Colorado… Come for the Winter, Stay for the Summer

The Road… How many have talked, written, photographed, or plain lived on the road? I’m entranced by what happens when we’re out on the road; especially when traveling without the confines of an agenda. I’m composing these thoughts after three exceptional days of solo bike riding, and wish to share all the in betweens that made my trip an adventure.

I regard no exception for my actions, bike tours remain a normal pastime this side of the Mississippi, and contrary to popular belief the roads belong to us bikers too. I hitched my wagon to my mountain bike and let the wind carry me north; weaving seventy miles along the Front Range I arrived in Fort Collins Saturday night. The ride didn’t feed my spirit, except for the goat on a snowmobile and the cracked seat collar, everything felt fairly normal. My camping plans dissolved after two CSU students kindly offered me a place to stay. I woke up early, bought a few tubes at Lee’s Cycles, and checked a flag.

The winds calmly blew westerly, suggesting I visit the mountains. I mapped out a course and climbed 60 miles through Roosevelt National Forest, arriving in Estes Park around five o’clock. The ride proved challenging, although the canyon, the forests, and the winding road kept me focused. I jabbered with a few locals as I ascended the canyon, one even offered me a place to stay at the local fire station, but I convinced myself camping in the mountains was more suiting. I dabbled around the park until overhearing the evening forecast for snow!

Again, my intentions drifted from actuality and I found myself creating a shelter off Hell’s Canyon Road; luckily the property owners let me be. Using my bike, the trailer, and a funky tree, I constructed a wind/water proof shelter (Les Stroud would have approved.) I drifted to sleep as the sun’s final rays hit the horizon. I awoke several hours later to high winds and snowfall. My shelter weathered the storm and preserved a cozy den until sunrise.

The morning brought an enchanted forest of ponderosa pines and nearby elk. I packed my things, briefly explored the woods, and saddled up for my return to Boulder. The canyon, still frozen, opened up a marvelous downhill experience. There is no better way to end 130 miles of sustained pedaling than with a 35 mile stretch of downhill. One night in the mountains was truly worth a month in the town, and to do it all on my own accord makes it matter. I encourage everyone to take a bike adventure, get lost, and allow the wind to direct your path. The roads a magical place, if you pay attention you may glean some wisdom.