Ridges and Roads Part 2

Picking Dan’s Brain

I spent the better part of eight months piecing together our route, pulling from CalTopo, old Tour de 14er routes, blog posts, heatmaps, and anything else I could find from people who had traveled through these areas by bike. One thing became pretty clear as I built the route: most people connecting 14ers by bike were looking for the most efficient way between them, which often meant a lot of pavement and highway miles. We wanted something different.

Our goal wasn't necessarily to get from one mountain range to the next as quickly as possible. We wanted to immerse ourselves in the landscapes as much as possible. I spent a lot of time looking for obscure dirt connectors that would keep us off busy roads and let us experience more of the landscape along the way. Of course, a lot of those sections came with question marks. Would the road actually be rideable? Would we end up pushing our bikes for miles? Would we even be allowed to be there? Do these roads even exist? Satellite imagery can only tell you so much.
Some of those unknown sections ended up being the most memorable parts of the trip. For example, I'd driven the highways between Pueblo and Blanca plenty of times and always thought of that area as something you just pass through on the way to the mountains. On the bike, we were able to get up into the foothills, away from the traffic, and onto quiet dirt roads with great views. Moments like that made all the time spent staring at maps feel worthwhile.

The route was definitely rugged, but that was intentional. We wanted to stay off the main roads and find a more interesting way through the state. Some days that meant cruising perfect gravel, while other days meant pushing our bikes up steep 4x4 roads for hours on end. We never really knew what the next section would bring, and I think that uncertainty was a big part of what made the riding so fun.

Picking Caleb’s Brain

A trip of this magnitude is not something that should be taken on lightly and if one is to attempt this kind of adventure with a partner, the choice of said companion is an even more critical consideration. This is one of the things that weighed on my mind before our departure. In a very real way Dan and I would be relying heavily on one another in some serious back country situations. My mom even brought this up over the phone beforehand, “How's Dan? Has he ever attempted a trip like this?” Her concerns were valid, especially because she knows first hand how taxing a trip like this can be —there has been more than one occasion that I have called her on a human powered tour in tears. I had faith in our partnership and it did not let me down. All of us who have set off on a long day in the mountains with a companion have come to understand this truth —often the magnitude of an outing itself is not the crux, but instead how you navigate said outing with your partner. My main rock-climbing partner and I have discussed this concept many times before and have dubbed it as “the brotherhood of the rope” when discussing large climbing objectives. When you start questing up a big objective it is of the utmost importance to have full trust and confidence in your partner. There is no time for questioning or second guessing —you must lift each other up. It is the same concept when taking on a long range tour like R&R. 

Picking Dan’s Brain

One of the things Caleb and I talked about afterward was how easy it is to get intimidated by an idea before you actually start doing it. Looking at this trip on a map, it seemed pretty daunting. There were a lot of miles, a lot of climbing, complicated logistics, and plenty of opportunities for things to go wrong. But at some point, you just have to go do the thing.

We definitely didn't have everything figured out when we left Boulder. We had spent a lot of time preparing, building the route, and getting our gear and logistics sorted, but there were still plenty of unknowns. We just knew we wanted to try. Once we started pedaling, we figured things out as we went.

I think that's something that applies well beyond this trip. It's easy to keep waiting until you're more prepared, have more time, have better gear, or feel more capable. There will probably always be another reason to wait. At some point, you just have to commit to the idea and take the first step.

For us, that meant loading up our bikes and seeing if we could connect five of Colorado's classic mountain traverses. We didn't know exactly how it would play out, but that's part of the fun. You make a plan, get out there, and figure it out along the way.

The trip definitely had its share of hard moments. We got rained on almost every day, pushed our bikes up thousands of feet of steep mountain roads, dealt with a few mechanical issues, and slept in some interesting areas. But somehow, none of that really detracted from the experience.
If anything, those moments are part of what made the trip so memorable. There was always another problem to solve or another challenge to work through, and Caleb and I were able to do that pretty naturally. We matched each other's pace, whether we were riding or moving through the mountains, and neither of us was too concerned about making the day look a certain way. We were just out there trying to have a good time and see what we could find. It is extremely difficult to find a partner who compliments you so well, and I’m so lucky to have a partner like Caleb.

Picking Caleb’s Brain

Things were quite rugged on our little expedition: we got rained on fifteen of sixteen days, we hiked our bikes thousands of feet over rugged mountain passes, we had mechanical problems, we slept in subpar spots, and we had to negotiate rugged mountain ridges. Not one of these hurdles affected our vibe in a negative way. We were in sync and stoked to be on our epic journey. I was recently talking with another outdoor enthusiast/dirtbag that has been pushing the limits of human powered adventure and I became aware and even more grateful for Dan as a friend and mountaineering companion. We matched each other's pace and solved problems together during the mountain traverses as well as on the bikes.

Earlier this year I was in the market for a bike to train on and ride some of the local dirt here in Boulder County. I had informed some of my more bicycle-minded friends and eventually got tipped off on an aluminum 2010 Specialized Tricross for sale in Denver for $400. For me this was a no-brainer, a go-anywhere rim-break rig for less than $500. I drove down to the Dirty D and picked up my new stallion. I think Dan would agree that confidence in my bike in particular was not the highest, but it's the rig I had. It was audibly protesting from the very first day. We jokingly began to refer to my steed as “the Japanese utility truck” —it certainly wasn't amazing to look at, but it sure as hell would keep on going. Remarkably the rig held up! Overall I don’t think I spent more than $200 on gear for our trip. I gathered up the gear that I had accumulated through the years and modified my set-up to meet the demands of our adventure as best I could. While this may feel like a dirtbag flex to stroke my own ego a bit (which admittedly it does) the point that I really want to make is that the gear truly doesn’t matter —use what you've got. Dan and I were extremely fortunate to be supported by La Sportiva and wearing some truly top-notch clothing and shoes, but the gear didn’t enhance our ability to get the job done. Instead I would place a huge emphasis on mental and physical preparation.
In the end I don’t think Dan spent too much money on his tour setup either –just use what you have. It is all about the adventure, not how good you look while doing it. There was actually a moment in Silverton where a waitress asked Dan if we would be able to pay for our meal –she actually thought we were unhoused!