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#1
10-21-2016, 05:52 AM
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Colorado trippin’
Two weeks in the states, riding and driving with the son. Started in Boulder with three days following my son’s wheel up some friggin hard climbs, as often as not on dirt. Aspens and cottonwoods going yellow, creeks low, snow scattered across the high summits. Colorado in the fall, great stuff.
Hit the road to Crested Butte, the place I always call home, even if I won’t ever live there again. Autumn rippling through the aspens around Georgetown and Silver Plume, the summits of Grays and Torreys, both 14ers, white with snow. Through the tunnel, down into Summit County’s mountain urbanization sprawl, Denver’s recreational park, quickly left behind. Into the canyon between Frisco and Copper Mountain, swaths of yellow pouring off the slopes. Enough with the interstate, time for smaller, slower roads, direction Fremont Pass, 11318 ft / 3459 meters, up in the moly mine’s waste, a world of dead earth surrounded by peaks and ridges as far as the eye can see. Down to Leadville, but barely. Leadville’s at 10,430 ft / 3180 meters, which puts it 1240 ft / 378 meters higher than France’s highest paved col! Pretty crazy how high Colorado is (pun totally unintentional). A gold and silver mining camp, more silver than gold, produced astounding wealth for people who lived far away in cities. Damned little trickle down to Leadville though. Today a weathered and worn bedroom community with downtown fixed-up to promote a bit of summer tourism to keep people busy. Also where a famous or perhaps infamous ex-pro bike racer is selling pot. And advertising that he is! Who would have imagined that scenario coming to pass! Biggest summer draws are the Leadville 100 mountain bike and running races. Apparently they’re so popular there’s a lottery to get in, plus each race costs 350$. Holy smokes, that much for one race! On to Buena Vista, a chain of 14’ers soaring into the sky to the right, including Colorado’s highest and second highest peaks, Elbert and Massive. Rather bland looking for the two highest peaks in the state, two high hills next to each other. Buena Vista, one end of Colorado’s mountain banana belt, Salida the other end. I used to think maybe I’d retire somewhere over there. Good climate, slow pace, fine mexican restaurant, easy access into the mountains, all the necessities. That was before I moved to France of course. Turn right onto the road to Cottonwood Pass, elevation 12,126 feet (3696 meters). The original idea had been to park at the bottom and ride up and back but a late start closed that option. Over twenty years since I’d been on this road, and never as a passenger. I could get used to this riding shotgun business, sitting and watching yellow aspens foaming across the slopes. Get to the pass with the sun slipping towards the horizon and washing the slopes in that golden end-of-the-day light. West side still unpaved, relatively smooth dirt all the way down to Taylor Reservoir. Road used to get washboards like a churned up sea after a hurricane’s passage. Not now, nothing but couch potato cruising with Mat’s four-wheel drive, double-cab Toyota pickup slicking over it like it’s a silk rug. A 4x4 pickup rolling like a limo! Even better Mat’s as smooth a driver as I’ve ever seen, flows down the road like mercury. Taylor Canyon, spent lots of time here, fly fishing, rock climbing, road and mountain bike riding. A small treasure. Hit the Jack’s Cabin road junction, the gravel shortcut over a low hill to the valley between Gunnison and Crested Butte. If we weren’t running late I’d have wanted to stop on top to take in the view. One of Colorado’s most beautiful valleys below, nothing but ranch land, hay fields and pastures. What a drive! Colorado truly is a visual gem. I hadn’t forgotten how gorgeous it is, but the impact had definitely faded over the years. A dream of a trip, cruising with the son, rolling through landscapes that soar the spirit. Pull into the Butte, the sun well gone, but enough light to see town hasn’t changed all that much. Lots of gloss splashed on, sometimes a bit thick but underneath still the same crazy, wonderful town I enjoyed for 20 years before moving to France. No time to look around, just dive into the town’s Heritage museum to get ready for the slide show I’m scheduled to do and for which we’ve arrived just in time. A slide show about riding a fat-tired road bike in the Alps on roads no one in the states has ever heard of. Then again most french riders haven’t ever heard of them either. Doing a slide show about riding a bike in the Alps in the back of Tony’s Conoco garage is right there in the crazy department with Floyd’s pot shop in Leadville. This was the classic old time garage with a single gasoline pump out front, plus a pump for diesel for the ranchers, and inside wood counters down both sides of the long, narrow building with a coal burning heat stove in the middle where invariably on cold days there’d be some old timer standing with his back to the stove. Walking in the door I half expected to see Tony standing there with that soft smile and greeting and waiting to hear what I needed. A good man. He’s long gone, instead it’s an evening with old friends, people I used to ski with, mountain bike with, drink with, get high with, shoot hoops with, laugh and argue with. Outside of wrinkles, white hair, aches and pains, patinas of time passing, everyone looks the same. Good people, and so fine to see them again, hear their voices, see the glints in their eyes. Morning, another glorious sky of penetrating blue. A day for visiting more old friends, this time from the saddle of my bike, old friends like trails, jeep roads, mountains soaring into a brilliant sky, creeks so clear they’re all but invisible. I’d been dreaming of this ever since the trip came up, seeing the aspens dressed out in their finest autumn colors. And the smells, aspens and pines and cow pies and dirt baking under a hot sun. Rode out past Veltrie’s ranch where I used to keep my horses and get water from the spring. I’m on a Moots Routt (a loaner from Jim at Vecchio’s) on the road to Pearl Pass. Mat’s on his mountain bike since he’s going to do Teocalli Ridge, one of my favorites back in the day. Would have liked to do that with him but no way without a mountain bike. Teocalli, what a great mountain, a pyramid of red rock shooting up to 13215 ft / 4028 meters, a mountain I’ve hiked, skied, and mountain biked. Had to stop and shoot some pics with it in the distance soaring over the East River Valley. A magical place, the river valley curling around the mountain the ski area’s on, a classic glacier carved U, totally undeveloped with even the ski runs and lifts stopped well above the valley floor. I won’t say this is the most beautiful place there is since that doesn’t exist, but I think it anyway. Get to the junction of the West Brush Creek and Brush Creek roads, Mat goes left and up, I go straight. Grab some shots of him on the road above me. As I recall that climb isn’t easy, not desperate but definitely hard. Where I am is an easy rolling traverse across the hillside, through pockets of yellow, then down to the ford across the West Brush Creek. I walk it. Need fatter tires to ride across. And up. Damn, I’d forgotten how steep the road is. Definitely need lower gears. The bike is fine, handles the terrain with precise ease, I just need more gears, but make it up anyway. At least that section. Then it gets steeper. Maxed out, picking a line, in a low crouch searching for that sweet point between traction and power. Into a grove of aspens, a fountain of yellow. Road curls left, another straight ahead but doesn’t look like it goes anywhere. I go left, not the good call but I don’t know that yet. Road ramps up. Finally have to stop, out of steam. Quck recharge, off again, pure torture. Can’t believe people pushed their heavy-ass clunkers up this beast! I’m impressed. I’d totally forgotten how hard getting to Pearl Pass is. And I’m still in the approach! Off the bike, pushing it up. Could have made it with lower gears. Oh well. Back on the bike, straining, picking the easiest line, and I’m up, grade slacks, goes flat, then down. All of a sudden this bug that’s been squirming around in my gray matter surfaces. Damn! I’d totally forgotten there’s an easy way that avoids that climb. Back in the aspens, the road going straight that didn’t go anywhere, it turns into a single-track and does a flat then descending traverse above the creek. And there it is coming in from the right! Would have saved myself a huge dose of pain if I remembered that puppy! Colors pushing the limits of belief. Past their prime but with all these huge swaths of yellow burning the eyes, who’s counting. The air clear, silent, rich with smells of warm dirt and trees, heat radiating off the south-facing slopes. Bunch of beaver ponds scattered across the valley floor. I watch for awhile but don’t see any beavers, too early in the day. Reminds me of riding Ferris Creek in the evenings with no one there but me, a meadowlark or two, and beavers being beavers. Spirit filling moments. Get to the Middle Brush Creek ford, stop, sit on a log that’s been there for as long as I can remember. Watch the water flow by, leaves floating in the air. Time floating too. Decide to head back. Maybe Mat and I will cross paths. That would be fun. Loving the bike here. For sure more limited than a mountain bike but with some slightly fatter tires and lower gears, I could ride it a lot of very cool places. Get back to the junction with the trail I missed coming in. A single-track, smooth dirt carpeted with leaves. Oops, I’d forgotten the hillside was so steep, like closer to vertical than not. Hit one place where the traverse looks sketchy. Decide to walk it, which isn’t easy either. I definitely remember riding this years ago like it was nothing special at all. Times change, the flow shifts, so do I. Into a thicket of aspens on fire. This is where I missed the trail coming in. Notice a trail going left and a small sign saying something about Strand Hill. The mind whirls, pieces click into place, yes, the old exit trail from the Ferris Creek loop. Oh man, can’t even begin to imagine how many years have bled past since I was on this. Gotta take it. For old times sake. The trail plunges down a gnarly, steep hillside. A walker for me. Hit the bottom, ford the creek, back on the bike, ride the trail up onto a flat plateau of sage brush. Excellent! The sage brush return, one of my favorite little sections. Has another name now, something to do with Strand Hill. I always called it the sage brush return. Used to be just a cow path. In the spring Brush Creek would be way too high to ford so no one would do Ferris Creek as a loop. Except me. Because of that cow path. Came back into town one spring day after riding it and ran into Steve from the bike shop in the Alpineer building. He asked where I’d been. Told him did the Ferris Creek loop. His jaw dropped, asked me how I managed to cross the river. Told him I didn’t, just rode the sage brush return. Looked at me like I was crazy and said what sage brush return. Told him about it. Didn’t take long for that cow path to evolve into a well-used and ripping good mountain bike romp back to the road. Too bad they changed the name. Anyway, there I was, once again riding high on the sage brush return, thoroughly enjoying myself with this fat-tired road bike. Had to walk a few places, prudence and age dominating the decision process. Heard this rather loud noise behind me. Mat’s tires crushing the dirt. Perfect! Riding the sage brush return with my son. Somewhat amazingly considering how much riding we’ve done together, that was the only time we’ve ever ridden together around Crested Butte. Watching him work the trail was a treat. Super smooth rider, no visible effort, slipping over the trail like a snake in a lazy hurry. Beautiful. I’ve always said that if I was still living in Crested Butte, I’d be a mountain biker, not a road rider. I mean some road riding for sure, but probably at least 90% of the time on a mountain bike. The valleys, hills, and mountains around the Butte serve up mountain biking that’s second to none. I won’t say I miss it because I don’t. If I were there, that’s what I’d do. But road riding in the french Alps is everything mountain biking in Colorado is, and more. But man oh man while I was there with my son, I was in pure ecstasy. I mean I know there are lots of great mountain biking areas all over the world but for me the riding around the Butte stands alone. It’s also definitely mountain bike terrain. There’s some good stuff to do with a fat-tired road bike for sure but really it’s just a side dish. Gunnison has way more and way better terrain for fat-tired road bikes than the Butte. Doing something down there was kind of in the plans but turned out my two weeks in the states wasn’t nearly long enough to do all we wanted to do. Hell, we only got in one day of riding out of the Butte, and that wasn’t nearly enough! But, that’s just how it was. Had to keep moving. Next stop Moab. 
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#2
10-21-2016, 07:03 AM
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Good read, as always. Looks like a very well-timed trip to the Butte as well.
My favorite small town in Colorado. If I ever retire or add a second home, I would love little mining town to be it. Thanks for the pics.
__________________
♦️♠️ ♣️♥️
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#3
10-21-2016, 07:58 AM
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Nice. You should come back in the winter. The fat bike scene in Crested seemed to be the most advanced I saw in my travels through Colorado last ski season.
I'm with you on the mountain biking over road biking, especially in Crested. Not many roads at all, and the roads that exist aren't the most welcoming. You've exposed a whole world of quiet paved roads in the mountains in your posts from France that amaze me - we just don't have that in America.
__________________
It's not a new bike, it's another bike.
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#5
10-21-2016, 11:08 AM
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Great write up, as always. I spent two weeks in CO this summer after a four year absence. I had the same feeling as you - there's an amazingly beautiful vista around every corner, especially through the middle of the State.
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#6
10-21-2016, 11:13 AM
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CB is such a cool town. Fishing, skiing, biking, etc. etc. etc.
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#7
10-21-2016, 12:51 PM
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 . Never been there in the summer but I bet it's spectacular.
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#8
10-21-2016, 04:54 PM
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#9
10-21-2016, 05:16 PM
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Velotel, did you consider doing the Vail pass trail ride that you drove right by around Copper Mountain? That's the closest thing I've seen in the west to some of your one lane paved French alpine rides. I had a memorable day on that thing on an awesome gold Aspen fall day about ten years ago.
__________________
It's not a new bike, it's another bike.
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#10
10-22-2016, 03:43 AM
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#11
10-22-2016, 06:09 PM
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Ahh!!
You brought me back to the 2 weeks ending September when My wife daughter and I attended a wedding in Steamboat Springs. I saw the Routt state land sighn and thought of you and your write ups.
You write exactly as I think! Thanks for sharing.
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