My first dreams of bike travel began years ago, back in college. I would pass afternoon after humid Missouri afternoon on the Katy Trail, gravel grinding and watching the seasons loop by each year. The endless tree cover canopy helped me beat the summertime heat; leaves would fall like a fairytale in autumn. I came to love how quickly I could warm up while riding in the winter, and it was a pleasure to watch the world reborn in spring. After each of these rides I would return home to put my bike away, eat something tasty, enjoy a guaranteed shower and my bed. But in the back of my mind, I would wonder: what if? What if I left for a ride and just kept going? Could I be brave enough to travel by bike, day after day? This hope lodged itself in my head and has stayed there since.
The first weekend of June is Bike Travel Weekend, founded by the Adventure Cycling Association. It encourages intrepid souls to set out on their bikes for a one or two night trip by bike. It was on this weekend that two friends and I set off on our mountain bikes, fueled by burritos and gumption. Our plan was to take a gravel road route from Colorado Springs down south to Cañon City, looping back home before Sunday evening. Many have done this ride before and lived to tell the tale. I figured we could handle it too; at least, I hoped I could.
Besides a weekend bike tour last summer, I had very little experience with bike travel, camping, general outdoors experience, you name it, I was a novice. Another weekend of bike travel seemed like a good idea, just to get my toes a bit more wet. This would also be my first whack at bikepacking, which really isn’t so different from bike touring. Sure, the roads get a little more chunky, and packing light becomes more important. But in the end, it’s all a long bike ride. How much simpler can travel get? All you need to do is get on a bike, start pedaling, eat some food, find a place to sleep. Wake up the next day and do it again, and again.
I hoped it would be a good trip. But when we left town Friday afternoon, heading up Gold Camp Road, I still had a few jitters bouncing around. This was my first bike trip with friends and yet I couldn’t completely relax. What if I couldn’t keep up? What if I couldn’t think of things to talk about? What if my bike spontaneously exploded, leaving me SOL, forced to hitchhike home and hope for better luck next time?
Thankfully, my bike stayed in one piece over the weekend. But I did fall behind, time after time. The long, steady climbs got to me and I couldn’t quite keep up with my two companions, not without tiring myself out early. But, there was a silver lining here; I didn’t have to think about talking! Instead I could go at my own pace, enjoying the view and being alone with my thoughts. Every so often, my friends would stop, letting me catch up. We would regroup for a bit; take water and photo breaks, and discuss such riveting topics like bicycles, future trips, the scenery, and bicycles. Like three infinitely complicated atoms we would come together, drift apart, bounce around and move forward all the same.
We stopped to resupply in Cripple Creek early Saturday afternoon, drinking in the sight of casino after casino, along with convenience store water, soda, and Gatorade. At some point it started to rain. The drizzle grew heavier, forcing us to take shelter. People ran with umbrellas and cars passed us by. Thunder sounded from far away and a seed of worry planted itself in my mind. Had there been rain in the forecast this weekend? I couldn’t remember. It was probably irrelevant anyways, here in the thick of it.
Once the rain lightened up we set off again, making our way to the next leg of our route, Shelf Road; AKA a fast and rugged descent, full of twists and turns and washboarded to hell. I feathered my brakes for dear life and when the rain returned with a vengeance, I could just barely admire the limestone cliffs around us. This was a gorgeous place, no doubt; I would have loved to enjoy the view more. But when the thunder started again, I started to wonder: what am I even doing here? I’m so cold. I didn’t set up my bags right and they’re slipping. I’ll slip right off my bike.
Eventually we took cover under a tree, watching the rain come down harder and hopping around, to stay warm. In all my novice-hood I hadn’t brought cold weather clothing or rain gear – just an emergency blanket, basically a glorified piece of aluminum foil meant to keep me warm, or at least not cold. Still I shivered, wondering when the storm would let up. Cars drove by and the rain kept falling.
But a Subaru pulled up to us, going the way we were headed; and when its owner Tyler asked if any of us wanted a ride, I was only too happy to take him up on the offer. I was already cold and wet; this experience was just about to become type 3 fun for me. While my friends kept on riding, my bike and I warmed up nicely with Tyler’s heated seats and spare blanket. Sitting in his passenger seat, I could enjoy the view so much more; with how the canyon dipped low next to the road, rising up into cliffs that scraped the sky.
The rain eventually cleared and left the world looking brand new. On the way to Cañon City, we chatted about biking, climbing, and skiing; typical Colorado small talk. Tyler himself had actually been driving Shelf Road to pick up some of his climber friends, but had instead chosen to pick me up, a somewhat drenched bikepacker. Honestly, I couldn’t help but feel flattered. Still, there was one thing we could definitely agree on; the sucky moments of any adventure are always the most memorable.
Tyler dropped me off at a Starbucks, and my friends met me there 30-odd minutes later. We talked for a bit, trying to come up with plans for the rest of our trip. Where would we sleep tonight? What should we eat? Where will we ride tomorrow? Life’s decisions seemed to be reduced to these three questions, sweet and simple, if only for this weekend.
There would be camping spots along Phantom Canyon Road, the route we were originally planning to take; and heading there tonight would make tomorrow’s ride shorter. Stealth camping was an option too, along with getting a motel. Eventually, the decision fell to me, and with this power I said: yes, we would be getting a motel room tonight. I also made the executive decision to take highway 115 the next day. It would bring us back home with a little less elevation gain, far less mileage, and a lot more traffic. Overall it would be a less physically intensive ride, and really, at this point I mostly wanted to get home in one piece.
The hot shower and warm bed felt amazing. The beers we shared that night were both good and strong, a winning combo. While our conversation drifted around bicycles, Trinidad, CO, and the Italian mafia there, I started to feel a bit guilty. If I hadn’t come on this trip, my friends could have camped tonight and saved a few bucks from the motel. They wouldn’t have had to stop so many times, waiting on me. They could have had a real adventure.
I tried not to think about it any more. I finished my bag of pizza flavored Combos and two beers for dinner, fell asleep and woke up the next day to a sunny sky. After resupplying, we set out on paved roads, making our way to highway 115. I had ridden this stretch of road before, on my weekend bike tour, and so I could just enjoy this familiar route, taking in the sight of mountains and a random slice of pizza sitting in the shoulder. It might have made a nice snack and my main regret from this trip is not taking a photo of it. Still, it was a nice ride, and far less eventful than Saturday.
We rode single file in the shoulder through the morning and early afternoon, stopping for the occasional break and for water at Juniper Valley Ranch. The staff there were friendly, and the water they gave us was cold and delicious. Although it began to drizzle as we entered city limits, the rain left quickly. In this way I could cruise on back home, stuffing my face with a big dinner and going to bed early for some well earned sleep.
I can’t say I enjoyed every moment of this trip. There were plenty of times where I was tired, cold, scared, feeling like the dumbest fool to walk the face of this green Earth. But there were also countless times where I was grateful for my friends and the banter we shared. For the beautiful scenery around us. For Tyler’s kindness and for the ability to bike. The world of outdoor recreation is a deeply privileged place, and it doesn’t feel right to complain when there is already so much to appreciate.
Thankfully, this trip hasn’t completely scared me off from bike travel. Those dreams of mine are still alive and well. There are so many roads to take and I’ve only just started to understand the joy of a long, long bike ride; stretching ahead for days, weeks, maybe even months. Until the years roll by and somehow I’ve spent most of that time biking. But I had fun, pedaling away with good friends, letting the dream of my younger self come alive. In the end I can’t imagine a better way to spend my time.
Eunice Wang 