Part 2: Riding Through Autumn Splendor in the Rocky Mountains—Loveland Pass

Part 2: Riding Through Autumn Splendor in the Rocky Mountains—Loveland Pass

By Frosty Wooldridge

Part 2: Grind up to 12,000-foot Loveland Pass, what it’s like to bicycle up a mountain pass

After a sublime campsite on Echo Lake, we broke camp the next morning to blue skies and more golden aspen trees changing overnight. 

(David Martin’s Teddy Bear mascot on the back of his touring bike.  Interesting story behind how he picked up that Teddy Bear on the last Utah ride.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge

“We’ve got 14 miles of winding downhill all the way to Idaho Springs,” I said.

“Get out the cameras and let’s make a run of it,” Robert Montgomery said.  “Man, these trees seem to change colors before our eyes.”

We walked the bikes around Echo Lake before reaching the highway.  Smooth, clean and beautiful!  We began racing down the road toward Idaho Springs.  In front of us, majestic mountain vistas replete with enormous golden patches kept us in rapt attention.  The road snaked around the sides of the mountain we descended.  Above, brilliant sunshine lit up green pines and golden aspen alike.

In the next 14 glorious downhill miles, we dropped from 11,000 feet to 10,000, to 9,000, to 8,000 in Idaho Springs.  We met David Martin at the Safeway’s in the city.  He assembled his new Surly Long Haul Trucker Disc touring bike.  What a beauty!  Deb Martin took a picture of all of us before we shoved off toward Loveland Pass.

We followed the frontage road west out of town that paralleled Clear Creek and I-70.  Pedaling along a river makes our efforts incidental to the beauty surrounding us.  The river splashed whitewater and the mountain peaks featured deep green with patches of gold wherever aspen congregated.  We also noticed that underbrush turned red, topaz, bronze, purple, tan, yellow and mixed colors.

(Robert Case and David Martin on the road to Loveland Pass, Colorado.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge

Along the route to Georgetown, we passed dozens of abandoned gold mines with tailings cascading down the mountainsides.  Some of the mines shot out of mountainsides a half mile up from the canyon. One can only imagine who worked them when the trip up proved mindbogglingly difficult under the best of circumstances.  Sadly, their work carries scars across the land to this day.  In their hay-day, miners destroyed, poisoned and abused the mountains.  Even today, they blow off the tops of mountains to get at the ores they seek. It’s all pretty disgusting on multiple levels.

We pedaled past the Silver Plume narrow gauge railroad hauling hundreds of tourists past the changing colors.  As the road gave out, we followed a bicycle path that dove back into the woods.  Really a great path!  We followed it all day until we reached a spot to camp before sundown.

David spotted a flat spot with campfire ring just off the bicycle path.  “Looks like a good place to set up camp,” David said. “Let’s call it ‘Camp make yourself happy’.”

“Yeah,” Robert Montgomery said.  “Perfect place with tons of firewood.  Let’s do it.”

That evening, we built a roaring campfire, ate great food and sat around telling stories as the stars twinkled in the sky.

In the morning, I woke up early to see David Martin packed and ready to ride back to Idaho Springs.

“What’s up man?” I asked.

“I’ve been ill all night from altitude sickness,” said David.  “I’ve got a splitting headache. I would have left in the middle of the night, but the rain would have been dangerous in the dark.”

“Take care of yourself,” I said as he pedaled back down the path.

Darn, we lost David to high altitude sickness.  For those who don’t acclimate fast enough, it’s a real killer. 

After breaking camp, we faced gray skies with spitting rain.  Within 10 minutes, we rode our bikes up to the entrance of the Loveland Ski Resort.  However, no snow, so we kept pedaling upward to our intended goal: Loveland Pass.

(David Martin, Robert Case and Robert Montgomery on the wilderness bike path to Loveland Pass.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge

What’s it like grinding up a mountain pass?  Especially with 80 pounds of gear loaded onto my bicycle?  In the rain?  At 6 percent road incline? 

For starters, I’d rather pedal up a mountain pass than ride a bike through city streets any day.  You might like to understand that we humans made horrible decisions to create massive cities with endless traffic, air pollution and people congestion.  All you hear and see: horns, sirens, flashing lights, billboards, homeless begging for food and the constant tension of asphalt, glass and an unnatural world.  To get away from that alone—must be a blessing beyond imagination.

Wallace Stegner said it best, “Something will have gone out of us as a people if we ever let the remaining wilderness be destroyed….if we pollute the last clean streams and push our paved roads through the last of the silence.”

As I traveled upward, the floor of the canyon grew more incredible because it’s like I soared on an “asphalt updraft” that carried me to heights only eagles, hawks and clouds enjoy.  Sure, it takes leg strength, but I trained for the ride, so the pedaling remained an insignificant part of the climb.  With water and food, I fed and hydrated myself at frequent stops along the route. 

With Squaw Pass, we cranked for 18 miles that took six hours. 

(Robert, Frosty, Robert and David around the cook stoves at “Camp Make Yourself Happy”.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge on a 10 second delay tripod.

But Loveland Pass reached 12,000 feet within four miles.  That meant increased incline over shorter miles.  As I cranked through the first two miles of the climb, the canyon floor became fabulously dramatic.  The road wound around several switchbacks to climb up the mountain.  The rain dissipated while blue skies shot through the gray clouds.

What happens on such a climb? My body labors and my muscles pour their heart into the pedals.  My downward pedaling becomes upward thrust.  The sky comes closer while the valley floor morphs into an intricate mosaic seen only through the eyes of a long distance touring cyclist.

In the last two miles of the climb, my heart quickened at the beauty around me.  My mind energized with the understanding that the summit would soon be mine.  Finally, after two hours, I stood at the sign:  Loveland Pass, 11,900 feet, Continental Divide.

“Wow,” I yelled. “Great ride! How about you guys?”

“Incredible,” Robert and Robert both yelled.

(Robert Case, Robert Montgomery and Frosty Wooldridge at the top of Loveland Pass, Colorado.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge

We took a dozen pictures along with the video.  As the skies cleared, brilliant sunlight raced across the green tundra from where we stood above the tree line.  We breathed fresh, clean air. We scanned the horizon for hundreds of miles.  Wow, what a life on the road!

Part 3: Frisco, Vail Pass and the riches of Vail Valley.

Rules of the road:

12.  It’s all downhill; ‘cept what’s up  by Katie Lee

13. There are 100 ways to cook spaghetti.

14. Headwinds suck and they suck even more when their velocity increases.

15. Picnic tables were made to sleep on at night.

16. Every town features its most amazing high school sports team.

17. When dogs chase you, spray them with wasp spray.

18.  It’s your mindset that gets you down the road, not your bicycle.

19. Saying goodbye to a friend on the road never feels good.

20. On adventure highway, you become the adventure on your bicycle.

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Frosty Wooldridge

Golden, CO 

Population-Immigration-Environmental specialist: speaker at colleges, civic clubs, high schools and conferences

Www.HowToLiveALifeOfAdventure.com

Www.frostywooldridge.com 

Six continent world bicycle traveler

Speaker/writer/adventurer

Adventure book: How to Live a Life of Adventure: The Art of Exploring the World

Frosty Wooldridge, six continent world bicycle traveler, Canada to Mexico summer 2015, 2,000 miles, 100,000 vertical feet of climbing:

(Heading to the top of Loveland Pass, Colorado. Condor in full flight mode.)  Photography by Frosty Wooldridge