good company, old + new, and you have a night rally.
Endless climbing! Hero dirt! Banditos! Cervezas! Andy Kadlec took forty of us on a joyride-fiesta through the hills above Boulder Colorado on the day after Cinco De Mayo and good times ensued. Here’s a Black River Map if you’d like to ride it yourself. Just remember to bring a lot of water, your climbing legs, and a sense of adventure!
