Day 0 (Aug 14)

“Remember, the race doesn’t start till it rains.”

Those were the last words of CTR un-organizer Jefe Branham before he sent us on our way at 4am Sunday morning.

My race had started 45 minutes earlier when I realized I’d taken a wrong turn out of my hotel in Littleton and now had to pedal hard into a hot headwind to reach the start line nearly 8 miles away.

It had been that kind of week… actually just the last three days. Urgencies at work got me overly busy, I was low on sleep, hadn’t been able to finish some of my race prep, and somehow managed to gain 5 lbs. eating my way through the associated stress.

I knew all that would melt away once the race was underway, but boy if I wasn’t about to fuck that up too.

Fortunately, I made it to the start with ten minutes to spare.

I rolled out with the rest of the group right on time. The start of this thing was super weird for me. I knew zero people in the ~74-person field of Grand Departers and the first 2+ hours would be entirely in the dark. “Guess we’ll save the introductions for the daylight,” I thought. I wondered how many racers I’d get to meet out there. Would it be a bunch, or would I be around the same one or two folks the whole time?

It was helpful that Waterton Canyon Rd. let everyone find their pace before the difficulty ramps up and the trail width narrows down. Still, there was a lot of leapfrogging in the first 20 miles.

There seemed to be single-speeders everywhere, and most appeared to be carrying next to nothing. “Did I pack too much? I definitely don’t see any other rear racks.” Many folks appeared to be out for little more than a long day ride.

This load discrepancy didn’t come as a total surprise to me. I was coming into the race as an ultra-endurance rookie with a full-on identity crisis. Was I trying to tour on a racer’s schedule, or was I just racing? Is there even a difference? I had a seven-day goal, but hoped (naively) to sleep a solid six hours per night (I’d end up averaging 2.5). I didn’t yet know that I’d packed much too heavily for a sleep schedule I’d never sniff.

But it was too late now. I brought what I brought, and they did the same. Let the chips fall.

I enjoyed rolling through the Buffalo Creek burn at sunrise.

It was a favorite haunt from my Front Range days that I had not visited since moving to Carbondale 8 years ago.

I met a nice fella named Justin refilling water at the Buffalo Creek firehouse. He was a multi-time CTR vet (I think he said this was his fifth attempt and was 2 & 2 so far). I’d heard the race gets in your blood. Here stood one of its battle-hardened gladiators. I was all ears. He was positive and relaxed while everyone else (including me) seemed amped up and go-go mode. I took his que to chill out a bit.

I’d never ridden the trail past Buffalo Creek to Wellington Lake Rd. It got a bit steeper and I began to hike more. I was now riding steadily with the same mix of 4-5 riders.

I needed a water refill near Wellington Lake, but the lake (not easy to get to) was full of sun-screen slicked swimmers which didn’t look very appetizing. I stopped briefly by the side of the road to research my options. A fella named Cameron B. rode by. He pointed out the Wellington Lake Campground store was just a mile ahead. I never would have known. That water resupply turned out to be critical for making it through the first half of the Tarryall Detour. Thanks for helping this first-timer, Cameron!

The southern portion of the detour was brutally hot with many shadeless climbs through the old Hayden burn.

The sun scorched ups and downs continued for 30 miles on semi-compacted fire-sand. The area is beautiful, but its recent history is quite depressing. It’s been 20 years since the fire with almost no forest regeneration. It’s now too dry for the Ponderosa Pine to return. Lichen doesn’t even grow there anymore. Its future is desert thanks to climate change.

It got ridiculously hot back there; hot enough that I started walking the steepest sections of the climbs (they were not steep) and hopping from one sparse shade patch to another in an attempt to fend off heat exhaustion. The Goose Creek water refill came just in time. Shortly after, a bit of cloud cover mercifully began to roll in. That helped immensely.

I was super depleted by the time I hit the pavement. I found a shady spot a mile up the road and sat and ate for 15 minutes. I was surprised no one passed me. “So that’s it? I’m riding alone from now on?”

I needed water again.

Tarryall Creek ran alongside the road, but was bound by private land with no easy way to reach it. I finally found a public access point but had to leave the route and descend quite a distance to get to the river. I did it anyway.

That side trip added 20 minutes. When I got back to the route there were riders everywhere; ahead, and behind. I was feeling better from the break and no longer worried about dehydration.

A small thunderhead rolled over as I passed Tarryall Reservoir. The rain felt good. I could see it wasn’t going to last so I didn’t bother putting on rain gear. I rode out of it five minutes later and onward to the Stagestop Saloon.

The saloon was busy with CTR racers and regulars. They were hosting a backyard concert. There was BBQ for sale, but they had run out of most of the fixings by the time I got there; only meat left. I got a plate. It was mostly gristle.

I picked up a few snacks from the store that I didn’t need, refilled water from the sink in the crapper, and got back on the road. It had been a fun opportunity to meet and chat with a few riders; yet a huge waste of time from a hot meal and resupply standpoint.

“Should have kept moving. Add it to my pile of rookie mistakes.”

In my pre-race dreams, I’d aspired to make it most of the way up Georgia Pass before my first sleep.

That didn’t seem possible at this point in the day. “Maybe I can make it to Jefferson Creek at the base of the climb? Stopping short of Kenosha Pass would feel disappointing to me.” So I set my sights on Kenosha. I could always reassess when I arrived.

The riding between Stagestop and Kenosha was nice but involved quite a lot more climbing than I’d anticipated. Night fell along the trail and the miles seemed to take forever.

When I finally reached Hwy-285, it felt like a finish line.

The day’s primary goal achieved, I turned my attention to finding water. I remembered the fee campground had a water pump so set about finding it. It took several loops of searching with another rider before finally stumbling into it. I topped everything off, anticipating I may sleep between water sources that night.

As I rejoined the trail, reaching Jefferson Creek still seemed possible.

Soon after, I began to feel rain drops. “Time to call it,” I thought. “No sense getting soaked minutes before I set up my tent.” Besides, when you factor in the pack weight, I was pretty sure it had been my biggest day (ever) on a bike.

I found a spot in the aspen just beyond the campground and settled down for some well earned sleep; setting my alarm for 3am.

Many thoughts (mostly worries and doubts) were running through my head that first night in the tent:

• Did I ride too hard today? (yes)

• Did I pack too much? (yes)

• Will tomorrow’s terrible weather forecast stall me in Breck? (pucker)

• Is it going to rain every day from now on? (yah, pretty much)

• Does my rain gear really work? (seriously dude?!!)

• Am I going to die by lightning on Coney-Cataract? (probably)

I could draw but one clear conclusion that was not evident to me at the beginning of the day…

I was here to race; the weather at the very least.

Route & Elevation Profile

2022 Colorado Trail Race