I began my 65th lap around the sun recently and it’s become an annual ritual to mark the event with a bike ride – a mile for each year. So I owed the Gravel Gods 64 miles, this time around. The weather forecast highlighted today, as being perfect for the ride. The problem was the legs had already reported in and said, “Sorry boss but we’re really not up for it. We can maybe do 2 and a half, perhaps 3 hours but there’s no way we can crank out over 4 hours, you might as well forget it.”
At least they let me know before we were 3 hours deep into a four and a half hour ride. I thought about not riding and saving my energy for a later attempt, once the whole team was onboard. But the weather was supposed to be delightful, so after pondering the possibilities, I decided to go for a little spin out to “the edge.” A training ride, to see what kind of impact the winter fat’s going to have on big rides in the new season.
The Edge
Emerald City’s about a dozen miles from the western edge of the High Plains or High Planes depending on your perspective. There was a small community out there on “the edge,” before I was born. According to the 1940 census, about forty families called Firstview home. No one calls it home anymore, it’s a ghost town. The county dump’s the only thing that resides there now. It’s just a spot on the map where we dispose of our garbage. It still has a name though, along with a few decrepit grain elevators and a little green highway sign.
Firstview probably got its name from a surveyor laying out the route for the railroad, that predates highway 40. The railroad follows the old Butterfield Overland Despatch stage route, that was created to get prospectors to the gold fields on the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains. Firstview sits very close to the top of a geologic feature that defines the edge of the High Plains in our neighbohood. A wide ridge that runs from Cedar Point, near Limon, CO through Firstview and then fades out down south, near Sheridan Lake, CO.
It’s a Feature
The ridge rises gently on the east before dropping off more precipitously on the west into Big Sandy Creek. The headwaters of three important High Plains Rivers are all tucked neatly into the East side of the ridge; the Republican, the Arikaree and the Smoky Hill. It’s a major geologic feature that plays a significant role in the weather patterns too. It’s the highest point on the plains until you reach the Rocky Mountains over a hundred miles to the west. When the skies are clear, you can see Pike’s Peak from Firstview, (that’s why it got the name, I suppose) but that doesn’t happen much anymore.
I’ve been crossing back and forth over the ridge for about 40 years and I’ve seen the Rockies from here only a handful of times. But you never know and you see a lot more from a bicycle than in a car, so off I pedaled on “Double Cross,” my trusty steed, for a little loop out to “the edge” and back. I threw a couple beef sticks and an energy bar in the bike bag along with an extra jug of water, just in case the legs changed their mind, though I didn’t think it was likely.
“It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them.” ~ Ernest Hemingway
Springtime
It was cool when I left the cottage and I considered a sweatshirt but decided to tough it out. It was cold with some goose pimples for the first half dozen miles into the gentle breeze, until I turned the corner, south of town near the gravel quarry and headed west towards “the edge.” A flock of Lark Buntings, the State Bird of Colorado paced me down the road, twittering and singing as they perched atop the barbwire. I only see these birds around here in the springtime, they must migrate to the mountains for summer like the cutworm moths, (Millers) that hatch in the wheatfields and drive everyone in Eastern Colorado crazy for a month or so before heading for the wildflower fields of the high Rockies.
The breeze was from the southeast so it was helping, once I turned the corner. At 15 miles into the ride, I glanced down at the Garmin and I was averaging 17 mph; the legs were even smiling, so I started considering options and possibilities, perhaps today was the day after all. I turned north and headed towards Firstview, riding along the top of the wide ridge. The breeze was still at my back as I soared along the very edge of the High Plains.
Smog & Crowds
I scanned the western horizon across the vast fields of green and gold but there were no mountains to be seen, only the hazy horizon. Just a guess but I’d say the reason we can’t see the mountains anymore from here is because 85% of Colorado’s 6 million residents live in a narrow urban corridor along the Front Range of the mighty Rockies. The Front Range has smog problems equal to or worse than Chicago, Dallas, Houston and New York – the largest population densities in the country. Perhaps in a hundred years or so when all the Front Range folks are driving about in their windmill powered Electric Vehicles, we’ll be able to see the mountains from Firstview again ;>)
As I crossed highway 40, I came to the entrance of the county dump. One of the county commissioners was standing in the doorway of the small office building talking with the manager. He waved and I waved back. He was the first person I had seen since leaving the cottage, over an hour ago. The population density out here on Colorado’s High Plains is at the opposite end of the spectrum from the Front Range. There are over 4000 humans per square mile around Denver; there’s less than 1 human per square mile here. In other words – no crowds, no smog.
Homeward Bound
A few miles north of the dump, I stopped and got off the bike for the first time at a pair of ancient, gnarly trees where I’ve stopped a few times in the past, looking for some shade. I paused the Garmin and checked the distance, 20 miles. I munched one of the “Paleovalley” fermented beef sticks as I stretched my legs. They let me know that they were happy and all in, as long as I was headed back to the cottage from here and didn’t have any crazy notion about riding another 44 miles.
I mounted up and headed east, away from the edge and back towards the center of the High Planes. As I pedaled into the gentle breeze, I wondered how long I would be able to continue my yearly ritual, 75, 90, a hundred. The legs chuckled and I realized I haven’t even completed this years ride of 64 miles yet. I will though, just not today. The legs were excited to be heading home and quickened the pace. The final tally, to the edge and back was 34 miles.
“Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.” ~ Dr. Seuss
I could have ridden another 30 miles but the legs are glad I didn’t go for it. I’m glad too. The ritual is about having fun; enjoying nature and the challenge of the distance. Ruining a beautiful bike ride by pushing beyond my present conditioning does nothing but ruin a beautiful bike ride. The 3mph concept is about slowing down and enjoying the ride. Train and practice, then practice and train. I’m thinking one more good training ride and the legs and I will be ready. We may even go for a little extra – while we still can.