My last week in Colorado was a good one. It started with the Vapor Trail (the actual event, not my farce). The daily probability of me starting the event went like this: 0%, 0%, 4%, 10%, 25%, 40% and then finally to “why not?” on Saturday morning. My back/kidneys were feeling “better”, and I didn’t want to miss out on the fun and friends. Besides, the event ends at my house. And it was a good chance to test out different clothing choices. So I made that my main goal — stay warm. I loaded up a bikepacking seat bag with multiple jackets, tights and winter gloves I borrowed from Shawn.
I set up “SPOT shop” at Absolute Bikes, and as people started talking at me from multiple directions I was really happy I wasn’t racing seriously. After several (fun) hours of talking to people and getting everything set up, I pedaled back up home and reminded myself what I was doing — pedaling all night.
photo by Caroline Soong
The best part of the Vapor is the people it attracts. I just lined up randomly, but there’s Kurt, Aaron, Eszter and Kep, all in that photo. I chatted with Kurt for most of the neutral roll, which we did 2 minutes slower than in my ITT. Once it was ‘go’ time, I fell back in the pack and rode as slow as I could make my mind happy with, which wasn’t really that slow. My legs didn’t much like pedaling a big climb, but I figured they’d warm up eventually. I got to ride with both Kep and Cat Morrison for a while. Already I couldn’t stop talking about the moon, and about how you could see the mountains, and the aspen trees, glowing.
Onto the Colorado Trail, a nice relief. The short downhills were enough to rejuvenate the legs, so I started passing a few people.
Until I caught up to Eszter. We had similar goals (lowered expectations racing) and a similar pace. Plus I was able to poach her lights (since I only had AA powered bikepacking lights). It was too fun, blasting through open meadows and wiggling our way through the rocky pitches. It was warmer and more comfortable than my ITT, and night riding just has a special thrill that is hard to describe and easy to forget about until you’re actually out there. Near Raspberry gulch I looked up at what seemed a ghostly mass up ahead. “Look, it’s the cliffs of insanity! Lit up by moon light.”
I downed multiple grilled avocado cheese sandwiches, mixed more carborocket and generally took a nice break at the first aid station. My back had survived the first section of singletrack, and ahead was the ‘cold’ stretch I was looking forward to facing with my arsenal of clothing. I zipped on one of my jackets and pedaled out onto the old railroad grade.
Wow! You can see so much — even the mountains on the other side of the valley. Once on the safer road I switched my lights off completely and snuck up on several riders. I watched one guy’s bobbing headlamp turn into a headlamp in the ditch on the side of the road. “Are you OK?” “Yeah, and now I’m awake too!”
It was a little confusing to me, because it hadn’t even occurred to me that it was the middle of the night. I was wide awake and loving that I could see the world, riding from moonshadow to moonshadow. A few were very dark, almost tempting me to flip on the lights so as not to tumble on a hidden rock.
It was amazing how much difference an additional layer on my core made. My hands and feet were definitely cold at times, but nothing serious and nothing like last year. Every few minutes I’d wiggle the toes on both feet and feeling the warmth was pure happiness. I couldn’t help but giggle or exclaim aloud a few times. Last year the cold and dark was so unfriendly and toxic, now it was comfort and bliss! I wouldn’t change a thing.
I tried my shaky hands at some night shots, but without a tripod, or a real camera, it was hard to get too much. Above are two riders heading to the Alpine Tunnel’s pass, with the moon just above the pass.
One rider stopped in the railroad ties and was opening a package. “Ah, snack time?” “No, hand warmer time.” Oops, I’ve been there before. But not tonight!
I love how the camera still picks up a blue sky with a long (and blurring) exposure. Though the sky was not blue to us, it’s an accurate depiction of the brightness — lucky clouds hanging around to collect moon rays.
If you ever have the chance to ride above treeline with a full moon, do it.
I didn’t go “all in” (all clothes) for the descent down to Quartz Creek. My hands got cold, but it was easy enough to bring them back with a few firm pedal strokes and moments of bike pushing. Amazing.
I babied the singletrack and could feel all over that Canyon Creek wasn’t going to happen for me. I knew I might be tempted to finish the route if I didn’t detour somewhere, and Canyon Creek seemed as good a spot to skip as any. The thought of the upper downhill portion made me a little ill — I just couldn’t conceive of taking the abuse.
So I sat at the turn off to the singletrack, weighing my decision and happy with the success the ride had been so far — I was warm and feeling good. That was good enough. No way I was going to finish without a lot of suffering, and would that make any sense when I had done the route in 14.5 hours a week before?
It was a great spot to spectate the race. A cloud hung to the summit of the hike-a-bike, creating an eerie fog that riders would disappear into as they reached the top. The lights lower down would weave and bob, ever so slowly and painfully. If you sat and concentrated on one, it was almost as if it was making no progress at all. But the lights did make it to the fog, and eventually popped out on the other side.
Midnight snack.
I cheered a dozen or so riders, and made sure they made the Canyon Creek turn, including Kep and Dominic, who was dressed like this:
(photo from later, at Monarch Aid). That’s right, he was descending Tomichi Pass (over 12,000′) at 4am, in September, well below freezing, and he was wearing a tank top. I told him he was nuts, and he responded, “I got too hot on that last climb, so I had to strip a layer.” I’m not sure I would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.
Meanwhile I had been stopped for a good half hour, picking gummy goodness out of my teeth and trying to take photos. I had 4 layers on my core, winter tights, neoprene booties and big gloves — and I was still cold.
craig is ready to head out, but looking tired after a long night
Eventually I rolled down Tomichi Pass, skipping the singletrack, and found Vapor Trail hero Tom Purvis at the “Dave Wiens” aid station. Last year I was too cold to even consider eating anything. But this year the pancakes and sausage hit the spot! I hung out for quite a while, and watched many tired and long faces come a little bit back to life by fire and by pancake.
I climbed Old Monarch on and off with Eszter, just chatting away, and happily feeling some strength left in my legs. She was pedaling remarkably well, and I knew she would finish strong. I debated about riding some of the crest and bailing at that point, but while I could climb, descending scared me. So I called it at Monarch Pass, after watching riders roll in and roll out and get a full on pit crew service by the local high school MTB team.
Riders like Kep, getting a hug from his daughter in this pic. The ride down the highway was mostly downhill and mostly awful. Who knew it was so far? I ended up with 94 miles, though it felt like much less. I also ended up asleep, shortly after watching Jon Davis come scorching into the finish line, almost 45 minutes faster than my ITT effort. That was really cool to see. Watching him limp around with a sore back made me really sympathetic and also really glad I hadn’t continued on the route again! Once was enough.
The BBQ outside my place went on all day as riders finished and hung out. I did miss a few people finishing when I was either asleep or working on the tracker inside. It was fun to see Tom Purvis using the tracker to see where folks were and give updates. Such a great vibe, and great event. Many thanks to Shawn and the Absolute crew for continuing to put it on. I said it last year, but it’s worth saying again: the world needs more events like the Vapor Trail 125.
It became clear that it was time to head back to AZ, but not after tying up a lot of loose ends (a surprising amount) and squeezing a few more rides in — tired and sore back or not!
Coming on the approach of evening, as I often find myself while out riding, I looked down to discover that my Vapor Trail lights were still on my bike (and helmet). Bonus! So I did a couple extra loops and watched the full moon rising.
I heart Salida. And am going to miss it.
Another storm trying to make it to town, but dissipating before it gets there. We did see several good storms in town during the week, though.
Got the Behemoth back rolling in time for a Sand Dunes climb and Unkle Nazty descent.
I’ll miss Colorado, but I am looking forward to AZ’s rocks.
It snowed, significantly, above treeline. Knowing that hot desert days were in my future, I hatched a plan to ride in it, and was able to use peer pressure to con Derrick into it.
It didn’t look so good at the parking lot. An inch of slush lay on the ground with more ‘snain’ coming from the sky.
“If you’re honestly thinking about heading out in that, I think you’re crazy.”
But we did anyway.
And it was slushy and slow, for a while.
Then it broke, and higher up there was less snow (!) and only cold fog, swirling and combining, fighting its way through the mountains.
I loved how completely unpredictable the fog was. I’d watch Derrick disappear and reappear, but couldn’t assign any pattern to it. The fog was generally coming from one side of the divide and curling over, but as it lifted small micro currents and other amazing effects would arise, leading to visibility that seemed truly random. But of course it was not.
Whether stopping just to watch, or riding through it all, it was just one of those special times in the mountains.
We rode to the Fooses Trail (the CT) and then decided it prudent to turn around when it started hailing.
In less than a minute the ground turned white, tiny pellets bouncing off everything!
It was cold for a minute, but the excitement of the trail was more than enough to counter it. The crest is super fun backwards — and besides all the neato effects and feelings, the weather also meant the trail was completely empty. Perfect for ripping back down to Monarch Pass!
I hemmed and hawed about hitting my last remaining riding goal for the summer — downhill mountain biking at Winter Park. Mike and I had been talking about it through the week, and he and Skippy finally committed to Friday as the day. My time at Winter Park last summer was so incredible and changed the way I ride so much that I just couldn’t resist, even though I knew my body probably wasn’t ready for it.
Up the lift we go. This time I went full armor, and was happy that it didn’t give me any false confidence.
I gained all the confidence I needed just following Mike and Skip. They’ve stepped up their game significantly since last summer, and after the first run I was convinced that I just couldn’t do it any more and would have to let them ‘go’. But it quickly came back, and I realized I needed to start hitting the transitions purely out of self-preservation! It’s so easy and effortless once you start hitting everything ‘right.’
I couldn’t believe how much air time I was getting on some of the jumps. More than I’ve ever experienced on a bike before! Just set your speed behind Mike and imitate as best you can. He was kind enough to do that with me on the drops of “No Quarter”, which I probably would not have ridden alone. Then he let me follow him on the wooden Camel “double” and it was amazing how easy it was to jump from one ‘hump’ to the other. Then, I followed him on the mega G-force inducing ramp near the bottom. I was in the air so long that I could hear Skip’s tires hitting the ramp behind me before I hit the ground. Awesome! Mike would yell at me “no brakes” as we’d rip around the big berms of Rainmaker. Eventually I got enough confidence to heed that command, and sure enough if you can convince yourself to do that, you have the speed necessary to hit the transition on the next jump.
Fatigue did set in, but never any noticeable back pain. I thought I was good to go, as we kept hitting it and I got smoother and smoother and more and more confident. It’s addicting. It was a little scary how quickly I seemed to be picking it up, and how I was *almost* able to hang with them — they even got me to lead several times and didn’t seem too bothered by going a little slower. I only had one bad landing, where my front tire didn’t get much lift, and I landed nose first and nearly on the lip above the transition. I slowed down for the rest of that run, big time.
Overall I learned a lot, and the experience was so intense that I absolutely could not fall asleep the night after, despite being totally wiped. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the bottoms of jumps that look like walls, and are moving at me ALL TOO FAST. Or I’d see the G-force ramp, or the top of the wooden drops on No Quarter. Livin’, yep. Once my mind gave up processing the deep adrenaline, I did sleep well, at 10,000′ and in Lee’s Cabin. It was great to get to spent a little time hanging out in Club Lead, which was another thing I hadn’t done yet this summer (though I did get to do some awesome rides with Lee, like Pikes Peak).
My back muscles were extremely tight and sore the next morning, which was sort of surprising, and sort of not. Apparently I can’t use pain as a guide while out riding, because something else is going on. The price was high, but well worth it for the experience of riding Winter Park, on a big bike (loaner Lunchbox thanks to Mike!) and with amazing company — riders you trust and are willing to help you learn.
I loaded up the Corsica for what will hopefully be its final voyage (from Colorado) and hit the road.
Thanks for the great summer, Salida.
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