Signing up for our Private Crippler
After two years of relatively short overnight bike + hike trips, we decided to mix things up a bit. Given my current dislike of life above 10k feet and having been enthralled by numerous tales of the legendary Pueblo Slopper, we picked Soutern Colorado as the base of operations. The only route that made any sense was the Phantom Canyon + Shelf Road loop, altogether around 75 miles and 7000 feet of elevation gain on dirt roads of questionable quality. Since neither of us have had a single day of that magnitude in 13 long years, we thought it would be a great "motivator" to get us into serious biking shape. In other words, it was going to be a genuine Endurance Challenge! Luckily, I was blissfully ignorant of the fact that the route is the basis of an annual bike race known as "The Crippler".
Endurance Challenge: Grappling with my Bike
ML was kind enough to go out of his way to get an absolutely smoking deal on a likely non-stolen gravel bike on Craigslist, so that would be one less thing to worry about. However, I still had to contend with my own bike in the Hudson Valley It just happened to be one of the cheapest non-Walmart bikes you could buy in 2019. Due to the shoulderless, traffic-clogged roads around my neck of the woods, I seldom find myself motivated to go on a good old fashioned weekend ride. With the fearsome 75 + 7k looming closer each day, I knew I had to get in some serious saddle time lest I become a complete wreck on game day.
On the very first training ride through Harriman State Park my bike demonstrated what 4 years of maintenance neglect coupled with commutes in the rain can lead to: shifting all out of index, wheels out of true, and a tire with a very concerning bulge causing a fender rub. That initial ride was all of 7 miles of constant tinkering and swearing. An ominous start to be sure!
The bike troubles were just beginning. The rear wheel wobble was due to a broken axle(!), and not long after I was rolling again I suffered a broken spoke out of nowhere, luckily only 2 miles from home. Needless to say many hours were spent fantasizing about a shiny new road bike. Yet I was determined to see the training through on my bike, for I knew it was all part of this Endurance Challenge.
Endurance Challenge: Rail Trails
Most of my training time was on various parts of the Empire State Trail, an ambitious project to link rail trails across New York. While I certainly appreciate a paved, car-free surface with plenty of shade and trailhead latrines, the tedium of hours of straight, flat, monotonous riding was as much of a mental Endurance Challenge as a physical one. I had to train myself to take it easy, for my instinct was to come out of the gate on a dead sprint in order to get the ride over with as quickly as possible. I found myself with my tank 1/4 full with 3/4 of the ride left on several rides. Plus, in that environment the 7000th pedal stroke was the exact same as the 6,999 that preceded it, causing one to slightly go crazy. I realized why group rides are so popular in the road biking scene: at least you can pass the time having in-depth discussions about the all-consuming bike rider topic: gear.
Endurance Challenge: Mechanized Travel
I took a deep breath on travel day, because flying in and out the Big 3 NY metro airports is always going to be interesting. As per usual I rode the M60 bus from Harlem to Queens, and I believe we were purposely being packed in order to film a music video of the Weird Al classic "Another One Rides the Bus".
Much to my amazement my flight departed LGA on time! ML picked me up for what should have been a pleasant 45 minute drive to his house, but the heavens were on fire with a terrific lightning storm the likes of which I had never seen. Just as I was admiring the aesthetics of such a display all hell broke loose with driving rain and vicious hail. ML's "late-model" Mazda was already covered by hail dents, otherwise he'd have been more concerned. Nevertheless we thought it prudent to pull underneath an overpass for cover. Believe it or not, we weren't the only geniuses with this idea, and while we all fought for a pitiful space the waters were rising at an uncomfortable pace. Suddenly we all looked like imbeciles, violating the old Turn Around, Don't Drown directive. We navigated back to I70 and crawled "up the hill" in what was an Endurance Challenge in of itself.
Endurance Challenge: Punishing our Digestive Tracts
By early next afternoon we had left the hail-scoured evergreens behind and had made the transition into the dry lowlands. It was high time for grub, so we swung into a one-horse town called Hartsdale. We had two choices: an upscale pizza joint with a dozen fully-loaded touring bikes out front, or a dirty, unkept bar that was deserted except for 3 guys who looked like they just played golf and were thoroughly out of place and ill at ease. As a proud snobby New Yorker I refused to entertain the idea of eating pizza outside of the Empire State, so into The Highline Cafe and Saloon we went.
I half expected to see a guy stop playing the piano to stare at us, while a grizzled regular growled "You boys ain't from around here, are ya?". At this hour of the day they were more accommodating, but I can certainly imagine many of a barstool has been broken across many of a back at night. The place didn't seem to bother with cleanliness or orderliness, and the bathrooms made a state park outhouse look inviting. Nevertheless, we tucked in for a pile of tamales with green chile, and they were actually quite good. With that said, we made sure to keep the trusty Wal-Mart shit bucket close at hand.
Endurance Challenge: Finally on the Bikes
The moment we had been anticipating had finally arrived: time to saddle up and hit the trail. We got up at the break of dawn (we were in Colorado after all, the only place on earth where people get up earlier on their days off) and got some relatively healthy breakfast at the venerable Bean Peddler, the Coffee/Beer/Breakfast Burritos/Mountain Bikes combo store that is as ubiquitous in Colorado towns as the Book Store/Cafe/Poetry Slam Nights with cats store that are in New England college towns.
After the usual fumbling and farting around with gear we finally hit the road. The first several miles were on a shady, level bike path through a riparian area next to a raging, swollen Arkansas river. It was such a pleasant ride we couldn't understand why we just didn't ride on that all day. Alas the ride must continue as planned, and we eventually found our way to Phantom Canyon road. We knew we were on the right track when we started seeing signs indicating that the road was treacherous and steep.
Almost as soon as we left the pavement for the endless miles of dirt we were treated with spectacular rocky formations along the beautiful Eightmile Creek. We went past several outstanding campsites, wondering why we elected to stay in a cramped campground. The grade was gentler that we had anticipated, and the road was seemingly well cared for. We felt like this was a wise move after all.
Even in the most beautiful landscapes, miles and hours of continuous effort will grind your enthusiasm away. The gentle grade had gradually become less gentle, with each additional mile seeming to require downshifting one gear. Most alarmingly we were almost completely out of water with the resupply point of Victor forever hovering in the shimmering distance as some sort of mirage (did it actually exist at all?). Fortunately ML was wise enough to pack a water filtration device for such an occasion. Unfortunately the device managed to spring a leak while sitting in the closet, making filling our water bottles a tedious chore. To add to the tedium hordes of gnats were swarming all around us. The fact that bugs are seldom a concern in Colorado, especially in the drylands, gave us the conviction that once we were past that we'd never have to worry about them again on the trip.
As a flatlander, I found the brilliant, unceasing, intense sunshine a real nuisance once the novelty wore off. I was getting to be downright delirious as the world seemed to be one infinite overexposed, oversaturated picture. We agreed to stop at what we felt was the high point of the trip at just a shade under 10k feet. Victor seemed to be receding with every weary crank of the peddle.
Satisfied as we could be with our break, we were about to head out when ML suffered the cruelest indignity of bike touring: the realization that you have a flat tire with absolutely no explanation. This pleasant ride in the park was becoming the genuine Endurance Challenge we feared it would be.
At long last we reached Victor, the object of our imagination and symbolic halfway point. At first glance we thought we were heading into an operational mine and that we would need to check in with the foreman and wear hard hats before entering town. It was quickly apparent this was not your typical gentrified yuppie playground; this was a Real Colorado mountain town, so real to be shocking. While ML went to see a man about a horse I inquired at the one-room visitor's center where one could get water, and the proprietor ordered the younger guy in a dayglo vest to turn on the pitcher pump outside, since "he works for the government and needs something to do, otherwise he just sits on his ass all day." As the guy who evidently runs the visitors center (he could very well just hang out there all day to enjoy the air conditioning), someone must have considered him to be the face of the community, and he certainly had a face to match the no-nonsense, hardscrabble frontier mining town. He looked like a genuine prospector with countless missing teeth, asynchronous eyes, and glasses held together with a bungee cord. He wanted us to know where the bars were, and that Cripple Creek up the road had all the casinos and more bars. That was pretty much the sum total of his knowledge of the town.
I noticed men in interesting uniforms gathering on a baseball field across the street. As it turns out this was a "Congress of Ballists", a gathering of people from around the US who like to play "base ball" as it was in 1864, complete with vintage uniforms and equipment. That this was happening in such a place as Victor was astounding and preposterous. If I were on some sort of solo mission with no set itinerary there is no doubt in my mind I would have stuck around there for several more days just to live out some surrealist fever dream.
Alas, we had a schedule to keep and the shadows were growing longer, so back on the bikes we go despite the desperate pleas from our asses. As we were rolling through town a guy on the porch of a saloon (likely cut from the same cloth as The Highline Cafe) asked us where we were riding from. Upon hearing we started from Canon City he yelled "You guys are my heroes!", which was a well-needed morale boost.
Our morale soon took a nosedive as we entered Cripple Creek, which ML knew from a fondly-remembered childhood trip and I knew from a song by the venerable guitar virtuoso Leo Kottke. The Cripple Creek we rode through was a collection of casinos from one end to the other and tourists desperately trying to convince themselves they are having fun. There are few places more depressing than a town that is desperately clinging to a manufactured past, the equivalent of the overweight 50 year old slob who would love to tell you about how great he was at high school football.
Endurance Challenge: No Coasting on This Downhill
We left Crippled Creek cranky, hungry, tired, and sunburnt. The one solace was that we were finally going to be going downhill: we were thrilled to have finally made it to Shelf Road (with more ominous signs about bad road conditions, steep dropoffs, etc.). However, almost immediately we learned this was not going to be a leisurely cruise. For every mile of downhill there would be a quarter mile of brief yet steep ascents that coaxed our quads to life after being on the verge of submission. As if that weren't frustrating enough, the road seemed to be in much worse shape than Phantom Canyon road, full of jagged rocks, occasional soft sand, and frequent washboard sections that make you feel like you are riding a jackhammer. ML seemed to be navigating these obstacles with ease, but I had a death grip on by bike, riding the brakes all the way down. This downhill was becoming an endurance challenge unto itself.
Much like Victor earlier, paved Garden Park Road seemed like a mirage forever receding into infinity. The scenery was still beautiful, and I was grateful the punishing sun had descended behind the walls of the canyon, but we were running late and our fuel reserves and morale were plummeting rapidly.
Once our organs were sufficiently rearranged through all the pummeling, we finally reached pavement, and now, finally, we could enjoy a leisurely coast to a huge pile of slop. However, we were entering the runner-up to the cruelest indignity a bike tourist can encounter: a fierce headwind on a descent. The wind was whipping up through the canyon directly into our faces; my eyeballs were thoroughly sandblasted and painful for days after. At this our training came into play as we had no choice but to invoke Suffer Mode to get this cursed ride over and done with. The time to enjoy the ride and the beauty of Colorado had long since passed.
Finally, mercifully, we crawled into The Old Mission restaurant in Canon City, a very full 11.5 hours after leaving the Bean Peddler. We were whipped and ravenous. We chose the Mission because it was still open, and served sloppers that were apparently popular with the newly-released felons from the nearby maximum security prison, although they would not likely be very discerning diners. The place was packed and it was an Endurance Challenge to sit in the hot room waiting patiently. After a small eternity plates full of beef, cheese, fries, and green chile arrived much to our delight. Under normal circumstances I would avoid such gratuitous slop, but it was the perfect way to celebrate a long, hot, hard day that was genuinely difficult, but not necessarily in the ways we expected.
Endurance Challenge: Campground Life
ML and I would have been perfectly content to spend the following day in a library reading books in comfortable chairs, but that would have to wait another day. It was time for some family camping, and with two rowdy young boys rest was completely out the question.
While our site was one of the best in the campground thanks to MLs diligent reconnaissance and scouting, we did have some unwelcome visitors: hordes of gnats. None of us were not adequately prepared for a day of enduring the tiny pests. A guy at an adjacent site was wearing a bug net, which initially elicited mocking laughter from us but that quickly turned into seething envy. It was really quite incredible as they persisted the entire day, despite being largely absent the previous days, with the exception of our water resupply spot. In addition, relief from the scorching sun was hard to come by given the absence of shade, adding fuel to the fire of annoyance. I advised ML to follow my grandfather's advice in such situations to "block it out of your mind", but that didn't seem to be very effective.
We did manage to stroll on the nearby trail network out to a promontory that, much like the town of Victor the day before, seemed to recede the further we approached it. The desert flora was impressive thanks to the same abundant rainfall that apparently brought out the dreaded gnats.
The only creature enjoying the infestation was a plump lizard living in the firepit, appropriately named "fat guy" by NL. It was a genuine anomaly; with a missing tail it was half the length yet twice the girth of the typical lizards scurrying about the area. We speculated it was happily feasting on gnats to get as large as it was. We were disappointed the others were not following suit.
After the sun set below the hills I took a dusky walk. With the heat mercifully away, the local deer finally emerged. It was a very pleasant night, and it made me contemplate the feasibility of full moon night rides in this climate. Perhaps it would take the edge off the endurance challenge.
Endurance Challenge: It Doesn't Stop When You Get Home
The gnats had mysteriously vanished by the next morning, much to our relief. I stopped at a local KOA to spend $8 on a highly-anticipated shower where I scrubbed off about 2 inches of sunscreen and burnt skin so as to be somewhat presentable for my flight home. I arrived at the Denver airport just in time to find out my flight had been delayed, keeping my streak of NY-based flight disruptions intact. One hour in the airport is hardly something to endure, but that led an hour wait at the Harlem Metro North tracks, which was difficult considering it was 11:30pm on a Sunday night with nothing to do but stare at my watch and block out of mind the sound of saws and jackhammers operating in the street directly below me.
Satisfied that the Endurance Challenge was over, I planned on going back to my typical schedule of post-work weeknight hikes at nearby Bear Mountain State Park, leaving my pitiful bike to slowly seize up until next year's ride. However, that plan came to a sudden halt when the Hudson Highlands were hit with some epic flooding, washing out several roads, compromising the integrity of bridges, and causing general disruption in the area that was to last for weeks, if not months. And that would be for those of us fortunate enough to not have sustained damage to our residences. Suddenly, I had another Endurance Challenge: a summer bereft of one of the true highlights of living here.
With convenient hikes no longer available, I can still pass my weeknights indulging in another life-long pastime: watching my beloved New York Mets find increasingly creative ways to lose despite being the highest-paid team in baseball. Come to think of it, being a Mets fan may be the ultimate Endurance Challenge.
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