So many things went right in this tour. They usually do, in my limited RTR experience, but this seemed particularly charmed to me.
The route was fantastic, beautiful, varied in topography and effort. Great rolling rides through farmlands and along high-running rivers, challenging climbs up passes of completely different grades and scenery, great straightaways where I was almost blasted off the road by pacelines. (Some people are way too driven).
New Tour Director Chandler Smith, his staff and volunteers created a sleekly run experience, smoothing the way for thousands of riders with wildly varying needs and experience.
And the weather gods smiled on us for the entire tour (despite Massive-Headwind-Montrose). In past years, I’ve usually run into at least one downpour — last year’s descent off Independence Pass brought freezing rain and a full-out thunder and lightning storm all the way into Leadville. Which is fun when you’ve got a camera, tape recorder and other metal strapped to you and have nowhere to hide.
But not this time.
So despite my whinings about the condition of my unmentionables and the dearth of pools — wuss — I had a blast, all the way through to Breckenridge.
So speaking of last blasts: I think the common belief among many Ride the Rockies participants was that Cottonwood Pass on Day 6 was the grand finale, of sorts. What came after was just gravy.
But the route from Buena Vista to Breckenridge had plenty of its own high points. In fact, my brother said he thought they saved the best for last with Hoosier Pass, which, although 600 feet lower than Cottonwood, had one of those great last-blast climbs that did plenty of folks in. Or at least, that’s what I gathered as the SAG wagons drove by, stocked to capacity with bicycles and very defeated-looking passengers.
Which brings me to another point raised by my brother, a first-time RTR-er.
Why is it that some people screech to a halt at the very beginning of a hard climb? And just stand there staring up, up, up at the road as it disappears into the clouds?
To me, that’s just giving your head time to tell you how screwed you are. Or at least that’s how my head works.
Or maybe they’re just thinking through strategy? Trying to screw up the courage to start? Or trying to quiet the voice that’s telling them how screwed they are?
That’s what happened along the climb up Hoosier Pass. We’d left the town of Fairplay after a quick bite at the aid station, and from there we were told there was an 11-mile climb to the top of the pass.
But the miles ticked by, with nothing but slightly rolling road, and everyone’s looking at each other with one of two thoughts. For the folks who weren’t doing their math:
“Well gee, this isn’t so bad…”
And for those who were:
“We’ve got 1,750 feet to climb. In much, much less than 11 miles. This is going to be really bad.”
Sure enough, we came up over a small rise and were greeted with a road that had suddenly turned vertical. And that’s when the folks started pulling off the road to have their internal arguments with themselves.
On the way up, I stopped to take photos just short of the top of the pass. I met a young couple, tourists from Minnesota, who were just staring at the long line of cyclists almost crawling up the road. The woman shook her head and said, “You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to do that.”
Uh, actually, we all paid someone else so we could do this to ourselves.
To each his own.
Needless to say, there was a nice little party at the top of the pass, then a quick drop down into Breckenridge for the finish. And I’m always slightly embarrassed by the fuss we get at the finish. There’s a big banner over the road, the street is lined with cheering people, and families crowd inside the finish to get a picture of their conquering hero. Feels almost Tour-de-France-ish, which I guess is the intent.
In the years past, I’ve done it by myself, so there was no family waiting to greet me at the end. Which was fine. This year, since my brother and his friends did RTR with me, I found my 3-year-old nephew Nicholas waiting for me, dirty-faced and smiling, chanting “Ant Ingit! Ant Ingit!” Like I was a conquering hero.
It was a rather nice finish.
RANDOM RTR
MEMORIES? I got an e-mail message from someone saying they had done the 2005 RTR and they remembered Grand Mesa (as well they should) but not Montrose and the headwinds. Well, I’m looking at the 2005 RTR map, and we did indeed land in Montrose and rode into Gunnison from there.
Which proves my theory that we block painful experiences from memory, doesn’t it? Well, I’m sure RTR will hit Montrose again in following years, so you’ll have a chance to relive the experience.
Though, to tell you the truth, nothing will wipe Grand Mesa from my memory. I think all my fellow 2005 riders feel the same…
