Epilogue: Mount Evans

After the trip, I headed to Denver to stay with a friend while I attended a conference for AP teachers. I had a day before the conference was going to start and thought “Denver is close to mountains… maybe there’s a cool ride I could do or something.”

There was.

Mt Evans is close to Denver and happens to have the highest paved road on the continent of North America. 14,130 feet. Awesome.

Climbing over 14,000 feet is no small deal… I have been in the mountains for a while, but nothing near that high for a while (and your body is affected exponentially by altitude – the jump, for instance, between 12k and 14k is huge). But I figured if I’m ever going to bike up Mt Evans, it would be tough to have a better opportunity. I had just biked 1100 miles essentially down the spine of the continental divide. My legs were in good climbing shape.

But that doesn’t guarantee that I’d be okay in the altitude. I’ve seen guys (hiking and skiing) in MUCH better shape than me suffer from altitude sickness. One had to be hospitalized. It’s serious stuff. I resolved that if I was experiencing symptoms I’d abandon the climb and head down. That would be tough.

So the plan was to wake up early (start cycling at dawn to avoid potential weather on the summit). I’d depart from Idaho Springs (right on the highway – if you’ve driven on I-70 out into the mountains on a ski trip, you’ve passed Idaho Springs). Elevation: 7,526 feet.

That’ll be 6,600+ feet of vertical climb. Oof.

"steep grade sharp curves" yeah... gonna be a lot of that ahead, I think...

Summit Lake is not at the summit. Liars.

told ya.

The early part of the climb was sort of typical nondescript low alpine Colorado scenery.  Lots of evergreens, lots of turns, lots of mountains in the distance which could only sometimes be glimpsed.

Once I got to Summit Lake, there was only a little more climbing before I was above treeline. Roads above 12,000 feet (there aren't many) are ridiculously hard to maintain, so the road surface was not great. It's Saturday and there is plenty of traffic by now, but I don't want to hug the shoulder... for obvious reasons.

Above the treeline, I'd call the wind "blustery", but nothing as bad as Beartooth Pass. 

And there's beauty everywhere...

alpine meadows and far-off peaks.

up up up...

hey - there's Echo Lake! I was just there!

up up up...

sometimes the road felt almost surreal. high altitude has its own "feel"... and it's different.

mountain goats on the switchbacks... cheering me on in their own way.

I felt strong. Never felt dizzy, light-headed, sick, or any other symptoms of altitude sickness. Just out of breath. But my legs felt strong. I actually passed people... quite a few actually. I think I was only passed twice by two guys riding together on light road bikes (I was still on my touring bike).

I felt good... it was akin to an experience when you observe something unfolding in your favor and are able to process it *as* it's unfolding. (this is not always the case). I just kept thinking "wow - this is amazing... and so much better than I expected."

After the many switchbacks (I didn't count), I finally made it. Couple of shots at the top, put on a jacket... and it was time for the descent. Yippee.

obligatory bike-lift photo

annoyingly, the barometric altimeter on the garmin was off

The descent was NOT as wonderful as I expected. I had envisioned flying (almost floating) down the mountain effortlessly, soaking in the views, and just loving life. Turns out I was chattering down the hill, using considerable effort, missing all the views, and clinging for dear life.

The descent was fast, to be sure. But, those little bumps and bad road conditions on the way up are BIG bumps and perilous conditions on the way down. It's cold, and my fingers are cramping from braking so hard (again, the switchbacks). 

I stop for a break at Echo Lake to let my brakes cool, and snap a picture with the sign that I intentionally skipped on the way up because I didn't want to jinx it...

how can you tell I've already hit the summit? goofy smile + jacket zipped to the top

The rest of the descent was more fun... for a while. Very fast, curves seemed less dangerous, and it was starting to warm up. I was feeling better until I passed the scene of a cycling accident. I didn't see anything of detail, but there was an ambulance on the scene already... I hope the rider was okay...

The mostly-flat beginning of the ride felt a lot longer at the end of the ride (which is weird, because it's a little downhill for me at this point) probably because my legs were pretty tired, and I knew I had done the good stuff... at this point I just wanted to be done. I finally got back to my car, loaded up my bike, and went into Idaho Springs for a well-earned burger at a local diner. Delicious.

- - - 

I could go on and on about Mt Evans, but have tried to keep this short (I know, I know... not a great attempt). Anyway, to get a better feel, you could read more here or watch this video (which as filmed during sunrise by a pro photographer)... but in case you're link averse, here are some images pulled from Google Earth from my actual ride:

summit in the distance... way up there...

switchbacks. early and often.

following the ridgeline

relatively flat nearing summit lake, then the final push...

the final test

from the top, you can almost see the beginning...

Day 10: Yellowstone to Jackson

three times over the continental divide, and finally roll into Jackson...

And just like that... after 10 short (short?) days, I'm on the final day of my tour. Since there were no available campgrounds in Yellowstone, we had made camp in an off-the-beaten-path National Forest Service campground just outside the West Entrance to Yellowstone. The plan was to drive back into the Park where I left off - Madison Junction, and then head south out of Yellowstone and into Grand Teton National Park, which I would pass through on my way to Jackson - the final destination of this endeavor. A longer day: 115 miles... but it'd be silly to split it into two days, plus I need to get to Denver soon for a conference, plus it'll be nice to end on a big challenge.

The day would start with some mild climbing into the Old Faithful area, where I anticipated the biggest challenge being traffic. After which the climbing would begin in earnest as I head into the southern Yellowstone high country... then mostly downhill* to Jackson (*more on this later).

departure photo in parking lot at Madison Junction. probably coldest morning so far. it was early and I was bundled.

approaching midway geyser basin in the distance

Midway Geyser Basin is one of the more famous areas of the Park (up there with Old Faithful, Grand Canyon of Yellowstone, Mammoth Hot Springs, and Lamar Valley). Thanks in equal parts to the incredibly thin crust of the Earth as well as the huge magma plume just under the surface of the aforementioned crust, Midway Geyser Basin is alive with geothermal activity. Hot springs, mud pots, thermal vents, and yes... geysers.

It's beautiful, otherworldly, and when you really think about it... terrifying. Most geologists agree that Yellowstone has seen a significant (more apt word might be "catastrophic") volcanic event about every 600,000 years. They also agree it's been about 620,000 years since the last one...

When I say significant, or catastrophic, I'm talking about a volcanic explosion that would wipe out all existing life for hundreds of miles... just in case you needed perspective. There is an unimaginable amount of pressure just under the surface of Yellowstone... and sooner or later, it'll blow.

But will there be some sort of warning? How can we tell when it will erupt/explode/kill everything? Oh, sure, there are plenty of warning signs. Things like extensive geothermal activity, seismic events (earthquakes), and major shifts in landscape (in the early 70s, water started running out of Yellowstone lake in a new way. Through surveying, geologists discovered that one side of the lake had risen almost a foot, and water was now flowing out the other end... like if you lifted one side of a kiddie pool). In short, not only are ALL the warning signs readily apparent, they are the actual attractions of the Park!

I wonder if our descendants will look down on us for taking summer vacations to the known epicenter of an active threat to the existence of life on our continent...

Either way, it sure is pretty.

Grand Prismatic Hot Springs in Midway Geyser Basin - photo taken from a nearby ridge.

geysers-a-plenty!

geyser run-off into the Firehole River

the aptly named Firehole River meanders in the distance

All these pleasant open meadows, abundant water sources, and geothermal warmth supply another kind of danger: Bison.

I know they look like cows, but I've seen a bison total a large van... and when I spent a summer in the black hills, a man was mauled to death by bison in Custer State Park. The problem is people think they're docile like cows... but they're actually wild animals, and males are relatively protective of their harems.

Also, they can weigh a ton (no, literally, well over 2,000 pounds) and run 40 miles per hour.

Over the past 30 years in National Parks, three time as many people have been attacked and injured by bison than have been injured by bears.

I've seen bison respond with erratic behavior when confronted with unfamiliar situations. At this point, I'm fairly certain most are familiar with seeing cars... but who knows... maybe a cyclist looks more like a predator...

you're freakin' me out, man...

So what to do when passing a heard near the road? I waited for a car and then kept to one side of the car with the bison on the other side. Oldest trick in the book. Ha... stupid bison.

The rest of the trip into the Old Faithful area was uneventful (in a good way), and beautiful in the early morning light. Very pleasant.

I stopped at Old Faithful to scarf down some late breakfast (clif bar & fruit snacks... breakfast of champions), and to shed some layers. Morning was giving way to mid day and I was beginning to overheat... and I know I had some climbing to do very soon, and that would keep me warm.

For extra inspiration, I wore my chipotle jersey (which ingeniously sports a burrito in the back pocket)

#burritostrong

it's not that I don't appreciate the warning... it's just that some more specificity would be helpful.
I mean, seriously... what am I supposed to do with this information?

and the road begins to climb...

This initial climb would be the toughest of the day... or at least the longest. At this point in my tour I am used to climbing, and honestly it was difficult but very manageable. Didn't use the granny gear... just spun my way on up, excited to cross the continental divide and excited to finally get into Jackson (during the initial climb it almost felt like it was just over the hill... that feeling would fade).

I didn't take too many pictures heading over the passes. The scenery was great - lots of pine trees with occasional sweeping views, babbling brooks, cascading waterfalls... you know... mountain stuff. But I was feeling good, and wanted to get through the tougher part of the ride while I still had some life in my legs.

I did, however, pause for successive summit photos:

hoist! (note I took my panniers off for this part - I am not strong)

no one at this pass to take my photo... so, selfie with a corny thumbs up...

the guy who took this picture was a fellow teacher, named Brian, from Colorado
we talked for a few hours about pedagogy, methodology, and common core standards after this
just kidding - he just took my picture

A quick lunch break at west thumb (snickers and cheez-its... lunch of champions) and I was off to the next section of the day: a sweet winding descent following the Lewis River to the John D. Rockefeller, Jr. Memorial Parkway and follow the Snake River into Grand Teton National Park. Wonderful...

site of a forest fire several years ago... recovering nicely

following rivers most of the way leads to beautiful views and winding roads. yes please.

was dad a robber baron or captain of industry?
eh, who cares... this road connecting Yellowstone and the Tetons is great!

but then I hit a couple snags... first, I saw a few of these signs:

30 minutes?!

Note: this is the only road. There is no "alternate route." Also, what kind of roadwork? Usually a delay this long means the road goes down to one lane for a while. If that's the case, what should I do? Surely, cars won't sit behind me for the entire stretch will they? I can just imagine the road rage now. I mean, if it's downhill and the lead car is driving slowly, I could be okay. But if it's uphill... some tourist will have my head on a pike on top of his RV. I didn't know where the roadwork would be, so at this point, I tried to just enjoy the ride and not worry about it.

Turns out... that was about to become much more difficult. 

Because this was the only route, and because I had driven this section of road a few times before, I didn't pay close attention to the map for today... specifically the elevation map. I figured, once out of the mountains in Yellowstone, it was mostly flat to Jackson.  I knew there was a small rise in the Tetons, but it couldn't be that much... after all, I'm following the Snake River in the direction it's flowing, and water tends to flow downhill.  

Apparently, at one point, the road crosses the Snake River and then begins a RIDICULOUS climb. It's not that it's so difficult... just so entirely unnecessary. Having thought I was done with climbs... this one got to me. It was pretty steep, it was much longer than I thought it would be... and (worst of all) it was totally pointless!

guys! I'm going to have to come right back down the other side! why is this hill here?!

I've made my feelings clear on the following modified version of the above elevation map:

stupid hill!

The only good part about the climb was at the top: I officially arrived in Grand Teton National Park.

yahoo!

Oh... and this:

I loooooooove that sign.

After the descent, I began catching glimpses of Jackson Lake, with the stunning Teton range behind it. This would define my view for the rest of the ride:

the northern side of the Tetons across Jackson Lake

And then, finally, I reached the dreaded construction. Just as I suspected, it was a single lane scenario with a "your turn, okay, now your turn" policy dictated a team of construction workers on walkie talkies. I rolled up (past cars) to one of the flag holders and asked what I should do. The worker I talked to, named Jim, rode a motorcycle and could empathize with being "the little guy" on a road dominated by large trucks and RVs (note: Jim was not actually little).

I was instructed to wait until the cars on our side had gone, and then follow them. Jim was radio ahead that a cyclist was on the way as well, in which case the other worker would presumably wait until I had passed and NOT send the cars to meet me head on.

I did was I was told... but, to be honest, was still a little worried. I mean, even if the other side waited for me and I didn't get mowed down by the pilot car... I would still be holding up the line. Have you ever been stuck in one of those one-way construction zones? It feels like forever before it's your turn. Now imagine traffic from the other direction has finished and for some unknown reason you're still not allowed to go... then in the distance, you see the culprit for your extra wait time: some fat cyclist in a chipotle jersey. Wouldn't you boo him? And possible throw rotten fruit, if available?

I was worried about upsetting impatient people -- a resource our National Parks seems to be fostering with robust dedication.

Thanks to the worry... and the lack of any formidable climbs along the way, I flew through the construction (keeping my speed well over 20mph and never losing sight of the cars in front of me).

Congratulations impatient people! 

After the ordeal, I was winded, so I stopped at Willow Flats for the view and to eat extra-lunch. Yum.

And now... finally... onto Jackson (with my ride beyond Jenny Lake being on bike path! yippee!)

that view doesn't get old.

hey RVs, I don't care if you brought a building on vacation - share the road!

outstanding. 

the sign does not lie.

yahoo! smooth bike path! (note the traffic I'm avoiding on the road to the right)

it even comes with its own wonderful bike signs!

and finally... welcome to Jackson. it's good to be here.

I biked through the town square in downtown Jackson and rolled up the Ranch Inn Motel (which I would recommend, by the way). 

It had been a long tough day. 115 miles with over 6,000 feet of climbing.  The final 20 miles, even though they were mostly downhill and buffeted by gorgeous views, were really pretty tough. I was just worn out. Two tough century days in a row after about a week of pretty tough riding. It was a struggle to get to Jackson... so arriving felt that much more rewarding. 

I had finally made it. From Jasper to Jackson. Not bad.

how I want you to think I felt

how I actually felt

Dad wasn't at the hotel room... he was already at Thai Me Up - a delicious thai restaurant and microbrewery we found in Jackson (high recommend). After parking the bike and taking a quick shower, I hurried over to meet him. I was starving.

delicious - really, check out Thai Me Up next time your in Jackson Hole

hey, guess if I wore cycling gloves on this trip...

And that was it. I took the classic Jackson Hole tourist shot under the antlers in the town square, had a deep deep sleep, and then we tackled an awesome breakfast at the Bunnery before the long drive to Denver the next morning.  

I'd see some old friends, go to a conference about AP US History, and then head home... the end of an adventure is always a bit strange. I'd go from living a certain way, operating under certain realities and considerations (do I have enough food/water? where should I rest? how long will this climb last? I wonder where would be the best place to use the bathroom...) back to living within an entirely different paradigm. Moving back into "civilization" - with an entirely different set of values, concerns, and practices.

The small concerns of "life on the road"... of pedaling myself everywhere I need to go, seem distant and almost a part of an entirely different stage of life at this point. And yet, the experience of long distance touring... not just the visual memories, but the entire experience is still something that is with me every day, in ways I find difficult to explain. 

I will miss this.

goodbye Jackson Hole. 

until next time...