If you’re in a car, today’s the day. That made yesterday The Day for cyclists.
Two years ago, on May 24th, I tried to summit Independence Pass on my bike for the first time. That year, the heavy winter snows delayed the opening of the Pass until Memorial Day weekend, so the week before, the road was pretty much cleared all the way to the top, but was closed to vehicular traffic. That spring was also cool and wet, so the day i went up, I got to within a mile of the summit, but two inches of fresh snow the night before had still not melted of the roadway starting after the final switchback at about 11,500 foot elevation.
This year, the road opens today at 2 PM. Last Saturday, the locals held their Race to the Pass, when, for $40, you can ride up part way with SAG and aid stations. For those in the now, though, yesterday marked the last opportunity to ride this 4000‘ climb without fear of cars bothering you. And the weather cooperated, with temps hitting the 70s in Aspen, and now afternoon showers impending up in the mountains.
From my home in Snowmass, it’s a 9 mile, 45 minute ride into Aspen, over Owl Creek summit. A roller coaster of a ride, starting at 8330’, going down to 8000, up to 8400 (including a 24% grade at the top), back down to 7600, then into town at 8000, and another 20 miles to the top.
Independence Pass is the original way into Aspen. It’s also the highest paved pass in Colorado, which is saying something. The road itself is not overly steep, with the worst parts being 6-8%, but it is LONG, and HIGH.
Starting just out of town, after crossing a diminutive Roaring Fork, the mansions and Range Rovers quickly fade. A broad beaver valley rests on the back side of Aspen Mountain, filled with brush and grass and greening aspen. Cruising on the relatively flat portion of Highway 82, you get no hint of what is yet to come.
The road starts tilting soon enough, and at 8600’, the chained gate marks the end of car travel. A half dozen SUVs are parked here, most with bike racks. A few cyclists are busy sorting gear, packing coats, and putting wheels back onto their frames. I stop at the port-potti, and then meander around the gate. The road is carved into the south facing slope of the valley here, and the morning sun is banging against the rocks to my left. I feel pretty comfortable in just cycling jersey, light sleeves, and leg warmers set at knicker length.
The first curve, and partial relief from the relentless climb, comes at Difficult campground. The wind picks up around the corner, and despite my effort in the lowest gear, I need to stop and put on my nylon wind jacket. Entering the Aspen trees, I pass the first of 6 riders I will see going up; at least a dozen more roll by me on their way down.
All around, the Elk Mountains are in full spring run-off mode. “Low-elevation” aspen (8-9500’) are sprouting newly green leaves, not yet big enough to quake. Far below, the river lives up to its name, roaring mightily in the now tightened gorge. I’m heading for the first step, up near the Grottos, where the water carves and drops through a tan stone mini-canyon.
Off to the right, the broad Lincoln Creek gulch veers towards the Continental Divide. Cheryl and I once took out mountain bikes up this road to the old ghost town. Even earlier, our family drove that rutted track, and hiked up to tree line one summer day, encountering mosquitos and thundering, greying skies.
Past the Lincoln Creek Road turn-off, whose gate is open, the aspen trees thin, replaced by the sweet smelling pine. The heavy sun of the past three days has drawn out the resin, giving a wonderful cool odor to go with the breezes flowing over the thickening snow piles.
Weller and Lost Man campgrounds flow by as I rise through 10,000’, and I stop at one to fill one of my on-board water bottles from a spare I’m towing in my mini-back pack. The road, which had eased off along the shelf near Weller, starts to tip up again, and the trees noticeably thin. So, of course, does the air, and now I’m limited by that meagre oxygen. Although my heart rate stays steady at 117-120, I’m losing some pop as I slowly gain on two girls ahead. I pass them at the old ghost town of Independence, which marks about 11,000’.
This little hamlet sits above another beaver valley, giving a distinct false flat impression to the road. I pass another woman, who tags onto my wheel as we roll past to Sani-Cans which have been blown sideways from the relentless downhill wind. Her husband has stopped to take a picture (of the upended cans, not the awesome high alpine scene all around us), and after he re-passes me, I do a quick sprint to latch onto his wheel. I’m able to hold there about a mile, but when the grade lifts up just a bit, I let him go, as I don’t want to go towards the redline yet. He stays in sight, but I’ve lost his wife as we aim out of the trees into the last hairpin, where we pass another struggling rider.
The last 500’, one mile section is carved straight into the hillside, and is filled with gravel, water, and slush pools. Parked on the right, engines idling, sit two huge snowplows, their operators lunching in the cabs, their work done on this road for this year. They are just waiting for the flat bed trailers to arrive and take them back down, to wait until next October or November, when other blizzards will beckon.
I see I am gaining on photo man, slowly but surely up the entire last slope. The final left hand bend awaits, and I feel I might catch him, so I ratchet up a bit just before we go around. He waves me by, and I turn and see that I’ve kicked it a bit too early. Despite being at 12,000’. there’s another 100 up to go, about a quarter mile, and I’ve only got 100 yards (or less) of sprint in me. He catches me back and wins the summit.
There is no sightseeing on the Pass today, as the snow sits six feet deep, covering the parking lot, and preventing any exit from the thin ribbon of empty pavement. Riders from the other side (Twin Lakes, Leadville, Salina) mingle with those of us coming from Aspen. We all trade stories rides past, put on ridiculously thick clothes, and prepare to launch back down.
I don’t really get to enjoy the ride. My bike is not designed to day anything other than go very fast in a straight line on an easy grade up or down, so dodging rivulets, snow patches, and shooting curves at 30+ mph doesn’t meet its profile. But I safely make it down, and shed my clothes again for the slog back up and over Owl Creek, and a hot tub waiting at home.
The stats for this ride are not very impressive – 60 miles in 5 hours. But my legs and endurance sure feel it, and I think that I will not be able to hit my planned 2 hour run in the morning. But I did finally make up it there on my bike, and surely wish I had a real mountain climber the next time,not a finicky little time-trialer like I’ve got. It’s like trying to go down a downhill race course and slalom skis. It can be done, but who’d want to?