The Six Pack

The Six Pack.  The Triple Bypass out and back.  240 miles.  22000 feet.  2 days.

Let me start by saying that half of us didn't finish the original intended route.  And I'll follow that up with the fact that it just didn't matter and we all had a great and glorious adventure!

With all day to get there, and a good forecast, we felt no urge to start super early, so for once the mountain goats began a journey at 7 a.m. instead of the usual early hours we keep.  We met at the Bergen Park RTD Park & Ride.  They allow overnight parking, so it's simple enough to just start and end there.  The plan was Squaw, Loveland, and Vail Passes, spend the night in Avon, then do the route back the next day.  And so it began.

The climb up Squaw is always a joy early in the day.  Anyone who's done the Triple can likely tell you that getting up the road some and then seeing your first long distance views of the Rockies through the pines is always a soul stirring moment.  Traffic is nearly non-existent, the deer and elk can be seen grazing on the slopes, the air is calm, clear, and fresh, and the sun casting long shadows at it's low morning angles promises the world to you.  After a couple hours of up, the payoff of down awaits, and without the thousands of other Triple participants around you, the descent to Idaho Springs is quite a joy.

With no aid stations, we were on our own for food both days.  A little internet planning clued us in to a great location that we hit both days, the Two Brothers Deli.  Odd, all the folks working there were women.  Nevertheless, the portions were beyond generous, the taste excellent, and the service and atmosphere were friendly and welcoming.  Any more bike trips through this town will include a stop there.

On the road again just two blocks from the deli, we encountered the super strong, yet slightly off-her-rocker Catherine.  She was on her own epic journey from Boulder to Aspen and back, a true randoneurring ride, she had 40 hours to complete the 400 mile round trip.  To get some shut eye, if no hotels would give her a couple hours at a cheap rate, she was willing to sleep in a ditch.  Seriously?  Okay, compared to her maybe we are not as crazy as other folks like to think.

She pulled us for a while at a good clip, and with over 300 of her miles still ahead of her, that was quite impressive.  She pulled so well, that Jx and Deadhead were on her wheel, but RoadWarrior and myself had fallen off the pace.  And so the first of the "things never go as planned" moments happened as the leading trio missed the crucial turn to remain on the correct frontage road.  We two in the back took the proper turn which immediately went thru the Closed Road sign due to a partly washed out bridge that had to be walked across.  On the far side of the bridge, we had a road to ourselves for a few miles, so we slowed the pace down to give chance at reconnecting with the speedsters who would somewhere have to backtrack.  The east bound I-70 on-ramp from Empire was twenty feet above us to our right.  "There they are!" each group of two called out to the other as the off track guys headed opposite direction of us.  They had to hop the guardrail and scramble down the embankment to our frontage road.  But before they caught us, we entered the cyclocross course.

I'd been saying since my first Triple in 2003, that the section of road leading into Georgetown needed repairs.  Well it finally happened.  The asphalt had been removed and for two miles was a bed of mostly dirt with some gravel thrown in.  Rocks, divots and banks of loose sand all needed negotiating and with no traffic whatsoever, we just happily picked our way across.  Hehehe, little did we know… more on that later.

In Georgetown we fueled up and packed a sandwich for consumption up at the ski area.  Onward and upward.  Without the other 3,500 cyclists around, riding the shoulder of I-70 from Bakerville to Loveland ski area was actually rather decent.  No one to pass, you could just stay far right and keep your own pace.  Never once had a nerve wracking moment unlike the times I've done it on the Triple.  Up, up, and away, we ultimately summated Loveland Pass under gorgeous afternoon skies and rightfully enjoyed the descent to Keystone.  Since Swan Mountain Rd wasn't closed to traffic and it was a weekend, we opted for the safe route and took Dillon Lake to the north side.  Lucky for the gang, I'd been this way several times and could guide us along the excellent scenic trail that winds through the forested banks and swampy lands.  We emerged in Frisco, ready for lunch which the Belly Deli on Main Street happily provided for us.  Again with the generous portions, wow, we had a hard time stuffing all that yummy food in our guts.

As we worked our way up the trail towards Copper Mountain some instigator in our group said we should stop riding and hop in the river.  We always talk about doing this.  We never do it.  This time we did.  Brrrrrr did that cold water on the feet and calves feel good or what?  We hung out for ten minutes cooling down from the quite hot afternoon sun, sitting on some large rocks near the edge of the water.  Then it was time to get the last climb over with.  We rallied back up the small slope to where we left our bikes and shed the chill in our leg muscles while our head wraps that we'd dipped in the stream kept us cool for a few more miles.

Vail Pass is a treat.  The trail winds through a lush valley nestled between the two segments of I-70.  The east and westbound sections are spaced so far and the trail below them so much that you don't hear the traffic.  Instead, you get the babbling brook, the occasional deer, the flitting birds, the greenery and trees and alpine fields.  You sometimes forget you are climbing at 10,000 feet it's so picturesque.  But of course a switchback here and there reminds you and before too long you are at the top knowing it's all downhill to the end.  Avon, here we come!

We pacelined the roads leading into town because there's always a headwind.  Always.  And we had to fight our own way through the roundabouts since the police weren't there to stops the cars for us.  And in the end we pulled into the finishing line of the Triple Bypass and there was no one there to cheer us on and no barricades and no party in the park and no throng of beer swilling exhausted cyclists enjoying their accomplishments.  So we did the next best thing and went to the hotel for a welcome shower.

Here's where we have to plug the hero of the weekend.  Mrs. RoadWarrior drove herself and kids out to Avon with our overnight bags and a giant cooler of bottled waters.  We can't possibly thank her enough for this effort.  Instead of having minimal necessities and having to lug such necessities in backpacks over those mountain passes and being tie to the hotel once we got there, we now had the luxury of a full set of clothes to change into, real shoes to wear, and a chance to hop in the car to go to dinner.  This was massively awesome.  Mrs. RoadWarrior, YOU ARE THE BEST.

Pizza dinner at Pazzo's and viewing of the Tour de France stage back at the hotel made for an excellent end to the day.  See you all in the morning, let's do it again, eh?  And so we did!  Continental breakfast at the hotel, on the road we go.  Climbing the roads back through Vail in the early morning hour yields a chance to see what you normally miss during the Triple.  Normally, when you are flying westbound, fighting the headwinds, trying to hold the wheel of the rider in front of you, the only thing you really notice is the constant stream of cracks in the road surface that you instinctively avoid.  It's hammer time at 23+ mph.  But this morning, we got to see the other side of Vail.  You can only climb so fast, and you are on the side of the road that lets you see the Gore River sparkling in the early morning light as it trickles along.  You notice the buildings and the people, you see the golf course in it's pretty phase while the sprinklers run and the golfers are few.  You see the full sweep of the valley and the hiking trails and the rec path with the breakfast hour joggers.  It's quite a difference.

Vail Pass is incredibly more difficult in the east bound direction.  You start much lower, the grade is much steeper and almost twice as long as the westbound side.  After a few miles of pleasant closed-to-cars riding, you then climb alongside the highway with just orange crash plastic between you and the noisy smelly trucks.  It's not dangerous as they are also heading up, but it's certainly not the same flavor as coming through the lush valley from the Copper side.  Still, it's just a mile or so of this, then the trail peals off again and you are back in your little world of suffering knowing there's still two massive climbs awaiting you after this one.  We've been going uphill since the start and we're almost two hours into the day already and this is the easy one…

But first, the great downhill from Vail to Frisco.  You know you're climbing on that trail, but unless you've ever actually done it westbound, you just don't appreciate how much you climb.  It's an excellent thrill.  Zoooooooom.  Hey, I think that was a wild ferret we just saw scampering across our path!  Another bakery type of place in Frisco for some wraps and we are on our way heading to the crunch time.

Loveland Pass from the Keystone side.  Ouch.  This baby is hard when it's the ONLY thing you do.  Eight miles of straight up at elevation heading to the summit of 12,000 feet.   When you are 170 miles into your weekend, this climb can be downright crushing.  And for two of us, it was.  First, yours truly had been fighting a tender hamstring for several weeks now, and it finally gave up the ghost about halfway up the climb.  No more pressure on the pedals for me or it was cramp central and call in the SAG.  And no way was I sagging.  So I was left to spin in the easiest of my gears at a pace that would take me a long time.  Elsewhere on the slope, the dreaded Altitude Sickness grabbed ahold of RoadWarrior.  You never know who, when, or why this happens.  It has stricken all of us on various rides over the years, never explainable.  Today was RW's turn.  It knocks you senseless.  Your body wants to revolt in every fashion, your will to continue is gone, it is suffering intensified one hundred fold.  I knew RW never climbs as slow as he was right now so I knew what was up, and I was a mile ahead of him with my bum leg.  So I found me a strategic perch on a switchback where I knew if he would just look up then he would see me.  And he did!  It was the extra motivation to keep him going.  It took him several minutes to wind up to the ledge I waited at, and for my part, I enjoyed watching an eagle soar the thermals below me (yes, below) in the splendid valley of the pass.  Together, like the tortoises who took the rabbit, we eked our way to the top.  There were giggles, there was agony, and then there was summit.  Thank goodness.

A slow cautious descent due to our battered states got us back to reasonable elevations at the ski area and of course, the Altitude issues go away, and when you are heading down you don't have to pedal.  But the damage was done.  There would be no Squaw Pass for either of us on the return journey.  Squaw would take us back to elevation and present too much climbing for bad hammies.  Still, we had 25 miles of fun together as a foursome yet ahead of us.  And fun it was!

First up, I-70 at speed on the shoulders.  There is no other way.  You have to get on the highway.  It's downhill.  This wigged me out.  But it's only five miles and in less than ten minutes it's over.  Zooooooom.  I can't imagine what the motorists think of the bikes zipping down the highway next to them.  Not sure I really want to do that again, but life is a journey so who knows.  More downhill to Georgetown and then we were back to the cyclocross course.  Except it didn't play out the way we thought.  Doh!  That chuckle earlier in the story?  Yeah, so here's the thing.  We had envisioned this nice quiet crossing of the dirt zone just like we had the day before.  What we failed to consider was the Sunday afternoon traffic on I-70 always backs up and at this point, the highway is near a parking lot, so cars try to beat the system by taking the side roads.  Our side road.  The stream of cars kicked up every last gram of dust and dirt possible.  We biked through a two mile brown cloud of sand and grit, still having to avoid the rocks and divots the whole way.  Surreal is the only word.  When we emerged back onto pavement, back into the sun that had disappeared in the swirling mess, a look at each other and we started howling.  The dirt was caked on our faces and arms and legs and clothes like you wouldn't believe.  All we could do was laugh and resume the journey.  A most excellent paceline got us from Downieville down to Idaho Springs humming along faster than the cars at just under 30 mph.  My leg almost didn't make it, but downhill is much different on the hammy than up, so we made it as one.  It was the one time the weather threatened to turn on us with a sprinkle of rain, not enough to wash the dirt off, just enough to make it look even worse, too funny.  I'm sure the staff at Two Brothers Deli got a kick out of us.  They made some playful comments and seemed happy that we came back for another sampling of their wares.

And so after lunch, the skies had cleared and we parted ways.  Jx and Deadhead took on the final pass while RoadWarrior and myself took the Floyd Hill route.  Not to sneeze at it, we still managed 1,600 feet in 6 miles including Floyd with it's sustained average of 8% for 1.7 miles.  I figured out early the only way I could survive was to do the climbing standing on the cranks.  So I did nearly all of it that way.  The thighs burned, but it was better than the alternative.  And here's where the story enters the land of "all things happen for a reason."  If my hammy didn't go, I might not have slowed enough to realize RW was in trouble on Loveland.  And without that knowledge, maybe we would all still have tried Squaw anyway, some of us much slower than others.  And so forced onto the Floyd route, it was there in the middle of nowhere on the trail that only cyclists would use, where no other cyclists had been seen this day, we came across Tim with the broken chain and his friend Randy.  They needed our help.  We were able to come through.  Sure, they would have managed without us, but we got them going and out of the stagnant heat of the afternoon much, much faster than if left to their own devices.  And so from there the four of us rode together all the way to our cars.  They gave us directions, we gave them tech help.  We all gave each other safety in numbers on the twisty country backroads.  There were handshakes and well mets aplenty at the parking lot, and then Randy and Tim were off to finish their adventure for the day.  We had ten miles with them, and it was great.  You never know who you'll meet, or why.  It's all part of the joys of cycling and the adventures of life.  RW and I were done, we had just completed a century the day after doing the Triple route.  222 miles, 20000 feet for us.  We opened up the CatMobile, let the breeze blow through the windows, fired up Springsteen's Born to Run album, and waited for the other two, basking in the glow of our accomplishment.  And when they showed up, triumphant in their Six Pack, we cracked open another six pack.  Fat Tire.  Mmmmmm.  Victory beer.  A salute to great friends and epic adventures and memories that will last a lifetime.

Thanks guys, the weekend was truly incredible and I'm still smiling two days after!