Return to Rist Canyon

Two years ago Rist Canyon kicked my ass. It kicked my ass again today but not quite as hard.

Nobody goes into Rist Canyon without wanting to. Rist Canyon ascends about 3,000 feet over about 12 miles. When I got here last week it was not on my intinerary. It was on my avoid-at-all-costs list. I considered returning to Estes Park today (it's hard to spend too much time at the omphalos) but I decided I wanted something closer to Fort Collins. Given the relative ease of the trip to Estes Park (only a few hundred yards on the smaller ring), I thought Rist Canyon would be a worthy, and maybe too much of a, challenge.

When I rode Rist Canyon in 2005 I did nearly the entire ride on the smallest, 30-tooth ring, of the three rings my bike had at the time. I don't have a 30-tooth ring anymore, just a 39- and a 53-, and teeth matter. Basically, the fewer teeth on a ring -- the rings are the things with teeth that pull the chain and to which the pedals are connected -- the easier it is to pedal, just not as far and not as fast as using the bigger rings (to learn more about this, check out sheldonbrown.com).


I used the big ring for the first couple of miles out of Bellvue. By the time I met up with Rob (right) and Luke (guys, if you're reading, let me know if I got the spellings right), I had been on the 39-tooth for a while. What blew my mind about these guys is that they were riding a road bike and a mountain bike. They'd agreed to switch shoes and bikes every two miles. When I met them they were still friends even though they had at least three switches left. I hope they were able to cope, and stay hydrated, after they found the Rist Canyon Volunteer Fire Department locked up tight.

There's no humiliation in taking a breather at any point in Rist Canyon. Look for the flattest uphill spot so it's easier to start once you're ready. I enjoyed the scenery, even when it wasn't scenic, in several locations. And I kept ascending.

Michael Seeberg writes of Rist Canyon in "Road Biking Colorado: The Statewide Guide," "Near the top, you'll ride 12-percent grades!" That exclamation provides only so much excitement when you're the one on that grade. Nevertheless, a mile or so from the top, a woman descending in a vintage Toyota slowed to tell me, "You're almost there!" I hadn't been so heartened since leaving Rob and Luke, or maybe since I got out of bed. Ten minutes later, I was looking at the Mummy Range, 50 miles to the west.

After a few moments I started the descent. Based on the elevations provided in Seeberg's book, it's about 700 feet down in about a mile. My high speed, I think, was over 49 mph (the speedometer, which records a sustained speed, clocked in at 48.6) but I couldn't see well because my eyes were being blown shut. Whatever speed I attained, it occurred while coasting. I braked only lightly until the last quarter mile or so, when I had to squeeze hard to avoid going into the traffic on Stove Prairie Road.

I broke 40 several times on Stove Prairie and might have been able to approach 50 except for the cattle guards (it's open range -- no livestock fencing -- for several miles), which were a real buzzkill.

My reward, beside the experience: the last popsicle at Carter Valley Campground.

Why can't I do this at home?

Today I rode to Estes Park. All in all, it was about 25 miles up, 25 miles down and 45 miles rolling or flattish. And I rode it a lot harder, especially up, than last year. So here's my question, especially for any of you folks who know anything about conditioning: why is it that my last two rides of similar distance in North Carolina nearly left me for dead but I returned from this one fresh as a daisy? No doubt it is cooler and less humid here. I'm guessing that the weather helps keep me hydrated. Stopping for lunch (two slices of pizza and iced tea) probably didn't hurt either. But I don't get it. Let me hear your ideas.

By the way, I took U.S. 34 both ways. The high speed was just a hair under 39 mph. I did hit 45 mph yesterday coming down from Horsetooth. There was a lot of traffic and wind in the canyon today. The wind helped me on the way up and slowed me on the way down. I also learned that it's really not so bad to hug a granite wall in a two-foot wide patch of gravel when a semi is passing me on a curve.

Popsicle flavor of the day at Carter Valley Campground: tropical blend. There's one left in that box and I'm hoping it lasts long enough for me to get it.

Fort Collins: bubble town of the Bicycle-Friendly death wish

It's no surprise that a city with great bike facilities has lots -- shitloads actually -- of people who use them. Right on and in a huge way. Nevertheless, it blows my mind how utterly oblivious the huge majority of those riders are to risk. I announce my dorkishness, for instance, by being part of the minority who wear a helmet. Earphones and -buds are ubiquitous. Road signs are for chumps. Forget about any indication of directional change. Riding time is the perfect time for that involved phone chat. No need to watch traffic, including other riders, since bicycles here apparently operate in protective bubbles (not mentioned in the Bicycle Friendly Community commendation). Local authorities must not have been alerted to my arrival as my bubble hasn't shown up yet.

Confession time: I do not stop at every stop sign and I don't signal every time I'm required to. But I do slow down at every intersection and I do look. And I avoid not stopping when a car is approaching my bike perpendicularly.

I understand that many of the riders I see are older adolescents and young adults who are still invulnerable. But they do things on bicycles that even they would be embarrassed to do in a car (see above). I also understand that age does not necessarily confer maturity or judgment, yet it's not just the bezillion college students who remove their brains whenever they ride. It's people approaching my advanced age who are old enough to know they have something to lose.

Don't get me wrong: it is too cool that bikes are so heavily used here and catered to. The bike racks in my mom's apartment complex are jam packed. How great would it be for every place to embrace cycling so thoroughly, especially if riders reciprocated in a way that didn't make me worry about killing them.

Carter Valley Campground

I stop at this campground every time I go over Horsetooth. It's about 45 minutes southwest of the overlook above the reservoir, so it's perfectly situated as a rest stop. The office was closed Sunday so today was my first time in this year. What I appreciate most is the welcome I get. The proprietors greet me cheerfully whether I spend 50 cents or $50. On Sunday, a few miles to the north in Masonville, the owner of an "antique" shop told me to buy my beverage out of the machine outside instead of the cooler inside (I heard some really funny stories when I was a kid about vendors who make their own antiques). When I bought my mango popsicle(!) at the campground today, the owner told me where I could wash up and fill my water bottles -- for free. To boot, the men's room was surgically sterile. Not that I plan or want to perform surgery but it's nice to know it's there if I need it. If you're ever riding your bike on Larimer County Road 29 or driving your RV west of Loveland, stop here and spend money.

One other thing. At 4:44 p.m. EST, someone in Cary was my 1,000th visitor. I can tell that by looking at data provided by sitemeter. Thanks for reading.

The Lyons traverse

For all the mileage I get out of telling my North Carolina friends about how every ride out here is uphill balanced on the edge of an abyss, I'll confess immediately that was not the case today. In fact, today's ride from Fort Collins to Lyons was more or less flat. Really. Flatter than most of the rides I take around Wake and Chatham counties.

Not only that, the ride was a success. I wanted to see if I could make the trip without getting on U.S. 287, one of the main arteries connecting cities up and down the Front Range. County roads -- paved all the way -- got me south from Fort Collins to Colorado 66 (about 33 miles) through ranch and farm country. Lyons is about five miles farther west. I was particularly concerned that paved roads would turn to dirt once I left Larimer County and entered Boulder County.

Lyons is a strategic key because it's at the bottom of one of the mountain roads (abysses included), U.S. 36, that leads to Estes Park. Estes Park is about 20 miles northwest of Lyons. My big ride for this trip will be from Fort Collins west to Estes Park up U.S. 34 (another mountain road) and returning via Lyons instead of just turning around. I am still mulling the route because 1) U.S. 34 is a beautiful road both for its scenery and pavement, 2) I know every turn in it and 3) it offers the best opportunity for the entire cycletacular to break 50 mph (on the descent). Weather forecasts have me thinking Thursday or Friday will be the day, so I have several days to decide.

Horsetooth and points south and east are the likely destinations for tomorrow's chapter of the cycletacular. It should be similar to Sunday but include real climbing. Since it won't be a survival or reconnaissance ride, I may see if I can add some speed.

The Horsetooth kickoff or triumph on the big ring

It was an auspicious start for the cycletacular. No riding trip to Colorado can start correctly for this obsessive compulsive without going over Horsetooth Reservoir first. Horsetooth is about five miles from my mom's apartment and about 500 feet above it. The 500 feet occur over 7/10 of a mile. Then after a couple of miles down, another climb to the overlook. After one last descent, one last ascent. Then rollers for several miles meandering south. Anyway, the first time I rode this route two years ago I went over the reservoir and associated hills in my smallest gear (30/25) and wanted an even smaller one. Last year I badassed it and went over in the middle ring. This year it was the big ring, all 53 teeth of it, and my 21-tooth cog. Going 11 mph up the first hill was as good as going 50 mph. The pain breathing would be too much of a pain in the ass to describe. The other 50 miles were cake and included a foray into Berthoud, which I had skirted around previously. I have been to Berthoud before but only to experience an Estes Park Bobcat athletic team have its ass handed to it. This was better. Anyway, among the interesting things I saw along the route was a dead skunk in the middle of the road. Much to my surprise it did not stink to high heaven.

Yesterday, of course, was still part of the cycletacular even though it was spent off the bike. We went to Campion to determine the composition of County Line Road (the counties are Larimer and Weld; it is dirt) for possible inclusion in the Fort Collins-Lyons transit. Following the reconnaissance, we stopped by Lee's Cyclery for supplies (tube, CO2, gel, seat bag). Once outfitted I was ready to roll this morning. Many of you know that I do not take my gels for granted. Yesterday I picked up a new brand: Hammer. This is the shit (speaking metaphorically). The tropical flavor actually tasted sort of mangoish without the chalky pastiness that I've come to expect> Tomorrow's flavor is orange. Oh boy.

I wrote in the first cycletacular post that maps and pictures were coming. That's easier for me to promise on a Mac than on a PC. For some reason my Veloroutes maps won't save from this computer and Googlemaps requires too much mind reading on any machine. However, pictures should be forthcoming assuming the PC has something to interpret that type of data once I use up the disposable cameras I bought. My hope is still to provide you with stimulation beyond my prose.

Tomorrow's destination: it looks like Lyons.

Cycledork's annual Colorado cycletacular!

Yes, readers, it's that time again. Believe me, waiting a year was harder on me than it was on you. The bike and I arrived in Denver this morning and will be here in Fort Collins until Sept. 2. It's about 25 degrees cooler here than in the Triangle with about zip humidity. There are significant differences in the view as well.

After acclimating today and tomorrow we hit the road Sunday. That'll be the kickoff of seven cycling-, mileage-filled days. Though some routes are already planned (and in some cases mapped), questions remaining for the week include whether I can get it 500 miles. Daily posts, though, will reveal answers. Meanwhile I need to get a disposable camera (having forgotten the scientist's) so that I can accumulate visual evidence.

Cycle North Carolina

That's the name of an annual ride across the state and not necessarily a command. The ride, affiliated with Relay for Life and the American Cancer Society, fundraiser for starts in West Jefferson and ends at Currituck-Knotts Island. Depending on the exact route taken, the distance ranges from 380 to 495 from Sept. 29 to Oct. 6. Other stops, from west to east, includie Elkin, Greensboro, Mebane, Louisburg, Roanoke Rapids and Edenton. According to the literature I received, the support for this ride will make the Jimmy V folks seem like pikers. I don't think I'll be doing the entire distance this year but at some point, and I hope sooner instead of later, this is on the the to-do list. However, registration is available for the stages so getting in a day (Greensboro-Mebane? Mebane-Louisburg?) is a very possible possibility for this fall.

The limit?

Did an English century today (beware — crappy map). I was able to execute my strategy as if I had planned it: find a group of riders doing the 100 miles, grab on to a wheel and let them pull me along. At about 20 miles the ride split: 50- and 75-mile riders left, 100-mile (it actually clocked in at +/-95) riders right. A group of five quickly caught a group of eight. The octet rode together for 10-15 miles. Just about the perfect size. Seven people could draft and the guy pulling on the front only had to go three to six minutes. Higher speed and energy conservation at the same time — a hard deal to beat. The group started to break up at the first rest stop. One guy rode on; two others stayed behind. Between the first and third rest stops (we skipped the second) a guy dropped off but we caught the guy who rode on. He kept going at the third rest stop, never to be seen again. Still, on flat or rolling terrain, the group of four stuck together thanks in large part to the generosity of the two strongest riders. At the fourth stop, rider No. 4 said he would probably drop off. I was bushed but managed to stay in contact with with the front two for about five more miles. Once we hit downtown Fuquay-Varina, though, there was no use maintaining the charade. the front two pulled away for the last time though they remained in sight for several more miles. The hardest part for the group was on downhill-uphill sections, which tend to pull groups apart and make them hard to put back together.

I crawled back to the parking lot of the Koka Booth Amphitheatre at Regency Park. I point out with some pride that I was not last and it wasn't even close. Based on my experience of Aug. 4, today and several other 80-plus-mile rides, 90 miles may be around my limit. Several of those rides have been solo efforts. I suspect that the group rides have just started too fast over the first 50 miles or so for me to have anything left at the end. Some of you may know that I have fantasies of riding across the United States. If my assessment is accurate, it will have a significant effect on how long the ride would take.

One more thing: this was the Jimmy V Ride for Research. It is the Cadillac of charity rides I've been on with four well stocked rest stops and sag support the entire way. Think what you want about Jim Valvano as a basketball coach and human being, but the foundation has raised buttloads of money for cancer research from, well, schmos like me. And as I said, they put on a hell of a ride.

Cycle soap

I've spent portions of the last several evenings enjoying The Bicyclist. The Bicyclist is the story of Conrad, who has moved from Wisconsin to Portland, Ore., to find life and perhaps love (or maybe just sex) in a bicycle shop. The 13+ episodes so far run from 90 seconds or so to more than six minutes. Neither Conrad nor his associates would have anything to do with cycledork, who is too old, too spandexed and way too unbeautiful to make their scene. That said, The Bicyclist is must see for anyone who enjoys depictions of young-adult drinking, male sexual competition and bike jousting.

C'dork's Saturday cycling tip: one way not to die

Ride long enough and it will happen: pedalling along, minding your own business as well as that of the surrounding traffic, as you approach an intersection or junction the car behind you passes so it can immediately turn right in front of you. Well, even if it doesn't happen to you, it happened to me this morning. It's probably the fourth or fifth time someone's done it to me over the last three years.

How I deal with it: First of all, I watch the road, see where I'm going and where the opportunities for automotive mischief — intersections, side roads, potholes, suddenly ending shoulders and so on — are. At the same time, I'm keeping an eye on oncoming traffic and an ear out for cars behind me. This morning I could smell that the car on my ass would pass and turn on to the upcoming side road. Though I slowed slightly I had to maintain some momentum since I was on a slight grade. With about about 150 feet or so to the junction, she passed. Since I expected it I braked and stopped, let traffic pass and got going again. One more thing I would have done, had I really been thinking, was downshift one or two gears to make restarting on the rise a little easier.

In some situations there will be even less space and less time to react. What cycling safety folks advise in such cases is to turn right on the inside of the car. I had just enough distance and shoulder that I didn't need to even though I considered it. Keep in mind it's a move that's probably hard as hell to rehearse. Just be ready.

Upshot: the driver's body language indicated an appropriate level of embarrassment and I didn't get flattened. Though not optimal the result is acceptable.

The end of the world

May be west of Clayton on N.C. 42. Loyal reader htrouser did warn me of this likelihood even though he was not specific about where. The Tour de Wake went fine for the first 60 miles or so into Wendell, where my navigation started to falter. Even with a cue sheet I still had to know the secret names of the streets that turned into the roads I needed to be on. I also didn't help myself by not studying carefully enough to confirm the route around Clayton. Instead I took the long way through town, twice, before learning the identity of the secret street. By this time I had probably added 15 unneeded miles. When I finally got out of Clayton it seemed for one of the few times when I've been on a bike that the road was getting longer instead of shorter. So when I got to the intersection of I-40 and N.C. 42 after 87.8 miles with the prospect of 40 more to go in 95-degree heat, I decided sense was in order and I called the college student. She was prompt so I didn't tax the patience of the gas-station employee who was kind enough to let me wait inside.

There are several lessons to learn from this, the first time I have ever bailed on a ride. O the ignominy. First, know the route. Second, eat adequately before leaving. No matter how well the fluids are laid in — I had about a gallon with me and I replenished every 15 to 20 miles — the body still needs some calories to work with. Third, when it's that hot, leaving earlier is better. The original idea had been to leave around 8 a.m.; instead I hit the road about 10:22 a.m. Mistake. Fourth, consider the distance-temperature tradeoff. Even five degrees would have made the attempt easier.

Cycledork remains convinced that it is possible to complete the circumnavigation of Wake County. I believe the gap in N.C. 42 between I-40 and N.C. 50 can be filled and that I will succeed. Of course, if I fall off the edge, I will never be heard from again.