Courage Classic

Once again, thank you all for your kind and generous support for our Children’s Hospital fund-raising efforts. We had a goal to raise $2,000 for the Hospital, and as of yesterday we were at $1,943! I never thought we would get even that close; you all have far outstripped my expectations and I am honored and humbled to have such fine and generous friends. Thanks. And apparently you can still contribute until the end of August (I thought we were done after the ride) so, if you are interested in helping us get that last $57, then feel free to click either of the links below and make a tax-deductible donation on our behalf. Thanks again.


http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste

OR

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

But at any rate, the big ride is actually over; it’s been over for over a week now, I’ve been remiss in writing a follow-up, so I’m here to right all wrongs and write about all the thrills, spills, and chills of the Courage Classic Weekend.

And I sort of wish there were more spills to write about. If you know my style, you know that I prefer to write about misadventures and things gone wrong, more than writing about when things go well. You know, happy bike rides are all alike; every unhappy bike ride is unhappy in its own way. Thank you, Tolstoy. Anna Karenina as an allegory about cycling. Of course Tolstoy’s implication is that one really only needs to write one story, if that, about a successful Courage Classic venture, and be done with it. And sadly for my blog, but happily for me, on the whole the bike trip was a grand success. But I’ll see if I can’t tart it up a bit nonetheless. We rode 200 miles over three days, over several classic Colorado mountain passes, in beautiful weather and with great friends. But I think I can cherry-pick some of the unexpected mishaps and make this narrative at least somewhat entertaining for both myself and you all. But alas, no one threw themselves under a train, so right away I’m playing from behind.


As mentioned, the “Classic” took place over three days. Although we stayed in Copper Mountain for the duration, the first day’s ride started in Leadville on Saturday. This necessitated us driving over Fremont pass early in the morning, with bikes in tow, to get to the official start of the ride. We would leave our truck in Leadville all weekend, and ride back from Copper to get it on Monday. So basically this meant that we had to ride back to Copper from Leadville on the first day. These two towns are only about 25 miles apart from one another, but the Classic elects to take a longer route betwixt the two, summiting Tennessee pass between Leadville and Minturn, and Vail pass between Vail and Copper. It was a ride of 58 miles and 4,000 feet of climbing, half of which would be on the Vail pass climb at the hot, sticky end of the day. Vail pass. This could be the chance for disaster I’d been craving. I did ride it just a few weeks prior after competing in the Vail hill climb, but I had a delightful tailwind that day, and was, even after running a 7 mile race, fresher than I would be on this day so I anticipated glorious struggle ahead.



There are probably 2,000 riders in this event, but they don’t all start at the same time – too bad, actually, another missed opportunity for mayhem and chaos. Our little team started the ride at the tail end of the recommended “start window”, which ended at 9:00 am. I think we started at 8:45 am. As the weather was beautiful with very little chance for rain, we figured there was no point in starting early when it was cold. Biking seems to turn me into an instant wuss, particularly in such matters relating to cold temperatures, so I was more than happy to start as late as possible on this day.

No one can accuse the Courage Classic of saving the best for last; the first 20 miles of the ride are arguably the best of the entire course. Any rider who has been will tell you that Tennessee pass is an absolute treasure. Gorgeous scenery, smooth pavement, steady grades, light traffic, great weather; to steal from baseball, it’s a 5-tool road. I was enjoying my day and riding nice and easy when I came up behind two girls who were singing “Don’t stop believing, hold on to that feeling…”, just as I passed them. Without missing a beat, I sang back “Street-light, people-whoah-oh-oooooh!” and just kept going. Celeste and I sing that song all the time, it was pretty surprising and rather awesome to hear some other girls singing the same song and having fun.

Aaah, but that’s too nice. Couldn’t something have gone wrong here? Oh yes, now I remember. As mentioned, the route climbed to the top of Tennessee Pass, and then revealed a long descent to Redcliff, before a short climb up Red Mountain and a steep descent into Minturn. Our team hung together to the top of the pass, and then we all took the descent at our own pace. My teammates Tim and Tony quickly got ahead of me on the way down, as they are much better riders than am I. But I can climb faster than they can. By the time I got to the base of Red Mountain climb I could no longer see them but I thought I would get out of the saddle and see if I couldn’t reel them in nonetheless. Tony I was able to catch part way up the hill, which gave me hope that I could catch Tim as well. Alas, as soon as I put in a really hard effort, or perhaps because, I slipped my chain as I tried to shift into a higher gear. Tim was out of reach as a result. Actually I think he was out of reach regardless, but I can blame the chain. Quite embarrassing, really.


Red Mountain successfully navigated, we all descended into Minturn, hit the eagle river at the lowest point of the weekend at about 8,000 feet of elevation, and started heading back up the Vail valley to the pass. The Classic provides a lunch stop here so we all stopped and took a long and leisurely break. Last year we ate too much at this lavishly appointed lunch stop, so I tried to reign in my deep-seated instinct to eat everything in sight, and opted for a PB&J sandwich, some chips, and some fruit, and a coke. And a cookie. And potato soup. Oh I give up. As we were wrapping up we ran into our friends The Cycling Amers. The Amers are family friends of Tim and Brian from Santa Fe, and they are crazy-good cyclists. Daughter Tess is a competitive triathlete for the University of Colorado, but all of them are amazing riders. The Amers pulled out of the lunch stop just ahead of Tim and I, and I asked Tim if he’d be interested in riding with them through Vail, at least. He was up for the challenge so we put in a little effort and caught up, and rode through Vail in a little pack up the valley, which was delightful. Delightfully boring, you might add. Not to worry; I’m setting something up here.


Vail pass proper is a funny sort of climb. Because, you know, all flat rides are exactly alike, but every hill climb is hilly in its own way. It starts out with a ridiculous pitch, then levels out a bit, then even has a slight downhill section as it crosses under the interstate about 2/3 of the way up the climb. Then the route becomes insanely steep again, before mellowing out ever-so-slightly at the finish.


The initial pitch completely blew up our group, and I found myself chasing Tess’ dad, her brother, and her boyfriend up the hill all on my own. Those three animals ate up vertical like a bear ransacking a cooler full of cheese, and it was all I could do to keep up. Somewhere along the way my little brain blew a fuse, and I decided that I would do everything in my power to keep up with these dudes who were clearly out of my league. Aaah, the competitive spirit comes out at last! I was able to stick to them through that little under-the-interstate downhill bit, but on the near-vertical pitch directly following that bit they started to pull away, ever so slowly. I was broken! But not completely. I kept them in sight and kept pushing. And I had the advantage of knowing that the course does, in fact, mellow out a bit towards the top. I don’t think they knew exactly where the top was, so I perceived that they were starting to ease up a bit as they neared the final pitch. I put in a stupid, drooling, bug-eyed effort and got pretty close to them at the top. Holy crap that was difficult and pointless! I realized then that this is how I would spend the rest of the weekend. Totally sandbagging it on the flats and downhills, and hitting the hills as hard as possible. Why? I seriously have no idea. I like hills? Do what you like.

At the top of the pass the Amers gathered together and then all took off while I waited for my team, and got a free bike tune at the summit (see chain, falling off all the freaking time, above), which was pretty sweet, and actually quite necessary. Team Ziggy thusly congregated, we all started down the East side of the pass to Copper, but were quickly stopped before we could enter the bike path that winds its way down to the resort between the twin strands of interstate. Apparently there had been a collision on the path, and that had snarled up traffic, much less busted up one or more riders, so they were only letting us down the path in small groups. This situation took a little wind out of our sails as we cruised on back to Copper, but I didn’t see any carnage on the trail so hopefully it wasn’t that bad and everyone involved was ok.

That evening we all enjoyed beers and pasta and hot tubbing, and I cut a striking figure in my newly-acquired bike “tan”. More like a bike burn, really. I swear I put on sun screen, it must have sweated off during the day. Ouch. So day one carnage consisted of bike chain slip-age, Vail pass drool-age, and bike tan burn-age. Not Tolstoy-esque, but not bad with a little embellishment.

Sunday was the big day. Tim and I got out of the condo early, as we were the only two who had aspirations on taking on the big 100-mile ride that day. The others, sensibly, slept in and opted for the 50 mile (I think?) option. Tim and I were in the saddle at 7:04 am Sunday, nearly two hours earlier than the day before. The “century” (actually only about 94 miles I think? Whatev, close enough) starts out with a mellow ride down the bike path from Copper to Frisco. Just mellow enough where you don’t really need to pedal. A situation that did me no favors as I was freezing in the shade of the canyon on that initial drop. We started to warm up when we made it to relatively sunny and therefore relatively balmy Frisco, and then Silverthorne. But I didn’t remove my jacket until about 25 miles into the ride as we stopped at the base of Ute Pass.



Ute Pass is another funny sort of climb, isn’t it? Aren’t they all, Tolstoy? Funny in what way, you ask? Well for starters unless you are a miner of molybdenum, Ute pass really doesn’t take you anywhere. A real road to nowhere, Mr. Byrne. Secondly, the road is in such good shape as to seem unreal. The grade is steep, but consistent, and the pavement is pristine, black, smooth, banked in the corners and gleaming without traffic, a delightful side-effect of the not so delightful gigantic mine hidden away on the other side of the pass. As Tim and I climbed towards the pass we salivated at the thought of returning down this beautiful road. Well, I may have been drooling, not salivating exactly, but we were excited nonetheless.

And the descent did not disappoint. Neither did the views form the pass at the snow-capped and spear-tipped legion of the Gore range to our west, the same mountains I spied from the other side with furtive glances from the Vail valley floor the previous day. It was fun to think I had come so far, all under my own pedal power. But this view was not spied, furtively or otherwise, as we sped back down to the valley floor on this most perfect of mountain roads. I’m such a tentative downhill rider but on this stretch of asphalt I was able to release the brakes more than usual, and enjoy a (for me) screaming, barreling, tear-inducing descent back to the blue river valley. Quite frankly it was altogether too fun for this narrative, as I’m trying so hard to wring out the tension and drama from this weekend. But it was pretty awesome at the time, I won’t lie.



Speaking of time, Tim and I felt like we were under the gun a bit on Sunday, as the weather forecast called for a 40% chance of rain that day. I have always wondered if “40% chance of rain” means that the entire area of weather prediction has a 40% chance of getting rained upon during the day, or if instead 40% of the area of prediction has 100% chance of getting rained upon, or if 40% of the area has a 40% chance of being rained upon for 40% of the day? I know it logically means the first clarification, but I amused myself by thinking that since Tim and I were essentially covering the entire area of prediction that day, that being the length and breadth of Summit County, then my chances of hitting some of the “40% area”, however interpreted, were pretty high indeed.


The previous year when Celeste and I rode this same route we did get drenched on the final 15 miles of the ride, and I was not eager to repeat that experience, so Tim and I tried to keep up our pace and out run the predicted afternoon storms. We had what we thought were two more climbs left in our day; a soul-sucking climb from the “mountain shopping experience” of Silverthorne-Dillon to Keystone on a busy highway (where have you gone, Tennessee Pass, a courage classic turns its lonely eyes to you-ou-ou-ou), and the much more pleasant – scenery-wise, at any rate – climb up sawn mountain between Keystone and Breckenridge. As was my mode this year, I kicked it into big-jerk competitive mode on the climbs, and rested on the flatter bits. Our route included an out-and-back to Breckenridge where we finally, 80 miles into our ride, had a sponsored lunch stop. We were both getting pretty tired by then but had avoided getting wet, at least, so although my neck, knees and back were starting to complain about so much time on the bike, we were feeling rather chuffed as we coasted into the parking lot where lunch was served.


Happily for you all, my long-suffering readers, I would soon have something to complain about. This is because I now proceeded to make the near fatal mistake of gorging myself at the lunch stop on room-temperature Asian stir fry, chips, coke, and cookies. Here we go again. The chips, cookies and coke actually were not so bad, but a simple PB&J would have been far and away the superior choice, and that staple was an option. But I was so impressed that the Courage Classic would even attempt to roll out such an exotic spread that I just had to reward their culinary verve with a Gore-range monument of almost-warm vegetable fried rice and young vegetables stewing in cool brown sauce. Yes it was quite nearly as delicious as described. I had a much easier time circumnavigating that mountain of food than I did the actual mountain range that somehow inspired this tacky monument of gluttony. Objectively speaking the food was not good, well, the cookie was good, but after riding 80 miles I laid waste to that quivering plate like a Barbarian horde of One. After pillaging my tender and defenseless Chinese vegetables, my victory was completely satisfying initially, but ultimately pyrrhic in nature. Alas my careless aggression at the buffet table would haunt me for the next, oh, 16 hours or so, and make me persona non grata of the team during that span, not to put too fine a point on it. Now that’s how we wring out the drama!

So lunch was in Breckenridge, but dinner was in Copper, so Tim and I had to saddle up and finish the ride before we could call the day a complete success. Judging from the course profile the span between Breckenridge and Copper looked to be flat, which was encouraging. It was not flat. At least 90 miles into the day what normally might have felt flat felt like another mountain climb. Tim led out and I tried to hang on to his wheel on the pretty and scenic bike path between Frisco and Copper on the final 7 miles of the day. Back, knees and neck were now joined by stomach in a chorus of complaint, led by my legs, which were conducting a symphony which seemed less like an ode to joy, and more like a dirge, if not a full requiem of fatigue. And somehow I had to get up and do this again tomorrow? I marveled at the endurance and stamina of Tour de France riders as the pitch began to finally truly flatten out as we entered the vale of Copper Mountain to finally conclude day number two. 150 miles in the bag, and another 50 to go. And my bike tan was looking even more dramatic, thus proving that not all suffering is in vain.


As Monday morning dawned, I enjoyed a sensible and bland breakfast of toast and vanilla yogurt, and the team, once again together after splitting up on our separate quests of day 2, started en masse on the route back to Leadville from Copper. It was at this point that teammate Chryss became the lucky recipient of our one and only flat tire of the weekend, not even out of Copper Mountain resort proper.


Happy to have that bit of tradition out of the way, we then made the turn towards Leadville, passing by the “A” lift ski runs at Copper along the way. I gave “Far East” a salute as we rode by its grassy green summer ribbon. Far East is one of my all-time favorite ski runs with its broken fall lines and enormous moguls. Of course this being summer the moguls were absent, but I mused to myself about when I was maybe 7 years old, and thought that the ski areas created moguls by piling up dirt into malicious mounds in the summer months, for the snow to collect upon in perfect piles during the winter. I had no idea that they were created by the action of skiers themselves until I was older. But as we rode by I reminisced about all the times, 30+ years’ worth of times, I suppose, that I’d set off down that particular ski run that has always been there to give me a challenge.

far east on the far left of the photo

Riding by that ski slope made me appreciate that I have been fortunate enough to have been able to ski that particular run for so many years. And appreciate, in a more abstract sense, that there are places out there that I can come back to, year after year. I’m all for novelty, and trying new things, but there is something also rewarding in being able to mark the span of years by coming back to a place more or less physically unchanged over time. It’s not home, it’s even better in some ways. After a certain point you really can’t go home again, (to paraphrase Thomas Wolfe, or was it Tolstoy? I’m giving it to Tolstoy. To heck with Wolfe.), because home really does change on you. But you can always go to the Far East.

And I began to consider that this event, the Courage Classic, might start to become one of those events for me. This was the second year of our participation in this event, and we all talked about doing it again in 2012. Of course this was before we hit the main pitch of Fremont pass. Fremont pass separated us from Leadville, and us from our truck, so there really was nothing to do but climb to its mine-scarred 11,000 feet summit. Thank you, molybdenum. Last year Celeste and I rode this together and we sang Journey all the way up. This year I was all business and dispensed with the singing, I think Celeste was singing though. I should have been singing, I think, and I was reprimanded by the Courage Classic spirits in the form of having my chain fall off again, just before attaining the summit. Note to self; next year less grunting, more singing.

Now once again the towns of Copper Mountain and Leadville are only something like 25 miles apart from one another (albeit separated by Fremont pass), but the bike route elected to take us on a scenic circumnavigation of Turquoise lake to pad our ride to something along the lines of 45 miles for the day. Well it’s a lake, how much climbing can there be? Quite a bit, as it turned out. My legs were pretty fatigued from the previous two days’ worth of riding, much less from good old Fremont pass, so I thought I would just take it easy on the final climbs of the weekend and enjoy the rest of my ride at a sedate pace. That attitude lasted for about 5 minutes, and then I was back to my old drooling self as I bested the numerous false-summits towards the high point of the road at the back of the lake. Young habits die hard.

We ran into the Cycling Amers again on the back side of Turquoise lake, they had started their ride from Breckenridge that day and actually had no ride home from Leadville, but didn’t seem too concerned about taking Fremont pass back to Copper and Summit county. Animals. As for us, after a long slog back to Leadville after the lake, we concluded our ride in good form at the Leadville High School. We laid waste to yet another lunch buffet – portabella mushroom burgers this time, no stir fry, thank goodness – and swapped stories and made promises to do it again next year.

So there you have it, our second courage classic successfully navigated, with an eye towards doing it again next year. If you’re interested in joining our team, let me know! My only requirement is that you like to sing. And don’t mind a little drool.

Triple D

One final update before we head up to the mountains tomorrow in advance of the Courage Classic this weekend!  First and foremost, the stats:  Celeste and I are now at $1,420 raised for Children’s Hospital, thank you all so very much for your generosity!  We are still reaching for that elusive goal of $2,000, so if you’re still considering making a donation on our behalf, you have another day.  Once again for your convenience, here are the links:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

After Sunday’s trail running adventure, my legs felt a bit tired, but I wanted to participate in one last crazy adventure before the ride.  Luckily Dan Porter and the good folks at Your Group Ride had just the thing; a bicycle time-trial up and around the horsetooth hills west of town.  They call it the "DDD TT".  The Triple D.  I know what you're thinking.  That's right.  The Triple Deuce.  the long-awaited follow-up to the cinematic masterpiece "Roadhouse", which takes place at the Double Deuce. 

"hey, mijo"

(note that I just found out that there was indeed a sequel to "Roadhouse".  Yikes.  Probably not as good as Godfather 2.)  But alas, DDD TT stands in this case for the "Double Damn Dams Time Trial".  The DDD TT is a 12 mile ride along the Horsetooth Reservoir road (hence the "Dams"), out and back (hence the "Double"), featuring lots of hills (hence the "Damn").  Perfect. 

Now mind you these are roughly the same people that hosted the team training ride the previous Wednesday, so I knew I’d be riding against some pretty talented riders.  I couldn't hang with them last week, so what the heck was I doing here?  But this ride had the advantage (for me) of only being 12 miles long, and being very hilly.  I like hills, it’s the flat stuff I have a problem with.  So I paid my $10 entry fee (bike racing fees are delightfully cheaper than running race fees!) and signed up.  There was a spot for “team name” on the entry form.  This was of course supposed to be for your bike team.  Lacking a proper bike team to call my own, I could have left the spot blank but I decided to give a shout-out to my courage classic team, so I filled in “Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars”.

For the rest of the day leading up to the race I was vaguely regretting my decision.  I participated in another of Jeanie’s insane boot-camp workouts that morning so my legs were not fresh at all.  I did not relish the thought of being dead last, I felt like I should try nonetheless.  Besides, I felt a little like an ambassador from the Trail Runners to the Bike Riders.  Again, it's important to go and do things outside of your comfort zone.  Mission accomplished.

Jimmy Dan was there, and showed me where to pin my re-usable number (they expect me to do more races, I presume?  Ok then!).  As usual these days, the sky was filled with thunderous, murderous intent, with bands of rain to the north, and a particularly malevolent looking storm approaching from the south.  This set me on edge as I awaited my start.  The route we were to race featured by my count 4 distinct steep climbs, each over 10% grade I think, and 3 harrowing descents.  One hill in particular unnerved me; the North Dam.  This hill is a straight shot down the east side of the north dam of Horsetooth.  I think some of the other hills actually have steeper sections, but none of them match the North Dam’s sustained difficulty and pitch.  Compounding this was the very real possibility that we might get rained on, and the road might be wet during the descent of this hill.

A wee bit blustry before the start, eh Jimmy?

But it wasn’t raining at the start, so off I went at my appointed time.  Since this was a time trial, riders went off at 30 second intervals.  I was placed about half-way through the field, so I had riders in front of me I could mark, and I knew that there would be riders behind me trying to catch up to me.  Both of these conditions I found to be quite motivating, and I really started to push it up the first two hills as a result.  Although I think this is not proper cycling form, I pretty much stood up out of the saddle for the entirety of all the significant climbs.  I figured that standing up would allow me to make better use of my trail running muscles, but I knew I would go anaerobic pretty quickly doing that.  Whatever, if I go down, I’m going down big.

I couldn’t believe how hard I was pushing my pace on the climbs, and even on the descents.  I guess paying $10 and being in a competition really brought out the best of effort in me.  I loved it.  At least until I reached the crest of North Dam hill.  The route was such that we went down North Dam, rode almost to Bellevue, and then went back up North Dam.  And North Dam was wet.  It wasn’t raining at the moment, but a squall had just passed through, and the road was freshly glossed with summer rain.  This set me completely on edge as I coasted down the hill, as a straight arrow probably approaching 40 miles per hour – and that with applying the brakes now and then.  I’m sure braver riders regularly hit 50 or more on this hill.  The bottom of the hill features a turn to the right, which I was dreading down to my now-wet shoes.  But before I could get too worked up in anticipation, I was upon the turn.  I tapped the brakes a few more times and cautiously banked into it.  The tires held.  Of course now I’d lost all my momentum and had to crank it up to get back up to speed, but I survived the hill.

After a fairly comical U-turn on the road (thank you Marcel for volunteering and directing traffic!), I turned around and started the gradual approach back to North Dam hill.  It was fun to see the other riders who had started after me coming down the same stretch of road, and we waved to each other and offered encouragement.  As I got back to the base of the North Dam hill proper I got passed by one of those riders.  I had already been passed by one or two others as well by this point, but that didn’t really bother me.  But after getting passed on the North Dam I decided to really put in the effort and try to mark this guy up the hill.  I was fairly successful, too, until I crested the hill and attempted to switch back to my big gear; then my chain fell off!  Oh what a bother.  I really need a tune-up.  So I stopped, got off, offered a few choice words to the ether, slipped the chain back on, and continued on.

After cresting North dam there was a long, gradual climb to the top of “monster” hill, then another steep descent featuring a sharp left-hand turn that exposed a precipitous drop over a guardrail into Horsetooth Reservior, and then one final climb up “maniac” hill.  The race didn’t finish down at the stadium where we started, it finished uphill, just like a real mountain stage!  It was pretty fun.  The clouds continued to build from the south, but the rain held off, and I gave all I had on the final climb.  I think I may have even drooled a little. 

The gang at the finish.  The gentleman in black competed on a fixed-gear single-speed.  Now that's crazy.

Yeah I've got a number on and everything.  It's legit.

Celeste makes fun of me for being so competitive, but it draws out the best in me.  I would never push it that hard on these hills if I wasn’t participating in some sort of competition on them.  I would never know what I was capable of.  I managed to finish somewhere in the middle of the pack on the ride, which I was very happy about.  I think I know my strengths, or strength; hills.  Bring ‘em on.

Now the courage classic is not a competition, it’s a charity ride.  I’ll try very hard not to treat it as a competition.  Quite frankly I find it to be bad form to treat a charity ride as a competition.  No one cares if you’re riding at the front of the pack on a charity ride, you kind of look like a jerk doing that, actually.  But I think I’m ready for the event, and I’m really looking forward to all the climbs that this event has to offer.  So once again and once and for all, thank you all for your support, and for reading along with the blog, and I’ll try to fire off an update this weekend while we’re up there riding and having fun.  Thanks!

Ziggy Played Guitaaaaaaah!

Two Towers

Or three towers, or four, aach, who’s counting.  We’ll get to the towers momentarily.  First, the much-anticipated update regarding our Courage Classic Children’s Hospital fund-raising:

Oh yes, we are now north of $1,000 raised for Children’s Hospital, checking in this afternoon at $1,255.  We have until this Friday, I believe, to try to raise the remainder.  So if you’re considering donating to our ride on our behalf, please click one of the links below, thank you!

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Last we left off, I was getting my shorts handed to me at the local Fort Collins Cycling Team weekly battle royale, which left me rather stunned and impressed.  As an aside, those of you who have seen my biking shorts lately will be happy to know that they have been retired and replaced.  I’ll say no more on that subject, other than to say that many of my trail running friends have been recently scarred by the sight of me bounding up hills in my far-too-old-and-baggy bike shorts.  You’re welcome, Fort Collins.  Where was I?  Oh yes, the team bike ride also took me within view of Towers, the Fort Collins Trail Runners bi-weekly group handicapped time trial excursion.  And lo and behold, the next day (last Thursday) was another Towers run, so just like two weeks ago, I found myself back on the bike and riding the same hills I rode the previous day, but in reverse direction, to get to towers after work.  My legs were plenty tired from the beating they took the previous night, but the weather looked good on a Thursday for once, and I wanted to get some more riding in but still run towers with my gang, so I did both activities once again (hence the sight of me running up towers in my bike shorts).  And I managed to stay dry, at least!

And I was rewarded with a golden sunset from the south dam on my ride home.  That's the "tooth" on the high point of the ridge there, and towers a bit to the right of that.

My legs felt fairly tired trudging up the hill but not overly so.  I have been wondering lately how much cross-over there is between running and cycling.  You know, does riding help one’s running and/or vice versa?  I’m certain that there are good cardiovascular benefits to doing both activities that translate across, but I can’t shake a suspicion that running only builds cycling strength to a point.  In fact in certain situations running may actually be counter-productive to cycling.  Situations like, I don’t know, running up towers.

But we wants towers!  I can’t live without my precious towers.  And I had signed myself up for the Barr Mountain trail run on Sunday at Pikes Peak so I needed some hill climbing practice.  I had entered this particular running race long before I committed to the courage classic.  The intent was to run Barr Mountain as preparation to running the Pikes Peak ascent in August, since it occurs on the same course.  Basically Barr Mountain is the lower half of the Pike Peak marathon course.  Barr sports about 3,600 feet of climbing – and descending -- in about 12.5 miles of running, round trip.  Our local Towers route, mind you, is about 1,650 feet and 6.8 miles.  So Barr Mountain can quite rightly be considered to be, wait for it, about Two Towers worth of running.  Barr trail even sports a tunnel with what I must assume to be a giant arachnid lurking in its darkest recesses.  Quite coincidentally, Celeste and I have been picking our way through the Two Towers DVD over the past week or so.  It’s all towers, all the time with me. 

 

But the affect of the Barr trail race, this weekend, aside from encouraging me to indulge in some of my favorite towers-related activities (luckily I had no access to mashed potatoes with which I could have made a giant replica of Devil’s tower), was to keep me off the bike all weekend.  Not good Courage Classic preparation, I know.  I got in some riding Friday, mostly my 10 mile work commute plus a few odd-additional miles around town, but no cycling at all on Saturday or Sunday.  No cycling Saturday because I knew I had the running race Sunday, and no riding Sunday because quite frankly I was altogether knackered after running Barr.

And I needed all the rest I could get, for after the twin virtual charley-horse of last Wednesday and Thursday my legs were sore!  On Friday my legs were completely shot.  On Saturday they were marginally better, but I didn’t like my chances for Sunday’s race one bit, even after I was informed by Nick that the field this year was “soft”, and that I was capable of a top-5 finish.  Jeez, no pressure.

Now earlier in this post I had speculated here that it is possible that running does not necessarily help one’s cycling, other than to a point.  But is the opposite true?  Does cycling help one’s running?  Again, noting the obvious cardio benefits, I think we may be on to something here.  For starters, cycling is far less damaging to the body than is running, even trail running.  Provided there are no accidents, obviously.  As I get older I may find that I need to cycle more just for that reason alone.  And while there’s nothing to replace experience gained by running, but I think maybe, just maybe, hill-climbing strength gained by climbing hills on a bicycle may translate better to running up hills.  In the past four weeks, since I ran my first 50 mile race in Wyoming in June, my weekly running totals have dropped noticeably, with the extra training time filled in by more cycling, of course.  In the past four weeks I’ve ran an average of about 27 miles per week.  This is lower than my average for the year so far by about 20 miles per week, so I’m running about 60% of my usual mileage this past month.  Believe me, it’s good that I’m getting a bit of a breather on the miles, actually.  I’ve been enjoying the bike riding and although clearly I’m not as accomplished on the bike as I am on foot, I still like doing it and I suspect I’ll improve if I stick with it some more.  Which I am happy to do if I find that it does not diminish my running ability, of course!

Which finally brings us to the Barr Mountain trail race.  Noting that my weekly running mileage had been dropping, I was a little concerned that I would have some difficulty on the race.  I mean, there’s always difficulty on a mountain trail race, it’s a freaking mountain after all.  I suppose I was concerned about abnormal or extraordinary difficulties on the race.

So I was a little more amped up than usual waiting around the starting line with Celeste and Brian, with whom I had carpooled from the Fort that morning.  Adding to my sense of apprehension was the fact that my gps watch had lost all of its battery charge, so I was flying blind today.  Not that it mattered all that much, because I had as usual failed to study the course or determine any time goals whatsoever.  Nick suggested I try to beat his time up the hill (64 minutes), which seemed like a good plan, but other than that I was just going to try to put in a hard effort and see what happened.

I am the little speck of green on the far far right

The Barr trail race is a funny sort of race.  Like the Pikes Peak marathon, it starts on the pavement of Manitou Springs, and then attains the actual Barr trail a mile or so into the race.  The first section of the Barr trail, called the “W’s”, is rather steep and narrow, and it is difficult to pass slower runners on this section of the trail.  My legs felt a bit heavy and sluggish on the first mile leading up to the “W’s”, but they started to come around and I felt pretty good after that.  I was able to pass a few other runners who had perhaps been a little too aggressive at the start, but I really had no idea how I was doing relative to the field as a whole.  Since the race is an out-and-back, as I approached the turnaround point I was able to count runners as they came at me in the other direction.  I was happily surprised to discover that I was in 15^th place at the turn-around point.  Not 5^th, mind you, but it had a 5 in it! 

I am a better uphill runner than downhill runner, but I tried to hold on to my position on the downhill by really extending my stride and keeping the effort honest.  I find that I tend to relax too much on downhill grades and this always costs me in races.  And today was no exception!  I thought I was pushing the downhill, but I got passed rather quickly by a gentleman who was shorter than I, but somehow appeared to have a stride that was three times the span of mine.  Then I was passed by a younger guy, who looked familiar to me, and turned out was Nick’s second favorite pacer, the remarkably talented Brendan Trimboli.  Who is Nick's favorite pacer, you might ask? Why it's Scott, of course; Scott Jamie, that is.

I was then passed by another gentleman, Brad Poppele (2:42 marathoner), who as it happened was in my age group, and by passing me beat me out of a free pair of shoes, and $50!  Big props to Brad, and note to self, run faster next time!  Also near the end I was passed by the 3^rd place female runner, Brandy Erholtz, who unknown to me at the time was the two time defending Women's champ and course record holder for this race, and two-time U.S. Mountain Runner of the Year (2008, 2009), and all around general bad-ass.  Note that one of the unwritten rules for running this race is that you must have a blog.  Anyway, Brandy passed me at the last aid station with about 1.5 miles to go, but I marked her pretty well after that until the final three blocks, which featured a very nasty and steep uphill slog to the finish line.  Finally, some uphill. 

Noting that I’m a better uphill runner than downhill runner, I found myself quickly catching up to, and then passing Brandy.  I felt rather like a jerk, passing her back, so I tried to be a gentleman about it and urged her to pick it up and finish with me.  What I think I said as I passed her was “Come on, let’s do this”, but those of you who have heard me “speaking” at the end of a race know that what came out of my mouth was more along the lines of “sghheoeor wraauuah ruuuurha”.  Likely for that reason she declined to come with me up and around the corner to the finish.  I crossed the line in 1:56:15, arms in the air and all that, happy to come in under 2 hours just because that sounds cool.  I ended up 18^th place overall, and 2^nd in my age group.  Looking back at the results I had almost reeled in Brad as well, finishing a scant 7 seconds behind him, although I don't really recall seeing him after he passed me and Brandy on the downhill pavement stretch.

Overall the legs felt pretty good, so I was pleased about that, and pleased that all the extra biking and diminished amounts of running do not seem to have taken too much off my running results.  Come to think of it, I think I was a gentlmanly 18^th at the Vail hill climb two weeks ago, and a rakishly handsome 14^th at the Bighorn race two weeks prior to that, so I think I have a rough target to shoot for at the Pikes Peak ascent in August.

But before that there is the little matter of the Courage Classic, which starts this Saturday.  I may only run once or twice this week, and I have one more special ride planned for Tuesday, but if I’m not ready now than I won’t be ready on Saturday.  I think I’m ready, it will be a lot of fun regardless.  Thanks again for following along and donating, we really appreciate it.  I will probably post one more time between now and this weekend, and I’ll try to post something during the ride itself.  Once and finally, the links to donate are here, thank you!

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

If you blew it, don't reject it Just sit drawing up the plans and re-erect it

House of Pain

First an update on our fund-raising efforts for the Courage Classic:  Thanks to you all, Celeste and I have now raised $930 for Denver's Children's Hospital!  Our goal is $2,000, so if you're still considering donating, please feel free to click one of our links below and give a little something to Children's Hospital on our behalf:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Eat a big lunch, I told myself yesterday, you’re going to have to put your big-boy pants on today.  So I horfed down my usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and supplemented that with Monday’s leftover coconut curry stir fry (one of four or five “go to” dinners I can make with some competence, incidentally), hoping the extra calories would help see me through the Pro Velo Fort Collins Cycling Team weekly group ride.

I had asked my friend Dan if there were any “spirited group rides” I could do to get in a tough cycling workout in advance of the Courage Classic, which is how I found myself leaning against my trusty Novara Strada (oh, yes, with a name like “Novara”, it has to be Italian, right?  Right??) with 29 other spandex-clad bean-poles Wednesday after work.  Quite a few of the riders were wearing the local Echelon Energy team  riding kit (expertly modeled by Dan on the web page there), and several others sporting other local bike team apparel.  These were like, real riders, on real bikes.  These guys (and ladies, of which there were 3 I think) actually train and compete on these things.  Oh yes, I was solidly out of my league.

I felt like I was 13 years old again, trying out for my junior high school baseball team (I made the team, backup outfielder, emphasis on the backup part).  Quite frankly I had no business being there, but it was too late to turn back now, and besides, what’s the worst that could happen?  Well seeing as though there were no other 13-year old kids standing around and waiting to point fingers at me and laugh and make fun of my sub-standard hand-eye coordination (what’s the use of being able to run to the ball if you can’t catch the darn thing?), the worst that could happen is that I could get “dropped”.  You see, group biking isn’t like group running.  There’s a huge incentive to stay bunched together in a group, or dare I say, peleton, in order to minimize the affects of wind-resistance.  At running speeds this affect is far less pronounced, so runners don’t typically feel the need to run in a tight-knit group.  Group cycling, on the other hand, is all about the group.  And if you’re not fit enough to hang on to the group, well, you may want to consider going on a solo ride.  I had no idea if I could hang on to this group, advertised as an “opportunity to ride with some of Fort Collins fastest”, but I was going to give it a try all the same.

I think the Decemberists say it best...

I looked around and went through various scenarios of shame and glory in my head.  Worst case; some peroxide-blonde 80s villain jerk takes one look at me and my $750 bike (“but it’s Italian, I swear!” (it's not) ), and declares that I am unfit for the ride, and I slink back to my running friends with tears in my eyes and malice in my heart.  Clearly I’m still stuck on the 1983 team sports memories here.  Only slightly less humiliating; I am allowed to ride with the group, but am quickly dropped by all 29 other riders as they fly away from me in a monolithic fascist peleton, leaving me as the only person who can not keep up.  Somewhat acceptable; I am able to hang on to the back of the pack and actually ride with someone.  Maybe not the lead group, but I am actually involved in the ride.  Better still; I am in the lead group, I am mixing it up, I even take a turn pulling the front of the peleton.  And best of all; I find out that I am the strongest rider of the group, a cycling savant as it were, and they ask me to be their king, and buy me beers and peroxide.

So the ride starts out; so far so good.  We are riding through town, heading towards Loveland via Shields, and there are plenty of stoplights so the group stays together.  I am in the middle of the pack and feeling guardedly optimistic that I won’t get completely dropped.  Mostly I am enjoying doing the cool “watch out for this stuff on the road” hand signals and getting used to riding in close proximity to other cyclists.  South of Harmony there is a 2-mile stretch of road uninterrupted by stoplights and featuring a small hill.  I find that I have to put in a tough effort to keep up, and I’m getting passed by a couple of cyclists, but I make it back to the pack at the light at Trilby.

Then it happens.  The light turns green, and the real ride begins.  Oh.  My. Goodness.  The main group charges out ahead and I am quickly gapped, although I am not last.  We are riding into a headwind and I know that it is critical to find some people to ride with in order to take advantage of drafting.  I start to put in a huge effort, and I manage to catch up to a couple of other cyclists who have also been spit out of the main group.  We take turns pulling each other along and try to make up ground on the lead group, but it’s hopeless.  But I keep trying all the same.  I’m not going to give up without a fight, so I keep pushing.  It’s hot out, I’m sweating like an African zebra being chased by a Tasmanian Devil, my thighs are screaming at me (and this on a relatively flat stretch of road), and I am having trouble keeping up even with my little pack of five.  One of the riders, Ryan, notices my distress and offers that maybe I should “hang on the back” for a bit, meaning I should stop taking turns leading the group.  He’s being nice, and he’s right, but I want to feel like I’m contributing and not just hanging on, so mainly I ignore him.  I’m going down in a blaze of glory, baby.

Our chase group splinters into two groups of 2 and a single rider off the back.  I’m in the middle group of two.  We’re taking turns pulling each other along Highway 34 west of Loveland and glade road.  I can see the lead group of two and I decide I want to try to catch up to them, so I max out my effort once more and reach them where Glade road meets the main Masonville road.  Ryan goes right, towards Masonville, and the other cyclist left, back towards Highway 34.  I follow Ryan to the right, although I later find out the group route was supposed to go left here.  I catch up to Ryan and we catch another rider.  “I’m trashed,” I say as I latch on to this new group of three.  “No problem,” he says, “we’ll catch our breath a bit and then do some short pulls.”  You know, these cyclists are really nice.  Very few of them are even blonde.  It’s encouraging.  It’s all I can do to keep up with my little group of three, but I take my turns leading the pack all the same.  If I’m going to participate in the ride I am going to work my share.

Our little group makes it to Masonville and as we begin the climb to Horsetooth Mountain Park I realize that I am completely shot.  I have no energy for this relatively minor climb, having spent all of my strength trying to keep up with these spandex-clad crazies on the flats.  My two partners quickly leave me behind, and finally, 24 miles into what turned out to me a 38 mile ride, I let them go and start to ride at my own pace.

Now at this point I actually had managed to keep several of the other riders behind me, but now several of them start to reel me in on the hill.  And some of the “big dogs” catch me as well, even though I took a 4 mile shortcut to Masonville.  Heck, I’m sure some of the really fast riders beat me to Masonville even though they took the longer route.

Up and over Horesetooth mountain park I went, where I could see the top of towers, and I wistfully thought of my bi-weekly group trail run up to that shining landmark.  For you see on towers I feel like a hero.  Out here on the bike getting passed, I feel more like a zero.  But it’s ok.  I realize that it’s good to be humbled, to stick out your neck, to try and fail.  Fail big, in full color.  I got a lyric from Prince stuck in my head, “Whenever you say that you can’t, that’s when you need to be trying”, and that brightened my mood as I separated completely from the group ride at the South dam of Horsetooth reservoir and took a crack at maniac hill, before dropping down to Hughes stadium and thence directly back home.

Prince knows what I'm talking about

So I’d say that the experience fell somewhere between “hanging on to the back of the pack”, and “getting dropped completely”.  I’m no king, but I didn’t get laughed at either.  I’m happy that I tried to ride with the big boys and girls, happy, even, to have been dropped and humbled by the experience.  And I’ll try it again in a few weeks, absolutely. 

And once again, the links for our courage classic fund-raising:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Shavawesome

How has the training for the Courage Classic been going, you ask?  Great, if climbing a 14er is appropriate training for a 200 mile bike ride.  If not, well, at least we ate a lot of cheese, so the weekend was still a success.

First an update on our fund-raising efforts:  Thanks to you all, Celeste and I have now raised $880 for Denver's Childrens Hospital!  Our goal is $2,000, so if you're still considering donating, please feel free to click one of our links below and give a little something to Children's Hospital on our behalf:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

In what is now pretty much an annual Summer tradition, Celeste and I packed up the car and met our cousins from Santa Fe, Tim and Michaela, for a jaunt up to the top of one of Colorado's many "14ers", or 14,000 foot peaks.  We've done trips to Handies, Elbert and Massive, Quandary and Democrat, and now this year, Shavano, Tabeguache (pronounced "tab-uh-wash," with the accent on the first syllable, I just found out, although I would prefer to pronounce it "ta-wash", so I could sing "ta-wash, ta-wash, ta-wash you want?"), and Antero.  In fact last year we were going to climb Democrat, Lincoln, and Bross (and don't forget Cameron!), but as is our style we got started too late and did not feel like we could summit all of those peaks early enough in the day to avoid the temperamental Colorado high-alpine Summer weather.  So the original plan this year was to take care of "unfinished business" and climb all of those aforementioned peaks.  But the Spring was snowy in and around that area this year, and reports indicated that some of the peaks further South, namely Shavano and Antero, were snow-free and rather more climb-able this particular year.  So we changed our plan at the last minute and agreed to meet at the Shavano trail head Friday night to camp.

Celeste and I rolled into the trail head just at dark, where Tim and Michaela had already set up camp near the trail head at the edge of a meadow ringed at all sides by a grove of aspen trees, and dotted with old-growth ponderosa pines, and sporting a close-up view of Shavano.  Rather lovely, all told.  The weather during the 4-hour drive to the trail head was choppy.  We drove through two major rainstorms, one just outside Fort Collins, and another on the way to Buena Vista.  The weather lately has been very unsettled, and we all knew that there was a pretty good chance of getting rained upon during our hike the next day, so we agreed that we should get up early and hit the trail before 6:00 am Saturday in order to minimize our risk of getting caught above timberline in a thunderstorm.

So we set our alarms for 5:00 am and settled into bed.  Since we were car-camping I brought pillows and our old coleman sleeping bag to sleep on for extra comfort.  It was all rather plush and I slept well, until just before 5:00 when I heard the unmistakable sound of ice sloshing violently against plastic; that sound made manifest by an unseen entity dragging our cooler around our campsite.  Oh yes, my friends, a bear was trying to abscond with our precious cheese and bud light!  First skunks, now this.  I'm just glad we decided to leave Ziggy at home this weekend.

I must be the lightest sleeper of the bunch, because I woke up first and said "bear", which although said softly by yours truly, instantly awoke the others into a state of wide-eyed alarm.  We all sat in the the tent in silent nervous expectancy (of what?  the bear cracking open a beer?  or cracking open our tent??) and listened to the sound of the cooler being dragged away.  Then the noise abruptly stopped.  Tim and I grabbed flashlights and headed out into the dim light of the early morning to assess the situation.  We found the cooler on its side, about 30 feet from where we had left it the night before.  We didn't see a bear or any other creature, human or otherwise, but we both figured that the cooler was probably too heavy to be dragged 30 feet by a raccoon or lynx or marmot.  It didn't appear as though the bear actually took anything, either, but later we did notice that our swiss cheese was missing, although the white cheddar was still intact.  So it must have been a Swiss bear.  And yes, I know, we made a very stupid mistake in leaving out the cooler, one we managed not to repeat for the rest of the trip.  And our tent was a good 25 feet away from the area where we ate and prepared our meals.  We actually do know the rules, we just don't always follow them.

Well that was better than any traditional wake-up call, and after a quick breakfast of coffee and cereal, we packed up and headed off towards Mount Shavano.  Shavano is the southern-most 14er in the Sawatch range, and is an impressive peak when viewed from the highway leading from Buena Vista to Poncha Springs.  And it was an impressive climb as well, featuring 4,400 feet of climbing from our campsite at 9,800 feet to the summit at 14,200 feet in a span of 4.5 miles.  The climb was fairly typical for most 14ers: a steep cool ascent through a forest of thin Lodgepole pine and Engelmann spruce, then breaking out of the forest at timberline to a wind-swept tundra of lichen-covered stones and traces of winter's snow, and finally a scramble up the final summit cone, guarded by sharp stones, and finally the summit, already populated by gore-tex laden hikers eating trail mix and enjoying the view.

The Angels of Shavano

Although Shavano was my 14th successful unique 14er summit (a nice bit of symmatry there!), I do not consider myself a "peak-bagger", obsessed with summitting all 50+ 14ers in the state.   Not that there's anything wrong with that; I admire the Will that drives people to want to accomplish such things.  I think I'm just a little too lazy to seek out all of the far-flung peaks, and find myself climbing the ones closer to home over and over again.  For example, I think I've climbed Mount Quandary four times, simply because it is so easy to get to from the highway!  But I do enjoy the novelty of each mountain, and I particularly enjoy the unique vistas provided by each mountain in turn.  The view from Shavano is similar to the view from Quandary, you know, lots of other mountains and what not, but at the same time the view is wholly unique and special in its own way.  For the views, I suppose, I would attempt to climb all of the 14ers.  We'll see if I get there.

Ah yes, the views.  And the clouds.

And in order to climb all of the 14ers, Shavano guards the approach to another 14er, Mount Tabeguache(-chu want!?!).  Tabeguache is only assessable (by normal people) via a high ridge that separates it from the summit of Shavano.  So in order to climb Tabeguache one has to summit Shavano, then hike the exposed ridge between Shavano and Tabeguache, climb Tabeguache, and then return via the same connecting ridge to Shavano.  It's fairly exposed, but not technically difficult, and the round-trip takes about 1.8 miles.  The general rule for 14ers is that one really should be off the summit before noon.  After noon, the weather on the peaks gets rather dicey, and there is literally no place to run or hide in the event of a thunderstorm.  We had decided that if we attained the summit of Shavano by 10:00 am, that we would allow ourselves to hike the ridge to Tabeguache and summit that peak as well.  An in fact we did summit Shavano by 10:00, but since the weather had been so unsettled, we noticed far more clouds than usual on the summit at this time of day.  We decided that even though we had made our time goal, that the weather was just too sketchy today, and decided not to try for Tabeguache.  In my opinion, a big part of being a good mountaineer is knowing when to turn around.  I'm as bad as anyone when it comes to contracting a case of "summit fever", but I know when it's time to pack it in and live to climb another day.  So we bid Tabeguache a farewell from afar, with a promise to return someday, and made our way back down the windy summit of Shavano, and back to camp.  Not one hour after we made it back we got hit by a short and fierce little rainstorm, which seemed to reinforce our decision.

After a dinner which consisted of an appetizer of cheddar cheese on triscuits,  another appetizer of cheddar cheese quesadillas, an entree of cheddar grilled cheese sandwiches, and for dessert, more cheddar cheese on triscuits, we thoroughly secured the campsite and went to bed.  The next morning we were originally going to climb either Mount Antero or Mount Princeton, or the high-13er Mount Ouray, but in the end we opted to sleep in and hike the Colorado Trail, which intersected the Mount Shavano trail very near our campsite.  Also the weather played a factor in our decision; we got another rainstorm at 2:00 am that night, and woke up to a sky filled with heavy clouds.  I'm sure we would have been fine, climbing another 14er on Sunday, but ultimately we decided on the easier and more convenient option of the Colorado trail, since it meant we would not have to drive anywhere or break camp.

That's how you ford a stream!

We enjoyed a delightful 11 mile hike on the famed trail, passing by several groups of people that were "through-hiking" the entire 470+ mile span of the trail from Denver to Durango.  We plotted and planned our own through-hike adventure (someday!) and enjoyed several vistas of my new favorite mountain, Mount Ouray.  Mount Ouray is not a 14er, but it's darn close (13,961 feet), and it enjoys a prominence that give it an impressive air that many of its taller and more-often-climbed neighbors lack.  It is, in short, a beautiful mountain and I intend to climb it; partly because it comes so close to being a 14er and I assume simply by dint of lacking a mere 39 feet of prestige, is almost completely ignored even though it is undeniably more impressive and beautiful than many other peaks that by some accident of commercial standards sit above a  completely arbitrary numerical threshold of elevation.  What if the length of a "foot" was only 0.3% shorter?  Then Ouray would also be a 14er, and would be undoubtedly be one of the more popular ones, to boot.  I understand the desire to climb the tallest peaks in the state, for the adventure and sense of accomplishment (and the views!), but I get the feeling there is a significant drop-off between the number of people who climb, say, the 10 least tall 14ers, and the number of people who climb the 10 tallest 13ers.  I'm guilty of that as well; I think I've summitted 3 or 4 13ers, and as mentioned, 14 14ers.  Maybe it's time to even the score.

Mount Ouray 

Well enough prattling on about mountains, I could go on all day.  As you can see we spent not a second on our bikes this weekend, but we did "scout out" Freemont pass via automobile, so I guess you could say we did some recon work for Courage Classic.  Today, we ride.  Hills.  I promise.

Many more pictures:

And if you're interested in donating, here are the links once again, thank you!

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Je t'aime, Ziggy, Je t'aime

Time for an update!  I am very pleased to report that we have raised just over $700 for our courage classic ride!   You all are most excellent and generous friends, and I will reward you with a story of grand excitement and odors.

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste

OR:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Well the big plan for the 4^th of July was to volunteer at our local 5K race in the morning, the Firecracker 5, then ride Rist canyon, then take the dogs up into the mountains so as to avoid the noisy, scary fireworks display.  One out of three isn’t bad, right?

The 5K race was a lot of fun and we saw a bunch of our running friends volunteering and racing.  Our super hero Nicole won the women’s race and set a course record to boot!  Celeste and I were put in charge of the bike storage area, which seemed appropriate considering the courage classic.  The race was encouraging participants to ride to the event and provided a secure storage area for bikes, and even a special raffle prize drawing courtesy of REI for bikers only.

Celeste and Lincoln, keeping out the riff-raff

Our plan was to get out of there by 8:30 so we could go on our own ride, but we were not able to escape until after 10:00 am!  By then it was getting pretty hot, and we had to drag ourselves out of the house to go for our Rist canyon ride.  About oh, two blocks into our ride we decided to scrap the Rist idea, and we rode out only to Bellvue and back, via Bingham Hill on the way out, and “the barrens” on the way back.  My local running peeps will know what I’m talking about.  It turned into a leisurely 14 mile ride in the heat instead of the 40+ mile epic suffer-fest we’d promised ourselves.  Well hey, it was hot, what do you want from us!  More suffering and blood, I know.  Just wait, you’ll get what you came for.

A leisurely ride to Bellvue and back.

We spent the bulk of the afternoon staying out of the heat and watching the neighborhood fill up with people and cars in anticipation of the fireworks display at city park.  We found it amusing that many of our neighbors were putting out chairs and sawhorses and large buckets in front of their houses in order to prevent strangers from parking there.  It reminded us both of the North End in Boston, where there are unofficial reserved parking spaces for local men of dubious repute.  Since we are new to this neighborhood we didn’t realize how crowded things were going to get, but we didn’t really care because we were planning on vacating the area for the evening.

For you see Ziggy, our newest dog and the namesake of our Courage Classic team, is terrified of loud noises, and we figured it would be smart for all of us if we were nowhere near city park for the thunderous fireworks display that evening.  So about 5:00 pm we bundled Ziggy and Duke into the pickup, and headed up the Poudre canyon with Cat and Sarah for a nice evening hike up Hewlett’s Gulch trail.

The trailhead was almost completely deserted by the time we got up there, which was great.  We were able to let both dogs off leash (it is allowed there) and let them roam up and down the trail without fear of confrontations with any other dogs.  The mosquitoes were rather voracious at that time of the evening, and none of us brought bug spray, but other than that it was a wonderful cool quiet hike up the gulch through cool green forests and meadows, and featuring numerous stream crossings. 

At one point some dark clouds rolled over and threatened to rain, and Ziggy got frightened and actually started to turn back to the trailhead.  I called for him to return but he was having none of that, so I had to chase him down the trail for a good half of a mile until I could convince him to let me leash him back up and return to the others.  After the clouds rolled past Ziggy seemed in good spirits once again so I let him off leash once more.  In retrospect that was a big error.

Hewlett’s Gulch trail opens up into a lovely meadow near it’s far point, and we were in the clearing and almost to the high point when we noticed that both Duke and Ziggy were rooting around quite enthusiastically at the base of a bush some 10 feet of the trail and 20 or so feet ahead of us.  I started calling the dogs back to us, and Duke came cruising back, licking his mouth like he just ate peanut butter.  But I don’t think there was a jar of Skippy under that bush, and anyway I then caught the unmistakable scent of skunk.  Crap.

Ziggy came running out of the bush, chasing a small and very irritated skunk.  At this point the skunk fluffed up its bushy tail, turned away from Ziggy, and we all got to witness a skunk spray.  Ziggy took a shot point-blank to his face.  Which deterred him not in the least.  Duke clearly had more common sense, having come back to us at the first attack.  Ziggy was either too stubborn or too stupid to stop harassing the skunk, for he continued to chase this poor animal across the trail onto the other side of the meadow, proceeding to get sprayed about 3 or 4 more times while we all screamed his name but kept our distance from the fray. 

Finally Ziggy decided he’d had enough, and disengaged from the fracas and headed towards us, his normally white head literally stained yellow by the skunk’s spray.  And the skunk was so enraged that it was actually chasing Ziggy towards us!  Luckily the skunk decided that it didn’t want to spray everyone in the vicinity.  Maybe it was bluffing; do skunks have an unlimited supply of spray?  We were not going to find out.  It was time to high-tail it back down the trail to the truck. 

The poor dogs spent a fair amount of time rolling in the dirt, trying desperately to rub that foul stinging odor off of their faces.  We tried splashing water on them at the stream crossings, but it was difficult for us to stop because as soon as we did, hoards of mosquitoes descended upon us and proceeded to turn our skin into a reasonable facsimile of bubble wrap.  We were concerned that they may have gotten sprayed in the eyes but they seemed ok from that perspective.  All we could really do was get them back to home so we could subject them to a tomato juice bath (yes, that actually works pretty well).

The crew, post-skunk-attack

There was no way we were going to let them sit in the cab of the truck so Celeste and I rode in the bed of the truck with the two dogs while Cat drove our truck back down the canyon.  I’m reasonably certain it was illegal and I know it was dangerous, but luckily for us the traffic was quite sparse, because everyone was heading to city park for the fireworks, a fact we discovered when we arrived back at our house, just in time for the fireworks display.  You know, the thing we were trying to avoid in the first place!

So Celeste took the dogs inside while I drove around my neighborhood looking for a parking spot, and considered that some well-placed chairs in front of my house may not have been such a stupid idea after all.  So the dogs got subjected to a triple-horror of skunk, bath, and loud noises.  They really haven’t been the same since!  In fact Ziggy didn’t even want to leave the house this morning, four days after the fact.  It’s a dangerous world out there, isn’t it.  And even after the tomato juice bath, which stained their white fur the color of Thai iced tea, I can still detect a hint of skunk in the air.  It will just take time to fully dissipate.  But the dogs will be fine, and hopefully they will think twice before taking on another skunk.  And I will most certainly think three times before letting them off leash in the forest again, particularly at that time of the evening.  What a mess.

But this blog is supposed to be about training for the courage classic, is it not?  Well you know, a skunk attack is far more entertaining then more accounts of me riding my bicycle.  But I will fill you in on my progress nonetheless.  It’s Friday today, and the 4^th was Monday, which featured 14 miles of riding between the 5K race volunteering and the skunk incident.  On Tuesday I managed my normal 10 miles of commuting, and the same on Wednesday.  I was able to ride more miles on Thursday (yesterday), to the sum of 20 or so miles, 5 of which were done in a torrential rainstorm.  What is it with getting soaked on Thursdays?  So quite frankly I’m not putting in the biking miles I’d like, but I’m probably doing enough to get by.  I’m thankful that I got to ride Vail pass last weekend, that gives me some measure of confidence as I approach two weeks until the start of my ride.

Once again, thank you for your continued support, and here are the links you can click to donate to our ride:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste

OR:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Je t'aime, Ziggy, Je t'aime