Here’s a look back in time to one of my most memorable rides, the 2006 Triple Bypass. The day could be summed up as follows: “fun and miserable.”
The Triple Bypass ride starts in Evergreen, CO, in the foothills west of Denver, and winds it way to Avon, CO, just west of Vail. The ride covers 120 miles and goes over three mountain passes, all above 10,000 ft. Due to the amount of climbing (over 10,000 ft elevation gain) and the distance, it’s a challenging ride that many of my riding peers have never attempted, nor would be likely to. All I can say is too bad, for they are missing a treat!
See map here (taken from a post about the 2008 edition of this same ride).
Dateline Evergreen, CO, July 8, 2006:
I crawl out of the bed at a motel in Golden, a suburb just west of Denver, and peer outside the window. Gray. Cloudy. It had rained heavily the night before, and by the looks of things, more rain was likely. In fact, I’d say the chance of rain was near 100%.
But it wasn’t raining now. My rule about doing most rides is no matter how bad it looks, if it isn’t actually raining, right now, then I’ll at least start the ride. With that in mind, I prepared for the long day, and had my wife drop me off at the start line at a high school parking lot in Evergreen.
Before moving to the low altitudes of Arizona, I used to live in Evergreen. It was strange to be here again, some eleven years later. The familiar high altitude breathing pattern I had once adopted was back. The week before, my wife and I stayed in Dillon, about 1/2 way along the Triple Bypass route, at 9,000 ft, to get as acclimated as possible. During the week we did little baby rides around Dillon Lake. I remember our first ride of the week. There was a small hill right out of the hotel. The first time I climbed said hill, I thought I was going to die, I was so out of breath, and my legs were burning. Triple Bypass my ass! What was I thinking?
But I continued to ride during the week, even venturing half way up Vail Pass (the last pass of the ride), just to test my legs. My legs felt better as the week progressed, and much to the amazement of my brother and sister-in-law, (who came up to stay with us a few days and previewed part of the route with us in our car), as I looked out the car window on the top of Loveland Pass, (the second pass of the ride), way down to the switchbacks below, I knew I was ready. I knew I could conquer those switchbacks. “They’re never as bad as they look,” I told them confidentally. Ha!
The long climb up Juniper
I left the start line right at 6:00 am, me and 3,500 other riders. I was gasping for breath before I even got out of the parking lot. Right from the start, I began to doubt my sanity. No matter, I had climbed the first pass, Juniper Pass, many times before, albeit with legs eleven years younger. But I was a much stronger rider now, or so I hoped. I had trained a lot for this ride, climbing as many hills in the flat Phoenix valley as I could. I had completed the week long Ride the Rockies the year before, so I had a pretty good guess at my abilities.
Juniper Pass is about 14 miles of 4-6% grade. I rode at steady state, never pushing it. People were passing me right and left. Every now and then, I could actually pass somebody myself. Several people apparently thought I would never make it up the first climb. One guy that I was passing looked over at me, and commented, “You know, the best way to do this ride is to noodle it up the passes.”
I looked back at him kind of funny, and realized he thought I was pushing it too hard. Yeah, yeah, so I was huffing like a locomotive! That was par for the course for me. I told him I had done this pass many times in the past, and had climbed the last pass as well. I knew what was in store, or so I hoped.
A little while later, a middle aged woman came by me and also commented: “You shouldn’t be breathing so hard this early in the ride.”
I just smiled, “I’m okay,” and then silently to myself, “I think.”
I was humbled by the strong riders, both male and female, that were powering up the climb, zooming right by me and talking and yabbering without effort.
The climb up Juniper was steeper and harder than I remember the last time I climbed it, eleven odd years ago, on my heavy old mountain bike. For sure, though, I was in much better shape now than then. Whereas before I would get to the top and be completely wiped out, I knew now I would most likely be able to keep going for another 100 miles. In the past, I would muster about 4-6 mph up this climb. This time, not much better, averaging 7.6 mph. I would have expected more, but I wasn’t ever pushing it. I was in it for the long haul, I kept telling myself. Yes, I was “noodling up the pass.”
About 5 miles up the climb it starting sprinkling, which turned into drizzle. I stopped to don my wind/rain jacket, noticing that many many riders passed me without any sort of cold weather or rain gear at all. Just short sleeve jerseys and padded biker shorts. By the time I reached the top of Juniper Pass, (at around 11,100 ft), the drizzle had turned to all out heavy rain. In sunny weather, this climb is downright gorgeous, a winding road through deep forest, and an occasional view of the snow capped peaks of the Continental Divide off to the northwest. But not today. Today, you couldn’t see more than a few feet, for along with the rain, came fog, and more fog. I sure hoped the corners I was going around didn’t just suddenly end in a drop-off. There was no way to tell.
The first rest stop of the day was at the top of Juniper Pass. I made it there around 8:00 am, and stood underneath the tent, keeping out of the pouring rain as best as possible, shivering and eating a PB&J sandwich. The rest stop was muddy, wet, cold, and miserable. So were all the riders around me.
Down to Idaho Springs
I took off for the descent to Echo Lake, (at 10,000 ft, and at the base of the climb to Mt. Evans, the highest paved road in the U.S. at 14,000 ft.) I was filled with a bit of trepidation, for it was cold, foggy and still raining heavily, and I knew from previous rides that the road down to Idaho Springs was steep and curvy.
I was glad we weren’t going to the top of Mt. Evans, although someday …
I passed the Mt. Evans turnoff, and past the lodge at Echo Lake. Many cyclists were stopped there, apparently going inside to get warm, and many donning makeshift rain gear made of garbage bags. As the road fell away my speed quickly picked up. My brake pads had 9,500 miles on them. I have no idea why I didn’t think to replace them before the ride. I was finding it hard to slow down. I tried desparately to keep the speed below 20 mph, and even that seemed too fast for the conditions. There were sheets of water crossing the road. It was scary and not fun. I kept wondering when hypothermia was going to set in. Soon ambulances came by, heading up the other way. Oh, that’s reassuring!
I wasn’t sure I could even stop if I wanted to, so about halfway down I made it a point to actually try and do so. I needed a rest for my cold and cramping hands anyway. Fortunately, my brakes did hold and I rolled to a stop at the side of the road. A guy passed me who wore garbage bags on his chest, hands and feet. The bags ballooned out, making him look like some poor caricature of marshmallow man. I chuckled and began my descent again. Eventually the gradient eased and I was able to risk speeding up to 24-27 mph, even in the sloppy watery road. But I tried to stay away from anybody else whenever possible, if for no other reason than the watery rooster tails spraying off the backs of their bikes was certainly something to avoid. Not that the water would have made that much difference. I don’t see how I could have gotten any wetter than I already was.
I coasted into Idaho Springs and encountered a large crowd of bikes stopped on the street near a corner gas station. Everybody was complaining how bad that ride was coming down. I tried to tell a bystander just how miserable it was, but my teeth were chattering so bad I could barely talk. The thought crossed my mind to bail at this point, but only briefly. There was no way I was not going to try and finish. After all the training I had done? After all the miles and miles of struggling uphill, and miles and miles of getting dropped by the faster riders I made it a point to ride with during my training rides? Nahgonnahappen. Besides, I knew the climb up to Loveland Pass would surely warm up my cold miserable bones. And I at least wanted to climb Loveland Pass. It had been a dream for many years and here was my chance.
On the way to Georgetown
The climb to Georgetown (halfway to Loveland pass) was about what I expected. Not too hard. I traded “leads” back and forth with that same middle aged woman who had told me earlier that “I shouldn’t be breathing so hard this early in the ride.” Her pedalling style was a sight to behold. She was lumbering up the hill in way too high a gear, her legs pumping like a big ol’ bear out on a morning romp. I thought surely I would drop her and never see her again, but she kept on coming back, and at the last rise before the lake by Georgetown she dropped me like a wet rag. I tried to catch up, but instead ended up going backwards, the view of the lumbering bear getting smaller quite rapidly. I started to wheeze, exercise-induced asthma settling in. So much for my judge of riding ability. And so much for my climbing prowess, as this little rise sure humbled me!
I reached the Georgetown rest stop at 10:20 am. Leslie met me there, (being my personal “sag”) and she retrieved the Albuterol I had in the Jeep to help with exercised induced asthma. I was also starting to get intestinal cramps and bloating, but I tried my best to ignore that. A little while later I began the climb to the Loveland Ski Basin, and soon the grade steepened considerably. We followed a bike path on the south side of I-70 for many miles. I watched as the cars and trucks sped nearby on the freeway, spraying wide swaths of water in their wake. I knew we had to actually ride on the freeway for a while a bit later on, and could just envision how soaked we were going to be.
At one point I looked off to my right, and saw traffic way way up high, heading northwest. Oh-oh, look at how much climbing we have to do, and we aren’t even to the bottom of Loveland Pass yet! Turns out what I was looking at was the road up Berthoud Pass which goes to the Winter Park Ski Area. In comparison, the freeway that headed west looked relatively flat. Whew!
The bike path eventually turned into a highway (Highway 6?). Just before Bakerville, we had to climb up a fairly steep hill, mostly of 8-11% grade. This hill went on for a mile or so, and then swung around under the freeway, and the next thing I know, we are riding on the shoulder of the freeway, heading west. Fortunately, the shoulder is quite wide at this point, at least as wide as a whole lane of traffic, so although it was noisy, with many semi-trucks blasting up the 6% grade, we were relatively safe, and the spray from the traffic never reached us, or at least if it did, I was too soaked to know the difference.
It was a 5 mile, continuous, noisy, rainy grind all the way to the Loveland Ski Basin, and in fact the last mile after we exited the freeway was as steep as anything we’d see the rest of the day, or at least it seemed that way. I traded positions with a couple of gals back and forth up the climb.
Loveland Ski Basin
I got into the Loveland Ski Basin rest stop at about 12:45 pm. So far, my average speed had been 7.6 mph up Juniper Pass, 20.4 mph down to Idaho Springs, 12.7 mph to Georgetown, and 8.5 mph to the bottom of Loveland. At almost no time was I ever in the red zone or even the yellow zone (except for the beforementioned humiliation by the lumbering bear.)
The rest stop at the Ski Basin was wet, cold, and muddy. The rain was still falling, but not quite so heavily. I shivered as I ate a turkey sandwich, and then eventually spotted Leslie and the Jeep. I sat in the truck with the heater running full blast for 10-20 minutes, and never did warm up. Leslie gave me another full length jersey that I put on. I now had a full sleeved base layer, two jerseys, and my rain jacket, as well as tights. I also grabbed a plastic bag out of the back of the truck, to stuff down my jersey when I got to the top.
I decided to have one of the mechanics at the support tents look at my brakes, and it’s a good thing I did, for he took one look at them and said, “Dude! You need to replace these pads pronto!” It took about a 1/2 hr to wait in line to get them replaced. All the while, I was getting colder and colder, just standing around. I noticed that the crowds had thinned out considerably. I thought it was because everybody had gone on ahead, leaving behind Mr. Weak and Slow. No matter, I was going to finish this ride, no matter what. Well, at least as long as there was still daylight, and wasn’t, like, snowing or something.
Finally, I was on my way. I knew the climb to the top of Loveland was about 4 miles long, at a steady 6% grade, with some steeper pitches here and there. For some reason, I find it easier to climb up switchbacks, than on straight road, probably because you know how hard it’s going to be, because, well, it looks bad. On a straight climb, you can’t always tell you are climbing, so you think you are just being pathetic.
My spirits soar at Loveland Pass
About 2 miles from the top, the rain stopped, and the day got brighter, as the sun began to peek out. My spirits soared. Such beautiful scenery. And such a long way up, almost 12,000 ft. I could scarcely believe I was doing this climb. But here I was, climbing at a steady 5-6 mph, never pushing it. I got to the top in no time at all, it seeemed, arriving at 2:15 pm, altitude: 11,900 ft. I stuffed the plastic sack underneath my jersey, and started the descent. It was not near as scary as Juniper Pass, because I had brakes that actually worked! No sooner than I had started the descent, though, the rain came again. But the roads didn’t seem as wet, so I wasn’t too concerned. Ha! Halfway down the pass, it started sleeting. I was in a quandary, trying hard not to brake, for fear of my rear wheel slipping out from behind me, but also not wanting any speed at all. Turns out, it wasn’t a problem. I was past the sharp curves, so high speed wasn’t as much an issue. I didn’t test this theory by using my brakes though. Instead I sat up as much as possible into the wind, hoping it would keep my speed in check.
I had worried about the semi-truck traffic on Loveland Pass, but it proved to not be a problem at all. I think maybe two semi’s passed us on the way up, and they gave us a wide berth. I encountered no trucks at all on the way down the pass. Somebody commented later that maybe this was because we were going faster than they could on the descent.
I glided into ski resort town of Keystone averaging 27-30 mph, and then started the ascent up Swan Mountain. This mountain is just a pimple on the elevation profile, and not considered a major pass, but I’m hear to tell ya, the last mile of this climb was just a steep as anything we had climbed previously. I was back to steady 5.5 mph pedalling. I eventually reached the top and coasted into the Summit County High School in Frisco, arriving about 3:15 pm, having averaged 17-18 mph from the top of Loveland Pass. I partook of some of the food, and eventually made contact with Leslie again. Leslie went on ahead to check in at our hotel in Avon (a town just west of Vail). The plan was she would then drive back and meet me at the top of Vail Pass, just in case I felt like bailing by that point.
Ha! Fat chance of that! I knew at this point that I would most likely finish. Heck, I knew from the moment I made it to the top of Loveland Pass. That was really the only unknown part of this journey for me.
Up Ten Mile Canyon
I rode down into Frisco and then up the old Ten Mile Canyon railroad grade that had been converted into a bike path. My legs had not yet tired, and in fact I zoomed up Ten Mile Canyon at one point doing almost 20 mph, amazing myself and apparently annoying a few others, who told me to slow down. I got to the Copper Mountain Ski Resort about 4:15 pm.
But during the climb up Vail Pass, the final pass of the day, my legs began to feel the miles, with hints of cramping coming by way of little twinges in my quads. I could feel a bonk coming on. Not good! Never good! I stopped about 1/2 way up and had a gel pack, next to a bridge over a babbling brook, just as the sun came out. That was pretty much the end of the rain for the day. Ah the mountains! My favorite of all places! The rain had made the mountain air even fresher, if that was possible. Water was trickling down the brook, between green, green banks of grass — green that I wasn’t used to, back in the deserts of Arizona. But I was really too tired to take it all in. I continued my now lazy climb up the pass, and right before a steep switch back, I had to stop again for a little breather. I was running out of gas. The two gals that I had traded leads with up to the Loveland Ski Basin, passed me at this point, and encouraged me on, saying, “The top is just around the corner.”
I climbed said corner and arrived at the 10,500 ft summit at 5:15 pm. I had averaged a lowly 8.1 mph from Copper Mtn. I was begininng to get a lot of gas and bloating, something that had been coming on since Georgetown. A trip to the restroom did not relieve the pain. I guess my digestive system was rebelling from 11 hrs of continuous exercise. Duh! Ya think?
To Vail, and beyond!
After finding Leslie and telling her I was good to go for the finish, I started down the other side of Vail Pass along the bike path. The descent was tricky, because the path was narrow, twisting, and full of cracks and potholes. I kept my speed down under 18 mph, or even lower. Some riders zoomed by me going 25+ mph. They were crazy in my mind. It was just not safe enough to attempt that. Besides, every bump put me on notice of my digestive condition. No point in making that any worse.
Eventually, the bike path turned into a highway, and I sped up to about 24-27 mph, it being much safer now. By the outskirts of Vail, my legs had recovered from all the climbing, and I put my hands in the drops and put the hammer down. I knew it wasn’t that much farther to the finish, I had the energy, so what the hey. I passed a lot of riders, including several in a paceline that seemed amazed when I zoomed by. I overheard them saying something like “I can’t believe he is racing!”
Me? Racing! Ha! If only they knew that a ”non-athlete” had just passed them. I wasn’t racing. I just wanted to get the ride over with, before my mind realized what my body had just accomplished – like the coyote in the Roadrunner cartoons, floating in the air after running off a cliff, and only falling when he realized where he was.
The finish line, Yeah!
Eventually, I joined a group of riders that were about the same level as fitness as me, and we traded pulls for many miles. Pure cycling heaven. As we neared the park in Avon, a couple of other riders joined in, and then the race was on. I don’t know what got it started, but the next thing I knew, we were sprinting to the last corner. It’s been said that the definition of a race is two cyclists out for a ride. Happens every time. Something in our competitive natures. But sprinting after 120 miles of mountains?
I rounded a corner on a bike path, and coasted to the finish line at 6:30 pm, where Leslie was there to cheer my accomplishment. I did it! I really really did it!
I had averaged 21.6 mph from the top of Vail Pass. I had done 9 hrs 45 minutes of time in the saddle, and about 12 1/2 hrs of clock time.
My legs felt fine, but my stomach did not. I was cramping pretty badly. Leslie went to get the Jeep (which was parked some ways a way), while I guarded a coveted parking spot near the food. It took what seemed like forever for her to come back. She told me later it was because they weren’t letting cars into the parking lot, even though clearly there were plenty of people getting through somehow. I stood there for about 15-20 minutes, getting colder, crampier and grumpier by the minute. But I really wasn’t all that tired, considering what I had just accomplished.
Probably due to the winding route we took through Vail, and then to the finish line, Avon was just about the most confusing town I’ve ever been in. I never did figure out where we were, or what direction things were. The park where the finish line was no better. Logistically, it sucked, because the “sanctioned” parking was a long ways a way by shuttle, and it wasn’t clear that you could take your bike onto the shuttle, although we found out later that you could just take them right on inside. Wished someone would have told us that.
There were few people left at the finish. Most of the food was already gone. I grabbed what I could, to take back to the motel to eat at my leisure.
The following week, I found out to my amazement that an estimated 2,000 of the 3,500 riders bailed and never made it to the finish. Many dropped out at the top of Juniper Pass, and then in Idaho Springs as well. Less than half dared the ride up Loveland Pass. No wonder I saw so few riders at the Loveland Ski Basin. They said it was the worst weather in their 18 year history. And little ol’ me, Mr. Weak and Slow, was one of the hardy souls who actually made it. Unbelievable.
I felt very proud to have finished. I’m no athlete, or at least I never thought I was. In high school, I was small, weak and slow, always the last picked on any sports team. For me to have finished such an challenging event (120 miles, 10,310 ft of climbing) is a testimony of the power of the mind, and what can be accomplished with a lot of dedicated training.
All in all it was a successful, epic day in the saddle, one I would cherish for the rest of my life. I was ready to do it again next year! (Er, maybe with better weather, … please cycling gods?)
