I knew that the time wasn’t right. But there it was, visible from Lee’s kitchen window. Calling, calling with its siren song, so irresistable. I held out for a few days, using every excuse in my ever-growing arsenal of injury and fatigue. But Mt. Elbert sang calls to me each morning as I awoke and looked out the window. As I sat mesmerized by it one morning, I knew it was too late. The machinery in my mind was already in motion and very little could stop it now.
There was every reason not to climb it. My hands, still numb from racing the Great Divide, had been further abused on beautiful trails ranging from Salt Lake City to Grand Junction. I was drained from the rides, the driving, the camping and interactions with family, new friends and strangers. My right ITB was still tight. I didn’t have what I felt were the appropriate tires and gear ratios (this was by design, to discourage me from doing it).
But there was also every reason TO climb it. At 14,449 feet, Elbert stands the highest peak in Colorado and the third highest in the country. None of it lies within wilderness and I had heard that Dave Morrison had hike-a-biked and summitted back in 1951. Looking at the topo map it looked like it might be possible to ride it. If I made it to the top it would be my first 14er and indeed the highest I’ve ever been. When I saw the turn off to Elbert on the Colorado last fall I had to physically restrain my bike from taking it. The top half of the mountain was then covered in deep snow.
This time Lee and I took the turnoff, after warming up on 1000 feet of calm dirt road climbing to 10,600 feet. Straight away the trail turned technical and steep. We walked as the questions and doubts circled around our heads. Maybe the time isn’t right. Or maybe this is just too ridiculous. Neither of us wanted to be the one to hold the other back, so we said nothing and just kept heading up the fall-line trail.
Lee was up ahead, pushing his bike at a grueling pace. I tried riding as best I could, but I only managed short rallies before collapsing in a soporific heap over my handlebars. Some sections I didn’t even attempt.
As we crossed the threshold between trees and tundra the riding turned more reasonable. Now I’d hop on for extended sessions before the inevitable soporific collapse. I could feel the blood coursing through my body and the crisp mountain air struggling to be absorbed in my lungs. I felt alive.
Each collapse was followed by a chance to view my surroundings. How lucky am I to be alive, to have the health and strength to be experiencing this?
We next transitioned from quiet meadows to high alpine rock fields. The first couple pitches were so steep that I didn’t even attempt them. I resigned myself to the possibility of walking the remaining 2000 feet of vertical.
Lee and I walked and chatted. Actually, this wasn’t so bad. Riding the Arizona Trail had trained us well. “The bikes actually roll, and my feet don’t slide with every step.” Hiking an unloaded bike just doesn’t seem much a challenge, anymore. I knew we’d make the summit and that it wouldn’t be too hard.
Lee loves hike-a-bike
But as I observed the trail I wondered how much, if any, I’d be riding down. Was there any point in carrying up only to carry back down? Soon enough I found a 0.25 mile stretch that I rode, grinning ear to ear. Amazingly, the conditions continued to improve as we neared the summit. I cannot describe how awesome it was to feel my tires find traction as I rounded rocky and tight switchbacks at 14,000 feet. This was some of the best climbing of my life.
I couldn’t find enough purchase to pedal more than 10 feet near the very top. Dreams of cresting the peak while astride the bike were quickly shot, and just as quickly soon forgotten. Attaining the summit had opened up the previously unseen view to the west and into the heart of the rockies. Wow, this was definitely worth all the work.
Lee and Scott and the summit
The tops of mountains like this are always surreal to me. Yet, they are so much more real than the developed, life-draining places we humans choose to spend most of our time in. The time on the top is cherished and over all too quickly.
The real
I rode from the top to the first few turns, then walked mostly out of fear and lack of true bearings than anything else. My mind had not yet switched from climbing to descending mode. After the switch was complete I settled in to one of the most challening and amazing descents of my life.
Having mountain biked obessively for some 15 years, I have a pretty good idea of what I can and cannot do on a bike. Coming up I was studying the trail, imagning how it would be to ride down it. But as I descended I could tell that I was largely off. I rolled over things with more ease and had a much higher confidence level than I should have. I can only attribute this to the 29″ wheels.
Although I’ve ridden this bike several thousand miles, most of that riding has been with a rear rack and camping gear, or on non-technical dirt roads. When I rode the Moore Fun trail with Mike Curiak a few days previous it had been one of my first exposures to unloaded technical riding on a 29er.
That ride was also somewhat responsible for my level of confidence. I don’t know if I learned anything specific from riding with Mike, but riding well in the presence of another good rider is confidence boosting. I had to ride up to his level, which I was capable of, but it isn’t something I often do, either because I ride alone or with people who don’t challenge me technically.
Lee descending at ~12,500 feet
The descent was never ending — from 14,449 to 9,200 at Twin Lakes. You couldn’t have erased the smile off my face with industrial strength cleaner. I took many breaks to rest my hands and regain myself. Since it was all very slow, careful descending I never felt like I was damaging them too much.
Approximate riding percentages:
Up: 40% (perhaps a bit generous)
Down: 90%
15.5 miles
5567 ft of climbing
4:28 moving time
19.3% average grade
These numbers include descending to Twin Lakes and climbing back to the South Elbert trailhead on pavement and Continental Divide Trail. (see map)
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