Flatlanders Can (Eventually) Mountain
“Sandy, please promise me you aren’t going to try to ride this next year.”
These were Garrett’s stern words to me as we sat in a café. It was 2012. I was sipping my coffee while he shivered over a steaming cup of soup. He had just completed his twelfth Triple Bypass Bike Ride through the Colorado Rockies.
We were in our early years of dating. This was our long stretch of life when we commuted between Denver (Garrett) and Omaha (me). I had recently taken up road cycling so I could tag along with Garrett on weekend rides in Colorado. Although predominantly a flatlander, I could hold my own riding my bike through the easier Colorado terrain.
Garrett, still dressed in his cycling gear, was damp from a mountain downpour on his last 20 miles of the ride that day. His gentle lecture continued.
“The Triple Bypass is 120 miles and over 10,000 feet of elevation gain. That’s three mountain passes, Sandy. You would need to live in the mountains to properly train.”
It was my second year serving as Garrett’s ride support, and I had gotten the bug to join as a participant. Waiting for Garrett to finish this grueling course, I took in the excitement of the event, cheering on each rider as they rolled over the finish line. The elation of the riders and the roars from the crowds was intoxicating.
Sensing my enthusiasm brewing to join the ‘fun’, Garrett gave me this heart-to-heart talk. Although it may sound like discouragement, he was just being realistic in our dual residency era - no big mountain rides for me.
I continued to enjoy biking on open roads until I became a full-time Colorado resident in early 2020. With our move, Garrett quickly took on the local annual cycling challenge – The Ironhorse. Durango is a biking town, and this 50-mile ride (with 6,000 feet of elevation gain over two mountain passes) is a local classic. Beginning in 1971 as a race against the train (the Iron Horse) up the mountain to see which would make it from Durango to Silverton first.
Just as I had done with the Triple Bypass, I took on the role of Garrett’s official race support lead. This involved leaving our house at 6 am to beat the road closure up the mountain to accommodate the riders. With dog in tow, we would wait to cheer our favorite guy on as he crossed the finish line in Silverton, Colorado.
Our summer routine in Durango had turned into Garrett training for the Iron Horse on his road bike, while I added mileage running local trails while training for local road races. Although I also enjoy riding both my road and mountain bikes, half-marathon training required logging miles and took up most of my summer workout time.
A frequent running companion while putting in miles is my friend, Katie. Last year, she impressively completed her first Ironhorse ride. After I signed up again this year, she encouraged me to join her. Just like we train together for runs, we could train for the ride together too.
“No, I’m out. This is Garrett’s ride. How would we coordinate getting a vehicle there? I’m there for support.”
Just like the Triple Bypass did many years back, the allure of the Iron Horse stayed top of mind. When Garrett expressed interest in riding the Iron Horse mountain biking race, which would run the day after the road race to Silverton, the niggle increased.
I dropped the idea of signing up for the Quarter Horse event to Garrett as an inaugural start to Ironhorse racing (and my first big elevation ride). I decided that if Garrett chose to mountain bike, my services would no longer be needed on road bike day, and I could ride.
Now being a well-acclimated rider in the mountains, Garrett’s response to my ride quest had greatly changed from 14 years ago.
“You should do it! Regardless of what I decided to ride.”
With my flatlander days behind me and a full-fledged woman of the mountains, I signed up for the Iron Horse Quarter Horse. Rather than the full Iron Horse Bicycle Classic, this entry-level ride goes for 25 miles from Durango to the Purgatory Ski Resort, tackling 2,500 feet of vertical climbing.
Katie and I covered this route on Mother’s Day as a training ride. Aside from a chain malfunction that was fixed with help from another passing rider, I took on the miles and elevation without a problem. In summers past, I would have spent my weekends logging running miles. Instead, I was putting in the miles and elevation feet on my bike. I would tell Garrett how much I was enjoying the change-up in my summer weekend morning routine, lamenting that I didn’t miss the many long runs I put in last year.
With more miles and climbs put in before race day, I felt ready to take on my first official road biking climb and be part of the excitement in the pack.
Always the cheerleader, I was elated to be cheered on by the many lining the road to Purgatory. The first whooping that erupted took me by surprise, thinking I was being yelled at to get off the road.
Always cautious of my surroundings and other cars while riding, I find that having roads closed off with police support on a bike ride is an incredible treat. excitement of being cheered on.
With a beautiful bluebird morning, I took in every climb and mountain view from the perspective of a lucky local.
Wanting to stop at every intersection, instead, we enjoyed the joy of the police waving us through with a siren send-off.
The variety of people riding alongside me was amazing. They came in all shapes, sizes, and ages. I saw everything from e-bikes and tandem bikes to the old-fashioned big wheel model climbing up the mountain. From fancy cycling kits to a guy riding in cutoffs and sandals, I saw it all. With the sounds of the train running parallel to the highway, the riders cheered to the train whistle, pedaling faster to take the lead.
The enthusiasm was contagious as the crowd of cyclists encouraged each other, whether passing or being passed.
“Nice bike.”
“Great outfit!”
“Good job!”
As groups of riders zoomed by, I caught on to a peloton led by what looked like two twelve-year-olds. Feeling back to my days as a teenager on my new ten-speed, I stuck with them for a while, enjoying the wind to my face and the fresh mountain air as we rode closer to the sun.
But the biggest observation was that, to successfully complete this race, it was really all about lungs and legs. I could hear the labored breathing of a woman on a bike inching next to me. Although my legs were starting to feel the strain, my lungs were grand. My new biking companion noted my lack of heavy breathing.
“Are you from here? I am dying. This is my first day above sea level.”
Although I politely shared my local residency and gave encouragement as we kept grinding, I glowed internally at my official non-flatlander status.
As I pulled up to Purgatory for my quarter horse early turn off, I felt a tinge of guilt as many of the riders around me continued to take on two mountain passes. Although my quarter horse accomplishment is commendable, in running terms, the Quarter Horse to Purgatory is like completing a hard half-marathon. The full Iron Horse to Silverton is turning that into a mountain ultra-marathon.
This year, Garrett opted to do his own route, climbing the first mountain pass and then meeting me back down in Purgatory. After enjoying a beer, I shared with him my positive experience chasing the Iron Horse (at least, for a while).
“I think I want to do the full Iron Horse next year.”
Thinking Garrett’s response would be full-on encouragement, instead, it came with disclaimers.
“You know you will have to train harder. Lots of miles that will take you away from the other summer sports you enjoy.”
My husband knows me well. I am a full-on leisure athlete who can also be serious with my sports when I want to. But that is the question, do I want to?
Hmmm….. We shall see. 2027 is a long way away.
