To Steamboat, the Hard Way

In July 2018, I biked from Fort Collins to Steamboat Springs, with camping gear strapped to the bike. I covered 200 miles of mostly gravel roads, and something like 17,000 feet of elevation gain, according to my Garmin GPS. I ended each day covered in dry, hot dust. My feet, quads, butt, and hands ached the entire time.

Why did I do this, you may ask?

That’s an interesting question, for which I don’t have a solid answer. To prove I could, for one. To scare me into working out that year, for two. Because the idea was planted in my head, and then I couldn’t shake it. And because it is a gratifying experience to bike for miles and miles, with an open empty road ahead, seeing parts of the state I would never see otherwise. Six months later, I say it was worth it, though I am not jumping on the opportunity to do it again.

Although I am very good at forgetting the pain of athletic feats, especially if I’m rewarded with phenomenal views.

Kit sent me a link to the Steamboat Ramble Ride in January 2018. Two of his mountain biking buddies were talking about signing up. At the time, I don’t think he was seriously considering it. The more we thought about it, though, the more possible it looked. The Ramble Ride is a semi-supported bikepacking ride. They put together about four rides a year across the country. The goal is to bike with gear, on beautiful backcountry gravel roads, over mountain passes, and camp along the way. They provide the route, food, snacks, campsites, medical assistance, and a sag wagon if you need it. It’s sponsored by New Belgium, so there is clearly a lot of beer involved as well, which is significantly less enticing to a Celiac. But what is enticing is the camp chef who provides food for the whole trip, and who is very well versed in dietary restrictions and gluten-free cooking. On the other side of the trip, I can confirm it was amazing and delicious.

I’m still a little fuzzy about how we actually decided to sign up. I threw it over the fence to Fiona, who has enjoyed bike touring in the past, and suddenly it turned into “well, if you do it, then I’ll do it.” Before we knew it, we were all saying “what have we done!?”, with registration packets in hand. I’m really glad, however, that Fiona agreed to do this. I couldn’t keep up with Kit and the other boys, and it would have been a lot of cycling alone without her. Plus, we spent the next several months training together, often, with tears, and many of these days were adventures in and of themselves.

Gear is a pretty big part of bikepacking. I’m not that much of a gear junky, so I leaned on Kit a lot to help me prepare for this. Neither of us were in the market to buy another bike (uh, I mean, I would have, because you can never have too many bikes, but everyone has their limits, and apparently we have reached ours), so this meant we would be riding our mountain bikes. Luckily, our bikes are pretty comfortable and light, for mountain bikes, so this wasn’t the worst idea.

BUT! We found out a few months prior to the ride that Ibis Cycles was bringing a fleet of ten new Hakka MX bikes, for a handful of lucky riders to demo for the entire ride. Kit was nervous about riding a “foreign” bike for 200 miles, which is fair, so he passed on the opportunity. I was nervous about the availability of a bike that would fit someone 5’-0” tall, which is also fair, but crazier things have happened. I asked, and they had one! I’m really glad they did, because this bike really made the trip for me. It was such a treat, and I will definitely mention it several times in this post.

Day 0

The ride, in many ways, started the day before we actually started pedaling. There was a rider meeting in the evening to make sure everyone was on the same page and didn’t go wondering off in the wrong direction (which we may or may not have done anyway…more on that later). We were also supposed to drink beer, make friends, and, if you were one of the lucky folks who snagged a demo bike, then you were fit to your bike. Since this was me, I had wait around to get my bike. Unfortunately, it was blazing hot out, and we mostly sat around feeling anxious and sick from the heat. Worth it, however, to get to ride this beauty for 200 miles.

There was a reasonably high level of anxiety surrounding my gear; bikepacking gear is not designed for the bike of a 110-lb lady. At all. Kit traded me seat bags, and we used some crafty engineering and problem solving to get everything onto this bike. Here she is, all decked out.

No Beer Past This because the rider is allergic to it (…sob…)

This thing is light and handles like a dream. I could easily spend another 200 miles on this (well, okay, I definitely needed a break after the first 200…). The night before the ride, however, was filled with anxiety. The heat, a new place, the pressure of several days of remote biking ahead of us, and a lot of unknowns left me feeling bad, and Fiona was in the same boat. Our crew ate dinner and tried to get some sleep. Unfortunately, I was not feeling well that night and got very little sleep, which was not the best start.

Once we got riding, it was a whole different story.

Day 1

When it comes down to it, there’s not that much to write about. We pedaled. A lot. The guys claimed they were going to stick with us, but within 10 minutes they were out of visible range. They appeared to have underestimated the advantages of testosterone. Fiona and I were surprised for approximately 0.02 seconds, and then we carried on with our slow and steady pace. It felt good to get into a groove. It was just like a training ride. We were prepared for this. Our confidence was increasing in the crisp early morning summer air. The first few hours were on paved roads, which also meant there were more cars, but we knew that would be ending soon. I was itching to get the Hakka MX out on the gravel. In the moment, I tried to enjoy the smooth pavement.

After the first mid-morning snack stop, we turned left onto our first long, gravel climb. Nothing but ‘up’ for 20 miles.

It was a long morning, but largely peaceful. We saw very few motorized vehicles, and those were mostly ride support crew. Occasionally, we would pass a few folks on their bikes who had taken it too fast at the start, though more often we were passed by groups of guys with testosterone pumping through their veins. Fiona and I spent most of the morning alone, sometimes chatting, sometimes riding in silence. Driven by nerves leading up to the event, I had pretty meticulously reviewed the route over and over again, though everything always looks different when one is actually out there. I knew at the end of the slow climb, we would have a steep downhill, then coast into what was turning out to be a very late lunch. Luckily, we were fully stocked up with lots of snacks on the bike.

After another aid station and an egregious lie from the ride coordinator concerning how many more miles to go uphill, we did make it to the top. There, we sat down for the first time - not on a bike - and ate some popsicles with the New Belgium folks. It was exhausting. If you look at the elevation map above, we were about 42 miles in. Out of 75. There was still a long way to go before the end of the day. And 10 more miles until lunch! We didn’t hang out long.

I got my first real taste at a descent on the Hakka MX. I’m not a fast descender, because I like my face enough to not smash it to pieces, but I’m fairly confident when it comes to weight distribution and maintaining control on steep slopes. That’s one thing I really underestimated when I first started riding on gravel. It’s a new skill that doesn’t quite naturally translate from road riding, especially on a bike loaded down with gear. We practiced a lot when training, returning several times to the garbage washboard descent of Sunshine Canyon. Now it was my time to try this on the Hakka, and, woohoo! It was so much FUN. It was easier to go faster, the gravel didn’t rattle me to pieces, and the wide tires kept me feeling in control. I’m a newbie at gravel riding and bikepacking, so I couldn’t tell you exactly what it was about this bike. But I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I, as they say, shredded the switchbacks. It was the most I’d ever enjoyed a descent, even considering mountain biking (though that is largely due to the extreme terror I feel every time I mountain bike. I need to work on that.)

In love with this bike.

My view for three days.

After lunch, it was hot, windy, and boring. There was a short amount of riding on the shoulder of a paved road, which was a drag. We were feeling miserable, though we were about to be feeling worse. I knew there was one notoriously gnarly steep bit, about an hour after lunch. I was not mistaken. It was, as the mountain bikers call it, punchy. We turned off the paved road and continued on a steady gravel uphill before it got really bad. The heat was intense, and the loose gravel was a bear to climb. On this steep, gravel hill, we passed more people walking their bikes or taking breaks in whatever piece of shade they could find. That was not going to be me! However, in my determination to stay on my bike I ended up completely tipping over on a particularly gnarly switchback.

Apparently, it was just that steep.

I barely scrapped my leg, though, and mostly found the whole thing funny. That was, almost certainly, the delirium taking over. Whoops.

Once we made it to the top, we knew we weren’t too far from camp. The hardest part was over! From the ride description I had diligently memorized, we just had one final climb into camp. So we road onward, chatting with somewhat lifted spirits. We had lost the walkers on the hill, and it was just Fiona and I. I was watching the distance meter on my Garmin, waiting to hit that 70 mile mark, knowing camp was right around the corner. But something wasn’t right. We weren’t climbing. We were on some easy rolling hills, mostly down. Fear set it. We finally stopped and pulled out the cell phones to check our GPS signal, to confirm, or deny, that we were on track. We definitely weren’t.

This is not exactly the type of situation I handle well. We looked to be about 12 miles off track! I was so drained, I didn’t know that I could go for 12 more miles (uphill!). Plus, we were supposed to be at camp by now. Would the sag wagon and search cars find us out here? Would we find our way back? There was nothing else to do but turn around and begin the ride back to the last fork in the road. Since we had gone downhill a fair amount, it was going to take us a couple hours to make it to camp now. I remember thinking about how worried the guys would be, too. Without Fiona, I would be in an absolute panic. Also without Fiona, I would have been too scared to ask the very nice old man in a pickup truck if he could give us a ride back to the route. She courageously flagged him down, and asked if we could hop in the back with our bikes. He kindly obliged. Best decision ever.

He dropped us off at the base of the hill that we would still have to climb, since he was headed in a different direction. There were Ramble Ride signs again, though, so we knew we were back on track! We began riding again, though we only made it 3 minutes before the sag wagon found us. I had hoped we’d never have to ride in it, but this felt like a unique circumstance. We also didn’t have a choice, with the timing.

So, Day 1 ended in the sag wagon, but we did ride the same number of miles that we had intended. The guys weren’t even slightly worried, either. “We figured you’d get here eventually!” Thanks. Men.

The sea of tents at the campsite.

It was such a great feeling to peel off my ride clothes and put on something fresh. For dinner, I barely remember what we ate, but I do remember enjoying it immensely. No one stayed up late, with the hardest day coming tomorrow.

Day 2

Guess what we did on Day 2? We cycled forever, of course.

The first 3 hours passed without anything eventful, really. The fresh morning air was once again encouraging as we had some nice little descents and then slowly worked our way up again. This time, the climb was broken up by short, much-welcomed downhill bits. Then, there was a nice long downhill with some great open views of the Laramie River valley. Unfortunately, we lost our trees at that point and the temperature was beginning to increase a lot. We were completely covered in dust by the time we rolled into an early lunch at 11:00 am. (No, we were not ahead. Lunch was, by design, early today.)

Beginning a long, easy descent with great view (photo taken by Fiona)

Woo!

I would really like to give a shout out to the organizers for this ride. Namely, Peter and Christine, who were so kind, friendly, and helpful. I’m still amazed that I was able to participate in something like this with a food allergy, and that I didn’t even have to provide my own food. The camp chef was really helpful and always took the time to talk to me prior to meals. Not to mention most things were just made gluten-free to begin with (I wasn’t the only gluten-free on the trip). Additionally, Christine, who ran the lunch stations, set aside specific tubs of peanut butter, jam, and Nutella, for me to use on my GF bread without cross-contamination. I was, and am, incredibly grateful for their support. And for the existence of Nutella. If you can’t eat copius amounts of Nutella halfway through a grueling day on the bike, when can you?

Day 2 lunch was at an ideal spot. It was supremely located next to a Laramie River crossing, right before what would become our hottest and most grueling climb of the trip. Fiona and I were trying not to linger too long at the lunch spot, knowing it was only going to get hotter and the next few hours were very exposed. But we decided it was worth it to take a dip in the icy river. This ended up as one of my favorite moments of the trip. We stripped down to our sports bras and quickly swapped bike shorts for swim bottoms behind a bush and waded into the fresh, glorious water. All the heat and dust from the morning was instantly washed off. All we heard was the water tumbling over the rocks and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. The moment of peace and relaxation was absolutely worth the delay.

The post-lunch climb was as advertised: hot, dry, long, and exposed. It was a miserable few hours that left me wondering why I do this kind of thing. Now, looking back on it, I barely remember the pain. I’m left with the feeling of accomplishment and the appreciation for new experiences. It’s important to remind myself, though, that there was indeed a fair amount of pain. The dust, it was everywhere! My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my hands hurt, my skin was cracked and dry, and all I had done was bike for 1.5 days. And we were just over halfway done with this ride. Even after we made it into the trees and to the top of the big climb, it was still miserable. The terrain turned into these rolling “hills” with super steep bits, and staying on the bike was hard. However, I’d made a commitment to myself to not walk my bike! And I stuck to it. We spent a fair amount of time with another group of folks struggling as well, and I obtained a bit of reputation for being part “billy goat.” Never mind that those who were walking their bikes up the steep parts were going the same speed as I was ON the bike.

A deals a deal, right?

This day really dragged on. I knew we really were the back of pack, though I’m very used to that status, athletically-speaking. I somehow manage to find the things that are just, just, within my ability, and go all in on that. It’s frustrating, because so many people in the wonderful-for-your-self-esteem City of Boulder, Colorado have much MORE ability than I do - it’s extremely easy to feel like a failure. Day 2 of the Ramble reminded me, however miserable and slow I was, that I was only one of 50 people actually doing the damn thing. It isn’t a race for anyone (though I’m sure it feels like one for the 10-20 guys at the front of the pack…) and the accomplishment truly is on completion alone. It speaks to my strengths, because no matter how slow I am, I won’t give up. Keep moving forward, keep pedaling.

Then, there was a significant amount of torn-up garbage downhill (which I DID walk, for my own safety. Jesus.) And THEN, the ride organizers directed those of us in the back of a pack onto a “short cut” to camp, because we were so far behind. This involved 15 miles on a busy, paved road into Walden. It sucked. The shoulder was uncomfortably narrow. I was so, so ready to be done for the day.

“Everything is garbage.”

— Fiona

At the top of the worst climb.

When we finally rolled into camp, I received news from a somewhat frantic friend that Kit was nowhere to be found. After some panic, and alerting the ride organizers, he received a phone call from Kit. Apparently, he was struggling a bit at the end of the day, and when he rolled into Walden, he decided to get ice cream. Then, he got lost in the town. He found his way back eventually. I was glad to hear Kit was eating ice cream and not lying in a ditch somewhere.

Fiona also disappeared as soon as we rolled into camp, and this is because she caught wind that we could use the showers at the Walden Rec Center.

Camp tonight was in a grassy city park. It was nice to sprawl out on the lawn, though the mosquitoes also thought the grass was excellent. I ate more delicious food, talked with a few folks, and stretched out my tired legs. As the sun set, the ride organizers erected a giant inflatable screen and projected a movie in the park. A nice idea, but I didn’t last long with the bugs. Plus, my warm sleeping bag was waiting.

Day 3

The last day! And the “easiest” by mileage and elevation gain. We only had one mountain pass. So, we had a bit of leisure morning enjoying coffee, early morning sunlight, and the knowledge that we’d never had to do this again, if we didn’t want to (and at that point, I did not want to).

The last morning.

Kit rode with Fiona and I on the third day. I was feeling much better than he was that morning, and that’s because I had been taking it slow. Due to some knee issues, he needed a more mild day. I was happy for him to join us, and experience the non-competitive, congratulatory attitude of the slow-pokes. Most of the last day was really uneventful. The first few hours were very boring, as far as scenery goes. I’m not as familiar with this part of Colorado. I can appreciate the beauty of flat open plains with mountains at the horizon, but after a few hours of it, my appreciation dwindles. However, for an interesting turn of events, I was perhaps the most optimistic and cheerful of our threesome. Probably the adrenaline due to all the exhaustion.

We did, eventually, begin the climb up Buffalo Pass. While not excited for a slower pace uphill, it also meant the end was in sight. Plus, the wildflowers were amazing! There were some dark clouds building in the distance, which naturally made me nervous. We didn’t stop long at the aid station at the top of the pass. The other side of Buffalo Pass is a 4-wheeling road. Unfortunately, coming down that road was ridiculously rough, as it was pretty eroded from summer storms. Without a doubt, this was my least favorite descent. This was a bummer, because I knew I’d be giving back the Hakka in just a few hours - I wanted to enjoy the last few miles! Kit took a mountain biking trail down, so he could finally reap the benefits of doing the whole damn Ramble on a mountain bike, but Fiona and I stuck to the road.

Getting fresh water from a stream

Rolling into the final camp was surprisingly anti-climatic. Fiona rushed off to another shower, but the guys and I decided to wade into the Yampa river to rinse off. We ate dinner with the whole group for one last time, I turned in the Hakka MX and only kind of felt like crying, then we parted ways.

Kit and I were lucky. His parents had decided to come up to Steamboat that weekend, and we stayed in the same hotel, instead of camping for a final night. A nice, long, warm shower was amazing! And sleeping in a real bed! The four of us spent the following morning around town, though Kit and I felt pretty zombie-like. We ended up driving back on Trail Ridge Road, taking a long way through Rocky Mountain National Park. Storm clouds were rolling in, and I was reminded of just how beautiful it is up on that road. And I was thankful to be off of the bike!

Final Thoughts

I was disappointed by the lack of women on the trip. I’m pretty used to things that are male-dominated (engineering, anyone??), but I would have loved to have met more women. I am happy to see that there is a women-only Ramble next year. To the organizers’ credit, they are really trying to appeal to women. While I won’t be participating in 2019 due to other endeavors, I am really happy to see this evolve. Bikepacking is challenging as a small woman - I just can’t fit as much on my bike, for one. Heck, many bikes don’t even come in a size that I can ride. I’m weaker, and slower. These things are not true of all women, of course. There are some incredibly strong, incredibly fast women, and many can ride “normal” size bikes. I would have enjoyed riding with more people at my level, though.

Like most challenging experiences, I am ultimately glad that I tried (and even more glad that I succeeded!) I don’t plan on completing the same ride again, but I’m not throwing in the towel for any future bikepacking adventures. I’m not sure the scenery alone was quite worth the effort here. I’m spoiled, because I’ve had the privilege of hiking through some outrageously beautiful country (looking at you, Hawaii and New Zealand), so I’m also difficult to impress. But this was the most challenging athletic feat I’ve attempting, and I left it feeling good about myself, and that is worth a lot.

It’s the middle of winter now, and I’m longing for never-ending dirt, climbing into the hills, and days spent pedaling along open roads.

Love,

April

Song of the Day: Into the Wild by LP