Cyclos Montagnards Mt. Evans Challenge ride report

[WMdeR]

Hi, All,

I rode the Cyclos Montagnards Mt. Evans (CO) Challenge on July 9-11.
It was my third attempt, and I am glad to have finally finished the
complete ride. It also gave me an opportunity to pre-ride Permanent
855, the Mt. Evans Grimpeur, which is available for all RUSA members.
The route is a long day ride along the Peak to Peak highway.

This was a rewarding effort, though it did knock me flat for over a
week afterward.

I thought I'd share a few impressions. I'll get the photos posted
soon.

Cheers,

Will

William M. deRosset
RUSA 2401
Fort Collins, CO

“Cyclos Montagnards Mt. Evans Challenge in 27h49.”

I woke with a start. It was 9:30 a.m., full blazing sun, and gravel
stuck to my cheek. My bike sprawled at my feet. I was lying in the
middle of a scenic pullout. Picking myself up from the shoulder, I
brushed off the sand stuck to my sweaty clothes, shook the
disorientation from my mind, savored another Ensure Plus, and
remounted my bike. A waterfall of cyclists descended to my left as I
settled into my climb. The paved route up Mt. Evans was a switchback
away, and I was ready for it at last. I'd finally gotten a half-hour
of rest....

* * *
The Mt. Evans Challenge concept was simple and inspiring—ride from
Fort Collins, through the Devils Gulch switchbacks and Estes Park, to
Idaho Springs via the Peak to Peak Highway and Oh My God Road, then
climb the highest paved road in North America to the Mt. Evans
summit. Return by the same route. There was only one variable at play
—the City of Blackhawk had banned cycling on its paved roads, and I'd
had to map a detour around the ban.

From my prior efforts and mapping research, I knew the route was 450
Km (280 mi) long and around 8,100 m (26,650 ft) of total ascent, or
about the same amount of climbing as from sea level to the summit of
Annapurna, only without the frostbite potential. Even though the
route only tops out at a touch over 4300 m (14,100 ft), afternoons are
no time to be above treeline on the Front Range, so I planned to be at
the Mt. Evans summit by noon. Working backward, I decided to start
from Fort Collins around dusk, ride the Peak to Peak overnight, arrive
at Idaho Springs around dawn, and climb Mt. Evans in a bit over four
hours. My itinerary established, I contacted the Cyclos Montagnards.
They approved the route and my proposed schedule, and I was set for an
evening start on Friday, July 9.

I'd made it to the top of Mt. Evans twice last year, but never
completed the return trip. The first try ended when my newly-
installed bottom bracket came loose on the long climb and I lacked the
tools to tighten it. The second attempt ended when I got sick and
spent the next three days with the flu. In each case, I ended up
riding overnight to the summit of Mt. Evans, only to end my ride in a
deli on Miner St, over a hundred miles from home. For my third
attempt, I committed to finish regardless of my time.

Neither the RUSA rules nor the Cyclos Montagnard challenge rules allow
personalized outside support. I'd be riding for over 24 hours. I
needed to carry clothing for 5-33ºC (40-90ºF) temperatures and
afternoon thunderstorms. There were going to be no open stores between
Fort Collins and Idaho Springs given my evening start time;
consequently, I also needed to carry sufficient water and food to
travel overnight. I'd spend a full night on the road and a few hours
the next day riding in the dark. I'd need reliable lights with over
12 hours of full brightness. Finally, most of the route was well-
paved with smooth asphalt, but Virginia Canyon Road was unpaved, and
the final fifteen miles of the road up Mt. Evans was badly frost-
heaved and poorly patched. Wider tires with supple casings would mute
the shock and reduce my fatigue.

I chose to ride my René Herse randonneuring bicycle. It is well-
suited to paved-road unsupported riding with 28 mm clincher tires,
integrated generator-powered lights, full fenders, and a steering
geometry optimized for a loaded front handlebar bag. Fenders are
perhaps not absolutely required here on the semi-arid Front Range, but
the thought of spending over a day in the same wet pair of shorts if I
were caught in an evening thunderstorm wasn't appealing, and I wasn't
about to add another item of clothing to my already long list of
spares.

I signed in at The Bean Cycle at 8:20 p.m. on Friday night. I bought
an iced coffee, drank it, and moved past the sidewalk throng, between
the parked cars, and into the deepening gloom. I was underway on my
third attempt on the Cyclos Montagnard Ft. Collins-Mt. Evans
Challenge. My handlebar bag was stuffed full, with two supplemental
waterbottles, three bottles of Ensure Plus, three cans of coffee, ten
cereal bars, warm clothes, a windbreaker, a toothbrush, toilet paper,
sunscreen, and spares for the bike.

The air was humid as I cycled through town toward Horsetooth
Reservoir. I half-expected to hear cicadas and see fireflies given
this East-Coast evening on the Front Range. As I rode west into the
hogbacks that separate Fort Collins from Horsetooth Reservoir, the
last evening light was fading from the water. There would be no moon
tonight—an unfortunate condition. Last year I'd timed both my
attempts near a full moon. The only company I'd have tonight were the
planets and the stars swinging overhead. I paused to take a photo and
don my long sleeves and legwarmers.

Photo: Horsetooth at dusk

Passing Masonville, traversing Eden Valley, and merging onto US 34 for
my climb to Drake, I pedaled steadily into the night. I was fatigued
from the week's work, and I hadn't taken a nap before the ride. Drake
and Glen Haven passed beneath my wheels. After a short midnight phone
call to my wife, and a long search for an ATM kiosk, I was back on the
road to Allenspark and Nederland. I had ridden this segment exactly
as fast as I had the year prior.

Photo: Glen Haven town limit sign.


Time passes strangely without a moon. Overnight my fatigue built, and
I was riding noticeably slower than I expected. I was eating well,
regularly fishing through the nosebag for yet another cereal bar,
Ensure Plus (mmmm, oily) or canned coffee (another culinary delight),
but I just couldn't cut through the mental fog, and the three bright
panes of light my headlamp projected onto the pavement dragged on my
eyelids.

My headlight was bright enough that oncoming cars flashed me. I'd
swapped front lights since last year, and the newer one had a brighter
emitter. Cutting generator power with the stem-mounted switch left me
riding by my standlights. The standlight was adequate for climbing
and for the flats, but I wished for a “low” beam setting so I could
cut the full brightness of the light for oncoming traffic while still
illuminating my way on moderate-speed descents.

Photo: Nederland town limit sign.

Climbing out of Nederland toward Rollinsville, I was briefly chased by
three partygoers straggling back from their revels. One called out,
“That's my bike! Gimme my bike!” and the others, laughing, staggered
after me. I silently left them behind, and spent the next climbs
formulating an appropriate response.

The route greyed, the treeline became visible, and dawn began as I
approached Blackhawk and Central City, the entrée to Virginia Canyon
Road (Oh My God Road). Blackhawk had recently banned bicycle traffic
from its paved roads, so I'd mapped an alternate route.
Unfortunately, it was gated a mile or so in. After trying a couple of
other dead-end streets, I was obliged to turn back and walk the half-
mile or so through Blackhawk to Central City.

After this refreshing adventure in routefinding, I climbed through
Central City and descended Virginia Canyon Road (Oh My God Road).
This route, switchbacked into the mountainside, affords clear and
stunning views of the Mt. Evans massif. This year, Oh My God Road was
badly washboarded, and I found myself wishing for wider tires as I
tucked down and balanced on the pedals to isolate myself from the
punishing road shock.

Photo: Mt. Evans from Virginia Canyon Road

I rolled into Idaho Springs, got a café au lait, checked in with
Susan, refilled my water bottles, dumped the pile of food wrappers I'd
accumulated overnight, and began the 30 mi, 7,000 ft climb to the Mt.
Evans summit. As the sun ranged higher and the altitude mounted, my
head became heavier. Tracking steadily was a chore. Last year, I'd
derived energy from this stretch, climbing steadily into the rising
day, waving to the Triple Bypass riders descending from their first
climb, and knowing I'd get every foot of elevation back on the
descent. Not today. I was falling far behind schedule, and I'd not
planned for a mid-ride nap. However, safety came first, and I really
didn't have much choice if I was going to continue. I started looking
for a quiet place to stop. A scenic overlook presented itself. No
shade, but it was off of the road. I pulled out. I dropped my bike
at my feet, took half a caffeine tablet, set my watch, lay down on the
flat and welcoming gravel, and closed my eyes.

* * *
I woke after half an hour. It was 9:30 a.m. I'd slept through my
fifteen-minute alarm. I tossed back an Ensure Plus and was on my way
a few moments later. I should have stopped earlier, and I wondered
how much time I'd lost in the mental fugue between Nederland and this
overlook. Sportif cyclists descended to my left as I settled back
into the climb.

I checked in at the Mt. Evans fee station, paid for my three-day pass,
and received a purple stem-mounted party bracelet and receipt stub for
my fee. I was off, climbing slowly into the alpine zone. The frost-
heaved and plow-damaged pavement was no issue at my climbing speed,
but I noted the best lines for the descent. At least the road was
clean. I summited a bit after noon, 15h48 after my start. My elapsed
time was about an hour slower than my first attempt, the same as my
second effort, and an hour and a half slower than my schedule. I
didn't feel any jubilation at the top despite the montane vista below
me, but, in contrast to my prior efforts, I was ready for the return
trip. The bicycle was operating well. I was tired, but was in
neither pain nor distress, and I knew I'd finish the route, though
well outside of my original schedule unless I found some fount of
energy within.

Photo: Above Treeline
Photo: Mt. Evans Summit
Photo: Mt. Evans Summit 2

I zipped up my windbreaker, ate a cereal bar, drank my last coffee and
released myself to gravity at last. I've had a year riding the René
Herse, and have developed complete confidence in its handling. I
stayed off the brakes except when negotiating my way around flatlander
drivers, and tucked into the machine. The descent was bruisingly
rough on 28 mm tires due to the damaged pavement, but the roadway
designers had done their work well, and I rolled into Idaho Springs
about 50 minutes after I'd topped out at the Mt. Evans summit parking
lot.

I was riding to the finish now. I stopped at a deli, used their
facilities, left a check-in message for Susan, my wife, and got a
sandwich to go. Winding my way back to Central City went slowly, and
I had ample time to marvel at the interplay of sun, cloud, and shadow
on the mountainsides below while working on my lunch and climbing the
unpaved road. I reprised my walk through Blackhawk, inventing
variations on, “I'll never spend a dime here as long as they
discriminate against me.” This pleasant diversion occupied my mind
through most of the climb to Rollinsville.

Photo: riding toward Rollinsville

Despite my efforts to keep my speed up, the effects of the miles and
extended time at altitude had accumulated in my legs and I was either
standing listlessly, grimly pushing a too-high gear, or twiddling
every climb. Consequently, my hands and seat were taking more than
their share of my weight, and I'd pay that toll as the day
lengthened. I was also chilled, and wore my leggings even in the
midday heat. The ride to Nederland was a low point, in spite of the
unrelentingly beautiful terrain, well-maintained road, and sunny
afternoon. At Nederland, I bought a few cereal bars and filled my
waterbottles.

The late afternoon sun rendered the pines and meadows a golden green,
and a playful breeze stirred the aspens to life, changing direction
with the orientation of the road cuts. I wasn't moving fast, and I
was losing time, unable to push faster, but the heat of the day had
broken and I was recovering my joy at being out on the bicycle. The
ride was beautiful again. Topping out at Windy Pass, I waited for an
elk cow and her spotted calf to cross the road, then tucked down for
the extended descent to Estes Park.

At Estes Park, I called Susan and stopped for a brief fast-food meal.
I ate my bag o' grease on the parking lot patio, sharing the
delectable experience with several sunburnt and overstimulated
children swarming the concrete furniture and their drawn, wheedling
parents. I took my last half-tablet of caffeine and pushed off,
creeping up Wondervue, past the whitewashed Stanley Hotel, and aimed
for the big descents to the plains.

Photo: Twin Sisters Mountain at sunset
Photo: Glen Haven Post Office

I'd originally planned to be done by around nightfall, and the descent
to Drake on the always-pleasant Devils Gulch Road went slower than
expected. By the time I got to US 34, the weekend down-canyon traffic
had picked up, and I did not relish that section of occasionally
shoulderless descent in the dark. Turning back onto CR 22H was a
relief. The return to Masonville was anticlimatic, and, without the
moon to light the landscape, time passed slowly as I painfully ground
up the last three hills. Coming over the top of South Dam, Fort
Collins lay below me, lit in an orange-tinged lume. I descended,
found my way downtown, and got a receipt at an ATM, as my finish
control had closed at 10 p.m. My total elapsed time was 27h49, not
quite three hours slower than my schedule. I rode home. The only
sleep I'd had in over 42 hours had been that precious half-hour nap on
the side of the road, and I was ready for a rest.

Notes:

The Cyclos Montagnards is an informal group of riders dedicated to the
civilized pursuit of challenging, self-supported rides in the
randonneuring tradition. For more detail and background information,
including how to establish a local challenge ride, see:
http://www.cyclosmontagnards.org

The Mt. Evans Challenge route is now available as an RUSA Permanent to
RUSA members. It is Permanent 855, the Mt. Evans Grimpeur. More
information is available at http://www.RUSA.org

I'd make three significant changes to my ride planning next time.
First, I'd take a nap before the start. For the first time in my
seven years' randonneuring, I had trouble with fatigue. Second, I'd
hunt down a well-matched friend with whom to share the challenge. The
route is climbing-intensive enough that pacelining won't help much,
but the psychological support would make the overnight easier. Third,
I'd plan the challenge to coincide with a full or waning gibbous
moon.

The weather was completely cooperative. High temperatures were in the
upper 80sºF, and lows were around 42ºF. I suffered through no
sustained headwinds, and I got rained on for less than one minute
total. I carried an ultralight windbreaker, arm warmers, leg warmers,
an ear band, rain mitts, and toe covers in addition to my bib shorts,
undershirt, wool jersey, cycling cap, helmet, and track mitts. I
ended up being cold on the overnight descents. In contrast, the last
two times I rode the route I brought my goretex racing cape instead of
the windbreaker, and was sweaty on the overnight climbs.

I chose to use bib shorts on an overnight ride for the first time
since 2005, and I was reminded that their comfort advantage was small
relative to their time-consuming inconvenience at stops. I didn't
bring a pair of long-finger glove liners this time, and would have
preferred to have had a pair with me in addition to the rain shells,
which were clammy.

The bicycle performed nearly flawlessly. I'd had no mechanical
difficulties, the Challenge 28 mm tires were silent on the climbs and
sang on the descents, the front-loaded luggage was fully functional
and let me eat, navigate, and change clothes on the bike, and the
gearing was well-suited to my strength and the terrain. I had no flat
tires. I switched from Ergo shifters to indexed downtube shifters
since my first attempt, and I have found that downtube shifters
provide helpful tactile awareness of derailleur position in the night.

I also changed front lights, and the inverted Edelux lamp mounts
directly to the rack, two inches lower and about two inches further
back than the other one did on its mounting bracket. As a result, the
right tire casts a distracting shadow and limits descending speeds on
right-hand switchbacks. Rene Herse's Mike Kone has revised his front
racks to account for the inverted Edelux position since my rack was
built. I'll get the lighting arm moved this winter.

I jogged through Blackhawk in my stocking feet. If their bicycle ban
remains in place the next time I ride this route, I'll use walkable
shoes instead of my racing cleats for the ride.

[WMdeR]

Hi, All,

A few photos here.

http://picasaweb.google.com/wmderosset/910July2010FtCollinsMtEvans?feat=directlink

Cheers,

Will

> information is available athttp://www.RUSA.org

[Mike]

Will, congrats on finishing your CM challenge. Thanks for posting the
write up and photos. A friend of mine here in Portland and I have
talked many times about attempting a CM challenge. Unfortunately it
won't happen this year for many reasons. But maybe next year...

Anyway, thanks for posting this. Do you think you'll do another one?

--mike

[Vincent Muoneke]

Chapeaux!

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