Black Canyon

Black Canyon National Park is 17 miles outside of Montrose, straight back up the mountain we had descended that day before, and then a little higher. We did some iPhone research and learned that the grade (steepness) of a road is determined by how many feet the road rises out of 100 feet. The road to Black Canyon is a 6% grade, which means it rises six feet every hundred feet.

Well that doesn’t sound steep, but it was definitely one of the most severe inclines we’ve taken so far. It took over two hours to reach the canyon

Our time to enjoy it was short, however. It was pretty awesome though

The two hour climb took approximately 15 mins to descend. No kidding. I’m really starting to enjoy bombing these hills. It was terrifying at first but if you can just stop thinking about all the horrible things that can happen to your body if you crashed at 40 mph, then it’s awesome. We hurried and hurried, because Travis’ cousin Kate was at the park’s entrance, waiting to pick us up and take us to Crested Butte.

Trials and Sufferings in the Cimarrons, pt 2

There was an epic battle between sun and raincloud the next morning. We were pretty sure that the sun would win, because everything we heard about Colorado reminded us of Florida: quick, intense, afternoon thunderstorms. Certainly the sun would win.

We packed up the tent during a lull in the drizzle. I wore long underwear under my bike shorts because it was about 55 degrees. Personally, I think should be against the rules for it to drop below 65 degrees in July. But apparently Colorado doesn’t care about my opinions. I had my rain jacket handy

I was ready to leave the forest, even though it meant splashing through puddles on the gravel road. The lull in the drizzle stopped and turned into full on rain

It didn’t let up.

You guys thought we were having nonstop fun on this trip, didn’t you? 

Remarkably, our attitudes stayed pretty good through the next five hours. 

We saw a baby coyote. I fed some horses.

Though our shoes had soaked through in the first thirty minutes, our pants were covered in mud, and Travis had worn through his brake pads on account of the mud, we managed to descend for miles and miles on a gravel road (let’s be real, it was dirt turned mud), and we were more than thankful when we finally reached the paved highway. The town of Cimarron looked really close on the map. Then we would get a motel and take a shower and rinse out our clothes and put on warm socks.

This was what we found in Cimarron.

It was like a movie. It was terrible.

The next closest town was Montrose, which was 20 miles away and we had to climb a mountain to get there. We changed into new shorts and shirts, swapped our soaked cycling shoes for Crocs and Chacos, and started the ascent. Thankfully, the climb was only five miles and the descent was fifteen. Mercifully, the sun came out.

So that was the terrific trial of Cimarron Road. It ended at a Montrose motel that had laundry and cable, and with a dinner that contained an astonishing amount of calories derived from a burger and chicken wings and beer. You wouldn’t BELIEVE the mud we washed off our bikes. We slept in a bed and it was awesome.

Trials and Sufferings in the Cimarrons, pt 1

The only time I’ve gotten truly annoyed with Travis on this trip so far has been when he gets started talking to people about taking the Cimarrons. People are very curious about our trip— they want to know where we’ve come from and where we’re going, and even more importantly how we’re getting there. I have the basic rundown: we started in Moab and we’re ending up at Great Sand Dunes National Park, then getting a ride up to Denver. In between that, I have no clue where the fuck we’re going.

Travis, however, has been planning this trip for months. Literally months. He sat down with Google Maps, a Colorado atlas, two maps from Adventure Cycling, and a cycling map that Colorado DOT sent him. It was escapist for him— instead of thinking about work, he planned extravagant routes and alternate routes and alternate alternate routes. He even looked at Google street view to make sure that the roads looked epic. So when people ask how we’re getting there, boy does Travis have an answer. A long, long answer.

When we were at the potluck that Farmer Michelle from Song Haven took us to, this hippie guy told Travis about a route through the Cimarron Mountains that cuts through the Uncompahgre National Forest. A gravel road. Which summits at Owl Creek Pass, at over 10,000 ft. But we would avoid a lot of traffic and see one of the most beautiful parts of Colorado. Hippie dude showed us the route in the atlas, and from that moment on Travis told everyone he met about the Cimarrons, except he couldn’t remember what they were called or where they were or how to get there.

"Yeah, instead of taking 50 up to Montrose we’re thinking about taking this other road… It’s called… it’s called…" At which point I roll my eyes and say " Cimarron. It’s called Cimarron Road." He apparently just wanted everyone’s opinion on the matter.

So Cimarron Road. It was a nice change from the highway. Hardly any cars, beautiful scenery, blankets of wildflowers. Since we left Orvis pretty late in the evening, we were on the lookout for the National Forest land ASAP so we could camp legally. The climb was tough. The gravel was rough. We had bought beer for Orvis but they had no alcohol rules, so poor Travis was hauling this six-pack and it was killing him. I took the beer backpack from him and the incline was so steep that I lost my balance almost immediately. Couldn’t clip out of my pedals and fell right over. 

And of course right after I fell, the forest started right at the top of the next hill. 

Camping was uneventful, we carved out a little nook in the woods and set up the tent. Foolishly, we used a bunch of our water cooking that night, thinking that we would reach the Silver Jack reservoir soon enough. Well this is where the suffering started. Because we embarked on a 3000 ft climb with just a half a water bottle each.

I got mad. This road was dusty. Every time a car passed it kicked up a cloud that I inhaled and made my parched throat even drier. I saw wild raspberries growing but they were covered in dust and I was too mad to pick them. It was sunny and warm and I was thirsty, dammit. Then that steep incline came and I lost balance and fell over while clipped in again. WAY PISSED. 

Travis is a good-natured dude. Even when he’s pissed off it still seems like he’s pissed with a smile on his face. When he was growing up, his mom would shame him relentlessly if he ever complained— making him feel bad about how many other people in the world had it worse than him. So now he doesn’t really complain; however he puts up with my complaining, but only to a point.

"We’re just climbing a mountain, Claire." 

So what do you say to that? Nothing. You flag down a car and beg for water. I did that, and as soon as I had filled my water bottle with this good Samaritan’s Dasani bottle, my bike fell over AGAIN and half the water spilled. It was like a movie. It was terrible. 

Somehow, we made it to the summit. 

And I am slightly exaggerating— it was a beautiful ride, with the tallest ponderosa pines I’ve seen of yet, and these supernatural quaking aspen groves.

Also, the road started following a stream, so we chlorinated some water and drank it THANK GOD. Then the descent started and everything seemed like it was going to work out fine. Except. EXCEPT. We had the exact opposite water problem of the ascent. It started to rain

Everywhere we’ve been on this trip has been arid to semi-arid. It only rains during a few months of the year here. In Colorado there are “monsoons”, which are really just afternoon thunderstorms in July and August. We figured this sprinkle would be a fickle mountain shower. We were in no rush. We stopped to pick some wild alpine strawberries as a downhill treat. The Silver Jack reservoir was only a few miles away, we had plenty of time to set up camp and we were sure this drizzle would end soon anyway.

Well it didn’t end. Travis was more confident in his weather casting abilities and went for a bird hike while I set up the tent and got lunch together. He got soaked while I curled up and took a nap after reading a few chapters of Jane Eyre (you wouldn’t BELIEVE what that madwoman in the attic was up to!). It didn’t stop raining, even after it got dark. I cooked lentils under the shelter of the rainfly. TO BE CONTINUED…

The Coolest Mountain Descent and Naked Hot Springs

Red Mountain was so much easier than I thought it would be

So far all we’ve climbed were mesas, which seem to be a much steeper grade. We pulled up to the base of the summit ready for a super challenge, but you know what?

The weather was nice, about 75 degrees. The traffic wasn’t too bad. And the road wasn’t steep at all. Granted, there were some dramatic cliff dropoffs to nowhere

But we climbed that thing in less than an hour

Then we picked some mountain wildflowers.

And then got to enjoy the coolest descent yet. One thing I do regret for this trip is not borrowing a GoPro, because riding down these mountains is so insane and I want to video it but it’s way too dangerous to take my hands off the handlebars. This is the safest video I could take.

The descent lowers you down into Ouray (pronounced “you’re ray”).

For a long time, this part of SW Colorado was cut off and secluded from the outside world. An enterprising businessman named Otto Mears started construction on a wagon toll road in the 1880s to link mountain mining towns, and it’s claimed that it cost him $10,000 per mile build. They had to lower workers by rope to set dynamite charges in order to start carving out the road. The original toll was placed over a canyon to make sure no one could skirt around it. Now it’s a badass overlook with a waterfall

Ouray is another mining town turned tourist town.

What’s crazy is no matter the size of the town, there’s probably a local brewery. In fact, I can only recall one town we’ve passed through that doesn’t have a brewery. The Ouray brewery has a balcony. 

There’s only so much you can do in a tourist town, so we headed on. We stopped to eat lunch at a river, these mountain rivers are still a novelty.

Right near Ouray is Orvis Hot Springs. Everyone and their mother told us to stop at Orvis. It used to be Ute Indian land, as most of Colorado and Utah used to be. The last Ute chief was named Ouray, despite the fact that he was half Apache and appointed to be Chief by the U.S. Government. This made “treaties” with the Utes a lot easier to pass through. The Utes thought that these hot springs were spiritually healing and wanted to keep them and the rich farmland surrounding them. Well surprise, white settlers broke every treaty and pushed the Utes out, cornering them in two reservations in SW Colorado and NE Utah. The end.

Now, the rich farmland is used for pasturing cows and the hot springs are privately owned. The hot water is diverted into different pools of varying temperatures, so you can soak in a big warm pool or a ridiculously hot “lobster pot.” There are also saunas and cold showers and cool pools so you can really experience some radical temperature differences, which is supposed to be great for your body.

Did I mention that it was clothing optional? It was clothing optional. Unfortunately (fortunately?), there were no electronics allowed back in the springs so I can’t show you pictures of any of the pools or landscaping. Or naked people.

We were planning on camping at Orvis but it was a Friday night and we didn’t have reservations and all the camp spots were booked. So we soaked for a few hours till it was dangerously close to sundown, then headed to the Uncompahgre National Forest to find a campsite.