velotel
04-19-2013, 07:48 PM
Birthday ride, a fine tradition. This year's was going to be different. Instead of by myself in France, a ride with my son in Colorado. In the sun and heat. Perfect. Didn't work out like that. Left home the morning of 16 april, scheduled to arrive in Denver in the evening around 6, same day, just 8 hours further west. Where it was snowing. Generously. Got to London, boarded the flight for Denver, beautiful, plane maybe only half full, straight through flight. I'm looking at three seats to stretch out on to sleep. We sit there, a long time, then a longer time. Technical problem. Ah, heading out to the runways. Turning around, the captain isn't happy, back to the terminal. Unload to reload later in another plane. Oh well, things happen.
Ready to board again. Nope, can't go, passport control in Denver won't be open when we arrive. No, they won't keep anyone there for us. Okay, BA puts us in hotels and tomorrow they'll come up with a bigger plane, combine two flights into one. Instead of a half-empty plane with space to spread out and sleep, looking at a sardine can flight. And just to keep it all in perspective, that flight's delayed too. Three hours or so. Still snowing in Colorado.
We're off, arrive 27 hours after the scheduled arrival of the original plane. But I'm there, my son there to pick me up. Walk outside to the car. It's friggin cold. The ground's white! Looking shaky for the traditional ride.
Up early, maybe a blue sky day. Cruise down to Vecchio's. Peter has extremely generously offered me the use of bikes while I'm here. My son, part of the Vecchio's family, points at a Gunnar cross bike. Jim says no problem. Steel frame, Campy triple, fat, knobby tires. Mat, my son, tells me we'll want cross bikes for the conditions. Neglected to mention that he was actually referring to some specific conditions, like the ride bouncing around in his head had lots of dirt which would be snow-packed and lots of climbs, steep climbs. That discovery came later.
Back to the house, thankfully I brought my winter riding kit from France. Put it all on. Rolled off, cold but blue sky and sun. Urban riding to get out of town. Different. I definitely wasn't in France any more. Roads wide like boulevards, straight, laid out by engineers with no imagination. Or maybe no sense of humor. Into the foothills, ah, this is better. Narrow road, american standards, twisty, starts to climb. Turns to dirt. A packed, smoothed, red dirt. Nice. Into the snow. Surface becomes a mix of snow, melting snow, frozen mud, melting mud, most of the time squishy and we're leaving deep tracks behind us.
The climbing's good, steady, steep enough, but good steep. Nothing desperate. I've settled into a rhythm despite the air missing a whole lot of oxygen. Oops, road ramps up, a lot. I move to the small ring. And thank Peter for a triple on the bike. Hard going on the soft surface. We're weaving around, looking for the harder stuff. The white snow is good, the brownish snow soft and sluggish, the smooth dirt instantly belying it's solidity and inviting the tires to sink into the surface. Long climb.
Higher now, lots of snow along the road, the trees thickly decorated, fat clumps periodically tumbling to ground with a whoosh and soft thump. The road pure white. Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. 18 April, riding with my son in full winter conditions! And we're loving it.
Get to some hamlet of cabins with a general store. Gold Hill I think. Inside for a good quiche. Needed that. Back outside and instantly down a stupidly steep, slippery descent. Supposedly grades in the high 20's. Lots of snow, lots of slush, lots of mush. Mat flies down it. I take my time. The brakes feel a bit marginal. Figure better to keep it slow than go fast and discover little braking effort when they're called into action. Ah, a junction, a paved road at the bottom. Really cold now. Turn right and up. Steep but not like earlier. In theory ought to warm up but the cold had penetrated too deep. Powered up the hill, a race between getting back to the house before I flipped into an ice sculture.
The bikes coated with ice. Shifting gears a bit iffy most of the time due to ice. Hands history. More memory than actually feeling them on the bar. Good fun despite a generous coating of sand. Fast and curvy. Back into town, straight back to the house, inside, hot shower. Slowly life returns. That was a birthday ride I won't forget. First one ever with my son. He couldn't stop smiling. He'd just done one of his favorite loops, one most riders he knows don't understand why he likes it, and he'd done it with his dad on his dad's 68th birthday. He's a happy camper. So am I, just beat-up. Gotta love birthday rides.
No pics. Mat took care of the photo department. 50 K with something like 4000 vertical feet. Heck of a ride.
Ready to board again. Nope, can't go, passport control in Denver won't be open when we arrive. No, they won't keep anyone there for us. Okay, BA puts us in hotels and tomorrow they'll come up with a bigger plane, combine two flights into one. Instead of a half-empty plane with space to spread out and sleep, looking at a sardine can flight. And just to keep it all in perspective, that flight's delayed too. Three hours or so. Still snowing in Colorado.
We're off, arrive 27 hours after the scheduled arrival of the original plane. But I'm there, my son there to pick me up. Walk outside to the car. It's friggin cold. The ground's white! Looking shaky for the traditional ride.
Up early, maybe a blue sky day. Cruise down to Vecchio's. Peter has extremely generously offered me the use of bikes while I'm here. My son, part of the Vecchio's family, points at a Gunnar cross bike. Jim says no problem. Steel frame, Campy triple, fat, knobby tires. Mat, my son, tells me we'll want cross bikes for the conditions. Neglected to mention that he was actually referring to some specific conditions, like the ride bouncing around in his head had lots of dirt which would be snow-packed and lots of climbs, steep climbs. That discovery came later.
Back to the house, thankfully I brought my winter riding kit from France. Put it all on. Rolled off, cold but blue sky and sun. Urban riding to get out of town. Different. I definitely wasn't in France any more. Roads wide like boulevards, straight, laid out by engineers with no imagination. Or maybe no sense of humor. Into the foothills, ah, this is better. Narrow road, american standards, twisty, starts to climb. Turns to dirt. A packed, smoothed, red dirt. Nice. Into the snow. Surface becomes a mix of snow, melting snow, frozen mud, melting mud, most of the time squishy and we're leaving deep tracks behind us.
The climbing's good, steady, steep enough, but good steep. Nothing desperate. I've settled into a rhythm despite the air missing a whole lot of oxygen. Oops, road ramps up, a lot. I move to the small ring. And thank Peter for a triple on the bike. Hard going on the soft surface. We're weaving around, looking for the harder stuff. The white snow is good, the brownish snow soft and sluggish, the smooth dirt instantly belying it's solidity and inviting the tires to sink into the surface. Long climb.
Higher now, lots of snow along the road, the trees thickly decorated, fat clumps periodically tumbling to ground with a whoosh and soft thump. The road pure white. Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. 18 April, riding with my son in full winter conditions! And we're loving it.
Get to some hamlet of cabins with a general store. Gold Hill I think. Inside for a good quiche. Needed that. Back outside and instantly down a stupidly steep, slippery descent. Supposedly grades in the high 20's. Lots of snow, lots of slush, lots of mush. Mat flies down it. I take my time. The brakes feel a bit marginal. Figure better to keep it slow than go fast and discover little braking effort when they're called into action. Ah, a junction, a paved road at the bottom. Really cold now. Turn right and up. Steep but not like earlier. In theory ought to warm up but the cold had penetrated too deep. Powered up the hill, a race between getting back to the house before I flipped into an ice sculture.
The bikes coated with ice. Shifting gears a bit iffy most of the time due to ice. Hands history. More memory than actually feeling them on the bar. Good fun despite a generous coating of sand. Fast and curvy. Back into town, straight back to the house, inside, hot shower. Slowly life returns. That was a birthday ride I won't forget. First one ever with my son. He couldn't stop smiling. He'd just done one of his favorite loops, one most riders he knows don't understand why he likes it, and he'd done it with his dad on his dad's 68th birthday. He's a happy camper. So am I, just beat-up. Gotta love birthday rides.
No pics. Mat took care of the photo department. 50 K with something like 4000 vertical feet. Heck of a ride.