The author survives the Colorado Trail “Race.”
Charlie Farrow
September 7, 2026
Where to start? For now, after adding some background or contextual comments, I suppose I’ll just start at the beginning. Note the contextual segment gets really involved and rather exhausting to plow through. Sorry about that, when retired, folks tend to get rather long winded.
I. Contextual segment (with meandering digressions).
As I face inevitable decline, I am wholly aware that I am up against an uncompromising, unrelenting, and unsympathetic “time” clock (I’m in the 4th quarter) and so personal goals and/or challenges that require significant levels of physical exertion need to be taken on in the near future or it will simply be too late. I will add that I have been in decline for most of my life, so I am used to decline. To be honest I can’t think of a time or phase in my life when I was on the incline? My highpoint is hard to pinpoint. It wasn’t my college days, ‘cuz I was a slacker in college, my post college years are nothing to brag about, I was an average teacher, I worked at and continue to strive to be a good father. By the way, I do believe that being a good parent is the most important thing. Perhaps I achieved my pinnacle of personal success (aka Maslow’s Self-Actualization) when I was in fifth grade and I presented to the whole class (including my favorite crush/teacher/Catholic nun, Sister Judith) a brief oral report on the Emperor Penguin. Yet, my mom helped me a lot in writing the narrative and my grandfather helped “a lot”with the Plaster of Paris model of the magnificent Emperor Penguin that I used as my prop. Yet, as I remember it, I do think it was my one time of operating at my full potential. Anyway, I am used to decline, so please do not weep for me. I place a much higher value on enthusiasm and experimentation than achieving societal success or status. Back to the point of this paragraph, the wheels are coming off, and replacing them is getting harder and harder.
Case-in-point, as I type this out, my right knee is super sore and significantly swollen from what I think stems from a weight-lifting session that I engaged in two days ago. It was the first time I had been in the weight room since late May. I was in the middle of four sets of squats (light weight, the young slim high school girl next to me was doing much heavier weights) when something “broke or buckled” in my right knee. I knew I did something, but it didn’t hurt that bad, just felt uncomfortable, so I kept at it, then yesterday morning it was sore, but not too bad, so I went for a long ride with my buddy, Jim Reed. Even at the start, I could tell my knee was not right and by the end of the ride it was very sore. Last night it was noticeably swollen, sore to the touch, and now I am limping around like an old dog with three legs. I am hoping it gets better. No, I am not “going to the doctor.” I am not going to go and sit in a “waiting room” for eternity for a chance to see a stand-in for a doctor or the like as I can’t afford the deductible. Okay I can afford it, but I’m not going to pay $600 (or more**) for five minutes with a harried healthcare professional, who will schedule an X-Ray (which is useless as they all now rely on MRIs) and tell me to ice it and send me home.
In any event, “the sands of time” plays no favorites, so in light of this inconvenient truth, time is of the essence, for I am one injury away from moving like poor old sleepy Joe Biden. Therefore, an urgent goal of mine has been to complete the so-called The Triple Crown. The Triple Crown is a term used amongst ardent, multi-day long distance MTB racers. It refers to the completion of three major and challenging bike routes located in the United States. Namely, the 2700 mile Tour Divide, the 530 mile Colorado Trail Race (CTR), and the 800 mile Arizona Trail Race (ATR). In retirement, initially and foolishly, I had hoped to do all three in the same season, but it became obvious that doing all three in the same season was simply physically (and mentally) impossible for a guy of my average talents and abilities. I did complete the Tour Divide last summer (2025) before attempting the Arizona race that November. [Note: I completed the ACA Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, starting in Jasper, several years ago]. I was able to complete the first 380 miles of the ATR, but the route ultimately "spit me out like hot wasabi,” so to speak. Seriously, the ATR sent me home beat up and with my confidence badly shaken. Yet, getting my butt kicked in Arizona was good for me because it forced me to practice (and ultimately to become more comfortable with) technical descents as well as forcing an approach to the CTR (and other future routes that I dream about) that included a full-on acceptance that a guy of my talent and fitness will only be able to complete these amazing truly “mountain bike” routes by embracing the fact that a lot of the time will be spent off the bike, pushing and pushing and lifting and pushing. You get the idea. In fact, I have grown to rather enjoy taking my bike for long walks. Anyway…
I decided that it was now or never when it came to attempting the Colorado Trail Race. I knew it would be tough, but I suspected that it would not be as tough as the Arizona Trail and now looking back, I think I was right. Both are really rough, both are way harder than the Tour Divide, both are really technical, require steadfast commitment and focus (little time for daydreaming on these trails), and both involve a lot of hike-a-bike. In my view, the reason the Arizona Trail is harder is the simple fact that water plays such a major factor in moving along the AT, while there was never a segment on the Colorado Trail where I felt the need to carry more than three liters of water. For example, on one section of the Arizona trail I carried 12 liters (that’s 26 pounds!). Also while the Colorado Trail requires long ascents and then long descents, the Arizona Trail is up and down and up and down, making it really hard to get into any kind of rhythm. Maybe for a future entry I will provide commentary on the various logistical challenges certain routes I have completed require. But again I digress. I do plan to try the Arizona Trail again in the not too distant future, but not this year.
II. The Colorado Trail: The Prequel.
Okay, let’s start with my actual personal narrative associated with my life and times on the Colorado Trail, but wait, sorry, wait, further context is needed. I need to explain the sad, but ultimately beautiful display of humanity at its best. Namely, the circumstances associated with my first day of the race, yes, I am sorry but further explanation is needed. Dear Reader, Let’s go back: It’s four or five days before I am planning on leaving for the Colorado Trail Race. The Race was scheduled to start at 4:00 a.m. on Sunday, August 2nd. The start is located at the Waterton Canyon trailhead, near Littleton. So think back to late July, 2026.
My plan was to leave Duluth with enough time to allow me to spend a full day with my mom in Rochester, and then take two days to drive the 960 miles to Breckenridge, Colorado. Due to the generosity of relatives of a friend of mine from Esko, I was able to secure a parking spot for my car in Breckenridge, which is situated at 9728 feet above sea level. Thank you Jeff and Emily! I figured I would take two days or so to ride my bike the 122 miles down to the start, near Littleton, then take a full rest day camping at a state park campground that is located only 12 miles from the start. On the first day of the ride to the start, I would have to pass up and over Loveland Pass (11,990’). The idea was to get my body acclimatized. Back in the day I was an average, albeit ambitious mountain climber, so I knew that after a few days “at altitude” my body does well. At least it did in my youth. No history of any maladies related to being up high, even though I had been above 20,000’ on a few occasions. I am happy to report that it seems that even at my age, I still do well above 10,000 feet. Now it’s important to add in at this point, another important reason why I wanted to ride my bike before the start of the actual race.
About four days before I was planning to leave Duluth, I was doing a few hill repeats on a local mountain bike trail when inexplicably the rear hub completely failed, essentially imploded, seizing up such that the rear wheel would not spin at all. I had to push the bike back home. I couldn’t even coast it. The next day, I got the bike to the Ski Hut, my local bike shop, where the head mechanic and all around great guy, Rosscoe, immediately went to work on it. He confirmed that the rear hub was destroyed. It’s a really poor design, just saying. Anyway, after just a couple days, Ross was able to get the parts needed to replace the faulty hub and repaired it on the morning I was leaving. I literally picked up the wheel on my way out of town. Note that I had not been able to test the new fix other than to spin the wheel and listen for the pawls to properly do their thing. It sounded fine. The good news was that for the 122 miles that I rode from Breckenridge to Littleton, the bike worked perfectly. It seemed all was good to go.
III. The CTR Actual Event Begins for the author, but it is short-lived before disaster strikes.
Fast-forward to ~2:00 a.m. on August 2nd. I am out of the tent and packing up. Kinda nervous, I ain’t gonna lie. I arrived at the start around 3:15 a.m. Something like eighty others were also arriving as well. Mostly getting dropped off by supportive friends or family. It was exciting, lots of nervous energy, and fun to mingle with the other riders. Lots of fancy sprinter vans. One guy gave me a good hot cup of coffee.
The first six miles involve riding an easy grade up this pretty canyon via a gravel road and then one hits a steep single track which after topping out, heads down a steep descent to the South Platte River. So far so good. It was gonna get hot and sticky, but the bike was working spot on and I felt good. After dealing with high temps on the Baja California Peninsula just a few months before, I was confident that I could handle the heat. The key, which should be intuitive, is to drink as much water as you can, yeah just keep drinking (adding electrolyte supplements to every other liter or so). Also being fully hydrated helps one deal with higher elevations.
By dawn, the fast riders were gone, out of sight, I was riding with a few other stragglers including an amicable young woman from Buena Vista and a grumpy middle-aged guy from Vermont. They were better than me on the descents, but the climbs were steep and rocky, so we were all pushing and I was a little faster at the HAB sections, so as we climbed up the steep scree slopes leading away from the river, I was in the lead. By that time, it was getting hot. Hot and smoky. We were exposed, above the tree line. I suppose it was 10:00 a.m. or so. Past the second highpoint so far, heading towards the Little Scraggy Trailhead, the trail starts to follow a series of rollers, up and down, up and down. The ups were steep and so most of the time, I’d get off and push. We were ~27 miles into it. The Vermonter was a little farther back, audibly grumbling to himself, but the gal from Buena Visa was right there with me when, as I stood to power-pedal up a short but steep incline, we both heard that terrible grinding noise as the rear wheel completely seized up! I knew immediately that I was screwed! She heard it too, exclaiming, “What was that!” I knew right away that it was exactly the same issue as before, the rear hub had imploded. Sorry Ross, for with the hub failure, there followed a spontaneous fit of rage, in that moment, I did take your name in vain. Now, it is clear that the fault lies in a fundamental mechanical flaw within the hub’s structure.*** In any event, the young woman helped me hold the bike while I yarded on the wheel as hard as I could, with all my weight behind it, with all the strength I could muster. I was thankfully able to get it to spin. When spinning, it made a nasty grinding noise, but spinning was good enough for me to sit on the bike and coast down the hills and to push the bike on the flats and up the hills. Of course the hub was worthless, but I figured that at least I could coast down the descents if I could get the wheel to spin somewhat freely. Wishing them well, I said “good bye” to the two riders. After a brief session of self pity, I made a concerted cognitive effort to stay positive, to stay focused on finding a solution to the problem. Of course, the overarching solution (at the meta level) was straightforward. I would need to find a ride back to a bike shop. I’d have to hitchhike. The best case scenario would involve finding a ride back to a bike shop that was open and near to the start of the Colorado Trail. I was buoyed by the fact that it was only around noon by the time I got my thumb out on the gravel road. I remember thinking at least it happened close to the start. I also think that my experience with these long distance challenges has allowed me to resist the urge to self-loathe and to instead look for and work toward solutions.
Up high, at the spot where the hub failed, given that (based on my calculations using the FarOut app), I was only a few miles from the Little Scraggy trailhead, I briefly considered pushing further southwest along the route with the goal being to get to Segment 2 trailhead of the CT, hoping that someone, a kind Samaritan perhaps, would be there is save me. Yet after a helpful and pragmatic consult with the Buena Vistan (she is an engineer, I’d bet she is a huge success), I came to the conclusion that there was really no other option for me other than to head back down to the South Platte trailhead where I knew there was a gravel road. She pointed out that it didn’t make sense to keep heading away from Denver, for Denver was my best chance at getting a new wheel. Plus there would be people recreating on the river, people with cars and trucks. I figured it was about nine miles back to the river.
Although by then it was close to 100 degrees out, it was pretty easy getting back to the trailhead at the South Platte River as it was mostly downhill. In my retreat, one of the problems I was facing was that due to no phone service, I had no way to determine where I was or which way I should go on the gravel road that runs along the South Platte. In other words, to navigate the CT, I was using a Coros Dura bike computer with offline route info from RideWithGPS and the FarOut app as back ups. The problem is that these resources are not useful once you get even a mile out from the prescribed route. Coupled with no phone service (so no mapping apps available), I was flying blind in terms of making even a basic decision about which way to head on the gravel road. Thankfully, as I was heading the wrong way down the gravel road, a pickup stopped up ahead of me and parked. It was a family disembarking to spend the day fishing. I struck up a conversation with the two parents and they immediately provided me with usable information. They directed me to head in the opposite direction, informing me that a rather busy highway was up the road about ten, maybe twelve miles. “It’s a long walk, especially in this heat, once you get to the highway, head right and the urban areas are about 25 miles from the intersection of the gravel road and highway, you are looking at about 45 miles to Waterton Canyon.” They even promised to pick me up, if I was still on the road in three or four hours as they would be heading back to Denver. So I started heading out, in the right direction, practicing putting my thumb out and in my mind, putting together a sympathetic narrative that I could use to make my case to any prospective Good Samaritan (aka motorist).
By this time it was very hot and very exposed. I suppose I walked for about fifteen minutes or so before the first vehicle approached, as it passed me, it slowed a bit. I made every effort to look pathetic, yet harmless, even gesturing towards my bike using a kind of lame, improvised sign language, trying to convey that the bike was broken, that I was a broken man, yet worthy of salvation. After hesitating momentarily, the motorist stepped on the gas and blew by me. Several more did the same, I bet an hour went by, until finally a young man (real young, like early twenties) in a fancy black Toyota Land Cruiser (with a bike rack attached to the rear—no bike in the rack) slowed and then pulled up next to me and stopped. My heart soared! He only drew down the window on my side a few inches. I was close to the car, close enough to hear that sound associated with an electric car window moving downward. You know what I am describing, that smooth, low-pitched electric motor hum or whir. It’s weird that I remember that, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning and yet I distinctly remember the sound that that window motor made. We made eye contact. I immediately launched into a kind of preconceived, rambling script designed earlier in my head. The goal being to elicit sympathy and to encourage compassion and charity on the motorist’s part. There would be two phases: The initial script included communicating that I was from Minnesota (rationale: tap into “Minnesota Nice” myth), a retired school teacher (think: tap into the idea that teachers are harmless and law-abiding), also a bicyclist (stereotype: a community of rule-followers) participating in a race along the Colorado Trail ( economic: eco-tourism—good for the Colorado economy), that my bike had broken (compassion for the downtrodden: a victim of bad luck), that I was desperate (charity: poor soul, but peace-loving), and so, could he/she please, please give me a ride to Denver. Then after the initial plea (Phase 1), the plan furthermore, subsequently, hinged on my ability to accurately decipher the initial non-verbals ascertained by carefully watching the facial expressions of the potential savior as I delivered phase one of the pitch, if it seemed that he/she needed further enticement, I would immediately proceed to Phase 2. Thus, my next plea would include a monetary incentive, like, “Come on, please, “I’ll give you $50 if you drive me to Denver or I’ll fill your gas tank if you take me to a bike shop in Denver, etc. etc.” But with this young guy, I didn’t have time to start in on the monetary incentives or even finish Phase 1, for he cut me off mid-sentence, just as I was getting to part about being in a bike race, exclaiming, “I just…I do not feel comfortable letting you in my car. you’re all sweaty and my parents…” His curt refusal trailed off as the low pitched hum of the window motor began doing its duty, drowning out his voice. “Wait wait, I pleaded,” but then there was the unmistakable sound of the window clicking shut having reached the top, at the same time, the car began moving, moving fast, spraying gravel, as he hit the gas and sped away.
At first I was crestfallen, but then, maybe because I knew I was going to get through this, after all, I’d been in much crazier circumstances (I mean I had been stuck in Mexico without a passport just a few months earlier). I remember smiling, chuckling to myself, as he raced away, for the encounter jostled something in my cluttered consciousness, recalling a classic Werner Herzog quote in reference to the grizzly bear that ultimately ate the annoying Grizzly Man (aka Timothy Treadwell). “…What haunts me, is that in all the faces of all the bears (and young drivers of their parents’ Land Cruisers, cpf) that Treadwell ever filmed, I discover no kinship, no understanding, no mercy. I see only the overwhelming indifference of nature (and the indifference of young drivers of their parents’ Land Cruisers, cpf). To me, there is no such thing as a secret world of the bears (or drivers of their parents’ fancy black Land Cruisers, cpf). And this blank stare speaks only of a half-bored interest in food (and in driving around in their parents’ fancy Land Cruisers, cpf)…”
Plus, I also remember thinking, “Okay, maybe I am being too hard on this kid, I mean I don’t know that I’d want my daughter picking up a guy that looked like me on some remote gravel road.” Striving towards being a good parent forces one to at least try to understand the “other side” of the argument.
Would you want your son or daughter to pick this man up as he hitchhiked along a remote gravel road?
I continued on. My mood improving. Based on the time that I ultimately arrived at Wheatridge Bike Shop in Littleton, Colorado, I’d estimate that I walked for a total of only three hours until I was saved, but maybe it was longer as time became a peripheral consideration. Now in a positive frame of mind, I was consumed with mentally working out a way to continue with the goal of completing the Colorado Trail. Not once did it occur to me to scrap the whole operation and just get to my car in Breckenridge and head for home. All the while I was walking, I was thinking of how I wanted this to play out. Sure there was some self-loathing, self-pity, but maybe with age one learns that such thoughts are inefficient and most importantly counterproductive. I think one of the reasons I really enjoy these kinds of adventures is because there also seems to be a solution or a remedy. Getting from Point A to Point B on a bicycle is an infinitely much simpler task than making a marriage work, raising children, working in the human resources business, or effectively teaching a classroom full of teenagers. Adventure by bike is so much simpler than the complex reality of our daily lives. Thinking it through, working out specifics and what-ifs, so as to be ready when my ride to Denver materialized, I remembered from a few days before, seeing a bike shop in Littleton, near to a coffee shop that I visited and that I knew was close to where I have camped on the days before the start. I even remembered the name of the coffee shop, Atlas Coffee. Best case—I needed to get that bike shop.
Not long after my rejection by the Land Cruiser, a very sweet, older woman (my age) in a yellow, newer VW Beetle stopped and offered to take me wherever I needed to go, but that she, of course, would not have room for my bike. I seriously considered her generous offer. She even offered to get me to a rent-a-car place where I could rent a car and come back for the bike. We had a productive conversation, she was so nice. Presumably I’d have to hide the bike, which would have been tricky given the lay of the land (few trees, steep canyon walls on one side, and a beautiful alpine stream on the other). Again the problem was exacerbated by the fact that no one had any phone service as we were deep down in a rugged canyon. I almost did it, but the thought of leaving my bike seemed too desperate. I was also thinking that the original folks that were fishing would be coming along at some point in the near future, so I graciously told her that I would keep trying to hitch a ride that had room for my bike as well. She did renew my hope for humanity in the long run, that good would someday “trump” evil.
Then he showed up, my savior! Super nice guy in his early 30s. Driving an old rusty Toyota pickup. Heaven sent, he pulled up ahead of me, in fact some distance ahead, because he wanted to get to a more appropriate place to park. By the time I walked up to him, he had already pulled down the tailgate. I knew then that I was back in the game! He is the kinda guy that an old guy like me would be proud to have as a son. A graduate from the University of Colorado, Boulder (just like me), happily married (unlike me), a dad that loves his daughter (like me), Loves his parents (like me), smart (much smarter than me), athletic (way more athletic than me—a gifted trail runner), essentially in all the most important ways—the full package, you get the idea. He spoke first, “How can I help you?”Scrapping my planned script, I initially proclaimed, “Dude you have saved me. If not too inconvenient, can you take me to Denver, I mean Littleton? Then I quickly added, “You have to let me compensate you.” He said, “No way you don’t need to pay me, and yes, I can take you to Littleton, I am heading to the airport, which is not far from Littleton and I have plenty of time because my plane doesn’t leave until 6:30.” We immediately hit it off, he was so nice, interesting, charismatic, and leading a great life. Working in both film production and marketing. He was heading that evening to Austin, Texas to attend a meeting about filming an advertisement for Dominoes Pizza. Once we got to the highway and closer to Denver, I noticed that he only had about a quarter of a tank of gas, so I said, “Hey, at least let me fill your tank with gas and once we get phone service, maybe we can use google maps to figure out how to get to Wheat Ridge Bike Shop in Littleton.” And that is what we did. He drove me to the bike shop and even helped me get my bike and gear into the shop. When he wasn’t looking, I stuffed two twenty dollar bills in the seat next to me (and away from him), just ‘cuz I was so happy and thankful. I should have given him more, but it was all the cash I had. Amazingly, he was just the beginning of an incredible string of generous acts bestowed upon me that afternoon. Makes me so happy remembering that afternoon, August 2nd, 2026: The gods shined on me!
IV. I did not deserve these kind and generous people. Wheat Ridge Cyclery, Littleton.
As the events played out that day, I remember thinking, I don’t deserve these people! From the moment I walked into that bike shop, I was being helped. Even before I could finish my sad story, the bike was on a stand and a top notch mechanic was digging into the mess that was my rear wheel. I want to make this clear—This was a busy bike shop, lots of folks working on bikes and yet they never put me on hold. They knew all about the Colorado Trail Race, were excited about it, a couple of the guys had done the full route, they had friends participating in it in real time, and they were watching the dots on Trackleaders via a big screened computer. These guys were all in when it comes to supporting cycling in Colorado. It was clearly a bike shop populated by dedicated bike enthusiasts and bike racers. The store manager, basically before they even knew what I would need, was assuring me that I’d be back on the trail as soon as possible. It didn’t take long to ascertain that I’d need a whole new wheel, that fixing the existing hub was not an option. They quickly determined that they didn’t have a wheel in stock for me. They did have a DT Swiss hub that would work, but that meant having to build me a new wheel, which was an option, but would put me back a couple days as they build wheels on Tuesdays. It turns out that my Sala Horsethief has a 157 mm superboost rear wheel, which is kinda rare, used mostly on big hit, downhill bikes. Apparently, most modern full suspension trail bikes use a 148 mm boost sizing. I was bummed out, but they were undeterred. A younger guy that seemed perhaps to be a newbie asked the manager, “Yeah boss can I start calling around to see if I can find a wheel that will fit his bike?” The manager didn’t hesitate, “Sure, get on the phone, find him a wheel!” I couldn’t believe it. It was such a “Can Do” approach, such a positive vibe, so much so that I started to relax and to think, “Okay, these guys are going to get me back on the route, so I need to find a place to stay tonight and even maybe Monday night as well. This is going to work out. Worst case scenario is that they will build me a wheel and have me back in the game by Tuesday mid-morning. So while the kid was doing his thing, I got on my phone and started looking for a cheap motel, I found a pretty good deal at a Holiday Inn, clearly past its prime, but good enough for me ($78 per night, plus tax, etc.). It was located just a few miles from the bike shop and only nine miles from the start of the Colorado Trail. I booked a room for that night, then I sent an email to Scott Morris, who is the professional wizard of Trackleaders, explaining my situation, asking if I could reload or restart the race as an Individual Time Trialer. I thought ITT was an appropriate moniker for me as I am indeed an individual working on a definite time trial (as in a test to determine an outcome), namely the Biological Clock. The online Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the term as:”an inherent timing mechanism in a living system that is inferred to exist in order to explain the timing or periodicity of various behaviors and physiological states and processes.” However, to my way of thinking, the key to understanding the term lies in the word, “periodicity.”Periodicity hints at it, but what the definition lacks is the vital notion that the biological clock is not asymmetric. A clock measures time in a linear fashion, but humans grow (and decline) in fits and bursts.***** But I digress, old people tend to digress…
As always Scott Morris was quick to respond and told me that I could do it as an ITT and to just let him know when I wanted to restart. Before long, the bike shop kid informed me, along with the store manager, that a shop in Golden Colorado had a wheel that would work. The manager says, ‘Okay take the store’s car and go get it. Take Charlie with you and make sure the wheel will fit” So the kid and I jumped into the car and drove twenty minutes or so to another bike shop. It was a slightly used rear wheel, but of high quality, perfect for a guy like me that is more concerned with durability and functionality than race weight. It was something like a little over $250, but at the point I was resolute, I was in too deep, I didn’t even blink at the price. It was around 5:00 p.m. when we got back to Wheat Ridge Cyclery. I was worried that they would be closing soon, but they all assured me that they would not close up until my bike was Colorado Trail ready!
By 6:00 p.m. Sunday night, August 2nd, fourteen hours after starting the 2026 Colorado Trail Race with a bunch of other riders (some of whom were already over a hundred miles closer to Durango, and many others that had already scratched), I was set to go for Round Two on the Colorado Trail. The guys at Wheat Ridge had fixed me up. Amazing! I left my broken wheel with them, promising to pick it up on my way back to Minnesota in a couple weeks. Of course they welcomed my proposal. I am still blown away by their commitment to their customers. Wheat Ridge Cyclery—Five stars plus in my book. Once I got settled in the motel room, I emailed Scott Morris and let him know that I’d like to start the course again at noon on Tuesday, August 3rd. I fell into a deep sleep with a smile on my face.
V. Colorado Trail Race—Take Two! Or ‘Let’s take it from the bottom.”
The lowest point of the Colorado Trail is approximately 5, 520 feet located at the northeastern eastern terminus in the Waterton Canyon. Starting out for that rocky canyon and the start of the Colorado Trail Race, it was hot and smoky, especially riding through the urban heat dome that was smothering the Front Range. Yet the heat and the smoke didn’t really bother me. I was more firmly committed than ever and yet this commitment had the counterintuitive effect of actually compelling me to go even slower and more cautiously than on Take One. The whole time, for the two weeks on route, I was hyperaware of trying to minimize the risk of wrecking the bike and/or crashing and hurting myself to the degree that I’d have to quit. Essentially, on the second go round, I felt no pressure to “race,” only to complete the full 500 plus mile route.
VI. Finally making progress along the beautiful Colorado Trail.
In an effort to go as light as possible I didn’t bring my journal or even a good book to read. In hindsight, it was a mistake because I really like keeping notes as I progress along and I love to read a good novel at night once settled in my tent. The weight saved was not worth it. Never again, (in fact, I did end up buying a book in Leadville). I also brought a tent, a really comfortable sleeping pad, and a camp pillow. Like the real racers do, I tried going super light on the Arizona Trail carrying only a bivy bag and a Thermarest Z-lite pad. It was nice for moving, but I really struggled with getting comfortable at night. Getting a good restful sleep is key and I rarely slept during my time on the AT. This time, even with the luxurious sleeping arrangement, my set-up was pretty light, and it was really noticeable, especially during the long hike-a-bike sessions. In an effort to take some weight off the front of the bike, I did carry a 20 liter backpack containing a rain jacket, extra water, pants, first-aid, etc. and it didn’t bother me. I have changed my thinking on carrying a backpack and plan to use one when taking on the Great Peruvian Divide next June.
The bike worked great and I didn’t mind carrying the backpack. Note the brand new, slightly used, rear wheel. Thanks Wheat Ridge Cycles.
I am not going to give a day by day account of my time on the CT as that would be boring. It goes without saying that it’s a magnificent, beautiful route and it just keeps getting more amazingly scenic as one heads southwest. Think opening scenes of the Sound of Music! Basically I’d get up early, at the first sign of light, but not light enough to go without the use of a headlight and sometimes even a bike light. I’d ride, push, swear, pedal, push, push, swear, pedal, eat, drink, pedal, push, and repeat until around five or six and then I’d find an appropriate spot to set up the tent. Pretty basic, but it’s what I like to do. I enjoy the simplicity of travel by bike, but as mentioned above I really missed not having a good book to fall asleep to, (see addendum for quote from Teddy Roosevelt’s speech on living the strenuous life).
And I did meet some interesting characters along the trail. For example, two cyclists from Italy (They were employees of the famous Italian cycling shoe company, Sidi), two cyclists from Namibia (google it), and lots of hikers from all over. The guys from Italy were too strong for me to stay up with for the long haul, but the duo from Namibia were going at a similar pace. Although the Italians were faster than me, I ended up catching them that first evening as they camped early. They were fluent in English, yet I loved their delightfully Italian ascents and sense of irony and the absurd. Essentially, they were a fun loving team, full of laughter, self-deprecating observations and funny anecdotes. That evening, in our conversations, given Trump’s preadolescent bullying behaviors associated with his “foreign policies” directed at our European allies. I kept finding myself apologizing for the state of affairs in the U.S., finally the one guy exclaimed, “Hey, don't feel so bad, we had Mussolini and later Silvio Berlusconi, but of course, we hung the first guy and the second guy was sent to jail, but he got out of it." I said, "I can only hope!" Then quickly added, “I mean the jail part, not the fate of Mussolini, I am not a violent person!” They thought that was so funny. “We thought all Americans were violent, How many guns do you own?” I couldn’t help but think that the rest of the world thinks Americans are crazy. And they are tight!
The next morning, early, I was up and moving, but a few hours later they passed me up and I never saw them again. They were hoping to finish the route in ten days. Later, on the second day out, I caught up to the two guys from Namibia. We rode and hiked together for nearly a full day and a half. During our breaks, admitting that I knew nothing about their homeland, I’d prod them to share their knowledge of Namibia (fascinating history and from their descriptions—beautiful wild scenery), their responses were so interesting and compelling. One of them had been born and raised there, while the other guy was a British expatriate. Like in any thoughtful, worthwhile conversation, they in turn asked me poignant questions about the state of the U.S. As stated above, for the last two years, I have felt the need to somehow repeatedly make sure that my friends (and really just about anyone I meet, especially while traveling on my bike) that along with the majority of Minnesotans, I despise the Great Orange Messiah and all that he represents. Essentially I am ashamed of this nation, the fact that "the people" have elected this petty criminal to two terms is so hard to come to terms with, yet I am proud of the way most Minnesotans have stood up to the ICE thugs that Trump (and his gang) sent to our cities to round up the most vulnerable of folks living in Minnesota. It is shocking to see how fragile our Constitutional/democratic structures and institutions turned out to be when confronted by immoral opportunists (motivated by greed and xenophobia) coupled with a few well placed sycophantic judges and lawyers and the like. The Namibians, in turn, conveyed a summation of the complex and often violent history associated with Namibia. You know the score, colonization, exploitation, systemic racism (aka S. African control of the country during most of the 20th century using government sponsored, strict apartheid laws and racial segregation), independence in 1990, etc. Anyway, it was great, very interesting, and wonderful to listen to smart, empathetic, globally aware travelers.
There was a “slight” problem that is all too common when two or more try to ride a challenging route like the Colorado trail. The larger the group, the more likely. What inevitably happens is that one guy(s) is faster than the other(s) and this inequity and the frustration that ensues is magnified when the group is up against a timeline. This is exactly what was happening with these two guys. The born and raised Namibian was a really strong and fit cyclist riding a really put together, full-on bikepacking rig, while the other guy was not in good shape on a less than ideal set-up and was really struggling. Complicating the situation was that they had to be in Durango in fourteen days or they would miss their prescheduled flight back to Europe (and eventually back to Namibia). I left them knowing that there was no way the Brit was going to make it to Durango within that time constraint.
As it turned out, several days later, as I was riding toward the centrally located, charming little town of Buena Vista (along a gravel road that follows the Arkansas River Valley), a biker pulled up next to me and called out, “Hey Charlie!” It was the Brit! Camped along the river, he had seen me riding along and subsequently jumped on his bike to catch me. We rode the rest of the way into Buena Vista and enjoyed breakfast together. On the day I left them, the duo had agreed to park ways and to meet in Durango. The native Namibian would stay on route and the Brit would ride gravel and paved roads, the aim being for them to meet up again in Durango. It was a logical plan. In any event, we had a nice visit. I hope to run into those guys again some day. Stranger things have happened and I’d love to explore this route: https://bikepacking.com/routes/sand-s4/
Apart from a great cup of coffee and an excellent breakfast, I did not resupply in Buena Vista because Mt. Princeton Hot Springs was only sixteen miles away and I figured I could load up once I got there. Overall the ability to resupply as well as to obtain water along the Colorado Trail is easy. Nevertheless, below I include an explanation in this narrative related to logistics because it’s important to note that the longest stretch without resupply opportunities on the CT is reportedly 183 miles. That’s a big number and not surprisingly really stood out to me as I was planning out resupply options. I figured that if I could average approximately forty miles a day (overly optimistic), that would mean that I’d have to leave Princeton with close to four or even five days worth of food. That’s a lot! And after leaving Buena Vista in the early afternoon, as the day grew long (of course I was going way slower than planned), I started to really worry that the store in Princeton would be closed. Finally, I got there around 5:47 p.m. (I remember looking at my watch), relieved to find it still open (it closed at 6:00 p.m.), but from the annoyed looking dude behind the counter (he didn’t hide that my late arrival was not appreciated). So I hastily picked up several various protein bars, a few bags of peanuts and almonds, and the like and headed out, hoping to camp up the trail after an hour or so of biking. I remember that the whole place had a weird vibe about it and the guy at the counter was an old, grumpy malcontent, clearly in a hurry to lock up. In fact, the whole hot springs complex felt like the kind place “they” would hold a CPAC Conference or the like. Lots of flag waving, camo-clad, pissed-off looking guys with unkept beards driving around in huge Chevy or Ford pickups. As it turned out, in my haste to get out of there, I didn’t have enough food and I was a hurtin’ cowboy as I finally headed into the Cathedral Ranch (about 125 miles from Princeton Hot Springs).
VI. Thank God for the folks at Cathedral Ranch. A peaceful refuge for the
poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
By the time I reached the Cathedral Ranch I was really hungry and pretty much “bonking” from lack of calories. Note: If you plan to ride the Colorado Trail, do NOT pass this place up! In short, I loved my stay at the Cathedral Ranch! Here is a link to this haven: https://www.cathedralcabins.com/bikepacking. Not sure if it was even open, my original plan was to just stop by and buy up enough food to get me to Silverton. I arrived at the ranch around noon and was immediately enchanted with the place. It’s up a long gravel trail (basically a long driveway, about two miles up a slight incline), off the main gravel road, up a beautiful hidden canyon that is dominated by this impressive rock formation that looks like a huge cathedral. Also just a short walk up a hiking trail, next to the cabin I stayed in, is a beautiful alpine lake fed by a sublime river. The place is a bikepacker’s dream: An affordable, clean, and very comfortable cabin to sleep in. Plus, a laundry room, a super cool, old school lodge with a beautiful fireplace, and a fully stocked store that has everything one might need. Seriously, I mean everything from pizza and burritos to a specialized pump (the kind needed to add air to your suspension fork), to every brand of brake pads imaginable, to great coffee and tea to a full selection of top quality tires. She had water filters and AquaTabs, super glue and Shoe Goo and little tubes of sealant (several brands), patch kits for leaky sleeping pads, etc., along with every brand of soda known to man. It was amazing! It was better stocked than some bike/gear shops, better stocked with sports drinks, protein bars, and the like than most Safeways. I asked Annette (Brad and her own the place, its been in the family for three generations or over one hundred years), “How did you know to stock all these bike components and camping gear?” She replied, “Over the years, I ask the bikers:What else do I need to stock? Then she asked me, “Can you think of anything else I should order?”
I slept great that night and in the early morning really wrestled with staying another day, but I figured that I was already significantly behind my original time schedule and that I shouldn’t waste what looked to be the dawn of a beautiful alpine day.
VII. Urinary incontinence, self-loathing, and partial salvation. My night at The Avon: When you get old, you can’t hold it, like you could back in the day.
I did not get to the historic and charming little town of Silverton, Colorado until late afternoon, after riding and pushing for two days across some really, really difficult, albeit beautiful terrain. The thing is, to me, it seemed that the going kept getting harder as I gained ground towards Durango and the endpoint.
On my way to Stony Pass. Then a long descent to Silverton.
When I got to busy Silverton (it was late afternoon on a Saturday), I was knackered. Even as soon as I got close to this tourist town, given the crowds I encountered, I knew that getting a cheap motel room would probably be wishful thinking. As is my custom, when entering a town fresh from the trail, I headed for the local brewery, ordered a really good German Style Kolsch (crafted by Telluride Brewery), then ordered another. My nerves quieted, I started researching options on my newly acquired Smart phone. It found a hiker/biker hostel known as The Avon, located just a few blocks from the brewery. I called the place, but no one answered, so I jumped on the bike and pedaled over to the location.
It’s an old brick hotel built in 1904. After its hey day during the silver rush in central Colorado (late 19th and early 20th centuries), it sat empty for many, many years until it was bought in 2017 and fashioned into a semi-functioning hostel. Anyway, after some effort wandering around the first floor, asking itinerant/hiker types in various positions of repose, if they knew where I could find the manager (to no avail), the owner magically appeared. He can be described as disheveled, confused, and slightly irritable. Responding to my query, avoiding eye contact and instead staring at his phone for what seemed like eternity, then still avoiding eye contact, declared, “Yeah I have one bed left in Room #7, $20 bucks cash, you’ll have to take the top bunk.” Exhausted, sleepy, and without asking for further details, I said, “Okay, I can do that.” I gave him the $20 (which he quickly pocketed) and followed him up to the third floor, through a maze of hallways. I didn’t think to ask for a tour. At the doorway of Room #7, he knocked, but didn’t wait more than a pause, and then aggressively pushed open the door. As we entered, I spied five young people, some laying in the bunks, others sitting cross-legged on the floor. Seemingly unconcerned by the sudden intrusion, they continued busily tending to their harvest of mushrooms and prepping their weed. The owner ignored them, as they ignored him. As if we were alone, he pointed up to a bunk high overhead and stated, “That’s your bunk.” Then, as God is my witness, before I could respond, the door closed and he was gone, he had magically disappeared! I found myself in a most awkward position. Here I was in my twilight years in a tight bunkroom with five Neo-hippie kids from New York City, all seemingly in their early 20s, they clearly knew each other, were hiking some aspect of the C.T. together (thus their trail names), and presumably the last person they wanted to share their bunks with was an old guy from Northern Minnesota. Standing at the threshold, they just stared at me, like they do on the first day of class with a bunch of ninth graders. In fact, not once did I ever hear the lone girl utter a single word. The others spoke in mono syllables when asked about their experiences on the C.T., “yes, no, maybe.” One guy, I assume their spokesperson did engage me in limited conversation. His “trail name” was Zap. After a clumsy introduction, “Hi guys, I am Charlie from Northern, Minnesota. Say, I won’t bother you guys, I am just gonna climb up to my bunk and fall asleep,” Zap responded with a simple request, “Hey, can we smoke some weed? Again, the others all just stared at me. “Sure,…but can we open the window?” Trying to sound hip.
By then it was around 7:00 p.m. so I climbed up into the bunk that was higher than a basketball hoop and settled in. In fairness, they were courteously quiet and did not bother me at all. Initially, I heard them moving around, heading in and out, but I was wasted from two days of hard biking and pushing, sleepy from two beers, and so I fell into a kind of fitful sleep almost right away. And then, as is the case with all old people, I suddenly awoke around midnight with the urgent, urge to urinate. It was at that moment that I realized, due to poor planning on my part, that I was in a very dire situation. It was pitch black in the room. Seriously, I could not see my hand in front of my face. I was thirty feet up in a bunk (okay maybe not that high), my only escape involved climbing down a sketchy ladder, mindful that there were two crunchy kids sacked out below me and three others in the other adjacent bunk. I didn’t want to wake them, even as I thought one option could involve me calling out for assistance. “Hey, hey, hey, can one of you guys get up and turn on the lights, so that I can find my way to the bathroom!” I decided that was not a viable option as it would be too embarrassing. Option two could involve trying to stealthily climb down and reach the door with minimal noise. Fumbling for my headlight, to my horror I remembered that I had left my it on my bike (which was stored in the basement of this old building). I laid there, miserable, and becoming increasingly more miserable by the minute, my mind racing, trying to figure out how to get out of this dilemma. Option three, I thought about trying to pee in my water bottle, but it was full water. Then I thought maybe I could pour the water into one of the pillows and then pee in the water bottle, but that seemed wrought with all kinds of problems, especially given that I would be operating in total blindness. Option four, just lay there and try and hold it. I remembered reading how some surgeons and/or surgical nurses, techs, when engaged in life-threatening trauma surgeries, could hold their bladders for a long time.That option lasted about five minutes. Finally it came down to making a move or wet the bed. My final catalyst for action came as I could visualize my bodily fluids leaking through the bed onto one of the kids bunked directly below me. Resolved, reverting back to option two (sans the head light), I slowly felt my way down the rickety ladder and stepped onto the cluttered floor, toes squashing various species of mushrooms. Using my hands, feeling for the wall, I slowly made my way to the door. I opened the door to the hallway to find more darkness. By feeling alone, running my hands long the wall, I worked my way along the hallway. Of course, I couldn’t find the bathroom, but I did find the stairway. I headed down and down, and as I descended I saw light, a tiny glimmer of hope. I made for the small nightlight. On the main floor, I found a light switch and there was light! I sprinted for the bathroom next to the kitchen. Salvation! But alas, on my way back up, I realized that I’d never be able to find my way back to Room #7. Defeated, I slouched back down to the main floor and laid down on a nasty couch hoping for sleep, but it did not come. Around 3:00 a.m. the thought occurred to me that my headlight was in the basement with my bike. So I made my way down into the dirty basement and retrieved my headlight. I waited until 5:30 before I made my way back up to Room #7. All were deep in slumber, except Zap. Zap whispered, “I heard you leave, I thought you were mad at us.” At the moment, feeling genuine affection for him, I responded, “No Zap, it’s all good, I enjoyed my time here, I just had to pee and once I was out of the room, I couldn’t find my way back.” “Wow! That’s a bummer,” he says. “Good luck Zap, Happy Trials!” With that I grabbed my gear, got my bike out of the bowels of The Avon, and armed with maybe a couple hours of restless sleep, I was back on the Colorado Trail, heading for Durango. I did get a decent cup of coffee at a nice place as I left town.
The young people sure enjoyed harvesting mushrooms.
I was relegated to the top bunk.
VIII. A hard row to hoe: It’s a tough getting from Silverton to Durango, just sayin.’
Maybe it was because of lack of sleep at The Avon or just the whole thing catching up with me, or both. In any event, I remember being really tired and going really slow as I battled my way from Silverton to Durango. It’s only something like 110 miles, but it’s tough going. Just as one leaves Silverton, he/she is faced with crossing Mineral Creek. It was up, knee high at it’s deepest, and so I got soaked. The initial section which is not a part of the actual C.T. was really hard core, like a mountain goat trail. Yet there was evidence (in the form of fresh “horse biscuits”) that somehow pack horses were routinely navigating the boulders and the scree fields. That fact gave me some solace, I thought to myself, well if horses can do it… I bet pushed for three or four hours without any hope of pedaling. Yet, I was close enough to the finish line (and had a few days before given up the “poor me” approach), that I made a concerted effort to take in the majestic beauty surrounding me.
IX. Inner Contentment: “When you realize there is nothing lacking, the world belongs to you.” – Lao Tzu
It ended up taking me three days of hard “locomotion” to make it to Durango. I was fired up, really happy to have finished it. A nice brewery (Carver Brewery) is only about five or six miles from the C.T. Trailhead. The word on the trail was that one is afforded a free beer at Carver’s upon completing the C.T. As I imbibed a pint of their stellar Colorado Trail Nut Brown Ale, all was right with my little world at that singular moment in time. The world is on fire literally and figuratively, our country is in shambles controlled by a childish megalomaniac. Personally, I was wrecked, exhausted, my “good hip” was hurtin.’ I was in dire need of a shower, I still had to somehow figure out how I was going to get back to Breckenridge to retrieve my car. As I ordered another ale, none of that mattered. I was a happy camper! Reality can wait…
Addendum:
* The average cost of a single emergency room visit in the U.S. is $1,500 to $3,000. The average cost for an Urgent Care visit w/ an X-ray is $650. Source: HealthPartners- https://www.healthpartners.com/
** A subsequent google search reveals that this hub has been notorious for “catastrophic failure.” Lots of online complaints about this particular brand. Note: I later learned that in forcing the hub to spin, shards of the bearings, pawls, and springs had been forced into the inner workings of the hub. At the Wheat Ridge bike shop in Littleton, when they opened up the hub, a shot glass full of tiny broken metal pieces fell out onto work table and the floor.
***If you haven’t seen Grizzly Man, your life is unfulfilled. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grizzly_Man
****Great article about nonlinearity in aging: https://www.nytimes.com/2025/03/06/well/nonlinear-aging.html
***** ”I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of the strenuous life, the life of toil and effort, of labor and strife; to preach that highest form of success which comes, not to the man who desires mere easy peace, but to the man who does not shrink from danger, from hardship, or from bitter toil, and who out of these wins the splendid ultimate triumph.” T. Roosevelt. Note: Can you imagine the Great Orange Messiah making such a speech? Where have all the moralistic, character-driven leaders gone?
