I have dedicated three years to researching and segmenting this trail. Despite the extensive time spent shuttling cars, familiarizing myself with trailheads, and grasping the technical terrain, I found myself unprepared for what lay ahead. I am still processing everything, but one thing is certain – I could never ride this trail again without recalling every little detail of this profound experience.
I embarked on the trail with a glimmer of hope and a well-stocked backpack. As a first-time bikepacker, I admittedly had some uncertainty, but my confidence in my gear reassured me that everything would work out. They say ignorance is bliss, and I was blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. I focused on the present, and the present was a beautiful 72 & sunny day. I couldn’t have been more thrilled to start in such wonderful weather. Although the Colorado Trail Race began on the same day, they started at 4 am in the rain. I’m thankful I allowed them to get a head start and began my journey in dry conditions.
The first couple of miles were spent trying to find some solitude and get into the mindset of being alone. I couldn’t shake off my worries about the possibility of encountering a suspicious stranger while setting up camp by myself. My previous experiences have left me extra cautious, even on a popular and supposedly safe trail. As a solo female cyclist, I’m used to receiving unsettling comments, mostly from men. While I can usually brush them off during short rides, the extended bikepacking trip kept me on edge. The encounter with the man who rode too close behind me and later caught up only intensified my unease. I made a point to bike past him quickly in the evening, ensuring he wouldn’t find out where I set up camp. I truly want to believe this trail attracts nothing but the most wholesome, wilderness enthusiasts and it was nothing more but paranoia.
The first two nights alone were actually quite peaceful. I found some of the deepest sleeps in my bivy and began to question why I was so worried this small, unsteady tent wouldn’t work out. I stumbled into a desolate campsite and spent the last hour of dusk setting up my bivy, feeling like a wilderness pro as I chucked a bear bag of snacks into a tree. My McGyvered bag was loosely hanging under a nearby tree like a work of art, completely ineffective against any bear with a sweet tooth. As I prepared to make some tea before hitting the hay, I realized in horror that I had forgotten to test my old MSR stove light! To my dismay, it was busted and unable to hold any propane. Looks like I was going to have to survive on cold water and uncooked meals this trip. Not a big deal, considering I had already cycled 110 miles in the first two days and my body was ready to call it quits either way.
Day three brought a sudden onset of intense knee pain. What did I expect going into this trail with little to no training?? Waking up, I felt incredibly stiff, and initially thought that getting back on the bike would alleviate the discomfort. However, after fifteen minutes of pedaling, it became evident that the pain was not subsiding. I remembered that a friend had given me a small painkiller for such situations, and I took it immediately. As I made my way towards Kenosha Pass and Highway 285, I began to feel sluggish and questioned whether my limited food intake was taking its toll. Reflecting on the earlier conversation, I realized that the painkiller was intended for nighttime use as it induces drowsiness. Despite feeling incredibly sleepy, I persevered up the gradual ascent towards Georgia Pass. When the rain started, I dismounted and sought shelter, grateful for the small piece of gear that protected me. As the rain persisted, I continued walking, unaware that this would saturate my down sleeping bag. Fortunately, I had arranged checkpoints with friends along the route, which made the prospect of reaching Breckenridge seem more manageable than the daunting journey to Durango.
Well, Chloe in Breckenridge played a pivotal role as my first trail angel. I failed to anticipate the extent to which my sleeping bag would become soaked in my unprotected backpack. Although it was far from ideal, the sheer size of the bag left me with no choice but to place it there. Looking back, I should have invested in a smaller quilt sack and distributed the weight onto the bike, as lugging around a 20-30lb bag took a significant toll on my petite shoulders.
After a warm night rest in Silverthorne, I returned to my mission at the Gold Hill trailhead. I felt so great it didn’t even bother me that this was the day I would climb not one, not two, but three passes. The trek up Gold Hill was enough to drain any 100lb person with a 60lb bike. I took a quick bite over lunch on the summit until I was rudely reminded that sexual harassment exists out here. While scarfing down pesto noodles, an oblivious hiker was loudly talking to her friends about a recent encounter with another female backpacker, and I was sadly too disturbed to continue eating. Her vexating spirit ruined the summit and I embarked on my way down and across to Kokomo pass. I later encountered a man behind me. I was taken aback that someone was following me and quickly reminded myself its the Colorado Trail. DUH they are following me. I decided to engage and determine myself if he was friend or foe. Turns out he was super kind and soft spoken. We spent the later part of the pass casually talking as he watched me wheel my heavy bike over ginormous boulder rocks. Then there was Camp Hale and Tennessee Pass. I was determined to get to my next point of contact, Matt, the owner of the coffee shop Zero Day in Leadville. I desperately looked at the sun setting and remainder climb on my gps. I was going to get stuck on highway 24 in the pitch black of night. There are six bike detours on the Colorado Trail, two of which I did not feel comfortable or willing to risk biking on in the evening. I used the garmin inreach borrowed from my friend Justin, and sent the SOS to Matt asking him if he could pick me up 10miles outside of leadville.
To my surprise, not only could he come to the call, he was there in twenty minutes. I had the best downhill ride of the entire trip racing through the dim single track after Camp Hale. I was in a video game, dodging broken tree trunks and keeping an eye out for stray moose. I made it to the lot in time and only had to sit in the still of silence at 9pm for a brief time. The hum of a distant generator in the vast wilderness was a bit eerie and I was so grateful to see his truck high beams blazing down the dirt road. I was safe.
After another restful night, this time on the floor of the coffee shop listening to the pouring rain outside. I was beginning to wonder if I was really toughing it out here. I spent the next morning lazy stuffing my face with coffee and pizza, so incredibly grateful for friendship and how it is carrying me through this endeavor. At this point, I am not thinking about the finish…the only thing getting me through each day is the small goals of looking forward to the next friend I will be seeing on and off the trail. Taking this all day by day, and so far, it seems to be working because I am in great spirits.
It appears my first hiccup will really happy later in the journey …on the Colorado Trail Pt. II
