My Colorado High Country 1200k (not even a first-ever DNF could spoil it)

Although I would ultimately abandon the ride, a first in 148 randonneuring events over 10 years, it was still a great time and I still want to capture the details so I can relive them in my rocking chair. 

 I excitedly departed Maryland in my car with my bike in the back at 4:30 on Friday morning 9 July 2021. I had not pushed a pedal in Colorado in 52 years and I was anxious to get back to terrain I remembered from the part of my childhood I spent there. I’d planned for this ride for about 2 years, having been delayed a year because of COVID. 

 

One of the reasons I drove instead of flying was White Castle hamburgers in the Midwest. The first opportunity was in Columbus OH, and I took it.  10 sliders went down in about 5 minutes, diced onions on my lap and car seats but so what! I got as far as Blue Springs MO (just outside Kansas City) the first day, stayed in a new/clean/nice Hampton Inn, got a great apple fritter from LaMar’s Donuts across the street for breakfast Saturday morning, marveled at the sea of wind turbines known as Kansas, and arrived in Louisville  CO at the end of the day.  Sunday I hiked the Flatirons Loop in Boulder, 

 

then hit every bike shop in Boulder that was open on Sunday looking for cool stuff or a cool t-shirt. The biggest and most impressive was University Bicycles, a veritable bike museum as well as large store. The most unique was Colorado Multisport – part bike shop, part sports bar. Ultimately, I didn’t find any unique bike stuff, and the few t-shirts I liked were not in my size or thin and overpriced. Later that day I took my bike and drop bag to registration at the Louisville Quality Inn. Contrary to rider instructions, drop bags were not being checked.  I had a dull headache throughout the trip, and once in Louisville felt kind of lazy and rested a lot, and wondered if I was ready for this ride despite careful preparation. That question was answered Monday morning at the 0500 start, when I departed as one of 43 riders. 

 

 

I felt great and energetic, and the bike felt great too. I saw my fellow DC Randonneur George W. at the start, but his group got caught at a red light one block into the ride and I didn’t see him again for a couple days. I was in a group of ~25 riders, moving at a brisk but comfortable pace, and noticed Jeff N. at the front. I had ridden both Blue Ridge to Bay and PBP ’19 with him. I moved to the front and made some comment to him like “It’s Jeff off the front!”, but he pointed ahead to another group that was already about a half mile ahead of us. Jeff stayed at the front of the group for many, many miles, and a couple riders told me he just would rather be pulling at the front than ride in the bunch. I delayed starting up my GPS since (1) this group knew where it was going (2) I wanted to conserve its battery so that I wouldn’t have to charge it before the end of the day and (3) the turns were few and far between – the cue sheet and odometer were plenty navigation for almost the entire event.  It later dawned on me that without GPS I was giving up one “proof of passage” method, but I was filling out my cue card to create a souvenir and photographing each control as a redundant method. It also dawned on me that I had forgotten to put on my reflective ankle bands (which nobody else noticed), so I had to stop to do so, then catch up with the group.

 

The sun rose in a haze of smoke (possibly from fires along the Pacific coast) as we moved along - a crimson ball that several riders photographed. I didn’t want to stop to pull out my phone to snap a photo, nor do that while riding, and kind of wished I had my small camera hanging around my neck instead of leaving it at home as extra weight. This northward trip across the plains was essentially a 100-mile commute to the first major climb of the event.  I struck up conversations with Charlie M. from San Francisco, Sara S. from Seattle with whom I had corresponded and worked through hotel check-in issues at the overnight, and Mike B. from Chicago (previously of Pasadena MD) who spotted the “Arnold MD” plate on the back of my bike. The group stayed together and controlled in Platteville (36.2 miles), Carter Lake (67 miles, ignoring the sign in the window about the bike rack),

and Horsetooth Mountain Park (83.7 miles -photo by ride staff). 

The latter 2 were near reservoirs with steep stingers nearby, and Carter Lake had a sailboat fleet in it, much to my surprise.  

 

We also stopped at Laporte (mile 96) for one last food and bottle stop

 

 

 before beginning the 60-mile climb up Poudre Canyon to get over the Front Range (photo by Jeff N.). 

 

 

The canyon was also host to white water kayakers and rafting excursions. On the climb our group began to splinter, and ultimately I would summit at Cameron Pass in a group of 3.

 

 

About halfway up the climb (mile 131) most riders stopped at Glen Echo Store in Rustic to top off.  I got a Pepsi, water, and ice cream.  The real food (sandwiches) had been cleaned out by riders ahead of me. I also called the overnight hotel in Walden, the North Park Inn and Suites, because their office closed at 2200 and I wanted to make sure they left my room key out for me if I got there after that.  I had reserved a room for myself outside of the organizers room reservations during the peak of COVID and had hung onto it. Continuing up the climb I encountered biting flies on my legs that were not severe enough for me to stop to apply repellent, I just kept swatting at them. Besides, one rider thought the repellent actually attracted them. At 1717 I summited Cameron Pass (158 miles) 

 

 

Thus began a screaming descent down the back side of the Front Range and into North Park, a 30-mile gradual downhill with a stiff tailwind. That combination got me across the 30 miles into Walden, our overnight stop for the next 3 days, in an hour and a half. So ended a 300k first day, in a personal best time of 13:49. I checked in to the hotel (well before their office closed), signed in for the ride, and got dinner (a baked potato with a scoop of chili on it). I have no idea why I took a picture of the potato, maybe I was hungry, but since I took so few pictures here it is:

 

I then set up shop in my room, posted my arrival/departure checklist on the fridge, and decided when to get started in the morning. On multi-day randonneuring events I do well with 3 hours of sleep each night – if you can’t ride fast, control fast - with an hour on both ends for eating and other necessities. My pre-ride plan, based on actual performance on previous 1000k/1200k/1400k’s, had me departing Walden at 0200, 0330, and 0500 on the three mornings in order to complete the ride with some time buffer. The popular sentiment around the hotel that evening was to depart at 0400, based on comments from a pre-rider the previous week that there might not be any services open in Saratoga WY if you started earlier (Saratoga was the only place to get food or drinks for the first 114 miles of the second day). However my research indicated that there were at least two 24-hour places in Saratoga if you rode an additional few blocks, so I stuck to my 0200 departure. I went to bed and had some of the worst leg and arm cramps of my life. Upon reflection, I realized that I had drunk too much water and not gotten enough electrolytes the first day.

 

I got up at 0100 on Tuesday and got ready. Knowing the gaps between services were 56/48/28/63 miles, I took my Camelbak with me in case 3 water bottles proved not to be enough. When I went looking for breakfast there was none to be found and nobody awake in the hotel. Not being able to figure out what the deal was with breakfast, I hit the road northbound for Wyoming at 0145. I did have Boost and lots of Gu and Peanut Butter Ritz Crackers onboard for emergencies.

 

The road was as advertised, trending downhill but with increasingly large rollers.  There was a rider ahead of me by at least a mile, with a bright blinking tail light that I could not close. I hoped for a perfect night sky, but it was partly cloudy and not much to see. As planned, I stopped at the Wyoming border for a selfie with the sign.  

 

It was the most deathly-silent outdoor place I’ve ever been. No cars, airplanes, or wind…just distant animal calls. I wish I could have sat there for a half hour.  I got rolling again in the dark and startled a bird that had been on the road. It took off, but seeing only my headlight in the darkness hit me in the head as it took flight.

 

Dawn broke and I rolled into Saratoga around 0610. Yes, the Valley Foods IGA control didn’t open until 0700, but less than a mile further into town I found a Kum & Go convenience store. It was just what I needed: engaging locals talking about other riders who have passed through on other trips, Pringles chips for salt, bananas for potassium, glazed and raspberry donuts for breakfast, boxed Hostess cherry fruit pies for today’s and tomorrow’s breakfasts, orange juice. As a bonus, there was a small table and chairs in the store where I ate my breakfast. This place was a big boost to my spirits. As an additional bonus, my odometers had been tracking about 1.5 miles short, and this additional ride into town perfectly synchronized them to the cue sheet as I departed and headed for the Snowy Range and highest point of the ride.

 

The 35 mile climb out of Saratoga up the Medicine Bow Mountains to the summit of the Snowy Range (10,847 feet) was absolutely beautiful. Antelope, a hilariously hopping mule deer and its 2 fawns, lots of lakes, streams and meadows.

 

Parts of the climb were long and kind of steep. On one steep stretch I was passed by 1 rider quite soundly, the first rider I was close enough to speak to all day, moving by so quickly I barely had time to ask about breakfast. Eventually I arrived at probably the best view of the entire event: Medicine Bow Peak and its reflection in Mirror Lake.

 

 

Just past this point I encountered the ride organizer Jon E. on the side of the road with water for riders. I stopped to chat (I still had 1 of 3 drink bottles full) and was quickly joined by Charlie M. and another rider. Jon took this photo:

 

What followed was a fast, steep 12 mile descent. I really wanted to just let it fly at 50 MPH, but whenever I start flying down a hill I think about a deer jumping onto the road and the resulting serious injury (or worse), so I kept a lid on it. 

 

At the bottom of the decent was Centennial WY, the next services in this sparse part of the country.  I stopped with Charlie and a few others who followed us in for a bottle refill and lunch at a picnic table outside the Friendly Store. I think I had ice cream, bananas, and a Pepsi. The others found breakfast burritos that I considered going back in for.

 

From there it was a flat ride along the Big Hollow to Laramie.  The skies started to turn dark and you could see for miles in all directions, so you could keep tabs on the thunderstorms around you and gage whether you were going to get wet. It started to rain lightly on us, and the others stopped to don rain gear. My experience is as soon as you stop to don rain gear in a light rain, it stops raining as soon as you start rolling again.  I was fine without it, although my decision to mount fenders paid off as they were keeping my feet dry.  The winds started from the North (our left side) but over time clocked around until it was a headwind for 20 miles.

 

We arrived in Laramie to control at a gas station/convenience store.  I began to roll out of there before realizing I had not controlled, so I stopped long enough to answer the info control question on the card (all controls were info) and take a photo of the place.  From there it was heading southwest on a 2 lane road back towards Walden on a gradual climb. It was now a cross-wind, but the kind that saps you. Traffic was not sparse, but light enough that I rode mainly on the road, hopping onto the rough shoulder through breaks in the rumble strips whenever a vehicle approached from the rear. At one point a truck and cattle trailer that was headed in my direction stopped on the road ahead of me waiting to make a left-hand turn across traffic.  A speeding pickup truck coming up behind it didn’t see it until the last minute, slammed on the brakes but saw it wasn’t going to stop in time, and steered off the road into a field. Excitement.  I wondered why trucks driving in the opposite direction frequently made this ZZZZZZZP! sound just before they sprayed me with mist, until I saw they were pulling over towards the opposite shoulder to give me wider berth, and were spraying the water filling the rumble strip divots when they did.   

 Somewhere on this leg I first noticed front derailleur trouble – it wanted to stay in the big ring.  Troubleshooting while riding revealed the cable was slack, so the problem was the derailleur itself.  I thought a bit about my daughter’s failed front derailleur a couple years ago with similar symptoms due to a broken spring. I tried shifting it back and forth, and shifting the rear to the big cog to pull the chain towards the small ring, and it finally shifted. 

 

At the start of the climb for the second crossing of the Medicine Bow Mountains was another volunteer with water. Again, my third bottle was full and I needed none. She told me I was the 12^thrider on the road.  I told her my shoulders/elbows/wrists were aching (arms are my chief long-distance riding complaint lately), and she produced a pillbox with a couple different pain relievers.  I took 2 Aleve, thanked her, and began the climb. The climb began as 5 miles of relentless S-curves, each of which looked like it was the final one. On at least 3 occasions I told myself if the end wasn’t in sight around the next curve I would stop in a shady spot and get my stuff together, which I did.  Eventually it sort of plateaued for another 5 miles, then headed down into rolly terrain again.  

 

At this point the wind had clocked around more to become another headwind, and it was sapping me.  The kind of wind that sounds just as scary as how it feels working against you. I spent most of the next 25 miles in the drops, exhausted and weaving, but maybe 5 MPH faster than out of the drops. I think I bucked this headwind for 40 miles over the day. My arms were getting tired, but felt better in the drops than otherwise.  At one point I saw a grown-over abandoned rail bed that looked pretty cool. Somewhere in here my front derailleur jammed permanently and that where it stayed until Walden - I couldn't sort it out on the road. As it started getting dark I stopped to rig for night riding.

 

One other rider passed me while stopped. I suggested we work together against the headwind, but he said only if I get rolling quickly. By the time I found my not-sunglasses and put them on he was gone.  While I rolled up the final miles of the day I started formulating how I would do the next day’s climbs with a jammed front derailleur, including getting the chain out of the derailleur and putting it permanently on the small ring.

 

I arrived back in Walden right at 2100 and immediately asked if there was a mechanic in the house.  While I ate a fantastic Italian dinner with garlic bread, two volunteers poked around in poor lighting at a derailleur type they had never seen before.  While randomly fiddling with it one of them exclaimed “something just moved”. They discovered and removed the cause: a small black pebble lodged in the black parallelogram. 

 

Exhausted, I allowed myself a 4^thhour of sleep that night, getting up at 0200 for day 3.

 

I got up Wednesday morning, ate breakfast in my room from the food I collected during the ride the day before, and put on my empty Camelbak again because there was one 79 mile stretch on day 3 between reliable services. The organizers did say that there would be someone with water on that stretch, but I had been on a ride (in Death Valley of all places!) where that person had no water when I arrived and I wanted to have enough capacity to get me across that gap. As was the case the morning before, there was nobody awake at the hotel when I left at 0237, and I believe I was the 2^nd (records indicate 1^st) out onto the course that day.  Not wanting to head off into oblivion right at the start, I did briefly turn on my GPS until after a couple of turns and I was on the road to the first control, Steamboat Springs. It was a gradual uphill in the darkness, with strange red or green lights in places just off the road. Again, the skies were partly cloudy and I was denied a view of a perfect night sky. Then things started to go haywire.  First my helmet-mounted “cue sheet light” failed, followed shortly thereafter by my helmet-mounted headlight that served as a backup. But it was a long road to Steamboat and it would be light before I had to see my cue sheet and make a turn. 22 miles into the ride (mile 415) my arms turned to rubber, and I was losing the ability to hold my torso above my handle bars.  This was worse than yesterday’s arm problems, and was getting worse with time. This was a new problem, something I’d never experienced. I got off the bike, laid on my back, stared at the sky, and took stock for a few minutes.  Maybe if I splinted my elbows somehow I could continue, but it was going to be a 205 mile day and Mark T. had written me that this was the toughest day of his pre-ride. I’d gutted out all kinds of rides, including the 3 times I thought I’d DNF the 2017 edition of LEL, but I felt like this wasn’t even a decision to be made – it was a forgone conclusion that I didn’t have 335 miles in me to finish the ride. Fortunately it had been a climb, so it was mostly downhill back to Walden, with wobbly arms. It was also the “Ride of Shame”, as I met the parade of outbound riders. Fortunately it was not too light yet, so my identity was a bit of a mystery, but it was light enough to see that the red and green lights I saw earlier were from oil wells. The last rider I met slowed and crossed over as if to offer assistance, but I just said good morning and kept rolling. Getting back to the hotel, I informed the staff, my wife, my bike clubs, and social media. I immediately got a phone call from Gardner D., the DC Randonneurs RBA and a lawyer, who was about to go into court but called me to tell me he had experienced the same arm issue a little while back. I was touched that he would call so quickly from court. I slept most of the day, and hung out with other DNFs and ride staff later that day. 

 

One smart thing the organizers did was to offer the final day of the ride as a 200k brevet to the DNFs. Most took them up on the offer, reducing the number of sorry DNFs and their bikes they would have to ferry 150 miles back to Louisville, but I (1) had no confidence in my arms (2) wanted to get to my car as quickly as possible so I could make it to North Carolina and see my son for the first time in a year, before he flew back to California. I flipped modes from rider to volunteer, and set off earning my ride back by checking out all the riders and helping with breakfast and breaking down our event setup and loading it into the rented trailer. It was a great opportunity to get to know the riders and staff a little better. Three of us DNF’s piled into Brent M’s vehicle for a 3-hour guided history tour, which included the moose sighting I had hoped for. Upon arrival back at the Quality Inn I unloaded all the rider’s drop bags from the trailer.

 

 

Considering my lift back to the start paid for, I hit the road for North Carolina and arrived home in Maryland 4 days later.

 

In summary, this was a gorgeous route. Despite the DNF, it was a positive experience. Although I didn’t ride most of the third day, I think I saw the best of this route. I missed Muddy Pass, Rabbit Ears Pass, Steamboat, Gore Pass, and Willow Creek Pass, but had seen day 4 highlights Cameron Pass and Poudre Canyon on day 1.  I also met some new people in the “1200k club”. For me this is the best part of Randonneuring – travelling all over this country (and world), seeing people from this very small club over and over. And if it wasn’t the cause of my arm problems, I learned that I was good with riding at altitude.

 

Preps:

The one unique preparation for this ride was to anticipate the wide variety of possible weather conditions while minimizing gear to carry on these big climbs.  Experimenting over the winter, I found that simply by bringing my waterproof sock covers, knee warmers, rubber gloves, and my constant-companion Showers Pass hooded jacket, I could withstand cold rain or temperatures as low as 29F. I did add SPF arm sleeves for the high-altitude sun, and bug repellent (that I never used).