September 30, 2023October 2, 2023 Cracked: My 2023 Colorado Trail Race Recap : Day 1 (8/13): An early morning start in Durango I open the van door, careful to not wake my girlfriend and our dogs. It’s 3:00 am, and I have hardly slept at all throughout the night. The air is brisk, but not too cold. My bike waits on the rear rack, seemingly unaware of the immense task that lies ahead for us. The 2023 Colorado Trail race is starting a few blocks away, in one hour. I’m a nervous wreck. I just want to start riding. The trip to get from Flagstaff to Durango had been hectic and fraught with mishaps. I just want to start riding. Lizzy and I awkwardly wade our way through the crowd to get a cup of coffee. Jefe Branham is standing inside cheerfully greeting folks, fully kitted out and ready to roll. I’d like to meet one of my heroes (and the namesake/designer of my bike), but the nerves and lack of sleep tell me it’s best to stick to my lane. I’m just another guy with a bike, about to attempt something unfathomably difficult. I just want to start riding… We take off from downtown Durango at 4 am. I’m excited and grateful to be riding, but also very sleep deprived and nervous about the day ahead. Riding the Colorado Trail northbound (from Durango to Denver) poses the immense challenge of an absolutely brutal first day, which includes roughly 18,000 feet of elevation between Durango and Silverton. I do not make it all the way to Silverton, but I still tackle around 60 miles and 13,000 feet during that first day of riding. The bulk of the climbing was in the first 20 mile push up to Indian Ridge. After that, I was totally fried, so I decide to call it quits for a bit of sleep near a waterfall (perfect for good sleep) around 10 pm. Day 2 (8/14): I get started around 5:30 am, and begin a good size climb (around 2,000 ft) followed by a stretch of enjoyable single track to start the morning. I resupply in Sliverton, and finally start feeling somewhat human again. The previous 24 hours had been extremely trying, both physically and mentally. Obviously the relentless hike a bike and drastic increase in elevation was extremely taxing on my body. However, I was also in a weird place mentally. I had been almost immediately homesick after the start of the race, unwilling to grapple with the fact that I would be basically suffering in some form or another for the next 7-10 days. I was also very much in my head and doubting my fitness or riding abilities. For some reason I did not feel confident on the descents, and was passed a number of times by other riders as they effortlessly shredded the rocky downhills. However, once I got some decent sleep after that first big day, ate a ton of food in SIlverton, and spoke with Lizzy on the phone, I felt much more like myself. I was eager to tackle the 5,000 ft gravel climb coming out of Silverton, and felt like I was having fun again. After getting up and over that long section, it was time for the long slog through the desolate San Juans. I consider this to be the most remote and epic-looking section on the whole route. It’s challenging because it seems to just go on forever, and there are plenty of (sometimes sketchy) hike a bike sections. But it’s also undeniably beautiful. The San Juans towered over me, offering no solace as I slowly trudge along. I don’t see a single human throughout this entire section. The weather is foggy and overcast, adding to the ominous feeling of the day. Nevertheless, I’m resolved to push on into the night, and reached the high point of the CT around 10:00 pm. After that, the plan is to get to a lower elevation to bivy. However, the descents are too steep to ride in the dark, and the climbing doesn’t really quit either. It’s just more up and down. Eventually, I call it quits around midnight and bivy up high in a ridgeline field, giving up the goal of getting to a lower elevation. One last detail about this night- I witnessed a massive fireball in the sky! It was shortly after the sun went down, when I looked up and saw a huge ball of fire suddenly appear in the night sky, and just as quickly disappear behind a mountain. It only last for a split second, but I’d never seen anything like it. It was far bigger than any shooting star I’d seen before. I yelled out into the empty night in excitement. I’ve since wondered if anyone else saw it. It was during a weeks long meteor shower in the region, so it makes sense. Apparently there was a similar sighting in Colorado a few weeks later. The fireball/meteor I saw looked very similar to that. Day 3 (8/15): I wake up, cold and sore, around 6:00 am after unconsciously hitting snooze a few times on the alarm (partly out of exhaustion, but also because I got a taste of the bitter cold of the dark morning and wanted nothing to do with it). Upon waking up to morning day break, I realize that I had camped at the precipice of a massive valley. The night before, it had appeared only as a pitch black abyss. As I start to roll down the trail, I can see hundreds of sheep in the distance, filling the morning air with their constant baahhhhs. I’d seen a herd like that before on my first run of the CTR, but it’s always a magical sight. Seeing those sheep, being herded by dogs and a shepherd walking along with them, it feels like you’ve somehow traveled back in time. It was around this time that I start to realize my left leg was hurting like hell. More specifically, a sharp pain was starting to flare up right behind my left knee. This would get worse throughout the day, to the point of my exhausted brain starting to doubt the feasibility of finishing the race. I still have so many miles to go, and my body feels like it’s starting to completely break. How will I possibly make it to Waterton Canyon? Luckily, the remainder of the day is a bit easier. Leaving the San Juans, I enjoy some downhill followed by a long paved uphill (one of the few paved sections on the CT), which was followed by a mellow stretch of downhill gravel. This leads into the amazing Cathedral Ranch Bikepacker Re-supply. The hospitality that I find there is truly a joy. There is a wealth of food for sale, (a total life saver, since Buena Vista was still far away.) After leaving Cathedral, I tackle some hefty gravel climbing (reminding me of the TD), and ended up riding until around 11 pm. Around that time that my leg pain starts flaring up pretty bad again. I decide to call it quits up high (again) on a ridge. Three other riders pass me that night as I’m setting up camp. It’s always frustrating and disheartening getting passed, but I’ve learned this year that part of endurance racing is learning how to manage those emotions. My body is telling me (screaming at me really) that my knee needs to rest. So I rested. Day 4 (8/16): The day starts with my leg feeling somewhat better. Stretching before and after sleep certainly helps. I realize now that whatever time I lose taking extra care of my body is certainly worth it. I figured I’d take it one mile at a time and see how far that could get me. I an’t think about the remainder of the trail, or how much elevation there was left to climb. I just push on, and my leg actually starts to feel better. Around 5:30 I hit Fooses creek. The downhill is absolutely thrilling and is probably my favorite section of the entire trail, just in terms of the pure fun factor. I definitely prefer going northbound on Fooses, as opposed to the long slog of hiking up it while going southbound, as I did in 2021 (there’s a picture of me looking totally drained and flicking off the Fooses sign after finishing the climb in 2021). After the exhilaration of such an epic downhill, I’m feeling good and ready to keep pushing on. I get up to the next big climb, and as the sun is going down the weather started to shift. As the night sets in, the thunder begins to rumble and the rain picks up from a faint drizzle to a significant downpour. I’m facing a 3,000 ft climb coming up, and have to decide on my next move. Turns out, I’m right near a campground. That makes for an easy decision. I bivy under a tree for some shelter, and resolve to tackle the climb around 3 am, when the rain will hopefully have died down. I fall asleep quickly. Day 5 (8/17): At 3:30 am, I wake up and spot a slithery reptile friend creeping around nearby. I welcomed the company. Luckily, the rain had stopped, and I felt ready to tackle the upcoming climb. I roll into Princeton Hot Springs around noon, and I’m cheerfully greeted by Sarah and Dean at the main lodge. I return Dean’s wallet to him, which I had somehow spotted on the trail earlier that day. Needless to say, he is extremely relieved, and is kind enough to buy Sarah and I breakfast at the lodge. This is my first cooked food since the start of the race, and the sudden dose of civilization, after days of battling the elements in solitude, is somewhat jarring to say the least. However the breakfast is delicious, and just what my body needs. I ressupplt at the hot springs, and then again at Buena Vista. This is one area that I can certainly improve on- taking less time to resupply, and only hit one store for whatever I need. But I often get paranoid that I don’t have everything I need before heading out into another long stretch of backcountry. So I leave Buena Vista loaded down with every snack, goo, gel, and jerky that my bike could hold. Eventually I roll into Twin lakes around 7:30 pm. I’m feeling thoroughly exhausted, and decid to call it early. I’m setting up my bivy in the dark, and a few campers came walking down the path with flashlights. I hear them ask “are you Josh?”. “…Yes?” I replied, very confused. Turns out, they were watching (stalking?) my dot on trackleaders. Actual bikepacking fans! Day 6 (8/18): At this point I could start to taste the finish. My mind inevitably drift towards thoughts of a hot shower, pristine hotel room, pizza loaded with toppings, ice cream, and mindless cable tv. Post race heaven awaited! I just needed to get through somewhere around 100ish miles, and about 20,000 feet of climbing. No big deal. The pain in my leg had subsided. I was dead tired, but starting to feel like nothing could stop me from finishing. That sense of hunger carried me through one of my longest and hardest days on the route. I struggled through Kokomo pass. The heat, desolate emptiness, and unrelenting hike a bike almost crushed me. I had to take so many breaks, and even a nap or two. I tried to hide my frustration at this brief exchange with a passing hiker: “everything ok dude?”, “yeah… why?” “because you’re not riding your bike”… “well it’s really heavy, and this trail is really steep, so…yeah”. He meant well, but I was in a tough place mentally. Kokomo had me feeling completely cracked. However, I somehow got through it, and eventually rolled into the tourist-trap ski town of Copper Mountain. Unfortunately, nothing was open (not even a gas station). So I was kind of screwed. I knew I could ration my food and make it for a while, but it quickly became clear that I would have to go off route into Breckenrdige to resupply. After that, there was basically nothing until the end of the route. I got a patch of service and found that Breck had a 24 hour 7-eleven. My brain immediately started obsessing over coffee, donuts, and breakfast sandwiches. I could almost taste it! The only problem was that there was a massive, 4,000 foot pass between me and those delicious snacks in Breck. Highly motivated, I pushed on through the night. Up and up and up. The cloudy arch of the milky way came out and lit up the sky. Looking off in the night sky, I could see the lights of Copper Mountain, and Breckenrige down below, and momentary bursts of heat lightning in the distance far beyond. As I sat contemplating these nocturnal sights and munching on some jerky, a curious fox trotted up to greet me. It had big ears and a bushy tail. I smiled at first, but then was a bit put off by its boldness. I got up and continued on the trail, and the little critter started following me. So I yelled and rang my bell, making it very clear that it was not welcome to follow me up this pass. Sorry bud, I got nothing for you… and I don’t want any trouble. Although it was very cute. I pushed on through the night, eventually coming upon Dean setting up his bivy. Apparently he had crashed earlier, but was thankfully ok. I pushed on over the cold and windy pass, peaking somewhere around 12,000 feet. After that, the descent was long and rocky. I had to walk a good amount of it. I eventually passed Nate bivied up in the dark, and decided to do the same thing not too far down the trail from him. I gave up my hopes of late night snacks, and chose rest instead. Breck would have to wait until the morning. Day 7 (8/19): Got started early and finished the downhill towards the road that led to Breckenridge. It was about 5 miles into town where I got to the 7 Eleven. I resupplied, ate a ton of food, and got back on the trail. From there it was time to push it. I knew I only had a few more climbs to get over before the route became a whole lot easier. There was the long road stretch coming up, and then the Lost Creek Wilderness detour. The miles would fly by if I could just get over the next few passes. I also had the goal of getting to the stage stop saloon for food and water before hitting the Lost Creek Widerness bypass. I got to the saloon right as they were closing, and was able to convince the bartender to fry up some chicken tenders and fries. It was there that I met Richard, who had taken a day off due to sickness. We would ride a bit together towards the end, and I was super lucky to get a ride out of Waterton Canyon from his brother. We rode out of the saloon into the darkness, and I decided to camp on the side of the road only about 10 miles from there. Day 8 (8/20): I wake up around 4:00 am to freezing temperatures. I get back rolling on the pavement and my hands and feet quickly turn numb. The gradual downhill of the pavement made it a struggle to stay awake. I take a 5 minute nap on the side of the road and it helps tremendously. The power naps have proven to be my secret weapon on these trips. I wake up with more energy and mental clarity than any amount of caffeine can give me. The real kicker move is to hit a 5-8 minute nap, and then shoot down a 5 hour energy right when I wake up. Anyway, Dean and I ride together for a while. Thankfully, we warm up when the sun comes out. The Lost Creek Wilderness detour is fairly easy riding. Anything involving gravel and climbing is my comfort zone at this point. I did so much of it on the tour divide it just feels like second nature. So I get through that section quickly and then turn off onto the final section of single track. I’d been hungry to finish all day long, and really start pushing it through these last miles. The final section starts to feel grueling, mainly because it’s very hot, the terrain was super exposed and desolate, and I’m so ready to be done (last miles are always the hardest). However, after I push over the final big 2,000 ft climb, the downhill singletrack feels so good. It felt even better when the trail finally transitions into the last few miles of mellow gravel that meanders along a river through a beautiful canyon. It was at the beginning of the final section where I enjoy certainly the most surreal and electric moment of my trip. I roll out of the woods onto the gravel, and right at the trail junction stand two majestic mountain rams. They are probably only about 10 feet away from me, peacefully munching on some grass, ignoring my presence. Whenever I’m in the presence of large wild life, I feel like time sort of stops and you can feel an electric energy in the air. It feels like my brain is harkening back to some hardwired response mode that triggers when humans see large wild animals. But it also felt so.. perfect. It was as if they were the sages of the Colorado Trail, serenely granting me some type of unposken approval to proceed on and finish my journey. I’m grateful, and in complete awe of their majesty. I snap a few pictures, and ride on. To be honest, that cruise towards the end was an emotional few miles, much like the end of my tour divide run. It felt so surreal, improbable, absurd, and just plain joyous. There’s no other feeling like finishing an ultra endurance bike packing race. At least I don’t know of any comparison. At last, I ruise into Waterton Canyon, and got the chance to hang and chat with Richard (who had finished about an hour ahead of me) for a while. As I said before, his brother was kind enough to pick us up, and dropped me off at a nearby hotel. At last, my fantasy of a shower, pizza, ice cream, and tv has become a reality. There’s nothing like 8 days in the wilderness to make you appreciate the small everyday luxuries of modern life. Reflections: Finishing this race was undoubtedly harder for me than any part of the Tour Divide. While the sheer scope and distance of the TD can feel insurmountable at times, I feel as though the Colorado Trail is far more physically demanding. When you spend so much of your time pushing your bike uphill rather than actually riding it, 530 miles is a distance that can feel just as overwhelming as the 2,700 of the TD. Along with the challenging nature of the route, I also had to overcome a number of individual challenges during this race. Maybe it was because I had done it before and I knew just how hard it really was, but I did not feel the usual “stoke” of being out there on that first day. I think it was also the drastic increase in elevation, and my total lack of sleep from the night before. But these are challenges that pretty much everyone out there is facing to one degree or another. Day 1 out of Durango is so brutal, you have to just roll with the punches and keep moving. My leg pain on days 2 and 3 also really held me back and even grew into very real self-doubt about my ability to actually finish. I learned a lot about how to take care of my body and also the extent to which it can really be pushed. Lastly, I spent far too much time in my head, comparing myself to the other racers. I continuously altered back and forth between two drastically different approaches to the race. Sometimes I felt strong, capable, and eager to prove myself in the ultra endurance racing world. In those moments I would be ready to cut sleep and ride through the night, because that’s what it takes. Yet, if I rode too much with that mindset, I would inevitably pay a steep price. The result would usually be near to total mental meltdown. After riding hard late into the night, I would feel weak, tired, emotional, and mentally erratic the next day. Basically it would prevent me from really enjoying being out there. I felt like that on my first day, after staying up all night with bad nerves. So after experiencing the edge of pushing myself too hard, I would come back around and think to myself “this is stupid, I’m going to make sure I get enough sleep and just enjoy riding this beautiful route”. Neither of these approaches lasted throughout my 8 days on the trail. I would constantly go back and forth, seemingly unable to find a happy medium. My major overarching goal for the AZT, partly born out of my experience on the CTR, and partly inspired by Lachlan Morton’s sleep-disciplined approach on his insanely fast recent FKT of the Tour Divide, is to stick to a plan. My plan definitely involves sleep. At least 4-5 hours a night. I think I’ll ride harder that way, and most importantly, I’ll enjoy the experience more. If that means I get passed by everyone, so be it. I’m not out there trying to win any of these races or set any records. I’m soley focused on completing the triple crown. Just like the Tour Divide, the Colorado Trail will inevitably teach you something. There are two moments that standout to me from this race, and I still frequently think about them. One is the split second fireball streaking across the sky at night in the San Juan mountains. The other is the big horn rams at the very end of the route, exuding their peaceful and knowing energy, so at odds with my manic exhaustion. Both of these moments seemed to cause my own narrow reality to momentarily crack, revealing how laughably absurd it is to get caught up in your head about anything at all, especially something like a crazy bike race. We exist in a vast and infinite universe, which is impenetrably mysterious, and so beautiful at times it can shake you to your core. We are all just a speck in the grand scheme of it all. So I want to enjoy it while I can. Thank you Colorado Trail. Until next time. Trip Reports bikepackingColorado Trail Race 2023triplecrown
In some ways the end is always the beginning…….you sure seem to learn a lot about yourself from each ride!