Cave Woman

The road was rough and I was going fairly fast and looking at the scenery. Suddenly, I looked ahead and saw a rounded asphalt depression about two feet in diameter, with a rough knob of asphalt at the far end. There was no time to avoid it, all I could do was grip the handlebars tightly, raise up off the saddle, and ride it out. The bike literally left the ground – both wheels, just like a skier coming off a jump. It landed with shimmys, all the weight bounced, but it didn’t go out of control as it might have. Scary. Funny. All at the same time.

This little incident took only seconds – takes longer to describe it – and thus began my first day of travel. I’d left the top of Trail Ridge Road headed for Grand Lakes 22 miles below, coasting down the steep hill at a good clip not paying much attention to where I was going, distracted by the incredibly beautiful, vast environment of snow-covered granite peaks and deep green forests. It’s astonishing just how much can go through one’s head in such a short time when faced with an urgent situation, how the brain can evaluate and make a decision in mere seconds and the body will follow. Over 200 pounds flying through the air with nothing to land on but two skinny bicycle tires is quite a sensation, I’m here to tell you. Terrifying for a few seconds, a huge relief when I realized I was in one piece. When I pulled to a stop to check things out, the only damage was that a pannier had come unhooked on one edge and was hanging a bit crooked. Everything – including me – could easily have gone flying in all directions and that would have been the end of the trip. Fortunately, it’s merely a humorous memory.

My bike at the top of Trail Ridge Road, 12,183 above sea level, the highest pass in the state.  This is the kind of scenery that detracted from my cycling!

I’d begun the day in Estes Park and while my original plan had been to ride the bike up and over Trail Ridge, I realized the day before that I simply was not ready for this yet. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally. So I’d caught a shuttle bus to the top and started off on my planned adventure.

Timber Ridge Campground lies just over 12 miles and 3,283 feet below the 12,183 foot summit. I knew it was there, had every intention of passing by and continuing down the hill, but curiosity pulled me in to investigate and I felt captivated immediately. This was what I’d been looking for in a campground but hadn’t found in Estes Park: level, wooded with spacious private campsites nestled among the trees. Because of the late snow melt that year, this campground had just been opened for the season and was virtually empty. Totally peaceful and serene. I decided to stay, fully realizing I had no food and would need to ride on down to Grand Lakes to do some shopping. I didn’t care. My energy was high, my legs strong.

I chose an isolated site among huge trees, set up my tent, unpacked the panniers and left them inside the tent, then headed downhill with a small, lightweight daypack I’d brought along for hiking. Although essentially all downhill (about 450 feet elevation drop) the road was nonetheless a series of ups and downs over rolling hills through 10 miles of deep forests.

I was flying! For the first time since I’d arrived in Colorado over a week earlier I was really, really riding the bike with deep pleasure, my heart soaring, my legs pedaling furiously with the sheer joy of it all. No pain, no weight, no struggling. Just me and my bike doing what we did best and rejoicing in every moment. Filled with energy, bursting with an overwhelming sense of ‘I can do this,’ I wanted to sing and shout to the world. But I didn’t – nobody would have heard me anyway.

After 45 minutes of flying down the mountain I found a supermarket in Grand Lakes, bought food for a couple of days and, with 10 pounds on my back – another new sensation that required a bit of balance adjustment – I flew back up that mountain almost as fast as I’d flown down. An hour of pedaling fast and easy in mid-range gears and I was back at the tent. Exhilarated. Stimulated. Joyous.

All that stayed with me through the evening. My body felt great from the exercise, my mind felt great from the accomplishment of getting over Trail Ridge and getting to Grand Lake for food. I felt remarkably self-sufficient, in a pioneer sort of way, that I could choose an isolated campsite and still supply myself with food from a hilly source 10 miles away. The caveman syndrome, I guess – or in this case, the cave woman.