Happy Douchegiving

Watch Elizabeth Banks get hotter as she explains all that is "Douche".

Ouch.

Raced 'cross yesterday for the first time in September. It sucked, I sucked. The decision to race over the last couple of months has been based on the race's proximity to my home, whether or not I happen to be working at the time of the race and if I'm in town to actually attend the race. Since September there haven't been many opportunities to race. I went home for a wedding, I've been working weekends here and there and on the weekends I didn't have to work the races were two hours away and gas was over four bucks. So no racing quickly turned into no training either.

Yesterday I witnessed first hand how others who have been racing all season have progressed where as my fitness has drastically declined. I crashed on the first lap, had a bike and its rider land on top of me and I managed to get lapped by the two race leaders who by the way, I was able to hang with back in September.

Today was better though, kind of. On Thursday I managed to talk a couple of friends into "ringing the peak" with me. At 6:30 this morning a co-worker, myself and Doug the Hammer headed out and rode our 'cross bikes from my house up some stupid steep gravel roads out to Cripple Creek and went around Pike's Peak. The ride consisted of nearly 80 miles of pain in under 6.5 hours. Just under 6,000 feet of elevation gain, most of which happened in the first 12 miles. This ride was ridiculous but I'm glad I did it. I'm exhausted.

Wild, Wild, Wildlife

Just got back from a lil solo night ride mission to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo. On my way to say hi the caged creatures I came across plenty of animals lurking in the darkness. There was a fox digging in someone's front yard. I see foxes all the time around here. I saw one yesterday at the beginning of my ride. I almost hit two deer who were walking really slowly across the street in front of me, passed a few more deer in some rich dude's yard, something that resembled a mountain lion (probably another fox) in the distance, and another fox (probably the same one I had seen earlier) on the way back. I saw a coyote earlier today while walking my dog around the neighborhood.

There are lots of "Missing Cat" posters in the area. Hmmm, I don't think your precious kitty is coming back, children.

I love my hood for many reasons. The wild, wild, wildlife is one of them.

A New Direction on an Old Road

Colorado Springs is home to an old narrow gauge railroad that used to take supplies and laborers through the mountains to Cripple Creek. The rail bed still exists but the rails trains are long gone and it is now a road traveled by tourists on scenic drives, 4x4's looking for challenging terrain, motorcycles on their way to legal (and illegal) trails and, the occasional cyclist. It is called Gold Camp Rd.

As an intern at the Academy's Outdoor Adventure Program, I have ridden my bicycle numerous times on this road as a guide for our customers. However, when we took customers on these rides we drove them to Cripple Creek and then ended the ride some 30 miles back in the Springs. About 99% of that 30 miles is downhil. At an elevation of 9,494 feet, that means there is over 3,000 feet of elevation lost on that ride.

Since the first time I took customers on this ride I have wanted to do it in the opposite direction. Springs to Cripple Creek by gravel, Cripple Creek back to the Springs by way of pavement thru Woodland Park. I'm guessing it would be around 100 miles. Not too bad considering the last 30-plus miles would be downhill at high rates of speed.


Well, I had the day off today and I felt a little inspired after enjoying my ride yesterday. The plan was not to complete the big loop that I just described. The plan was to head up Old Stage Rd and come down at Gold Camp Rd where the old tunnel burned and collapsed several years back.

The ride may have been my most difficult challenge on a bicycle to date. To give a better perspective on the old Narrow Gauge railroads, they weren't like the long locomotives that you see rolling across flat ground today. These were short little things with only a few cars and apparently the had some power cuz these grades are a lot steeper than the rail-to-trail bullshit you see in the midwest.

I started from my house, went towards the Broadmoor and headed up Old Stage Rd which is paved for about a mile, probably less, before turning into the gravely mess. As soon as I hit Old Stage, I knew it was going to be a long day. I had just started the climb, went to shift up (to an easier gear) but I was already out of freakin' gears. I figured that this would be the steepest and hardest part of the ride, so I put my head down, found a rhythm and focused on keeping my shoulders still.

I reached the gravel and the grade lessened a bit but it wasn't a break. I was still climbing and still out of gears. I had been climbing for probably 15 minutes and a road sign said ".8" indicating that I had climbed less than a mile in 15 minutes. I finally hit some flat spots in the road and a couple decents and was having a blast. I thought for sure the hardest part was behind me. Railroad grade, right?

Eff that! I spent most of the afternoon wishing that I had my mountain bike cassette on the back wheel of my bike. A 32 would have let me spin up those hills, enjoy the scenery and sing sweet songs to myself as I took it all in. Instead my legs felt like they were being ripped off and my lungs felt like a fire was burning deep inside. I kept waiting for the legs to seize up or for me to just give up and have to walk a bit. It never happened though.

One of my favorite things about cycling is when I hit that "high" and all the inspiring thoughts that go thru my mind. I feel like anything is possible once I get that "high" on my bike. I think "happy thoughts". Instead of, "I hate my job" and "What am I doing with my life?" the thoughts turn into, "Wow, I can't believe I thinking about taking a job in Florida, this place is amazing!" and "Yeah, work sucks but this is in my backyard". These "happy" thoughts are all happening at the same time that I'm also going thru some serious pain.

My legs were barely spinning my bike up that mountain today. Every pedal stroke was a serious grind. There were even a couple of times that I swore I had stopped moving but I never got off my bike. Each time I came to a new hill I just knew that my destination was right around the corner. At least I had hoped so because I also knew that my legs didn't have enough to make it up another climb. But the end of the climbing wasn't around any of the bends or after any of the hills. The end didn't come until I let go of thoughts and forgot about the pain.


When I finally got to the Old Stage/Gold Camp split I was tempted to keep pedaling up. I had forgtten about the pain and the difficulty of that climb. Instead, I went with the plan to descend Gold Camp and I enjoyed almost every second...except the deep snow on all the north facing sides of the mountain. And that effin' tunnel! I have been thru that thing several times but today there was zero sunlight and it really threw me off. I had to stop and get my bearings in the middle of the tunnel.

So this post got wierd, it took a turn but, I had to share. Today I had "one of those rides". It was amazing and I hope I can keep cycling. It keeps me positive, keeps me thinking rationally.

Back in the Saddle

After a two week hiatus from cycling I finally had some motivation to ride again. Beautiful weather and a half day at work was all the inspiration I needed. With the cross bike as the chosen trusty steed for the day, I headed up Gold Camp Rd. in search of some good 'ol gravel and miles of climbing.

My legs immediately let me know what two weeks off the bike will do. Damn. My fitness is certainly lacking since moving to Colorado. I work too much and my schedule is too sporadic to be on any kind of training schedule. I haven't even raced since September. Yikes.

I climbed several miles of pavement passing plenty of trails that I still need to explore. I passed several group rides going the opposite direction, passed a few weekend warriors and came upon a pilot from Washington who rented a shitty bike from me the day before. He was keeled over at the top of his first climb. I stopped and talked to him for a minute.

Carrying on, I passed a couple more people once I hit the gravel. I saw a dude in a Carmichael Training Systems kit who was just around the bend. For some reason I always try to hammer those CTS kit wearing folk into the ground. Maybe just to show that you don't need to pay Lance's coach to become a decent rider. So I catch the guy, say hi, slide past and pick up my pace just a bit, trying not to make it too obvious. Ah, nice and easy, he certainly won't be trying to hold my wheel. I passed him way too easily.

About five minutes of climbing go by, I go through the first tunnel, look down at my rear tire, it feels low. It looks good but while looking down, I realize that the CTS rider is on my wheel. WTF? I pick it up a little bit, again, trying to be discrete about it.

Nearing the last mile or so, I can't hold the pace anymore so I move to the left, leaving room for this guy to take a pull. We trade some words. "I was just trying to see if I could hold your wheel" he says. I respond with, "Yeah, I didn't even know you were back there till a second ago." He pulled to the top of the climb and we talked for a few.

Turns out homeboy (Jim) is an editor for Chris Carmichael. "Doesn't Chris live in the Springs?" I asked the guy, even though I already knew the answer since I've raced against the chubster. Jim tells me, "Yeah, actually he lives right there, on the last switchback of that climb."

That climb is the hardest climb in the Springs and one of the toughest in Colorado. I've done it twice in five months and it starts just under two miles from my driveway. It sucks. It hurts. No wonder Mr. Carmichael brings his clients there to train, his driveway is near the top of the climb.
Crazy. I love the Springs. Large concentrations of big time racers live in Colorado but most are in Boulder, Ft. Collins or other towns. I knew Carmichael lived in the Springs but, I had no idea he lived on my street, just a few miles down.

Now, where is Compton? Katie Compton, not the city made famous my your favorite rappers.