BICYCLING FOUR PASSES: SPECTACULAR COLOR TOUR IN ROCKIES 2009

By Frosty Wooldridge

Nothing beats Colorado High Country in late September! Cool mornings morph into warm days. Water fowl rest in lakes on their way to winter feeding grounds. Sandhill cranes glide through Buena Vista on their thousands of miles journeys to warmer climes. Magnificent elk bugle their ancient rituals in search of mates. Hawks ply limitless blue skies in a never ending pursuit for their dinner. In the canyons, raging white water cascades over multi-colored rocks on a journey that ends up in the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans.

Sweeping up every mountain slope, a mantle of verdant pines renders a visual silence “too silent to be real,” said Gordon Lightfoot. As if touched on a Van Gogh canvas, “aspen tremulous,” trembling leaves, provide visitors textures and fresh green highlights.

But once Jack Frost touches his magic wand on the Colorado High Country, he sets off a magical kaleidoscope of colors unrivaled in the American West.

Every year, I take a two day bicycle tour across four passes for a first hand inspection of Mother Nature’s handiwork. I ride my own “Quadruple Color Bypass”. It promises magic, serenity and a changing of the season.

After parking the car in Frisco, I packed my bike, Condor, for the ride over Vail, Battle Summit Mountain, Tennessee and Freemont passes. With four panniers bursting with camping gear and food, I headed up along the river toward Copper Mountain.

The morning air--crisp, clean, full of energy—powered my journey through a tunnel of golden aspen trees. At 50 percent color change, a full bouquet of tints greeted my eyes. Sheer delight! But beyond the blazing yellow leaves, many falling along my path, a beautiful mosaic of ground color caught my attention even more. Leaves turned into bronze, topaz, burgundy, gold, canary yellow, rose pink, maroon and crimson. Below, cascading water provided ‘white music’ that soothed my mind. Looking to my left, blazing gold aspen trees marched up the side of gray rock to peaks 1,000 feet overhead.

Ahead, a gold/green tree tunnel beckoned. A number of other bikers raced by my slow moving touring machine. “We’re in for a good ride Condor” I said. The other cyclists seemed in a hurry. I passed several lakes with long straw grass floating across the surface while mallards played among the brushes.

The six mile paved path continued winding, dipping and climbing along the river. Every curve brought new angles of the hard rock mountains to my left and the crystal river flowing to my right. I pushed the pedals onward until reaching Copper Mountain. The crazy rush of the I-70 traffic knocked me back to my senses, but I dove back into the paved trail leading up Vail Pass. Ah, quiet again, yet another river, and more ground cover greeted my eager eyes. I find pedaling along a river makes the effort effortless and physically incidental. My eyes watch for everything and my spirit settles into a cycling ‘satori’ or sweet spot of the ‘perfect moment’. Condor, quiet and smooth beneath me, has taken me to many far flung corners of the world without a complaint. I look down to the plastic bubble on my gradient scale to see 10 percent, woops, 15 percent! Back to 6 percent! It’s an easy ride to the top of Vail, even with 50 pounds of gear. Along the way, I stopped for a half dozen pieces of trash tossed by careless cyclists. Thankfully, most appreciate the sacredness of the wilderness. Take only pictures and leave no trace!

At the top, I talked to folks from Kansas, Utah, New York and Michigan. They marveled at the colors. I agreed that our state finds itself blessed with autumn colors capped by majestic mountains and bountiful azure skies.

As I finished my apple, I noticed a touring rider coming down a dirt road with a sign, “Shrine Pass”. Peter pedaled over to me and introduced himself. From the Republic of Czech, he’s riding for two years around the world. We exchanged business cards.

I said, “How was that ride over Shrine Pass?”

“How you say? Superb beyond compare,” he said in broken English. “Take it my friend for a totally wilderness experience.”

After exchanging a few touring stories, we departed. I cranked up a dusty dirt road leading toward higher altitudes. Yes, I could have been coasting down to Vail, but I felt a good change from the Vail scene, plus the fact that this route would skirt Battle Summit Mountain Pass. It’s a long grind with a loaded touring bike.

Up, up, up, I climbed through the dust, but as I gained altitude, more pines, more rock, more ground cover that held tight to the tundra. Deep colors beckoned my eyes. The road snaked up and down, curved left, then right. Always upward toward the pass! Each pass enjoys its own personality. I found myself enjoying the quiet.

As I looked up from my pedaling toils, what do you know, a large racked bull elk looked up from his grazing at me not 40 yards away! Majestic! While they wonder through Evergreen often, I find them enthralling and regal in their wilderness settings. Something about their energy that inspires the Edward Abbey, John Muir and Henry David Thoreau in me.

“We need the tonic of wildness, to wade sometimes in marshes where the bittern and the meadow-hen lurk, and hear the booming of the snipe; to smell the whispering sedge where only some wilder and more solitary fowl builds her nest, and the mink crawls with its belly close to the ground.” Thoreau

I like traveling with my wheels close to the ground, yet my feet fly above it. I softly feather the ground with each pedal stroke. Something about my steel steed laced together with spokes and a two bands of rubber that carries me to distant quests.

At the top, Shrine Pass, probably 11,000 feet, proved a flat pass with lots of open fields that surrendered to pine trees. I followed a narrow dirt road that meandered downward at a slight three percent descent. Soon, the road re-entered deep pine woods along a river. Again, ground plants danced with colors right out of a Crayola box. Aspen once again dominated mountain sides to my right. They seemed to be selectively painted with a brush that created different shades of yellow, green, gold and in some places red dabs. Brilliant!

Condor, with 1.5 tires, gingerly made his way down the mountain, and to both our delights, the descent at three percent took 1.3 hours of gravity power! I snapped a dozen pictures and talked to a few campers along the way. At one point, I stopped at a cabin well over 100 years old. Wonder if the ghosts of the past could talk, what they might say about those miners in their time?! “In the winter, it’s colder than a well diggers ass,” they might lament.

Late in the afternoon, I rolled into Red Cliff. Three towns in Colorado might be called ‘funky’! Ward, Leadville and Red Cliff! Junked homes, trailers sunk into the ground, nice homes, junked cars and total lack of any pride in the areas! Several strange houses in Red Cliff make a visitor wonder who and why they built them. I picked up water at the “Provisions” store before climbing out of the town along the river that eventually ran into the Eagle River.

Above the town, I crossed the stunning arched metal green bridge that connected to Route 24 and headed south toward Leadville. I pedaled through deep woods along the Eagle River. Lumberjacks cut many trees from the beetle blight. Just before Camp Hale and the 10th Mountain Division soldier memorial, I camped in the woods by a stand of flaming golden aspens on the east side of the highway.

I pitched camp, cooked up hot chocolate and pasta primavera along with onion buns. As my food steamed, I sipped on soothing marshmellowed warmth that soothed my soul. I watched the sun set over the notched mountains to the west. After filling my tummy with tasty dinner, I unrolled my sleeping bag, wrote some notes, watched the sky turn to the ink black of space—and one by one, watched stars make their appearance in the night sky.

Next morning, hot oatmeal and apple slices and, of course, two cups of hot chocolate. God, it doesn’t get any better than that. Several hundred aspen leaves fell on my tent during the night. Just too cool!

After washing up, I hit the road with a blue-gray sky. Soon enough, I pedaled past Camp Hale. Thank the gentlemen of the 10th Mountain Division for their bravery in WWII.

Ah, the road headed upward. I geared down to my granny with a 24 to a 34 chain ring to freewheel. Only five miles to the top! Near the summit, an old Standard Oil gas station with a house offers cyclists free water. I tried the drum: Voila! Water! But even more fun, I watched a ruby throated hummingbird that landed on a pole above the roof of the building. He fluttered, flew and returned. His wings caught the morning sun. He looked around his domain, fluttered up and returned. I watched for five minutes. Finally, he flew away and so I returned to my own flight.

More aspen led me all the way to the top of 10,400 foot Tennessee Pass. At the top, an apple and a few pictures gave me enough time pull on some layers for the descent.

Something about coasting downhill after you earned the altitude. The bike rolls sweetly as if your legs enjoy enormous power! Down along the river, and in the distance, Mount Elbert, Massive and a line of 14ers that I have climbed. Further in those mountains, my memories of competing against Lance Armstrong in the Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race Across the Sky.

I pressed the top gear on Condor while he responded by flying across the tundra. Horses and barns, over 100 years old, stood off the highway. Great feeling as the bike and man ‘flew’ toward 10,152 foot Leadville.

Once there, I filled my water bottles before taking off to Freemont. I saddled up and headed into a stiff wind with gathering storm clouds from the north. The road lead through golden aspen stands surrounded by green pines in exquisite forms only painted by nature’s indolent hand.

A half hour later, I faced the long, steep climb to the top of Freemont Pass.

“Well big guy,” I said to Condor. “Let’s get to the top before that storm hits.”

Yes, over the years and the many miles, I do talk to Condor. He possesses a personality. I’ve taken him apart and put him back together. He’s carried me over 16,000 foot passes in the Andes. He’s carried me across the Atacoma Desert, driest in the world. Dropped me below sea level in Death Valley at 116 degrees of suffocating heat! He has taken me to where the condors fly. As much as we’ve been through, he’s become a friend in my mind.

An hour later, we reached the sign, “Freemont Pass 11, 318”. A small exhibit behind the sign shows that Climax Mine, started in 1898 or so, yielded 700 million tons of rock mined to find minerals. Of course, it destroyed an entire mountain! John Denver lamented, “…more scars across the land.”

As I wrote notes and took pictures of the outdoor museum, which by the way, proved exceptionally interesting, a nasty, ominous, black storm front moved in over the pass. “Holy catfish Batman!” I said.

I ran over to Condor, took out my rain gear and pulled it on. I watched a rain squall wall of water heading toward me. By the time I got on Condor and we headed down the pass, it hit. Boy did it hit! For the next 10 miles to Copper, I coasted through a downpour. Yippee ki yo ki yea!

At Copper, it stopped. Hey, as long as I rode warm and dry, not a problem! But on the way back down the six mile path along the river to Frisco, the rain created more magic. Water glistened from every golden leaf as the sun broke through the cobalt sky. More leaves fell almost like a carpet for me to ride down that paved path. To my right, instant waterfalls cascaded down the steep slopes like silver ear rings from female movie stars at the Oscars. The ground colors turned even more wild and beautiful with water soaking them into glistening diamonds.

Within a short time, I pedaled into Frisco. Condor returned to the roof rack and my panniers found themselves dumped into the trunk. A raging hunger found satisfaction at the local Quisnos sub shop! And, a big mug of hot chocolate! Soon, I returned to the traffic heading back home. Condor and I lived a most excellent color tour adventure.

As Muir said, “Camp out among the grass and gentians of glacier meadows, in craggy garden nooks full of Nature’s darlings. Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.”

##
Frosty Wooldridge has bicycled across six continents – from the Arctic to the South Pole – as well as six times across the USA, coast to coast and border to border. In 2005, he bicycled from the Arctic Circle, Norway to Athens, Greece. He presents “The Coming Population Crisis in America: and what you can do about it” to civic clubs, church groups, high schools and colleges. He works to bring about sensible world population balance at www.frostywooldridge.com Enjoy his three bicycle books: HANDBOOK FOR TOURING BICYCLISTS; BICYCLING THE CONTINENTAL DIVIDE—SLICE OF HEAVEN, TASTE OF HELL; BICYCLING AROUND THE WORLD—TIRE TRACKS FOR YOUR IMAGINATION. He is the author of: America on the Brink: The Next Added 100 Million Americans.