Crossing the Wyoming/Colorado line was a bit like seeing an old friend for me. I had lived in the Sangre De Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado during my late teens and early twenties, and that made this the first familiar state I had been in since my start in Banff. The elation of entering Colorado was soon replaced by pure, hard riding because the road quickly kicks upward on the way to Steamboat Springs. Along this road however, is a Tour Divide staple, The Brush Mountain Lodge, which is a fantastic place to stock up on food, get hydrated and even ice aching joints!
I entered Steamboat Springs at night, which meant I rode right on past the Post Office that was holding a general delivery package containing my various re-supply items, good thing I didn't need them. Steamboat is known as a bit of a Tour Divide time suck, so I was happy to slip past unnoticed in the nighttime hours, and sleep along the roadside near Lake Catamount.
Waking at dawn, I was presented with a glorious Colorado sunrise, and I knew it was going to be a good morning. One of my first human sightings of the day was a roadie descending full bore down a dirt forest road on a Cervelo R5 carbon road bike; I guess Colorado produces a hardier breed of cyclist than I am used to seeing. It was nice to be around recreational cyclists again, it made me feel a little less lonely for some reason. The rest of the ride was a beast. The climbs were very difficult, and the heat and wind worked in conjunction with my growing saddle sores to try and bring me to my knees. The pain made the rest of the day a bit of a blur, but I endured and found myself in a Silverthorne motel cleaning up, eating pizza and patching saddle sores.
Perspective is important, especially in undertakings as intense as the Tour Divide. For me, riding the bike path from Silverthorne to Breckenridge was a moment of great perspective. It was a brilliantly sunny morning, and I was surrounded by bike commuters on their way to work. There I was, feeling a bit sorry for myself due to my ailments, and then I realized that most of the cyclists passing me on their way to work were probably envious of my adventure and I am sure every one of them would have traded their short, daily commute for an epic life-changing adventure. The day found me waking in a Silverthorne motel, having a profound perspective change entering Breckenridge, climbing majestic Boreas pass, descending a flowing Gold Dust flume trail, getting a bike tune at Absolute bikes in Salida, climbing huge Marshall Pass at midnight and sleeping in a warm little roadside cottage in Sergeants. Not too shabby for a humble day's work.
The section between Sergeants and Del Norte was just hard work that found 5 of the top 11 riders playing leap frog all day, which for me added a bit of pressure to ride hard and rest little to maintain my constant top ten position. We rode through diverse terrain with big, hot climbs and long, windy sections. My favorite moment of the day was sitting along a dirt forest road at the base of Carnero Pass, completely out of water and trying desperately to convince myself not to drink the brown stream water running through a cow pasture. "In the abundance of water, the fool is thirsty"( This was the Bob Marley lyric that ran through my head). I opted to fill my bottles with the Giardia laden water and at least use it to cool myself during the long climb upwards. Unluckily for me, the anticpated water pump at the StormKing Campground was missing its handle, which meant another 15 miles of dehydrated riding until the small La Garita store where my life was surely saved by Gatorade and ice cream. After sufficient re-hydration, I headed on to Del Norte, which upon arrival was completely choked by smoke from the forest fires afflicting the surrounding mountains. After a dinner in a local cafe with Markley and the Swiss, Markley and I headed out of town and part way up Indiana Pass, where we decided to sleep in a roadside ditch to try to get below the smoke. Apparentley, sleeping low in a ditch is a great tactic when confronted with thick smoke, as we woke the following morning fresh with lungs intact.
The last stretch of Colorado found Markley and me riding through rain and lightning on severely washboarded roads from Platoro to Horca until the last climb of the state, which was a paved beast called La Manga pass. I knew we were getting ready to cross into New Mexico, and I also knew our time riding together was coming to an end. Markley was an incredible riding partner, and I will be forever grateful for his guidance during the race.
Farewell Colorado, hello imperceptible New Mexico state line!
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