Summer 2009.
I woke up when the sun was rising, made myself some coffee and stepped out in to the balcony of the rustic mountain lodge we'd slept in the night before. There was a cool nip in the air, almost uncomfortable, but the view was breathtaking. Sun rising over the rocky mountains, mist still clinging to the plants and trees around me. We were in Leadville, Colorado - a sleepy little small town nestled comfortably in the rocky mountains. And the morning air was making me nostalgic.
I grew up in the mountains. My childhood was a lonely one but one filled with idyllic images of forests of tall pine trees over blankets of brown pine straw, lush valleys with a scattering of red tiled roofs, blue mountain ranges in the distance, crystal clear waterfalls after rains, foggy mornings.. the list is endless. In my heart I'll always be "mountain person". Even now when I am asked to close my eyes and imagine something serene, my first thought is a walk through dense woods. Fresh mountain air with the strong smell of trees soothes me more than the sound of ocean waves any day. And being in the mountains that week was like being home.
Leadville was a small town, one barely equipped to host the caravan of 1000 odd riders and an almost equal number of volunteers and support staff - all part of an annual Colorado tradition - The Ride the Rockies bicycle tour. We were on Day 5 of the 6 day tour. We had already cycled more than 300 miles in the past 4 days, spending nights in little towns I'd never heard of before - Glenwood Springs, Hotchkiss, Gunnison, Salida. Our riding group, the Rocky Mountain Rickshaw as we cheesily called ourselves, was an odd motley. 4 brown skinned people in a sea of white riders. Our oldest rider was 60 + (maybe?). A guy who inspired me every single day with his grit and determination.
I should have been exhausted, barely crawling. But adrenaline had replaced the blood in my body and all that I was feeling was unbridled excitement. In an hour, I'd be mounting my road bike, one that I'd fondly named Silver Comet, to embark on the ride of a life time. The most challenging day in that year's tour. Not a biggie distance wise. At under 60 miles, it was one of the shortest but were riding through a 30 mile stretch called the Independence pass with its summit at over 12,000 feet. A 3000 feet elevation gain in just under 20 miles. Physically, I was in the best shape of my life, having trained for 100s of miles in the months leading up to the big event. But I wasn't sure if any training would have prepared me for the mountainous task ahead.
The ride through the 30 odd mile Independence pass stretch was an experience like none other. The climb - a test of strength and endurance and the descent - a test of control and focus. It's been almost 10 years since that day but the memories are so vivid. At some point after we started the ascent, we decided to split and proceed at our own pace agreeing to meet at the summit. And the next couple of hours was just me, and the mountains. The views of the valleys and the surrounding mountains in the range were breathtaking. And as I slowly chugged up the mountain, I was able to achieve an almost zen state of mind.. an elusive state i've never been able to revisit since. One that made me accept and examine the searing pain in my thighs as I forced myself to pedal slowly up the steep roads. One that gave me strength to refuse a ride up to the summit on one of the support vehicles that assisted the riders. I observed the changed in vegetation around me as I completed mile after mile. I didn't stop to take a single picture. Not once during the entire tour actually. But the memories of the mountains are firmly imprinted in my brain.
Thick green trees gave way to smaller shrubs.. and finally it was replaced by a white blanket. I had crossed the snow line and it could only mean one thing, I was tantalizingly close to the summit. The sight of the the summit marker filled me with so many indescribable feelings.
The descent was much faster, much scarier and much much more exhilarating. Fighting the force of gravity to maintain some semblance of control over my bike and myself was much harder than I imagined. But before long, the land around me flattened and I started passing more and more signs of human occupation. Castle like dwellings signaled the proximity of our destination - Aspen.
If there's one life experience I'd like to repeat again, it is biking in the Rockies. If not a full fledged tour, I'd at least like to do the Independence Pass again. Just for the challenge.
I woke up when the sun was rising, made myself some coffee and stepped out in to the balcony of the rustic mountain lodge we'd slept in the night before. There was a cool nip in the air, almost uncomfortable, but the view was breathtaking. Sun rising over the rocky mountains, mist still clinging to the plants and trees around me. We were in Leadville, Colorado - a sleepy little small town nestled comfortably in the rocky mountains. And the morning air was making me nostalgic.
I grew up in the mountains. My childhood was a lonely one but one filled with idyllic images of forests of tall pine trees over blankets of brown pine straw, lush valleys with a scattering of red tiled roofs, blue mountain ranges in the distance, crystal clear waterfalls after rains, foggy mornings.. the list is endless. In my heart I'll always be "mountain person". Even now when I am asked to close my eyes and imagine something serene, my first thought is a walk through dense woods. Fresh mountain air with the strong smell of trees soothes me more than the sound of ocean waves any day. And being in the mountains that week was like being home.
Leadville was a small town, one barely equipped to host the caravan of 1000 odd riders and an almost equal number of volunteers and support staff - all part of an annual Colorado tradition - The Ride the Rockies bicycle tour. We were on Day 5 of the 6 day tour. We had already cycled more than 300 miles in the past 4 days, spending nights in little towns I'd never heard of before - Glenwood Springs, Hotchkiss, Gunnison, Salida. Our riding group, the Rocky Mountain Rickshaw as we cheesily called ourselves, was an odd motley. 4 brown skinned people in a sea of white riders. Our oldest rider was 60 + (maybe?). A guy who inspired me every single day with his grit and determination.
I should have been exhausted, barely crawling. But adrenaline had replaced the blood in my body and all that I was feeling was unbridled excitement. In an hour, I'd be mounting my road bike, one that I'd fondly named Silver Comet, to embark on the ride of a life time. The most challenging day in that year's tour. Not a biggie distance wise. At under 60 miles, it was one of the shortest but were riding through a 30 mile stretch called the Independence pass with its summit at over 12,000 feet. A 3000 feet elevation gain in just under 20 miles. Physically, I was in the best shape of my life, having trained for 100s of miles in the months leading up to the big event. But I wasn't sure if any training would have prepared me for the mountainous task ahead.
The ride through the 30 odd mile Independence pass stretch was an experience like none other. The climb - a test of strength and endurance and the descent - a test of control and focus. It's been almost 10 years since that day but the memories are so vivid. At some point after we started the ascent, we decided to split and proceed at our own pace agreeing to meet at the summit. And the next couple of hours was just me, and the mountains. The views of the valleys and the surrounding mountains in the range were breathtaking. And as I slowly chugged up the mountain, I was able to achieve an almost zen state of mind.. an elusive state i've never been able to revisit since. One that made me accept and examine the searing pain in my thighs as I forced myself to pedal slowly up the steep roads. One that gave me strength to refuse a ride up to the summit on one of the support vehicles that assisted the riders. I observed the changed in vegetation around me as I completed mile after mile. I didn't stop to take a single picture. Not once during the entire tour actually. But the memories of the mountains are firmly imprinted in my brain.
Thick green trees gave way to smaller shrubs.. and finally it was replaced by a white blanket. I had crossed the snow line and it could only mean one thing, I was tantalizingly close to the summit. The sight of the the summit marker filled me with so many indescribable feelings.
The descent was much faster, much scarier and much much more exhilarating. Fighting the force of gravity to maintain some semblance of control over my bike and myself was much harder than I imagined. But before long, the land around me flattened and I started passing more and more signs of human occupation. Castle like dwellings signaled the proximity of our destination - Aspen.
If there's one life experience I'd like to repeat again, it is biking in the Rockies. If not a full fledged tour, I'd at least like to do the Independence Pass again. Just for the challenge.