Breck Epic: Stage One

As I trudged up a rock-paved trail, pushing my bike, feeling the 11,000-foot lung burn, I found myself wondering how it was I came to be in a line of other cyclists doing the same thing, having paid a lot of money to suffer on purpose. Then I remembered: last January, feeling all full of myself after finishing a 12-hour solo race, I decided this would be the year for Breck Epic, a 6-day stage race covering 240 miles of trail, gravel road, and some paved bits, near Breckenridge, Colorado. At 10,000 feet. On my singlespeed.

I've wanted to do BE for several years, ever since I read about it in Dirt Rag or Bike or Mountain Flyer--one of those publications that evoke images of the von Trapps singing in the Alps when they cover events like this. It seemed like a grand idea from the comfort of my sofa in front of the fire with a glass of wine.

Today, as the altitude shut down my usual climbing prowess and a mild ache persisted in my head, I questioned the sanity. Climbs I could crush at shoulder-of-Mt. Hood elevations crushed me and the rocky descents ramped up my headache. But every climb was rewarded with Aspen-threading singletrack or stunning mountain backdrops or wildflower meadows.

The climbs weren't as endless as I expected, the descents weren't as rocky, and the dreaded switchbacks at the end were more S-shaped than Z-. Other riders were friendly and the aid station volunteers had my bag waiting and eagerly refilled my Camelback while I ate bananas and oranges. And to top it off, Jay met me at the finish line with hugs and what he calls my bottle of EPO for recovery.

Tomorrow's course sounds enticing, with more and smoother singletrack. I can't wait. But first I'm headed to bed in a burger, roasted potato and red wine-induced stupor.