Waterton Canyon
(Most images borrowed from internet)
This is not a race report. This is processing what
happened out there. And I think I got it. I think I quit. I quit racing. I
could have gone further. Probably not finish, but maybe further enough to be
satisfied with the results (after recalibrating expectations based on reality).
I’m pretty sure I could have gotten beyond the line, one side of which is
“humiliation” and the other side is “good try.” Yea, I’m pretty sure… And I
don’t think that that is revisionist. But again, I have no regret for any of
the choices I made, except some equipment choices, but that’s another story.
There are (at least) two parallel stories. Which
version do you want to hear? The turn by turn, minute by minute, or do you want
to know what really happened out there? What my choices were and which way I turned?
They are two totally different stories. The story of the road out of Waterton
Canyon, along the river, the climb up into the woods, the rolling singletrack descent,
the blazing burn area of the Hayman fire, the beautiful rock formations south
of Wellington Lake, that’s old and boring and would be a simple telling.
Wellington Lake from the campground office
(complete with tacky concrete deer statues)
The story of why and how we race is much more
nuanced and complicated. In a long race like the CTR, there is also a question
of when you stopped, when it was over and why. It is funny how much we think
about what defines “racing” versus just “riding” the course. (I don’t think
marathoners decide to stop “racing” but continue “running” until the end of the
course.) The line is much fuzzier than folks unfamiliar with ultra-endurance
racing might imagine.
I think I know the place where I stopped “racing.”
I think it was when I waited near the bottom of a long downhill in the rain because
I wanted to, I chose to, wait for J. We were only sort of together, and so I
waited. No big deal. But I did not feel like riding away at that point was an
option or something I wanted to do. (Assuming that I could have made it “stick.”)
So yea, I wasn’t racing. Not sure what J thought at that point, but that didn’t
really enter my brain. Maybe I had stopped racing when I realized that we were
riding at somewhat comparable speeds… Would I have ultimately gotten further on
the course if I had not waited in the rain? Just rode on? Would I have cruised
past Goose Creek Campground in ignorance? Would I have just bivy’d by the side
of the road, woken at daybreak and moved on? Would my ass have screamed on the
ride up SR-77? Probably. Maybe. Maybe. Probably.
Rocks in Lost Creek Wilderness
(In total fairness, J had already put in almost 3,000 miles of riding. This is the only reason she and I were even in the same county.)
Would J and I have met back up and re-connected at
Tarryall? Not sure. She was not having fun and definitely not making her goal
of finishing by the weekend, so I knew what was in her future. Did that
influence me? Yea, maybe, but that’s on me, not her. Would I have made it to
Breck? Sitting here, now, it is easy to say Yes. Beyond Breck or even Copper? Hard
to say…
I think being tired and out of it also made me
question my pace. Should I rest after 9 hours of riding or should I just slog
on? Perhaps I was being lazy and let someone else do the thinking for me…this
is where some experience might have helped. But again, helped me how?
One or both of us came up with Plan B, it’s not
clear who... But fuck the race, how about just fun on a bike? Ride the really good
stuff between Silverton and Durango, 20 mile days, camp fire, food, stars, great
people? That sounds like a win to me! (For those who wonder why I race and don’t
just ride, see? I am capable of it!) Cruising Little Molas to Celebration Lake
to Kennebec with no gear would have been sweet. Waking up for a sunrise on
Indian Ridge…there is no doubt that I made the right choice. Even if later
events (mostly weather) conspired against us.
Heading from Ouray to Silverton
Let me say a couple of other things about the
Colorado Trail. I have ridden some parts of it previously and read plenty more.
I knew it was going to be hard. Extremely hard. But even accounting for all of that,
it’s fair to say that it was harder than I thought and that I still took a
pretty good ass-kicking on Day 1. And Day 1 is probably the easiest sections,
so I was more than just “lured” away…
And sure, the CT is beautiful, but petting Wheels (the
sweetest old Lab you’d ever want to meet) with her nose resting on the console
between the seats, and looking up at the Milky Way in the desert sky with new
friends is beautiful, too.
Any regrets? Nope.
Not a one.
Life as it should be.
That is one sweet set of Wheels
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