Descending (Triple Bypass Part II)

***Preface: The first 15 miles took two hours, so intense and extended was the climb, so thin was the air, and so wimpy was the sea level rider. The next 15 miles, which was the descent from Juniper Pass, and the screaming descent from Loveland Pass was a completely different kind of riding--and writing.***

Put on your jacket or your arm warmers and tip yourself over the edge of the world and the ground falls away from you.

Jump to the big ring and click click click click find the smallest sprocket in the cassette. Five strokes of the pedals and suddenly you have no chain. You can't pedal fast enough to power the wheels.

Every sense is white hot. You hear everything and nothing at all---the roar of the wind, the vibration of the road, the whir and then whine of a freewheel about to take flight. You see everything and nothing at all--the grit or gravel 2 seconds in front of you at the same time you predict the turns 30 seconds ahead and duck over your should to see the riders before and behind. You feel the wind, the bitter cold that makes your teeth chatter and your toes ache.

What is that taste? Salt? Bile? Fear? No, more like joy.

Here come the first turns. The body is entirely instictive because there is no time to think---shifting from side to side, banking in the turns, checking over the shoulder before you swing wide so you can dive back in and hit the apex of the turn with no loss of speed, lifting the inside pedal and flaring the inside knee out for balance, then dipping down behind the seat and dropping into a severe aero crouch, diving at 45 mph into a straightaway drop.

And yet, you are consumed with thought that never relies on instinct. everything is slow motion and the mind analyzes the road immediately under your tires as well as the rider 25 meters behind you, 25 meters in front, and the next two turns down the road.

Relax and you fly. Tense up, and you'll go down.

Detecting a slight slowing in the freewheel, you know just when to whip out 10 pedal strokes to keep your speed across a flat before you drop off the planet again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

For 40 minutes of adrenaline above 40 miles an hour on two narrow stips of rubber powered by the human heart.

Ascending (Triple Bypass, Part I)

(Loveland Pass View)

Nearly everyone wants to be on top of the world, right? But being there never happens if one waits to be taken. You have to work. You have to plan. You have to climb.

And the climbing starts long before that particular day when you are on top of the world. It starts long before, maybe when you go on that first "grownup" bike ride and swear that you might never ride again because of the pain. Or when you fall over with your new fancy clipped in pedals. There are lots of bikes gathering dust in lots of garages after things like that. But you want to be on top of the world. So, you climb.

Now, don't get me wrong. The people who travel with you and who inspire you along the way are key.


(Bolder, Trishannon and Roman at Georgetown)

The people who bike with us and the people who cheer for us are one of the things that keep us moving forward.


(Trishannon and Greyhound, courtesy of Bolder)


(Bolder and Greyhound stop to see Triamam and the Tribe cheering, courtesy of Stronger)

But in the end, it is you. No amount of cheering and cameraderie is going to make you ascend. You have to turn the pedals, one stroke at a time. You have to climb.


(Greyhound ascending, courtesy of Bolder)

And when you do that, there will be periods of time, sometimes long periods of time, when you are alone with you thoughts. It almost doesn't matter whether you are riding in a group or not. Eventually, you will be hearing the sound of your own heart beating and your own breathing, and you are all alone.

At times like that, there are choices to be made. Whose voice will fill your head? Whose baggage will you carry on your back? What's the use in dropping cash on ultra-light carbon bottle cages to shave a few grams if you're going to carry baggage on your ascent. Carry only the essentials--you, your equipment, your training . . .

And don't forget: love and confidence are weightless. In fact, they are lighter than air.

Along the way, you'll reach some summits that are beautiful to behold.


(Juniper Pass View)

But these are only way stations. Don't miss them, and don't forget to enjoy the view; but, if you have a destination, don't be satisfied by false summits or even by real ones. You can't stay here.

You'll know the real ascent when you get there. If you look at it, the switchbacks and the grades will threaten to rob the confidence right out of you.


(Loveland Pass Climb)


(Loveland Pass Climb)

But if your goal is to be on top of the world, did you expect the road not to be steep.

This can be done. Everyone who tries this has to turn the pedals hundreds of times to get to the top. Why not you? Every goal has an obstacle, and the better the goal, the bigger the climb. The obstacle is not going anywhere. You might as well just go.

What awaits . . . is the top.


(Loveland Pass View)


(Bolder atop Loveland Pass)


(Greyhound and Bolder atop Loveland Pass)