leaving radium, embracing my ute

most of the passes you climb up and then drop from, have names. some day i will index them but the truth is, this trip is about going up and down. details mean little when you are pedaling in your “granny gear.”

leaving the radium campground meant a long climb up an unknown pass that skirted up another section of the colorado river valley. half way up, the dreaded “road work ahead” sign appeared and traffic was backed up.

i could see water trucks and graders and as i approached, the road surface was slathered with liquid. my biggest fear was the d.o.t. guys were giving the road a magnesium chloride facial. that shit is corrosive, and while a vehicle can drive to a car wash, cyclists just have to deal with it.

fortunately, the graders left a strip of “virgin dirt” on the side and the track was good. even more fortunate was finding out from a driver that they were “just applying water, the magnesium is coming next week.”

that’s gonna suck for others.

not my problem.

once i got to the kremmling intersection, i stopped and debated over taking the 1.5-mile detour into town for some nutrition and cold beverages (can you say “kum and go”?). as i was about to turn, a colorado d.o.t. truck pulled up and it’s driver asked where i was going. i told him “ute pass,” and he warned me about resurfacing ahead and the need for cyclists to “wait for a shuttle ride through construction.”

i described my ride as along the divide route and assumed that would place me far and away from road construction and all its ills.

in other words, i don’t need no stinking shuttle.’

the guy was nice and curious about my journey. he reminded me of patrick simmons, of the doobie brothers, given his long hair and multiple piercings. he also revealed he was the project manager and his name was kevin.

we shook hands, he turned back up the highway, and once again, my life was reduced to “kum and go.”

the ride out of klemming and up to ute pass included rain showers and a monotonous landscape. that is a terrible combination for a cyclist. your brain shuts down and all you want is to be beyond the monotony and drudgery of where you are. you put your rain gear on and overheat (goretex breathability is overrated especially when pushing 150 watts).

once the climb up ute pass began, the rain ended and the sun worked it’s magic. the downside of the climb is the the mckenzie molybdenum mine, which has literally filled a formerly pristine valley with mining tailings.

grossest site on the divide.

once you pass the mine and your focus returns to landscapes man has yet to completely fuck up, ute pass takes over.

ironically, my earlier meet-up with doobie brother guitarist/ute pass d.o.t. project manager kevin, would reinvigorate itself, once i made it to highway 9 and the construction back-log began.

all along i thought the gdmbr had outsmarted the industrial complex, and here i was, stopped by a flagger, with 150 cars full of impatient drivers behind me. kevin was right.

what was more ironic was that my destination for the night, the blue river campground, was only a half-mile from the flagger and he proclaimed boldly, amidst cracking lightning and visceral thunder “you shall not pass…”

in that moment, you have two options: indignation…”i’m on a bike you putz,” or, you start name-dropping the project manager’s name.

while waiting for the bicycle shuttle, it started to rain in volumes somewhere between “showers and deluge”. i was wet, i was cold, i was tired.

once the shuttle transported me and my bike the half-mile to the campground entrance, kevin pulled up in his vehicle and the workers who were “fucking off”, soon became “busy.”

kevin came up to me and shook my hand and apologized. he then offered to give me a ride to silverthorne.

pouring rain notwithstanding, i remained true to the divide (never mind yampa) and scooted into the last campsite in the campground.

i was cold and tired after 64 miles and 5,500 feet of climbing. i sat at the picnic table, my clothing stuck to me like a second skin. i picked at my trail mix and heard footsteps approach behind me. i assumed it was the assholes from the stagecoach campground but instead, it was my new neighbor, asking if i would like to finish their leftover pork chops and black beans and strawberry shortcake.

you can’t make this stuff up when it happens on the great divide.