Colorado Trail 2024

My second bikepacking trip was a success! Read on to hear about the ups, downs, and all that I learned while I was out there.

Day 1: 50.70 miles, 8,468 feet

I rolled out from Waterton Trailhead, in Denver, at 10:20 am. I got moving on the wide open dirt road and cruised past people out for morning walks and runs - even a few cyclists getting some miles in. I also passed some thru hikers starting the same journey as me on foot. What an adventure we were setting off on. As I got into the singletrack and started working my way up into the mountains, I heard thunder rumbling in the distance. I lucked out as I watched storms dance around me but never quite making contact. After a few hours I hit the first big climb of the trip out of South Platte and it was a bit rough. I haven’t ridden much in the last two years, and while I put in a few solid rides in the months leading up to this, the prep definitely wasn’t ideal. I worked my way up the climb and crested it to find some incredible terrain in front of me. The rock formations surrounding me were mesmerizing and it took my mind off of the fatigue building up in my legs. 

I got to the first wilderness detour where I snagged some water from a friendly couple working construction outside of Wellington Lake and made my way over Stony Pass before starting the search for a campsite. That was a brutal final climb of the day. I pedaled another 10 miles before I found a suitable site that wasn’t occupied. I’d put in a big day and was ready for a warm meal until I’d realized my first mistake of the trip. I brought an empty fuel canister… oops. I settled for cold soaked mashed potatoes and a protein bar, crawled into my tent, and called it a night. 

Day 2: 77.34 miles, 9183 feet

I started off the day with some heavy legs and rolled down the road from camp on soft dirt roads. I slogged my way over the first two climbs before my legs woke up, but once they started firing they let me rip over climb after climb for hours. I hit the pavement and filtered some water, then kept pushing over more rollers and through a couple small towns.  I kept hammering down on the pedals until it was lunch time. I stopped at a lake on the side of the road and sat at a picnic table and crushed half a bag of Flamin’ Hot Ruffles, my favorite trail snack. I got back on the bike and made my way to the end of the detour and back onto singletrack. I was loving it… until towards the bottom of a descent I realized I was missing something. 

I’d strapped my tent body to the back of my bike to dry out that morning and when I looked back to check if it was there it was gone. I knew it had to be close to where I was so I flipped it and started pedaling up the trail. I went by a hiker I’d passed at the top and asked if he saw anything and he did! I was relieved. I kept pedaling up all the way up the climb until I got to the top… but found no tent. I descended down at a snail’s pace looking all over but still found no tent. I got to the bottom and was distraught. Honestly almost in tears. It was only day 2 and I was in the middle of a major setback I didn’t even think could happen. I decided to go up for one more pass, this time on foot. I hiked my way all the way to the top of the climb but yet again found no tent. I was starting to lose it. I began my walk down, feeling defeated and thinking about how I’d likely have to end my trip early. I knew I’d pass through Breckenridge the next day, an easy bail out point. 

But then I saw it, my tent was sitting right there on the trail and I’d missed it on all those other passes. I felt some relief, but also anger at myself for being so careless with something so crucial to my trip. It was two days and two mistakes and that felt so frustrating, but I guess that’s what it takes to learn. I got back to my bike, fastened the tent to it more securely and went on my way. I passed through a campground with a hiker box and rifled through it for a fuel canister to fix mistake one of the trip and got lucky. I’d be having a hot meal. 

Day 3: 47.55 miles, 8094 feet

On day 3 I woke up to the ramifications of yet another mistake. I flopped out of my tent and looked at my bike and noticed a hole in my frame bag. Turns out rodents will indeed chew through a bike bag to get to snacks if you forget them in there. I then went over to my smell proof bag (where I meant to put the snacks left in the frame bag) and found a hole chewed through that too! Seems like this was one motivated little guy. He even pooped in my pot! I cleaned the scraps up, rinsed the pot out, and packed up camp. I was yet again frustrated with myself for another seemingly careless mistake. 

My legs felt heavy as I started the climb up to Georgia Pass but the more I pedaled the better they felt. I crested the climb to my first view of the Tenmile Range I’m so lucky to call home and was in awe. I stopped and took it all in for a few minutes, noted a storm rolling in, then dropped into the first mega chunky section of the trip. The descent down from Georgia is no joke, it’s long and rocky, and definitely tested the limits of the Lobster between my legs. After making it down safely (and walking a section or two) I worked my way up and over the final notable climb before getting to Breckenridge.  The descent down from there was unreal, perfect corners and flowy lines all the way to town. I popped out onto the road and the skies finally opened up. The first proper storm of my trip had arrived.

I turned left onto the bike path and hammered my way towards Breck. I saw lightning striking around me and counted the seconds between it and the claps of thunder. 10 seconds, then 8, then 4. I kept pushing and finally made it safely to Breck. My first stop was my favorite pizza place in town, Three Daughters. I’d been thinking about that pizza for hours and it was finally time. Once that was picked up I pedaled over to Chris Mehlman’s AirBnb to wait out the storm and eat my well earned zza. After stuffing my face and catching up for a few hours I got back out on the bike, hit City Market for a resupply, and got back on trail. I rode my way up towards the tree line and found a lovely campsite a few hundred feet below it. Tonight I made sure to pack up all my food and put it in the tent. Not letting any little lads get to my food this time. 

Day 4: 70.76 miles, 8940 feet

Spirits were high as I set off for the final 1500 feet of the climb over Wheeler Pass. I’ll be honest though, I didn’t do much pedaling on my way up. Starting the day with 1500 feet of climbing in 2 miles almost all above tree line is a tad brutal, but there was one upside. About 500 feet from the top a bikepacker named Case caught up to me and we worked our way up the final section together. This was the first person I’d ridden (walked) with since I’d started in Denver three days earlier and boy was it nice. Case and I rode together until I pushed on to Leadville. Sharing those miles made my day. 

I happened to be rolling through Leadville the same day as the Leadville 100 which was quite the experience. I navigated through the herds of cracked cyclists and snagged another pizza. Right before I cruised out of Leadville I got a call from my friend Robin, who is hiking the CT, letting me know they had a free cabin for me to sleep in at Twin Lakes. Stoke levels shot up, it was time for my first night miles of the trip! I ripped the extra 11 miles and 1200 feet of climbing in the dark to the cabin and got there at 9:30 pm. After four full days of riding, getting into a warm shower and a comfy bed was exactly what I needed, even if I still had to put dirty kit on in the morning.

Day 5: 56.09 miles, 5971 feet

The day started off nice and slow. I headed over to Robin and Lizard’s (pretty sick trail name right?) cabin for coffee and some breakfast, chatted for a while, and finally got myself out on the bike around 9:30 am. I quickly found myself in a burn zone; riding across the blackened soil and charred trees was pretty surreal. I pedaled my way over a few climbs breathing in campfire scented air before getting to yet another wilderness detour. This one was a ripping false flat downhill all the way to Buena Vista. My legs were firing and I flew towards town where, about four miles out, I passed a burro race! I’d been hearing all about these since I moved to Colorado and finally got to see one! I cheered the runners and their stubborn companions on as I rode into town for my most important resupply, as it would be another four days before I’d end up in another town. I got a few breakfast burritos, hit the grocery store, and was lucky enough to snag a Palisade Peach for free on my way out. This was the last enjoyable part of my day. 

I’m not sure what happened while I was in town, but when I left my body felt empty. There was a 1200 foot climb into a block headwind between me and the trail and boy did getting over that feel like an insurmountable task. I worked my way up the road slowly, stopping more than I’d like to admit, but eventually made it. This didn’t mean my struggles were over though. My body never really woke up, and every mile and foot of climbing between me and camp were agonizing. This was my first true low point since I’d started the trail, there were other issues and setbacks prior to this, but none that had anything to do with the actual riding or how my body was feeling. I walked my way up almost every bit of every climb and went embarrassingly slowly down some of the rocky descents; I was truly cracked. When I got to camp I was relieved to be done for the day, but also worried about how I’d feel for the rest of the trip. Had I gone out too hard in the first three days? Was today just a fluke or was it just a precursor to how I’d feel in the days to come? I’d just have to put those worries aside and go to sleep, the only way to find out was to get back on the bike tomorrow and hope for the best.

Day 6: 44.12 miles, 8944 feet

I woke up feeling fatigued. My legs still felt pretty empty and I was worried my fears from the night before were coming true. I slowly packed up camp, dreading the day to come, and set off up the first climb. I pushed my bike up the 1 mile averaging almost 15%, and shockingly it felt great! My legs were coming alive and things were looking up. I made it over that climb and was greeted with a short descent. The rest of that segment was brutal, every mile was filled with lots of bike pushing, steep technical climbs, and what felt like almost no descending. There was no reward for the effort, not even particularly pretty scenery. I’m glad my legs felt good… And for you stat nerds out there, the first 11 miles of my day had over 3000 feet of climbing, and I hadn’t gone up a single major climb. 

The second half of my day would have a similar ratio of climbing to miles, but a very different profile. I crossed a highway and, after a short rest to eat some Flamin’ Hot Ruffles (still the best trail snack on the planet), I was greeted with the 3000 foot climb to Marshall pass. The legs kept firing as I worked my way up the trail and passed the tree line. This time I was greeted with a ripping descent on the tail end of the Monarch Crest Trail. I found myself grinning ear to ear as I ripped down and down, navigating through baby head rocks and trying to keep air in my tires. Luckily I was successful, made it down without incident, and was greeted by a surprise friendly face when I popped out onto a fireroad. 

About a week earlier, before I’d started my trip, I was getting my food supplies in Breckenridge and chatted with a thru hiker who was waiting in line in front of me. She was heading SOBO and was so full of joy and excitement for the rest of her trip. Chatting with her eased some of my nerves going into my own journey. We went our separate ways and I figured I’d likely never see her again, as is the case with most brief interactions at a grocery store. But here we were in the middle of nowhere chatting with each other once again! Hopefully she’s enjoying the final few days of her trip as I’m writing this. After parting ways I decided to make the push over one last climb so I could start right at Sargents Mesa the next morning.

Day 7: 75.06 miles, 9157 feet

I was woken up by the buzzing sound of a freewheel. I poked my head out of my tent to see a bleary eyed Colorado Trail Racer cruising by. I dragged myself out of my quilt, packed up camp, and got on the bike. Boy was I feeling worked. After only a few miles it was already time to take a nice long sit. Over the previous 6 days I’d learned that sitting around for 30 minutes to an hour could make a major difference to my fatigued body, and I’d give myself one of these every day. Usually it would come around noon, maybe even later if I was feeling good. But today it wasn’t even 10:00 am and I already needed it, not a good sign. I found a nice log next to a creek, filtered some water, and sat down. After a while I decided that I should get moving again and tossed on a podcast for a little bit of extra motivation. As I pedaled and waked my way over the technical terrain Sargents Mesa is known for I found myself in tears. 

The podcast I was listening to was about experiences with their loved ones passing away. I should’ve known this one would get me, especially in my fatigued state. Listening to their stories took me away from the trail at a crucial moment. I was transported into my own head, my legs now moving seemingly on their own while I was thinking about my own experiences with loss. With tears rolling down my cheeks I kept moving forward, feeling so grateful for the time I got to spend with the people I love that are no longer around, and feeling lucky beyond words that I get to spend more time with the ones that are still around. After days of solitude, alone with my thoughts, all it took was a 15 minute podcast to crack me open. This is a part of ultra endurance that I have always cherished. You push your body and mind to the breaking point, and wear down all the barriers that you put up in your daily life. I find that without those barriers I’m left with myself in a raw state, ready to open up. Once I get to that point I find myself thinking through what were once problems with immense clarity and a pragmatism that eludes me in any other state, and I find myself grateful for things that caused me so much pain in the past. 

All of a sudden I was snapped out of my own world. I heard someone riding up behind me and looked back. It was Justinas, one of the racers favored to win the Colorado Trail Race after his record setting performance on the Great Divide less than two months earlier. He’d only slept one hour the night before and his fatigue definitely showed, but he kept pushing on. We rode together for a few hours, chatting and mounting and dismounting as we navigated the chunky terrain. We could tell a storm was moving in, but we were below tree line so we weren’t too worried… That was until we were pushing up one of the climbs and saw a big flash of lightning  just 20 meters from us accompanied by a huge crack of thunder with no delay. We felt the static in the air and immediately picked up the pace. It was time to get out of there and hope the winds would shift to push the storm away from us. We didn’t get so lucky. About 20 minutes later the skies opened up and nickel sized hail started hammering down on us. The hail slamming down onto my hands was immediately painful enough that I b-lined for the closest grouping of trees, got my rain jacket on, and took a seat. Justinas continued on, what a beast. Hiding under those trees spared me from getting pummeled by the bulk of the hail but as the storm intensified it got cold, really cold. The temperature dropped into the 30s as I watched hail pile up around me, covering the ground entirely in a matter of minutes. I’d never been in the mountains for a storm like this before and if I’m honest it was pretty scary. Witnessing the raw power of the mountains first hand is something else. The second the hail subsided and only rain was left I hopped up and started moving. 

I pushed hard to increase my body temperature and didn’t stop moving until I was off Sargents. During all of this I hadn’t had a sip of water, I ran out right before the storm hit and because of how cold I was I didn’t stop to filter for a few hours after that. When I finally got to a stream I was elated, even if there were cow patties all around it. I dipped my filter in and the water felt warm, that’s when I realized how cold I really was. Streams at 9000 feet aren’t known for being warm, but my hands had been freezing for hours and I could barely feel them. I chugged a liter straight from the filter then filled up my pack and went on my way. I rolled through a field filled with cows that probably left those patties and eventually made it to yet another wilderness detour. This meant I was almost to where I planned to camp, and made pretty good time just by trying to stay warm. I hammered down the soft dirt road, feeling mud rob me of my speed with every pedal stroke. I made it to my intended camp spot at Dome Lakes but it still hadn’t stopped raining and the second I stopped I started getting really cold again. 

I looked at the map and saw that Cathedral Cabins were 27 miles up the road. I remembered hearing about them from some bikepackers a few days earlier and decided to keep pushing so I could have a warm, dry place to sleep. As I continued on the road I noticed two sets of tire tracks, I knew they had to be from Justinas and the other racer ahead of me. Knowing they pushed through that weather and the heavy, saturated road that I was on helped me dig deep and keep moving. As the sun started to set the rain finally stopped, but the temperature only continued to drop. My rain jacket had wetted through and I was soaked to the bone, definitely not bringing the frogg toggs jacket on my next trip. I made it to the final climb of the day over Pinos Pass at about 9:00 pm and was starting to get really cold. I hadn’t been able to feel my hands and feet for hours and now for the first time of the day I could feel my core temperature starting to drop too. I made it over the top and started to descend and it only got worse. 

I checked the map and saw that I had a 5 mile descent between me and Cathedral Cabins. I shivered my way down and got to an intersection but didn’t see any signs for the Cabins. I knew they were a half mile ahead but wasn’t sure if that was straight ahead or left, so I chose straight ahead and came up on a Cabin with a man chopping wood in front. I rolled wearily onto the property, and quickly realized I was in the wrong place. Luckily he was friendly and pointed me in the right direction. I rode back towards the intersection and saw the sign I’d missed hidden in the bushes and felt relieved. I worked my way down that road but it still didn’t look right, tears once again started falling as I feared that I was still in the wrong place. Then a few minutes later I finally made it. The tears stopped and the fear was replaced with relief. It was already after 10pm when I arrived, so when I was greeted by the hosts Brad and Annette I was a bit surprised. They were kind enough to put me in a cabin for well under half price and after a warm shower I was starting to feel human again. Feeling finally returned to my hands and feet and I made myself a ramen bomb (that's ramen with instant mashed potatoes mixed in) for dinner before passing out for the night.

Day 8: 48.28 miles, 8241 feet

I rolled out of bed, packed up my things, and headed down to the office to check out, get a couple breakfast burritos, and buy some new tent stakes to replace the ones that fell off my bike during the storm the day before… oopsie. I hit the road and worked my way up the long climb. My legs felt pretty heavy after all the time spent pushing in the cold the day before, and with such a shallow gradient the climb felt like it took forever. I finally crested and descended down the other side. It was time for my long sit of the day. I knew this next climb would be a big one. 

It would take me all the way to the high point of the trail topping out at 13,271 feet. I got back on the bike and started pedaling my way up, this climb was much steeper than the last one and my legs were loving having something to push against. I got above the tree line and the trail got chunky, but even that couldn’t get me down. The views were absolutely unreal and I felt so lucky to be riding my bike in such a gorgeous place. I pushed my bike over the steep rocky trail and finally made it to the top! It was my first time riding a bike above 13k feet and I couldn’t stop smiling. I have a tradition of calling my mom at the high point of most of my adventures and was lucky enough to have service to do that for this one too. After a few minutes on the phone I started the steep descent and it was incredible! There’s really nothing like high country singletrack. After the high point I pushed over two more steep climbs before getting to the most beautiful campsite of the whole trip. My legs felt ready to ride a bit further but I just couldn’t pass this one up. 

Day 9: 64.80 miles, 11010 feet

I woke up before sunrise and got moving quickly.  It was right around freezing and I was feeling the cold sucking the energy out of me. My plan was to put in the biggest day of my trip and ride from sunup to after sundown with a stop in Silverton for a late breakfast, but with how I was feeling that seemed a bit ambitious. I worked my way through the high country, pushing my bike up climb after climb, leapfrogging hikers up every one of them. My body still wasn’t waking up but I kept pushing on, deciding that I needed to keep moving and that I’d reward myself with a longer stop in Silverton in just a few hours. I topped out the final climb and realized I hadn’t eaten in almost an hour. The whole trip I’d been setting 25 minute timers to ensure that didn’t happen but the last hour I’d neglected to listen to those, too cracked to care. I descended down what might’ve been the chunkiest dirt road I’d ever ridden and rolled into Silverton feeling even worse than I did at the top. 

I found a coffee shop and got a macchiato, two breakfast burritos, and some other snacks. The cashier seemed a bit shocked every time I asked to add another item to my tab. I guess this coffee shop doesn’t get a lot of bikepackers coming through. I sat in that coffee shop for an hour, slowly sipping my coffee and working through the burritos. I caught up on the Olympics and it felt good to feel like a normal person for a bit. I headed out and hit up the grocery store for my final resupply of the trip. I left with a still pretty light bike as I only needed about 24 hours of food to get me to Durango. 

My legs came alive on the 3000 foot climb out of town, it was paved and the smooth gradient was what my legs needed. Turning back on trail I quickly found myself above treeline again. I took one more long sit to eat some corn nuts and then continued on. The rest of my day was filled with shorter climbs gradually working my way up and over the penultimate pass of the entire trail. I crested that as the sun set and ripped the long flowing descent down the other side. It was time to start the night shift. I worked my way over a few more climbs and my legs were feeling amazing. I even contemplated continuing all the way through the night but decided I wanted to see the final pass of the trail in daylight. I started looking for a spot to camp around 9:30 and every single one seemed to be full. Finally by 10:30 I found one. It was the last night of my trip and I was feeling lazy, so I skipped dinner and went straight to bed under the stars.

Day 10: 38.1 miles, 5098 feet

I started moving and immediately regretted not eating dinner the night before. I was tired and a bit hungry but knew I was working my way up to the final pass of the route so I slammed as much food as I could, making sure to stick to my 25 minute timers this time. I broke out above the treeline and could see the pass up above me. The trail followed the ridgeline all the way up with incredible panoramic views on either side. At the crest, the trail narrowed and had the largest drop offs on either side that I’d seen since I started in Denver. This is my favorite type of terrain but I’d never been lucky enough to ride a bike on it. I started the descent and it was wild. I’d done a lot of hiking over the past few days but almost none of that had been downhill, that was about to change. The trail was narrow with sketchy waist high drops that I had to carry my bike down. I finally got past that section and was rewarded with a few minutes of flowing singletrack. I hit a short climb and felt pretty cooked but didn’t mind it as I thought this was the last climb before I got to descend all the way to Durango. I was wrong. 

I looked at my watch and was devastated to see a 2000 foot climb stood between me and Durango. I sat down and slammed more food. I thought about all the challenges of the previous days and it put this final climb into perspective. If I’d gotten through everything else, I could make it up that climb. When I got to the base I took a caffeine gel and my legs came alive. I felt like I was getting stronger with every pedal stroke, it was the first time I’d genuinely felt good the whole day and I got to the top before I knew it. All that stood between me and Durango was 10 miles of flowing singletrack. I rolled into the trailhead and my adventure was over. It was time to crack a beer, sit back, and relax. 

Final Thoughts

At the top of the final climb of the route I felt a sense of sadness that the journey I’d been on for the previous 10 days was coming to an end. I thought back on everything that happened, and was overwhelmed with the experience that I was so lucky to have. The trip was filled with so many incredible moments. From the views to the terrain that felt so special to ride a bike on. But the hard moments will stick with me the longest. The most significant of which was the day I passed over Sargents Mesa.  This was probably the most challenging day I’ve had on the bike in years, and after a few days to reflect, once the fear and the cold melted away, I was left with gratitude. Having the opportunity to overcome something like that is what makes an adventure like this so powerful. The moments where you don’t know what will happen next. Hoping you will make it down off that ridgeline before the storm hits, and then realizing quite quickly that you won’t, and that your experience is about to get so much more real. Getting to the point where it isn’t about a bike ride anymore, but about surviving the day. That day felt like a metaphor for a lot of my life the last few years. One second you’re loving life and living what seems like the dream, only to find yourself forced away from that seemingly perfect life in an instant. I’ve had to learn new things on the fly and work hard to find the joy in that experience even when it definitely wasn’t so joyful in the moment. Experiencing hardship on an adventure is echoed in the hardships of everyday life. They both give you the opportunity to push through and grow, and that growth is only possible in the aftermath of something truly challenging. They say time flies when you're having fun, but the moments that make time move slowly are the ones that have shaped me. Those times when minutes feel like hours, hours feel like days, days feel like months, and months feel like years are when who you truly are shows, and that is powerful. Sargents, while probably the most brutal section of the trail for me, will stick with me longer than any other section, as that was when I was forced to push and learn and grow. Big experiences and adventures in the mountains make me feel full, and that day alone has made me feel fuller than I have in a long time. Time to soak that in, reflect, and enjoy getting back to reality.