CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 7: 

This is it.  I don't hurry out in the morning. What's the point?  My stomach is still a mess. Keeping the TP close I pack up camp and get a granola bar down. And here I go up and over.  The trail is smoother here. The pushing not quite so steep and the downhills actually fun.  I smile as I descend- this is why I'm out here- to ride my bike.  I stop and talk to a hunter spotting Elk for the upcoming season.  He's impressed- he can't believe a girl would be out here alone.  He offers me a ride out, but I carry on. But only after asking where Stoney Pass is.  "let's see this is Maggie gulch, so you go up and over to Minnie gulch and then up and over to Stoney Pass.  See that big mountain way over there, that's where you are headed". "oh, I thought it was just around the corner..."  I carry on.  I"m feeling a bit better and my mind starts to play with me about continuing on. I wonder how far the last segment is.  Could I do it in a day and a half? I tell myself if I can't make it to Silverton by noon then I have no business going on, reminding myself that my legs are not actually going to help pedal up Molas Pass (or Bolam, or Blackhawk, or Kennibek).  But this noon deadline does nothing to increase my pace up these last few mountains. I see a truck struggling up the road- this is it!  I push my bike up half the road and then manage to pedal over the top to save face in front of some ATVers.  I snap a picture- this is it. Downhill to Silverton, the end of my road. I glance at my watch.  Noon. There. Done.  The road down is the craziest road I have ever seen.  The pass is at 12,650 and within several miles I'll be at 9,000 ft.  It's steep, gravel, windy.  I am on the brakes.  Seeking the best line, using the road liberally, looking for oncoming traffic. I actually have to take breaks on the way down to let my hands recover.  The flowers are amazing. Water, mine ruins, more downhill.  I pass a jeep. And then four miles of flat road into a headwind into Silverton.  The town is overflowing as the train just let out.  The circus stands in stark contrast to where I have been. I stop and ask for a payphone.  The restauranteur doesn't think there is one in town anymore, but if there is, it is around the corner by the post office.  In front of the postoffice I see a Superfly atop a car at the end of the block.  It looks like Jarrals.  I pass the parked cars to investigate.  It's on a green subaru like Jarral's. The car has a Western State bumper sticker.  I stop in the street and cry, "Jarral!?!?!" like you would in a movie.  I leave my bike in front of the car where they will see it if they try to leave.  Where would they be?  I shuffle back to the main road and look in windows of ice cream shops. Nothing.  My excitement abates.  I have no way to call them.  There is no pay phone.  I need food.  So I leave a note and head off to find a burger. And find them on a bench in front of the restaurant I meant to eat at!  Hugs, tears (hey, I haven't eaten much) and an assurance that I can be squished in between the carseats and taken home.  We discuss it- the way to Durango is difficult and I would be hard pressed to do it in a day.  Jarral took 20 hours and well, he finished 4th, so I stick with my original (I contend non-emotional) decision to go home.  I call Dan and Mom.  Eat. Begin packing the car. and then I spot the Brits.  I ride the two blocks to them- indecision strikes me momentarily as Andy assures me, "we'll grab food, ride until 9pm and then finish tomorrow"  I don't fall for it.  I hug them, wish them well and return to the Ryters.  I change into a set of Anne's clothes and climb inbetween the kiddos. I'm in a car. That's it. Done. Over.

Prologue:

It's Tuesday morning and I'm still watching for the Brits to finish. Which makes me feel a little better about my decision, though my stomach is basically back, my mouth is less sore, and my legs feel pretty good, which makes me wonder.  And while around Sargent's Mesa I declared, "you'd have to give me a frontal lobotomy to get me to do this again", I think I can. Maybe I will. After all, only four women have ever completed it.

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 6:

We awake at 5am with frost on our gear. Andy has slept in his clothes and I struggle into mine in my sleeping bag, not wanting to meet the inevitable cold. Spinning down the road in the early morning light, with light just beginning to frost the hill tops is amazing. 

 We pass Jill still asleep in her bivy, and then Forest who is awake, but not wanting to get out of his bag.  Apparently we inspire him, as he quickly gains us. We pick up Jonathan as well who broke the wheel on his derailer and somehow has fixed it with a ziptie.  Forest moves ahead leaving Andy, Jonathan and I to tackle the highway together.  I'm disappointed when I don't find an icecream truck waiting for me.  I won't mention any names, but someone led me to believe there would be one :) It's apparently a British thing, which I wish we Americans would adopt. We begin the climb from Spring creek together but the Brits stop for afternoon tea.  I continue on and find Forest in the tundra sitting on a rock. 

 I snap a picture of him smiling, but he then informs me that he is out and feels the full emotion of it.  I stumble for what to say to encourage him on, meanwhile having an internal freakout.  If this strong man, who has done the Tour Divide, who just this morning was talking about being finished in seven days, is finished, what the heck am I thinking?  I don't say enough, shake his hand, and leave him on his rock. The tundra is almost impossible to ride on.  It's rocky and my knee refuses to do more than spin a bike, I can't really apply pressure to get the bike moving and rolling over the rocks, so I bounce along until I fall off and push the bike for a while and then try again.  The climbs go over 13,000 ft. multiple times. The pushes are hard, but I am thankful that I live at altitude.  I pass through a flock of sheep.  I climb again and again.  I can see a huge stretch of trail behind me, but no Brits.  My heart sinks convinced that they have rejected this lunacy and have joined Forest for beers in Lake City.  Suddenly I feel very alone.  At each hilltop I look for them, nothing.  I climb on, into the biggest landscape you can imagine, mountains stretching as far as you can see, with no signs of humanity save the occasional old mine road and some tire tread in front of me. I am small and alone. Somehow I lift myself and my bike over a 4 ft cliff band in the middle of a climb.  I fall coming down towards the pole creek drainage.  It's not a bad fall, but a slow motion one with spinning and flipping, kind of like dancing underwater with your bike.  We come out whole, but I am shaken realizing with no one behind me I better be more careful.  And then two bikers are coming up the road and one declares, "it's Becky!".  Mark and Joellen Fonken, a couple I know from Gunnison, are out for a day ride. I burst into tears (hmmmm- when's the last I've eaten?) we chat for a while, they suggest campsites (oh did I mention I didn't bring the data book, so I have no clue how many passes I have to overcome before descending to Silverton? BIG Mistake). Fortunately, it doesn't really occur to me until after we had said goodbye, that they could have taken me home :) I use the last of the light to climb out of the pole creek drainage (moose below & and I can hear elk buggleing) and regain sunshine on the western slope.  I push up Cuba gulch and then set up a hasty camp at 12,500 clearing the ground of rocks between some willows.  I manage to eat a little, but my stomach as been doing flipflops for a while now.  I try to fall asleep, but my stomach is creating a rukus and soon I stumble out of my bag to be sick. Climbing back in my bag shivering I am soon rack with uncontrollable convulsions.  I don't really feel that cold, but my body won't stop shaking.  I guess it's trying to warm itself and I've given it no food to use.  This is when I decide I need to be done.  I didn't make it to Silverton tonight, which I calculate pushes off my finish at least 2 more days.  I feel sick. How will I keep going if I can't eat again?  I miss my friends.  I only have one more week in Gunnison before I leave them all for Steamboat and a new job.  I have things to do.  Who's watering my garden while I'm away? I forgot to ask anyone... My legs have been like lead for days as I push my bike up things I should be able to ride.  Why would I do the Silverton-Durango section which should actually be good riding as a masochistic downhiller pushing up each incline and hoping not to die on each descent? I should come back later when I can enjoy it.  I consider going back and taking Pole Creek into Lake City, but Silverton seems like a nice round goal, and Stoney Pass must be just around the corner anyway....

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 5:

In the early morning the push up Fooses Creek seemed humorous.  This is a trail that people shuttle and ride downhill and here I am trying to drag myself and a fully loaded bike up the narrow trail. At one point I even put my pack on my front and heaved my bike onto my back.  That didn't last real long either.  Then bliss! Monarch Crest Trail is one of my favorites and I found my legs working, climbing and chasing day tripping tourists.  After lunch at the Silver Creek trailhead I left the trails that anyone would want to ride on a bike.  Marshall pass is clearly favored by dirt bikers and there were huge ruts and rocks to contend with. And then the bad got worse. Sargents Mesa- it starts with these open fields cows that look at you distrustfully and refuse to move daring you to get between them and their calf.  And then it becomes the "summit trail" a series of endless ridges with trails to the top of each for some treed, unrealized view. It doesn't help when someone coming the other way "kindly" tells you that it is still 4 days until Silverton and your mind starts to calculate and freak out. But he also offered that it was unlikely that I would reach the end of this trail until after dark which lit a fire under me and I rolled in at dusk.  And to my surprise at the trail angel tent there was Andy! He is feeling bad- food not sitting well with him. I want to use the dark to tackle some of the upcoming road detours. So we set off. Through the next section of good trail (though scary forest that I never would have attempted alone) and we are on the dirt roads of the Cochetopa flying.  We are wearing all of our clothes and still fighting off the cold (note to self bring shoe covers next time!) We fly by a car parked on the side of the road and it isn't until after we pass that I realize it is Dan's car. It's midnight, I'm tired and can't make sense of the situation.  I hoot, ring my bell and call his name.  I keep looking back for headlights, but he is fast asleep in the back waiting for me to come by at some reasonable hour of the morning.  I'm kicking myself for not going back but road has continued to slip away and I don't want to loose my companion or his GPS.  But my spirits are bolstered. We collapse into our sleeping bags just off the road and are not disturbed by any passing cars that night.

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 4:

Trying not to waste good beds we slept until 6am and then had breakfast at a little cafe next door.  I swung by the post office on the way out but it was too early to pick up my resupply and I watched Andy disappear up the road to Cottonwood ahead of me.  I wouldn't find him again for two days. The effort of yesterday was heavy in my legs but the trail was fairly friendly.  I made it to Mt. Princton for lunch.  I resupplied at the store and got a sandwich at the restaurant. Dark skies had me procrastinating, but it kept threatening and not storming so I set off for Hwy 50. Now I was pushing a lot of the hills. Trails I have ridden before fresh and unladen.  Up and over, up and over, up and over, the valleys kept coming.  Finally I descended, crossed 50 and set up camp at the Fooses creek trailhead.  I knew I didn't have much more in me and the forest looked wet and creepy. So for once I braved people rather than wildlife.  

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 3:

Morning dawns bright and dry (well everything is soaked, but at least its not raining) We climb Searle Pass.  Lots of hike-a-bike, but some nice riding too. Scott and I stop for a snack on the big rocks at the summit. To get to Kokomo Pass you stay high in the alpine amongst beautiful flowers (and sing some beach boys). Scott is having mechanical trouble- his crank is trying to fall off and I stop to help him a couple of times. Then he realizes he lost his sunscreen, then his camelback explodes in his pack.  He is having his day. I assure him these things come in threes. The crank is still trying to fall off so he sends me off to Leadville and he follows stopping every so often to retighten it.  I eat at Safeway, call in, dry my gear, talk to lots of curious people and then finally get a new tire at Cycles of Life (my Racing Ralph was showing some wear and a couple partial thickness sidewall slices.) Scott made it in and was getting help too.  Now BuenaVista and the Eddyline brewpub are on my mind. Andy and I reach the singletrack at the same time and he compliments some technical climbing I did. This somehow translates into me not wanting to let him down and proceeding to clean almost every hill between here and BV (and there were some big ones!) I'm feeling good and riding well after actually eating!  Somehow I thought BV was right on the other side of Twin Lakes.  I'm pretty sure this delusion was due to the fact that the only map/trail description that I carried were the detour maps that Jarral made for me. I know this sounds like lunacy, but I had backpacked the trail last year so I felt like I knew my way around. So the two maps between Leadville and BV abutted nicely, merely leaving out 15 miles of single-track and hills. :)  (Mistake 6- no databook- which sometimes played to my favor) A thunderstorm coming down the valley had me hustling and I bombed the downhill as the rain started hitting the road just as it became a deluge. I threw on rain gear.  I was now racing down the dirt road in hopes of outrunning the storm tailing me in the West.  I lost. I glanced wistfully at abandoned buildings and outhouses but the Eddyline remained the driving force in my mind, as well as granting myself permission to get a hotel room. So down the road I raced cold, wet and dark approaching.  I rigged up my lights and continued in the rain down the highway (don't worry Mom there was a really wide shoulder and little traffic!) The lightning had me scared though I was not on a ridge, and I found myself counting between the thunder claps and lightening bolts.  I feared I had missed the road detour but figured I'd come back and do it in the morning if I had to. But there it was!  The dirt railroad grade. Now cold, wet, dark and MUDDY.  I questioned my sanity as I passed the flash flood warning signs and then the falling rock signs. And as I headed through the tunnels I came across my first oncoming traffic.  I made it.  The Eddyline was open and willing to take a muddy, wet biker.  I had soup and ordered the burger I had been racing for, only to find myself unable to eat it :(.  I turned off my tracker (prompted by a fellow dinner assuring me that I was being followed by a tan suburban) as  I went to find a hotel but balked at the $135 price tag.  I was dejectedly heading back to find the baseball dugouts when Andy intercepted me and kindly offered a bed in his hotel room. Shower and a bed! We laughed at the nick-nackery cluttering the room and tried not to loose our bike gear in it as we spread it to dry.  

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 2:

The first rider passes me at 6am which gets me going.(he had apparently gotten up at 2am!). I am pleasantly surprised to find that Goldhill is closed for tree removal.  I know just where the detour is thanks to some preriding (okay that counts as one thing right!) so now the day consists mostly of conquering of the 10-mile range.  A bit of rain and that fact that the mountain blocks the view to the west makes this a bit intimidating but the skies clear as we ascend.  Serious hike-a-bike and still having trouble eating means this takes a long time. The string of guys behind me not moving any faster provides a little encouragement. The descent is fun, with a couple pitches too steep for me to ride. We (Forest and I) roll into Copper, hit the highway to Quiznos and find dinner.  Chicken noodle soup is the first food to sit well in two days and I follow it with a sandwich.  Andy joins us and we all let our food settle for a while and watch the sky darken in the West. It looks suspicious but the gas station attendant shows us the Doppler weather which shows clear skies to the west.  I love this portion of the trail ascending out of Copper towards Searle Pass.  The rain starts and I find Scott hunkered down in a dry campsite deciding what to do.  7:30pm is earlier than we want to stop, but the sky continues to look ominous and the rain gets harder.  So we camp. My tarp survives it's first rain, probably because Scott offers me the most sheltered spot.

CTR: A journey of subtle and not so subtle mistakes

Day 1: August 1, 2011

Mistake 1: Going on 5 hours of sleep Dan drives me to the starting line. Why so little sleep? We were up late trying to figure out how to work my tarp, headlamp, and how to pack it all.

Mistake 2: Two Donuts for breakfast.

Mistake 3: No electrolyte replacement drink.

  Starting line jitters disappear into singletrack.   It's a solid line of riders and bit of polite stop and go- everyone knows it's going to be a long trip. I find the unmarked road detour with a bit of help from Sonya Looney (who I'm terrified to be riding with at this point). I race the rain into Bailey and manage to wait most of it out in the "knotty pine" over a hot dog and coke (don't ask- it sounded good at the time). The climb up 285 is scary due to traffic and a group of us relax at the trailhead. Food is still not sitting well. Kenosha pass and Georgia pass mostly rideable and fun. I summit Georgia pass just as it gets dark, layer up and turn on my light. Time for the first night ride of my life (that would be Mistake 4).  I descend just far enough to find a flat spot. A piece of trail cut off by a fallen tree will do.  I quickly set up camp in the dark and hang my bags on tree branches 100 ft. down the trail.  Not exactly what they mean by "hanging your food" but I'm nauseous and just want to sleep.  This way I figure at least if a bear decides to get into my food, it won't be right in my face.  I lay down only to wake up 30 minutes later to scramble out of my bag and vomit. Auspicious start.