Breck Epic Stages 2 and 3: Altitude Adjustment

Yesterday was the first day I woke up with no headache or bloody nose from the altitude. I had started to consider trying to go to a lower elevation to sleep since these things were so persistent. I hate that aspect of living at sea level; when I lived in Wyoming at 5,000 feet, riding or hiking at 10k was no big deal.

First, two observations:

1. a forecast of "partly cloudy" in "Condorado" means there will be a cloud or two marring the otherwise clear blue sky, whereas in Oregon, "partly cloudy" means there is a slim likelihood the sun will appear during the day.

2. "Switchbacks in  Colorado mean big, swoopy, bermed 180 degree corners, whereas the same in Oregon equals some steep, Z-shaped course reversals shored up with 2-by-4s. All of a sudden, I'm an ace switchbacker!

At this point, I can barely remember yesterday's course, other than the feeling near the end that it was brutal at 38 miles and 5,000+ elevation gain. Then today happened and almost 40 miles and 8,000 vertical made yesterday look like a cakewalk. I do remember finally getting to be on name-basis with some of the middle-of-the-back-of-the-pack regulars: Alex from Tucson, Phillip from Birmingham, Ty from Golden, and "Yeti Boy"--obviously I didn't get his name, but we leap-frogged quite a bit for two days.

This morning's start line was like a high school reunion with all the regulars lined up near the back. The first mile or so was a neutral roll-out with police escort and the singlespeed made it impossible to be concerned with start position--lots off fast flats and descents that gave the gear-heads an advantage. I  started the dirt-road climb to the singletrack entry with Gary from the Nationwide team in Phoenix; we chatted for a while, remembering the 12 Hours in the Papago race last January where his team so generously sheltered me in their heated tent during my rest breaks.

We climbed steadily and sometimes steeply to a nice rolling singletrack cruise that took us to the top of the French Gulch descent (we climbed this on day 1) that led into Aid 1. The already heinous, rocky trail was wet and greasy and I took a good spill, bruising my left knee badly and canceling my downhilling confidence for the rest of the day. Luckily I was wearing my Icebreaker knickers so not much skin came off.

I hit Aid 1 around when I expected to, spent minimal time there and headed up toward French Pass. The trail appeared to cruise along a creek through a meadow, but was deceptively hard to pedal on. It was rough and rocky and difficult to settle into a cadence. I felt wimpy for walking, but noticed I was gaining on the guy ahead of me (Ty from Golden) so I used him as a gauge of ride-ability--if he was pedaling but I was still gaining on him, I continued hiking. 

Soon I was halfway up an alpine bowl with a snake of ants pushing bikes up French Pass above me and another snake of ants pushing bikes below me. We crested French Pass to ringing cowbells and offers of beer and Skittles, lifting the spirits enough to get jackets on for the rocking descent to Aid 2. Then the four-mile gravel road climb to Georgia Pass, mellow at first, then forcing me to walk. The scenery absolved most of the misery here with views in all directions and wildflowers galore. 

As we turned onto the Colorado Trail at the Continental Divide, thunder threatened and we hastened downhill and into treeline. The first half of the descent rocked, the second half was rocky and unrideable, at least for me. Slick and wet, my shoes slid around almost as much as my tires had. 

At the bottom was Aid station 3 with 11 miles and a long, steep jeep road climb. I could ride the first half, then it pitched up too steeply and even those with granny gears were walking. A rocky descent followed and my headache was back with a vengeance. Every time I hit a bump (approximately six times per second), it felt like an ice pick stabbing me in the eye. I desperately wanted to be done. The finish was a tease: you could hear the music from the finish line but had to ride around the head of a gulch to a singletrack that went away from the finish before looping around and coming back. I thought to myself, "this trail would be really fun if I gave a shit."

Cheers and cowbells, Jay, my trail-mates, and a Big Johnson (sandwich of PB, marshmallow cream, Nutella, banana, and potato chips) greeted me and all was right with the world.