Cocaine Cheeseburgers
Day 1 (Aug 15)
Unzipping the tent door, I kneeled forward, straightened up, and let loose.
“OUUUUCH!” I was immediately in the grip of bilateral hamstring cramps. I doubled over; still pissing; now into my tent.
“GOOOOOOD MORNIN CTR! Did you sleep well? Me neither.”
It was 1:30am but I figured there was no going back to sleep after that. Besides, I was quite worried about the cold front said to be arriving later that day. An earlier than planned start may be a good thing. I popped a salt tab and packed up.
I hoped to knock off three major mountain passes that day: Georgia Pass, Tenmile Crest, and the Searle & Kokomo massif, plus a couple of significant bumps along the way. I knew I could do this on a good day, but the weather forecast put some huge question marks over my game plan. It seemed somewhat likely that lightning could block the route as early as Tenmile, and we’d need a miracle to have clear passage over Searle & Kokomo.
“Forward. Those decisions are for later,” I had to keep telling myself.
My body felt truly awful on the Georgia Pass climb.
My legs had no power (even walking) and I walked the whole thing. Many racers passed me. It got so bad that my lights almost went out twice near the top… and I’m not talking about my headlamp. I can only guess my extreme fatigue was due to salt loss from the roasting I’d taken on the Tarryall Detour the day before.
The descent off of Georgia came as a relief even though it turns into a trashy boulder-garden towards the bottom. It was also very wet and muddy. I felt bad for the leaders who must have been hammered by rain as they passed through the area the night before.
Then it was on to West Ridge, a steep climb (hike-a-bike for me) followed by some of the nicest flow on the entire Colorado Trail. I really enjoyed this section except for the bird’s eye view of the storm building over the Tenmile Range.
I got up and over Gold Hill before the first wave of rain and hail hit. This is where I first remember meeting John, followed shortly after by Marco.
I’d stopped to shelter under the sieve-like canopy of a half-dead lodgepole pine when Marco happened by. We were about to start the vicious Miner’s Creek climb, but the hail was coming down hard. I had yet to decide whether the situation warranted putting on rain pants. Marco already had his on. He said that effort was guaranteed to stop the deluge. I followed suit. Sure enough the squall wound down mere seconds afterwards.
The Tenmile hike-a-bike is extreme.
There is a section near tree line that would be hand-over-hand if not for the need to haul a heavily loaded bike along. A new, more sustainable, route was in the works but not yet ready for action.
My plan was to make a go/no-go decision once I got to tree line. When I arrived, the sky was dynamic. Clouds were moving quickly and small rain squall’s came and went. There had been lightning, but not for a while. I could see other racers moving up ahead and behind me. It didn’t seem too difficult to bail back to tree line if things did go south. “It’s now or never,” I thought.
I upped my pace for the long rising traverse. A small squall came through when I was half a mile from the apex. It left a perfect double rainbow in its wake. Enthralled, I snapped a few photos until I noticed the next squall was already forming. “Oh crap,” I thought. “My Darwin Award will read, ‘This dumbass got fried taking selfies with a rainbow.’” I got my move on.
A cloud bank enveloped the ridgeline just moments after I reached it. The white-out was dense enough that I had a hard time discerning where the trail crossed the talus on the other side. I knew I still had 15-20 minutes of technical rock hopping to do before reaching the relative safety of tree line. I was worried the storm would go electrical before I could get there.
Thankfully it did not, but as I emerged from the cloud I could see an angry vortex forming just a few miles west over Copper Mountain – where I was headed next.
I dove down the Wheeler Trail as fast as my bike (and brakes) could handle and smoked into the base of Copper Mountain Resort just as the sky began to unleash.
I’d met Thor on the mountain, and he'd been kind... so far.
As I walked through the doors of the Tenmile Tavern, I could sympathize with what Luke Skywalker must have felt as he entered the Mos Eisley Cantina in the original Star Wars movie.
There were a ragtag bunch of stone-faced burger-hunting bikepackers sitting solo at the bar. They were joined by a horde of space tourists plus the probable stunt doubles for the entire cast of Creeping Up on the Kardashians. All this was set to a soundtrack of some completely unremarkable background music.
As the host seated me, he said they’d been having trouble with their (cooking) hood, so were grilling outside; but the rain meant I’d have to pick something from the cold (bullshit) side of the menu. I stared expressionlessly at him until he left.
Shortly after, the server walked over and asked what I’d like. “Cheeseburger. Fries. Rootbeer. Please.” I grunted. He said he’d see what he could do.
Ten minutes later, the best cheeseburger of my life showed up. I mean… not when judged by your usual taste, texture, or presentation standards. It was slightly below average by those measures. I’m talking about the, “host just told me this option didn't exist,” and “was that thing laced with cocaine?” standards.
Let's just say I left a huge tip.
Around this time, Connor stumbled in sopping wet. We’d met several times along the trail the first day. Great dude. I would discover later on that he has secret cat-like superpowers (he continues to refuse to admit this). I invited him to sit with me. We talked game plans.
Pouring buckets at Copper Mountain Resort.
It was pouring buckets of cold heavy rain.
Connor was soaked and not interested in going further that night. I was dry and didn't want to stop.
John got up from the bar, visiting our table on his way to the door. He said, “I only have seven days to finish this thing. I’m going to have to get wet at some point. Might as well be now.”
“I guess that’s me too,” I said. “Think I’ll head up to treeline tonight and cross Searle and Kokomo early in the morning,” hoping the weather would be better then.
He was thinking the same. It seemed a safe enough plan if we could keep reasonably dry on the way up.
We rain-geared up and headed (separately at this point) out into the storm.
Cameron S. caught me soon after I'd rejoined the trail. He had the same plan. We decided to stick together for the climb into the dark, wet, void. John linked up with us somewhere along the way. Our pass-raiding party was now three strong.
The going was quick as compared to the Tenmile climb, and the rain lessened to a spitting mist as night fell. What’s more, that coke-burger had me on cloud nine. I felt the best I had all day. Our options seemed to be expanding. “Maybe we can get to Camp Hale tonight after all?”
I don’t remember who said it first, but the group decision went quickly - starting something like this, “Fuck it? Let’s go?” and ending like this, “Fuck it! Let’s go!” We were all thinking the same thing.
Searle Pass came and went easily but the temperature began dipping into the 30’s. We were all starting to feel the chill, especially Cameron who had begun the climb wet. His pace slowed and I could hear the cold slur his voice. It was worrisome.
We regrouped at the high point before the descent to Kokomo Pass and beyond. Everyone was cold and tired at this point. “All downhill now,” I thought. “We got this. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Five minutes later I was over the handlebars flying off the downhill side of the trail. Fortunately, a bush broke my fall. Unfortunately, I broke my bike’s fall (or part of it). I felt a sharp blow to my upper left chest wall. I shook it off quickly.
Cameron waited while I got my shit back together. It was much appreciated. I knew he was freezing.
I was super cautious the rest of the descent. My tired eyes were no longer following my headlamp. It got foggy near the bottom, but also much warmer. I was feeling disoriented so decided to peel off the group and set up my tent just short of Camp Hale.
I’d done enough to save my race that day - even managed to learn something in the process. Huffing the fumes of the superhumans ahead had revealed the secret ingredients to pushing through a storm:
Good rain gear outside
Warm engine inside
A little, "Fuck it. Let's go."
And cocaine cheeseburgers...
“That’s how they do it,” I thought, drifting off to sleep…
Route & Elevation Profile
(Kenosha Pass to Copper Mountain | August 15 | 2:42am - 5:13pm)
Distance: 44.25mi | Elevation gain: 8,360ft | Moving time: 10:10 | Elapsed time: 14:31
(Copper Mountain to Camp Hale | August 15 | 6:45pm - 11:49pm)
Distance: 14.68mi | Elevation gain: 2,956ft | Moving time: 4:04 | Elapsed time: 5:04
2022 Colorado Trail Race
For those unfamiliar…
The Colorado Trail Race (CTR) is a solo, self-supported, ultra-endurance mountain bike race through the Colorado High Country. There is no entry fee, no aid, no support, and no prize for finishing. You might think of it as a “Cannonball Run” for mountain bikers, except it’s legal, and infinitely harder…