This is a story of redemption. In 2021 I entered but ultimately abandoned the Rocky Mountain Cycling Club's (RMCC) Colorado High Country 1200k, my only abandon in over 200 randonneuring events (which includes several 1000/1200/1400k's). Of all the things you might guess could take you out, you might not guess arms - but mine were too weak on day 3 to support my weight on my handlebars. This had never happened, before or since. Bizarre. So when the next edition was announced for 2024 it was time to take care of this bit of unfinished business and redeem myself by (hopefully) finishing.
To improve the chances of success this time, training upgrades included: (1) almost double the monthly training miles compared to 2021 (2) riding fewer but longer training rides - usually a 100k (3) optimal timing of the annual 600k - just 3 weeks prior to the event (4) lots of pushups!
After driving from Maryland and spending a couple days exploring the Transcontinental Railroad, Oregon Trail, and hiking trails in Wyoming, I arrived in Louisville CO the day before the ride for check-in. I got to meet some of the riders in line, including Dan D. doing safety checks and his wife Pam handing out rider packets. As planned, I got a pizza for dinner and got to bed at 1900 for the 0500 start.
Day 1 - 189 miles
There were three of us from DC Randonneurs in this event: John M., myself, and Mimo D. Here's the photo John's wife Cindy took of us at the start (me in the Severna Park Peloton "sailboat" jersey):
As soon as we rolled out the event took on a different tone than last time. Last time most of the riders stayed in a group for the first 100 miles until the big climb of the day splintered it. This time the group splintered almost immediately. Up until the first control I found myself riding with Mark R. from Indiana, John, and Yasuhiko T. from Japan:
Mark was an interesting guy to talk to, having emigrated in his youth from communist Poland.
Day 1 started with a 100-mile northerly trek across the plains in front of the Front Range of the Rockies, with a couple of controls along the way. I got an ice cream sandwich at the first one in Platteville (mile 36) and an Otter Pop at the Carter Lake Marina (mile 67). The forecast high for the day for Fort Collins, at the end of this trek across the plains, was 97F, so I was hoping to get through there and into the mountains before it got that hot. This was a pretty flat 100 miles, with a couple of real "stingers" when the route got close to the Front Range: the switchbacks to climb up to Carter Lake, and the steep hill after Horsetooth Reservoir (which I pushed my bike up - it was too early to burn those matches).
It was getting real warm when I got to Laporte (mile 98) and reunited with John and (Hugh?). I was looking for some REAL food, as my fellow DC Randonneur Gardner D. had recently relayed some wisdom about real food being the key to randonneuring. In the usual rando food stops the closest thing to real food is a pre-made sandwich, but this Shell station had only frozen pre-made sandwiches which didn't appeal to the stomach at all, so it was snacky stuff again and a Coke and a CamelBak refill before starting the 60-mile climb up Poudre Canyon over the Front Range to Cameron Pass (elevation 10,276 feet).
Like last time, the climb further splintered the group and I was solo almost immediately. That doesn't bother me, I really like riding at my own pace. The climb was as scenic as last time, a narrow rocky canyon containing a road and a rushing river for miles and miles. Rafters were riding the river with excursion companies while we headed up. The one resupply opportunity we knew about (there seemed to be some new ones not shown on Google Maps) was the Glen Echo Resort in Rustic CO (mile 133). I found Mimo there, and got a soft-serve ice cream and refilled my bottles and CamelBak again. The CamelBak was an absolute lifesaver. It was warmer than on my previous attempt, and on this climb I frequently had the tube in my mouth continuously, sipping every 5 breaths. The entire field was feeling the heat. I checked out the restaurant menu there for real food, but it all looked too heavy for this moment. Shortly after I departed Rustic I regretted no getting a soda there, when lo and behold I came upon Pam on the side of the road with sodas! They weren't cold, but it didn't matter to me. Near the top of this climb Mimo took this photo. I wasn't feeling too bad, and the biting insects from last time were nowhere to be found:
...I linked up with Stephen W. and Amy A. on a tandem for the long, steep, and fast descent into Centennial WY. Amy, on the back, must have total faith in Stephen, as she was at the mercy of Stephen's bike handling for the greater-than-40-MPH descent. He was frequently right on my rear wheel despite my tapping the brakes and dodging debris. We stopped for lunch at the Bear Bottom Bar and Grille for real food - I got a Coke and a BLT, and had some of the pizza another rider quit after only 2 slices. There were several other riders at the same place, making this the biggest group I spent time with during the event. Unfortunately when it was time to depart Stephen discovered his rear tire was flat and left after the rest of us.
From there it was east to Laramie (mile 330) for a quick resupply stop at a gas station, then a turn to the southwest for the 63 mile trip back to Walden for the night.
It was here that we encountered the first of 3 afternoons of thunderstorm formation. The wind was howling and right on the nose. It must have been 30-40 MPH. I could barely make enough speed to keep the bike upright, and was getting blown off the shoulder into the moderately busy road. I could scarcely think, and such howling always makes headwinds so much worse for me psychologically, so I started to look for some shelter from both this horrific wind as well as rain that was beginning to fall and possibly turning into a downpour/lightning storm. I spotted some kind of business on the left with a large stack of lumber just inside an open gate. I trespassed. The stack was such that there was essentially a "cave" in it that protected me from wind and rain, and big enough that I could lie down and close my eyes for a few minutes, rest, and get my thoughts together. I checked my phone for tornado warnings but there were none. After maybe 15 minutes I saw a group of riders coming down the road and decided I'd join them to work against the wind, however once I got on the back they were a little too fast for my liking so I found another shelter on the right - the front porch of an abandoned cafe. I stayed there for maybe 20 minutes until the wind dissipated some, then headed off to the second major climb of the day - crossing the Snowy Range again, closer to the Colorado border.
After bucking that headwind for 20 miles I was toasted. I could not pedal the bike up that 1700 foot climb, so I ended up pushing it up most of it - anything above about 2% grade. I thought about the randonneuring credo, "relentless forward progress", and kept moving. I was exhausted, and dispirited by all the riders pedaling past me (although most encouraged me with "you got this!", etc.) On top of all that, the arm weakness that took me out in 2021 was returning. Things were looking bleak and I began to resign myself to failure. I started to think about the implications, like falling short in this year's quest for a first "K-Hound" (10,000 km of events in a calendar year). I was sure this was the end...something I've felt many times on long rides but only actually happened once - 2021 on THIS ride. During this darkest moment, organizer John Lee E. showed up in his car to check on riders. I told him I was well supplied, except there was nothing left in the legs and that I was pressing on. He asked if it was OK to take a photo, and I put on a brave face for it:
Finally the grade pitched down to about 2% and I could pedal again. I don't remember much of the rest of the trip to Walden except it seemed like most of it was downhill and that I felt strong and motored the whole way. After arriving at 2236, eating dinner, convincing myself to shower, and playing the same Taylor Swift videos (e.g., the one about the guy keeping her scarf) while I reloaded my bike for the next day, I went to bed.
Day 3 - 204 miles
I got up for breakfast and departed at 0522 with much trepidation, since the point at which I dropped out last time was just 20 miles further down the road, and I had had a rougher Day 2 yesterday than in 2021 (when I WAS able to pedal the entire second crossing of the Snowy Range). Was I a fool for motoring so hard the previous evening? What chance did I have today?? But I decided to throw myself into it and hope that if I did drop out again it would be in a location from which I could easily get back to Walden (the last time it was essentially a matter of turning around and coasting downhill). Fortune favors the brave! Remembering how cold it was the day before, I had my knee warmers on and carried full-fingered gloves. I anxiously waited to reach the spot where I abandoned last time, and blew through it OK. My arms were very wobbly, but manageable. If I put my left hand on the hood and right hand on the bar - that propped me up well. I was weak - I couldn't hammer on the pedals, but I was strong enough to spin at a moderate level of effort.
Stephen and Amy passed me early on, and took this photo:
Then a totally unexpected thing happened...I started passing other riders...effortlessly...perhaps a third of the remaining field. This really lifted my spirits. Before I knew it I spotted the "Rabbit Ears" rock formation, summited Muddy Creek and Rabbit Ears passes (the day 3 route is the part of this event I've never really seen), and soon found myself on the screaming descent into Steamboat Springs. What a beautiful sight looking down into this absolutely gorgeous valley. Too bad I decided to stay at 40 MPH the entire 7 miles and not stop to snap a photo. This was one of my three favorite spots on the ride.
Resupply stops included Steamboat Springs (mile 449) and Yampa CO (mile 477). I almost skipped Yampa for being so soon after Steamboat, but I'm lucky I didn't because my planned next stop in Toponas CO (mile 486) was closed that day (I had this information, it just got lost in the heat of battle). Riding into Gore Pass I met a second day of thunderstorm action. This time there was lightning and wind-driven horizontal rain. I sheltered from the rain in the lee of a small pine tree (there were many taller "lighting targets" at a safe distance nearby) for a few minutes until the worst passed. Near the second summit of the pass I came upon a ride volunteer dispensing food and drinks roadside. I ate a banana and drank something, and headed off. I stopped to resupply at the Merc in Kremmling CO (mile 518) and found a large group of riders there including Dan and Paul L. (who I had ridden with after Carter Lake on day 1). I got a Coke and a veggie tray, pawning off the included bag of almonds to someone.
We rolled out together and tried pace lining into yet another headwind, but the group was a bit too twitchy for me and I wasn't completely comfortable. I was twitchy too because of my weak arms, and at one point got called out on what was perceived as an abrupt move on my part. Things were really squirrely on each climb, and on one climb I was on the front when I realized I had gapped the rest of the group by many bike lengths. I slowed a bit but the gap remained and riders seemed to be struggling, so I decided this was my opportunity to depart the group. I rode at my own pace and was soon solo again.
The last opportunity for resupply that day was in Hot Sulphur Springs CO (mile 536), 60 miles from the Walden overnight, but I had plenty and skipped it. The run into that town was really pretty, riding up a road in a curvy rocky canyon that the Colorado River ran down. Sort of like Poudre Canyon on day 1, just not as arduous.
Before taking on Willow Creek Pass (a 21-mile, 1600 foot climb), I stopped roadside to eat and drink and was passed by Dan D. and the group I had departed earlier. While there I received a text from DC Randonneurs President Ed F. asking how it was going, and I replied that every part of my body was weak but I was still rolling along.
By the time I summited it was dark and had just rained, and the wet pavement showed no features in my headlight. That is where all hell broke loose. Over the next 3 hours I would flat 6 times. All but one were pinch flats (apparently the 85 PSI I run back east wasn't cutting it in Colorado-class potholes and cattle guards). My helmet light malfunctioned so I had to make do with my spare headlight as best I could. After my second flat Kevin K. stopped to check on me and lent me a spare tube, which I also flatted that night. At another point I stopped to check whether I was losing air pressure through improperly secured presta valves. When I unscrewed the rear tire plastic cap the valve internals shot out and, comically, gave me another flat. I had to hunt around in the scrub to find the ejecta, which fortunately reinstalled and held pressure, until that tube also pinch flatted. Then I suffered a simultaneous front/read pinch flat...this was a very low point. Thoughts of possibly having to abandon the event started to creep in again. I looked for a silver lining - perhaps in the back country of Colorado I would at least see a spectacular nighttime sky - but even this was thwarted…by a full moon.
I got back to Walden at 0106 and broke the news to Kevin that his tube was shot. He wouldn't let me pay for it. John Lee did me a solid that evening, and got me tubes from God knows where (I'll be eternally grateful). I got a burger on a plate, a floor pump, and headed off to my room to recover, repair, and prepare for tomorrow. I patched up a couple popped tubes in case I needed therm on the final day while Taylor serenaded my efforts, and at one point sat on my burger (but ate it anyway, along with 2 of the vanilla puddings I had brought in my bag). My hands were so beat up from riding and changing tubes that for several minutes my right thumb spasmed into my palm and would not open back out. That made brushing my teeth a challenge.
Day 4 - 149 miles
Despite not getting to bed until 0230, I woke up at 0530. I wanted more rest but couldn't get back to sleep. I went to the website for my Continental Grand Prix 5000 tires, which told me maximum inflation pressure was 102 PSI (later realizing I could have just read that off the tire). I also realized that I still had the floor pump in my room - the only one at the hotel - and that other riders might be looking for it. I got up, returned it, got back in bed, laid on my back, and tried to just zero out my thoughts. I went into this weird state where there was a flurry of random images in a grid pattern in behind my closed eyelids. It must have been the fatigue and altitude, but it was quite pleasant and relaxing.
Seemingly shortly thereafter I awoke at 0730, refreshed and ready to take on the final day. I ate 2 more vanilla puddings in my room, checked out of my room, pumped up my tires to max pressure, got a waffle to chew on, packed a breakfast burrito for later, and turned in my drop bag. Brent, a volunteer I remembered from last time, gave me a tube as well but wouldn't let me pay for it (when I got home I sent a box of tubes to the club for all they had given me). This tube, unlike many of the others that were smaller, was the correct size for my tire. Another theory for my bad luck that I was entertaining was that the walls of undersized tubes are thinned when inflated to stretch to match tire size, making them more vulnerable to pinch flatting.
I rolled out at 0750. Getting to bed as late as I did meant almost the entire field left before me, and I only saw two other riders the entire day. This day's ride was essentially the reverse of Day 1, except a more direct/lower mileage route across the plains back to Louisville. I was flying on the way up to Cameron Pass, stopping along the way to eat that burrito before it became a biohazard. At some point Brent passed me with his trailer full of drop bags and gave me a honk. Without too much trouble I summited…
…and began what I hoped would be a 60 mile coasting descent to the flatlands, but such would not be the case. Once again there was a headwind, requiring effort to make downhill progress. I stopped at Rustic (mile 654) for a soft serve and a Coke, and the cashier asked if I wanted to make it a float. Usually that’s a great thing on a long hot ride, but I just wasn't interested for some reason. Who should wander in but Pam again. A beer truck also pulled in, and I would leapfrog with it for the next 30 miles as it made stops.
Although I was vigilant for them, I hit a deep pothole after Rustic and prepared to change yet another flat, but nothing happened...initially. It took about 10 miles, but eventually my rear tire got bouncy and I had to stop to put Brent's tube in the tire. Fortunately, that was the 7th and final flat.
Once below about 6000 feet of elevation I unravelled the mystery of why my arms went rubbery during my two attempts at this event. At the lower altitude all weakness just disappeared and I was a new man. Not even the headwind bothered me any more. I motored!
Finally out of the mountains at Teds Place (mile 686), I stopped for one quick/final resupply. Yasuhiko was there, pulling off his shoes and looking like he was going to rest a while. We had traded passings many time during the event, with me using my very limited Japanese on several occasions. I didn’t need to rest now…I took off across the plains, 62 miles to the finish. I had planned a couple more resupply stops, but skipped them all. I was flying, smelling the barn. Not even the smug Rapha-clad, way-too-expensive-bike roadies who looked disdainfully upon me in Fort Collins could spoil this moment. The bike infrastructure through most of this was awesome - some great bike lanes. The only glitch was yet another thunderstorm, which had me hole up at someone's open barn until the danger had passed. I started getting text messages from friends asking about my status. Mimo asked that I alert him to my arrival, and I replied I was 5 miles from the finish. About 2 miles from the finish was one final "present": a hill with a 7% grade in the middle of all this flatness. I laughed it off as a cruel prank.
Suddenly I realized I was a block from the finish (mile 748). I stopped just long enough to text friends and family to let them know that I had made it, then finished the ride at 1932 - 3 hours and 28 minutes before the 90 hour time limit. I stopped at my car to throw in my bike - that beautiful machine that becomes an instrument of torture on rides like this. This was the same hotel we had started from and where I would sleep that night. Mimo and John Lee appeared in the parking lot. After I returned to John Lee the one tube he gave me that I hadn't used yet, John Lee did the finishing honors as Mimo photographed:
I was so glad Mimo didn't ask me to go out to dinner. I walked only 100 more feet after the above photo: to the front desk, to my room, to the shower, to bed.
It's a week and a half later, and I'm still on the high from completing this ride. Would I do it again? Probably not...the altitude is so hard on me. But the scenery and experience made it worth it. I could possibly ride RMCC's Front Range 1200k, where you sleep about 3000 feet lower in altitude every night.
Thank you John Lee, Brent, and the other volunteers who kept us so well fed. This is one fantastic event.
Epilogue
As a blood donor, the American Red Cross calls me every day once I become eligible to donate. This started over a month before the ride, but there was no way I was going to let go of any red blood cells until this was finished. Five days after this ride I did a Power Red donation (2 units of red blood cells, plasma returned) just to stop the phone ringing. It took me 3 weeks to recover my form after the ride and the donation.
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