Day 6: Crested Butte to Buena Vista

Day 6: Where to begin? (I suppose from the beginning.)

We were actually all 3 of us ready to roll by 7:00 AM, as planned. We got to enjoy a fast rolling start back down the valley that brought us to Crested Butte. The landscape was just as gorgeous the second time around. Cool early morning air, slight downhill, beautiful mountains on either side of us, a rolling meandering river beside us, slight tailwind, fast smoothly working pacelines. What a way to start the day!

We then turned left into a picture perfect wooded river cayon. It looked and felt as if we were riding through a movie set. You half expected to run into trappers camped out by the river. Even though we were riding upriver, the climbing was very gentle, until we approached the dam.

The short climb that brought us to the top of the dam also delivered us from the cozy confines of the canyon to the suddenly wide open, I-can-see-for-miles-and-miles vistas around the lake that the dam created.

High mountains and uninhabited meadows surrounded the lake on all sides. The next few miles of road ahead are clearly visible below us (yes, downhill). The composition of the landscape around us, the lake, meadows, forests, mountains, clouds and sky look as if painted by a master artist. I wished my life could have ended that instant for I would have died happy.

We still knew the major climb of the day over the Continental Divide was still to come. We were somewhat apprehensive about it, since we'd heard that it consisted of a gain of about 2,500' on compacted dirt over 14 miles of riding. Othe riders we spoke to reassured us that this surface is quite stable and smooth. In the end we found it to be relatively easy to ride uphill. Traction was surprisingly good too (you can even pedal off the saddle) and, since it was still damp, there were no issues at all withblowing dust. You just had to find the smoothest line grind away. The incline was very manageable.

As we started our climb, meadow gave way to forest. Forest eventually gave way to barren rocks, mosses, lichens and leftover snow. As our elevation approached Cottonwood Pass we could see snowy peaks as far as the approaching clouds would allow.

Did I say "approaching clouds?" It was actually a severe storm moving ominously toward us. After I hurriedly took my snapshots I had to shift to escape mode. Fortunately the storm was behind me, while before me awaited some 20 miles of a screamer of a smoothly paved descent.

I quickly pulled on my shell and threw myself down the Atlantic side of the mountain. As a few drops started raining down on us I knew that my safety was going to depend entirely on my speed (though I always descend as fast as possible for the sheer pleasure of it). I shifted into my high gears and quickly supplemented gravity's work with my own leg power. Very soon though my highest gear became useless. I then assumed my well rehearsed downhill aero tuck and let 'er rip, raising my head only occasionally for some air breaking before sharp turns, or to rest my neck.

Every sense and every ounce of awareness is required. Signs, painted markers, subtle clues, unexpected hazards come at you almost too fast to react to. Relax your body and your grip but keep your senses sharp. Trust your equipment. Your bike will find its way but you are in control.

Suddenly the air feels warmer. There is no rain. Could I really be escaping faster than the approaching storm? I must have already descended at least 1,000-1,500 feet. I don't want a noisy, flapping shell around me, ruining the moment and slowing me down. I quickly stop, unshell and resume my escape.

More straightaways and turns bring me closer to safety. Woha! That last stretch felt like quite a drop. I look down. My jaw drops. My computer reads "MAX 58.8." What a rush of guilty pleasure!

As we roll into our target town I look back and see rain swollen clouds still fast approaching. I reach the finish, find the massage tent and settle down. Suddenly the storm hits like a hurricane. Water rains down in sheets as the wind tries to tear the tent from its stakes. All the massage therapists and some of their clients on deck, myself included, run to the perimeter and secure the posts an lines. They obviously know the drill. My mind wonders to the fate of all the riders caught in the storm, including Barry and others that I know that are behind me on the road.

Barry was able to ride through it and made it home OK, but he witnessed a wipeout. Dozens of riders caught in the high mountain and unable to ride through it had to endure hail with very little cover until enough trucks could be dispatche to rescue them.

After the storm passed the sun came out again and the rest of the day felt as if a rainstorm was the least likely event to have occured here today.