29 june 2007 (my laptop *and* my server died last week in totally unrelated events)
uphill: 55 km, ave speed 9.4 kmph rolling time 5:53
downhil: ?? km, ave speed 30 kmph rolling time 0:49 (only to the
outside of the park)
Today I biked up to the top of the highest paved road in America. 14,264 feet. I started at approximately 7800 feet. The last time I biked over ten miles in one day was in April. Bicycling with a 100 pound trailer for four months was the only reason I was able to make it to the top. Despite the fact that I was only carrying a small rack bag, it felt as though I was pulling my trailer the whole time.
The Sprextel executive Victor and I had worked with almost a year ago had mentioned that once or twice a year he and his biking buddies would meet at the State Capitol at 5280 feet elevation and bike up to Mount Evans, fifty miles away. I don't think that I would have been quite so inspired to bike it myself if there hadn't been a sign to Mt Evans on the way to my cousin's house that I passed quarterly. At least I knew I wasn't fit enough to bike all the way from the capitol.
It's for the best that bicycles aren't allowed on I-70, because then I would have started three or four miles further away, at the house where my sister and I were dogsitting. Three or four miles doesn't sound like a lot even now, but thinking of how tired I was at the top of the mountain, I know it would have made the difference between me finishing and not.
I started the ride at 8am, optimistic that I would average 6 miles an hour uphill, making it a six hour ride up 32 miles, and then an hour down. The altitude kicked in right away, and I despaired of biking 32 miles breathing so heavily. A few miles in, my body became accustomed to the work (and I slowed down a little), and it was a normal ride.
The first eighteen miles weren't too hard. Almost totally uphill, with just one huge drop before entering Mount Evans National Park. It's totally demoralizing to be congratulating yourself on getting closer and closer to 14k feet and then finding yourself losing at least 500 feet. Especially when you know you'll be biking up them later.
The first nine miles from the entrance to Summit Lake were reminiscent of biking up Mount Cadillac on Mount Desert island with Victor, except longer, and with less oxygen. I started in the pines, and wound my way up, through alpine meadows and snowpack-fed waterfalls that looked thirst-quenchingly full of giardia. The passing cars were a constant, but not obnoxious.
The descent to Summit Lake was another demoralizing loss of elevation, and then the grade increased to something you'd expect on a road to the highest paved point in America. At some point I realized I needed calories to continue and paused to eat one and a half Larabars. Then I dozed in the sun because I knew there was no way I could digest and pedal at the same time. I couldn't even stay awake and digest at the same time at 11k feet.
Once I started up the Chutes and Ladders mess of switchbacks up to the peak, I was already knackered. My advice to people bicycling up massive inclines? "Don't look up." Everytime I glanced up to see how many more switchbacks awaited me, I lost my pace, my breath, and had to stop to rest. I started walking my bike up while taking a break from pedalling, because abruptly stopping my forced bloodflow made me feel woozy. Also I wanted to get to the top as fast as possible. I walked the last half kilometer to the top. I lost my mental fortitude after mile marker 14, which had been billed as the distance to the top. Also, I saw people walking up many more switchbacks than I could handle contemplating. I realized too late that those were above the paved road, and I didn't have to bike that far.
I sat at the top and recovered my breath and watched the fat car-driving tourists point their cameras at the mountain goats, who were blithely chewing away at the tundra grass and moss. I had already made passing acquaintance with the goats on one of the switchbacks as they crossed in front of me.
After about ten minutes of sitting, the clouds covered the sun, the wind picked up, and I got cold. Time to enjoy the ride back down. I'd seen one car descending with bikes on the back, and I wondered why anyone would make the effort of biking up and miss the joy of coasting down.
It turns out the huge cracks in the road that send an arthritis-seeding jolt into your wrists are one reason to skip coasting down. Also, nearly hitting a raccoon-sized varmint of some sort (yellow-bellied marmot, apparently) puts a damper on your enjoyment. Unless you're
Christy.I had planned to bike all the way back to my starting point, 18 miles past the bottom of Mt Evans National Park. I started planning how to contact Julia to tell her to pick me up at the Echo Lake Lodge in the middle of switchback hell. There was enough coverage at the top of Mt Evans to make me think I could send a text, but it didn't work. No coverage anywhere else likely in the park, I was forced to beg for the use of a phone. I was willing to give them two dollars, but first they didn't want to let me make a call at all, and then they didn't want the two dollars. Instead I bought tea, water and potato chips. And then it started pouring. It's a very satisfying feeling to miss bicycling in the pouring rain so closely.
Oh, the scenery was beautiful all the way up, and much of the way down. Different perspectives both directions. The morning started much clearer than it had been earlier in the week, and I was able to appreciate the far-off snowy peaks, even if I couldn't identify them.
That night for dinner I had steak, one of the perks of house-sitting. The only steak I could find in the freezer was a flatiron. I knew nothing of this cut, but decided it looked appropriately sized for one person.
Wikipedia says: "The Flat Iron Steak is a relatively new cut of steak from the shoulder of a cow. The steak was discovered by researchers at the University of Nebraska during the course of a study of undervalued cuts of beef. The study also found that this specific cut is the second most tender cut of beef, after the tenderloin."
Lucky me. It was excellent, surprisingly tender, even imperfectly cooked by me, in a frying pan, after we were unable to start the gas grill. I would have felt lucky to have to gnaw a flank steak to bits, but this was bliss.
What else? Oh yes, the aches. My butt was chafed, as one might expect after eight hours of bicycling. And sore knees and wrists. But more surprising were the aches in my shoulders. I started to wonder if I hurt this badly the day of the exercise how badly I would hurt the second day. Well, my dear readers, I'm still young yet, because I felt almost totally normal the next day. Just slight residual pains, less intense than the soreness after a real yoga workout.
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