Surgical whirlwind

9/22/10, 7pm. Orange sky signals the end of an exhausting day. But all is done, all in its ‘proper’ place. Except my mind, which is so thoroughly unsettled that even the 1 hour sunset spin does little.

I didn’t believe I would actually make it to Crested Butte until the car was heading north. Paula’s surgery was the most important thing, and bike riding, sharing time with friends and travel all happily played second fiddle. If those things happened, great, but I wasn’t counting on it.

The Corsica did leave Tucson, and it followed a path it knows well: to the White Mountains. The car alone claimed a campsite, my tires claimed the evening — for fresh air and flowing thought.

It took longer to ride Panorama / Timber Mesa than I thought, but my miscalculation led to the witness of the full moon, rising bright against the equinoctial night. As if on cue, the elk began their eerie calls. And as the darkness set in, I found some peace, I felt the change.

24 hours later the Apache 200 would start from my camp spot. I was sorry to miss out on an AZ bikepacking event not put on by me.

The next day’s drive was long, and through an odd set of circumstances I ended up searching for a post office in the next town I passed through, which happened to be Cortez, CO. A box of SPOTs went to track adventure racers in Spain. The drive through Rico, Telluride and environs was inspiring. Autumn seemed to be in its prime. Can’t wait… can’t wait… get me out of this car and into it!

As I rolled into Gunnison I pulled the thought of Hartman Rocks and sunset out of the collective MTB consciousness. Here I was, why not?

There wasn’t much sunset left, but I did catch a few bending rays, and those rays were quite nourishing. Crested Butte Classic 100 started in less than 12 hours. I rolled over to Jefe’s house and had an hour or so to pick his brain on the race, prep a few bottles and crash out next to his drum kit.

Jefe’s wristwatch had been buried since the Colorado Trail Race. It was still programmed for 3am, a ‘reasonable’ start time for a day on the CT. But not for the Classic — we needed to get up early, but not that early. Attempts at falling back asleep failed.

In contrast to the Vapor Trail, where I may have had too much time to prepare, I went into the Classic totally blind. I had an old/wrong GPS track, a vague idea of what the route did, and absolutely no idea how to dress for the freezing temps. When I started losing my feet on the neutral roll out from town, I could only think, “here we go again… why do I keep making the same mistakes… keep putting myself in these situations?”

Crested Butte singletrack quickly silenced all doubts. The start was positively civilized — slowest start I’ve seen in some time. We funneled onto trail and found a little warmth in climbing. I kept it conservative and was happy to float around near the top 10. I rode with race boss Dave Ochs for some time. I say I rode with him, but he actually totally blew me away every time the trail turned downhill — really impressive to see him rail aspen littered corners.

I was pretty much in “sit in” mode through the first loop on Strand and Deer Creek. I knew the cold would likely prevent me from starting a fire, and what can you do without fire in your heart? I do remember thinking several times, “man, I love mountain biking” on Deer Creek, a sure sign that you are racing a quality course.

At the last gate on Deer Creek the rider in front was carefully closing the latch despite the fact that Dave Ochs and I were right there. I saw a cowboy hat and knew what was going on. After going through the gate I smiled at the rancher, which apparently gave him great offense. How dare someone be enjoying themselves on a beautiful Saturday morning?

“Have any one of you ever worked for a living??? Or is all you ever do is PLAY PLAY PLAY??!?!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, and he responded by mocking me further. I never said a word to him, just smiled and laughed. All the while I’m thinking, “your point?” Do you pretend that your way of life is better than anyone else’s? I’m not saying that his hard life is worse or better, either, but I do find it interesting that he has nothing better to do than sit around and attack others.

I was thoroughly amused by the whole scene, not bothered at all. Meanwhile I attacked my fellow PLAY buddies on the first couple pitches of Gothic Road. It spurred a small group to form, and I was able to sit at the back and play sleigh driver as I got pulled into town. I thought myself pretty clever at the time, but it backfired. I was fooled into thinking it was warmer than it was, and at the first return to the cars for resupply I stripped my wind vest.

We’re climbing, right? It’s 9am, getting warm, right? Well, there isn’t much climbing out of town, and the wind cut through me like I wasn’t even there. No fires could be set all the way up to trail 403, and I cursed myself for not fully learning from Vapor Trail mistakes. I felt a few sparks climbing to the top of 401, and it was remarkable how much better my legs felt than when I rode 403/401 with Dave Harris earlier in the summer. And yet I couldn’t go any faster!

Finally, while transitioning to the third lap, the afternoon sun decided to pull its weight. “Oh yeah, I am HOT!!”, I proclaimed aloud, the Corsica my only witness. I pulled off my knee warmers (!) and upon leaving Brick Oven Pizza it was clear something was different. Fires could now be started at will. I passed a couple riders on the way up to the Dyke trail, but at one point tires went two ways and the GPS track went another. I got pretty confused trying to find the Dyke, and ran into Cameron Chambers, who also could not find the trail.

Once we were on the right trail I made a point to catch a bunch of air off the first couple jumps — to prove I was anything but shelled. It was weak psychological tactic, I suppose, and the unintended side effect was that it got me in the jumping and trail dancing mood. Little did I know how much that mood would suit the trail ahead. Dyke was an absolute hoot, and Cameron and I did just that — hoot and holler — as we both ripped it for the first time. During lulls in the action, we chatted about riding in Colorado Springs, Tucson and then we both gradually figured that we knew who the other was, though we had never met.

I got a small gap after an extended hike-a-bike / granny gear session, then worked to widen it through the rest of the rooty and flowy trail. There was no sign of Cameron behind me through the first corners of Kebler Pass, but then there was. I didn’t know how long the climb was, but I had guesstimated a max elevation based on our earlier exit from the Wagon trail on Kebler Pass road. I pedaled hard, and for the first time in the race found some suffering of quality, suffering to get lost in. I was begging for the top to come into view, and after several false summits, I was coasting free. The race ended at the pavement, so I took it easy the rest of the way into town, only to nearly get passed by a singlespeeder who apparently didn’t get the memo. At the pizza place the dude was cooked, and so was I. Thoroughly and blissfully wasted. I walked around in a daze, found Brian Blair, who informed me that Mike Curiak and Lenore were in town, having arrived by bike. Cool! We headed up the hill a bit to find them at their hotel. They had credit card toured over to CB from Marble. The gold leaves were good, but I think Mike was still glowing from his Whistler trip…

It’s a good crew that shows up for this race, and I spent too long chatting and not eating at the Brick Oven. Dave Ochs runs a great show, other underground race organizers could learn a thing or two from him (thinking mostly of myself here). Finally I headed back to Jefe’s place to crash on the floor again. In the morning we walked the dog and ourselves over to breakfast at the Firebrand Cafe. It was cool to get a glimpse into Jefe’s life in Gunni. He’s a rider I have a lot of respect for, and is an inspiration for keeping things simple and doing what you love in life.

I ended up in 15th place, with a finish time of roughly 9 hours 30 minutes. I was also 15th in the Vapor Trail, and I feel both races were pretty mediocre for me. I know I can ride faster, I know I struggled with the cold. But until I come back and prove it, it’s just a theory. Luckily, both were incredibly rewarding in so many other ways. The Crested Butte Classic sure has a lot of fun riding on it.

I made my way to Leadville, and though my legs were empty and sore, it was too hard to resist Lee’s promise of fall color and sweet trail. I mean, I’m in Colorado and it’s prime season — I can rest when I’m dead.

We started from Twin Lakes (above).

There’s gold in them thar hills! This way, this way. Hurry up, Scott!

My legs appreciated the mellow singletrack warmup around the lake, before the real climbing began.

It was not long before our world turned yellow. Above, below,

even the light turned gold.

This is the first piece of Colorado Trail I ever rode, courtesy of Lee some years ago. It’ll always be a favorite, gold aspens or no.

This bit is new and caused some confusion in CTR ’09. The trail was so brilliant and so soft that I suggested nap time. Lee was nestled into a gold cubby before I even finished the suggestion of a nap.

Looking left from the nap spot. I kept getting woken up by floating leaves landing on my face. Life is pretty rough when your biggest care is falling yellow aspen leaves…

It wouldn’t be a Lee ride without a little adventure. We fiddled around on grassy trails and 2 tracks, trying to find our way to the other side of the drainage. It was well worth the effort — the CDT on the south side of the lake(s) is something else. At 6 hours (including nap and ice cream bar at the store mid way) it was quite a satisfying ride. I’m glad I took photos — the brilliance of the trees and crispness of the air were so real that they almost seemed unreal.

The next day we drove to Vail, and the pre-operative craziness began. The folks at the Steadman Clinic are very thorough, but in sum it is enough to leave your head spinning. It was a full day of tests, scans, meetings, forms and logistics.

Sunset behind Mt. Elbert. I had just enough time to squeeze in a 50/50 day/night ride back in Leadville.

I got to stay with Paula right until they wheeled her into the operating room, then they wouldn’t let me watch. I lasted about 5 minutes in the waiting room. I was much less anxious (and had cell coverage) out on the bike.

I’ve never been a big fan of ski resort riding, but the fact that the trails were right there and I was never more than a few minutes (downhill) ride back to the hospital or our hotel room was pretty amazing. No complaints at all.

I managed to ride every day we were there, though it was often only for an hour. Every ride started with… guess… steep climbing. Probably the worst way to recover from the Crested Butte race, but I didn’t care. I needed the break, needed the fresh air, needed the grounding and the sanity that the bike so often brings. It was a pretty intense stay in Vail, with very little sleep and much to do and pay attention to. The husband of the woman who had surgery just hours before Paula totally cracked on the 3rd day of rehab. I overheard him talking to the caregiver that he had just hired for his wife, and felt sorry for the guy.

He must not have been riding through trails like these every day. MTB’ing almost seemed like an afterthought at Vail, with almost no signs and no one out on the trails. I eventually found the goods, and got some confidence and flow going on the steep DH trails. I even had some success climbing the DH trails! Ha!

Our super posh hospital room, after a long night. Uneaten bacon??!

She’s on the move again! She was so happy to be able to crutch around and especially ride the stationary bike (the very next morning after the surgery). We are people that love to move, and the worst thing in the world is having to stay put.

I borrowed a wheelchair from the hospital so I could push her back and forth between the hospital (for rehab) and hotel room. It was great for her to be outside, and we spent most lunches sitting in the sun outside Subway. The weather was so warm it felt like the middle of summer — perfect, really.

The surgery went extremely well, no complications and no extra procedures were required. She is on the fastest track to recovery and is expected to be running again. We were very impressed by Dr. Philipon and his team.

DUCK! Back to Lee’s place in Leadville, the old mining cabin with different height floors and ceilings (thanks for the place to call ‘home’, Lee!). Some middle of the night wakeups and general dopiness meant I slammed my head into that doorway multiple times. D’oh!

I dropped Paula off at the Denver airport. I found her a wheelchair and an employee to escort her, but that was all I could do. I felt like I should be flying with her, but it ended up just fine and it is a quick flight to Tucson. I made my way to Ed and Jeny’s in Evergreen. They set me up for the night and though Ed had to go to work, Jeny kindly offered to go in late so she could show me her mountain.

We rode from their house and quickly hit fun trail. Switchbacks and rocks are the name of the game. She is so smooth around the switchies…

photo by Jeny Meinerz

I got really lucky on the hardest ones. I had to hop on that one the first time, and didn’t think there was any chance I’d make it when she called me back to ride it legit. But it went, somehow.

Beaming with energy. About every thing she says makes you smile. This is her place, and what an incredible place to have so close to home.

Took me a bunch of tries to piece that whole section together. Awesome.

I became a frequent reader of her blog when I saw her posting photos and writing about sessioning techy stuff, both down and (esp.) up. It’s rare to find anyone retrying climbing moves, and even rarer when someone blogs about it. It was a treat to get to ride some challenging trail with her.

I couldn’t stay with her on the descent, she was flying. Even on some sections of the climb she’d say “let me know if you want to go faster.” “Uh, no, I’m barely hanging on as it is.” Jeny fast.

After the ride she went to work and I pointed the Corsica south. Clouds blocked the sun and the buzz from the ride lasted well into New Mexico. I picked up a loaner wheelchair for Paula (thanks Todd!) in Santa Fe, and was home the next day.

What a trip, phew. I had about 48 hours at home before the next adventure began…