- 150 miles (pretty even split at 50 a day)
- Weather - absolutely perfect, cold at night
- Carried a Hennessy Hammock and sleeping bag on the rear rack
- Brought a Jet Boil stove (slung it to the back of the seatpost)
Heading out on a trip like this is always such a relief...all the hours of planning, prepping, testing, thinking, planning again just fade away and spinning the cranks becomes zen-like. Your finally here. Let's roll!
Below some nice singletrack outside Copper.
I set up the Hammock about 3 miles shy of Searle Pass.
Beautiful morning heading up to Searle
Kokomo Pass
Descending quickly down to Camp Hale
The dashboard
Old 10th Mountain Division Army bunkers in Camp Hale
As the sign says...
Nice aspen alley on the way to Twin Lakes...
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Twin Lakes - one of my favorite spots...
Next morning, early at the lakes...
Nice flowers en route to Clear creek
Taking a break from the white knuckle descent into Clear Creek
Old railroad tunnels on way into Buena Vista
Camp on night 3
Big terrain - looking out toward Mt Yale deep in the Collegiate Peaks.
More flowers
Closing in on Mt Princeton and showing the CT who's boss :-)
Toasted!
Done! Back with the fam at Mount Princeton Hot Springs (unarguably one of the best places to finish an epic ride!)
This ride included some of the finest singletrack in the state (if not country!) and being able to ride it over four days under glorious skies was really a special treat. The hennessy hammock is surprisingly comfortable, but not adequate for late summer nights in the mountains here...I was cold every night.
Setting up camp under the stars, waking to clear, cold dawns and just riding my bike through this stunning mountain state was certainly a privileged experience and I owe a lot to Wendy for being supportive of such ambitions.
Here is a parting image: Sunset on Twin Lakes, Day 2. I can't sit on the saddle anymore, in fact my rear screams at me to stand up. So I do so for the last few miles of this day. I have just talked to Wendy on the cell, and disconnecting from her I look up and see the twin lakes sprawled before me nestled cozily into the surrounding peaks. It is deathly quiet. The sun is lowering and softening everything with sepia light as it does so. I spin down the road looking for the campground Wendy and I stayed in once, but realize I have gone the wrong way. Groaning, I backtrack and slide off the highway onto a little singletrack that dips and weaves it's way right into the campground I was looking for. I find a spot and half fall, half dismount from the bike. Detaching from the bike after being on it all day is a momentous occasion! But I prop it carefully against a table. You become close with your bike on these rides - your only companion. I consider it my faithful steed. I unpack, dress into my warm layers and take my stove and some tea up to a little high point overlooking the lake.
I sip my scalding tea watching the last of the light slowly inch its way across the lakes. I can feel the cold settling into the valley and watch the last of the light vanish from the opposing hills. It is not wilderness by any stretch, but God is it beautiful. So still and calm - such a juxtaposition on my day of tearing through the forests, sweating up steep climbs, bounding over rocks and roots. Who needs a recovery drink when you have this. It is dark now and stars begin to sparkle, but I am drained, sapped, exhausted. So I retreat to my hammock and burrow inside for another night of cold frozen feet. But I know after an hour of riding tomorrow morning that nothing will stop me and that I'll just keep moving on.
