After waking to some very questionable weather on a previous stage, Wednesday morning was typically clear and beautiful, though perhaps a couple of puffy whites blowing across the ridge tops. Wednesday was one of the (how many?) "Queen Stages." Today we would head back up Mt. Baldy, up the old flume trail and make our way to Little French Pass which leads you over Mt. Guyout and the continental divide. You are then dropped on the backside into a place called South Park (yep, the very one!) and you then need to climb back up the other side of Guyout through Georgia pass, crossing the divide a second time. After that, you're just a bunch of ripping CT singletrack and one hellacious American Gulch climb from being back.
So the start of each stage involves folks lining up, generally fastest to slowest based on categories such as Men 30+, Women 30+, Men 40+, Women 40+, Single-speeders, etc. When the gun goes off it is a "neutral start" meaning that folks are not supposed to race, but to simply follow the police escort up the road and out of town. Once the police turn off, usually at the entrance to a dirt road or a trail, the race begins full-on.
So on Wednesday, we're heading out of town on the paved road and we hit a small downhill and I'm rolling, so I go onto the big ring in front, keep cranking, pass a single-speeder spinning wildly and trying to get as aero as she possibly can and then the road starts back up hill again. I get in some more cranks on the big ring and then shift down off of it. Nothin. Shit. Try again. Again, nothin. So as I am cursing the mechanic who touched my bike last, I am thinking about Little French, Georgia Pass and all the other climbing to be done today and me stuck on the big ring. Shit.
So finally I just pull over to the side of the dusty gravel road, whip out my multi-tool and start trying to figure out what to do. Meanwhile the parade of bikes passes me by. One of the cars following asks if I'm alright and I say "No, I am definitely not alright." Trying to not be pissed or panicked. So out jump two of the wrenchs doing support and they play with it but can't figure out the deal. The front der is working, but the shifter seems to not be releasing. So after a couple of minutes (seemed like an eternity) they put the chain on the middle ring and say "I guess you're riding middle ring today." As I throw a leg back over, I yell to them to make sure that Mike knows I'm coming and they shouldn't start tearing down course markers...
Needless to say the first climbs are lonely. And it doesn't take long before I'm pushing. Shit, it's gonna be a long day. But it's not too long, maybe 20 or 30 minutes, before I catch up to Claire and Wendy. Claire is an extremely perky twenty-something from Australia who yesterday missed a turn, had to climb Heinous Hill twice and was on the course for about 7 and a half hours before the motos brought her in. So she was moving pretty slow this morning. Not far in front of Claire was Wendy, the 66 year phenom. The downhills were fine, some of the climbs were fine too, it's just the steep stuff that I had to walk instead of using the little ring, that will slow you down.
We were getting closer to tree line and there was someone in front of me and I just slowly kept hauling her (?) in. We finally broke out of the woods near an old abandonded mine (what else?) that had a little dip in it. So I was on the gas on the little downhill to get up speed, then shot passed her just past the dip after it had turned uphill again, and cranked hard up the hill, almost running out of gas just as we turned back into the woods at the start of the flume trail, uphill, towards Little French.
After the Flume is was another long rocky descent along a beautiful mountain creek down to Aid Station #1. One of the volunteers had a radio and I overheard that the weather at the top of Little French was moving in, cold and blowing and rainy. I didn't linger, not wanting to get caught on this side, wanting to be over in case things got bad.
Well, I could have used the little ring to climb more of Little French, but after a while, it's a push regardless of what you're riding. I caught up to one lady and chatted with her for a bit. (Found out later that she was the former First Lady of New Mexico and that her husband was racing as part of a 100+ Duo team.) We pushed up into the cloud that was blowing over the top. It wasn't exactly raining, but it was cold and windy and damp. And for some reason, despite the thin air, I think I was yakking the entire time. Very uncharacteristic of me. Eventually I even commented on it, and tried to just shut up.
The start of Little French...
The push was long and slow, only looking down at our feet and as far ahead as the next step. Occassionally looking up and around to enjoy the scenery. The moisture and the light made the scree on Guyout to our left shine like tiny mirrors. Given the overcast day, it was an odd and stunning sight.
Guyout socked in...
Kate on top of Little French...
Crossing the top of that pass is always an achievement, but I quickly headed down the back side. It was a long ride down, fast and narrow though low growth scrub, then dumping out into the trees as you continued to lose altitude very quickly. A rocky jeep-type trail eventually dumped onto a dirt road, a left turn and you are back to spinning up Georgia Pass. Fortunately I had done this climb before so I knew the markers and did not suffer from any "false summits," which can really break you when you are tired.
Georgia Pass, Aid Station #2, looking north...
The view to the southwest is slightly more foreboding...
Heading back over the divide again, you have another thin alpine trail of singletrack. Sort of swoopy, sort of nice. But you soon drop down back below tree-line and into a beautiful verdant forest. Picking your way between the trees, over the roots at high speed. Game on. And then come the rocks. No the lose, sharp, tire-ripping scree of earlier in the week. These are boulders, set into the earth, and you are rolling over and between them, watching and picking a line, trying to steer the front wheel, but also calculatng where your back wheel will go. You are definitely in the now. For what seemed like a good 45 minutes, though it probably wasn't quite that long. Eventually the rocks turn to more beautiful benchcut singletrack, the steepness increases and there are sharp switchbacks as you continue to descend, ultimately being dropped out into a valley that is vast, unbroken and full of amazing wildflowers. If you hadn't already lost it, it is a sight that takes your breadth away.
Colorado Trail sweetness...
More singltrack, another fast descent down a "road" that is full of rocks and potholes to Aid Station #3. Then a killer long climb up American Gulch and you're most of the way back. It's hard, but at this spot last year, the American Gulch climb was simply soul-sucking. Blazing hot, walking death, soul-sucking. This year, I know where I am. And even though I don't have a middle ring, I'm still pushing back, hard, and still fighting. It feels good.
Looking backwards, down American Gulch...
"Race" isn't really the right word, but it's certainly "epic."
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