In many places of the world, such as my boring humble New England hometown, people never ride 100 miles on a bike in their entire lives, let alone in a single day. Boulder, however, has an army of type-A warriors to whom 100 miles of road biking is akin to visiting the duckie pond. But honestly I don’t give a flying foosball about what others think — I still feel riding 100 miles on a bike is a big deal. Even though I’ve ridden about a dozen century events, I’m always psyched to be pushing the odometer to three digits in a single day. This year’s Blue River Century was my favorite yet.
I’m a pretty casual roadie, I’d much rather be on the mountain bike in most cases. If you take my commuting out of the equation, I had ridden exactly 41.8 miles on the roadie before the BRC. I wasn’t too worried about it. I’ve put in a lot of long, hard days on the mountain bike and had several 8+ hour days hiking and climbing in the high country. Not to mention I’m the proud owner of a border collie puppy who scientists should study as a perpetual motion machine. Biking is in the lungs and legs for sure, but it’s the heart and head as well.
The Blue River Century is a great course and it’s also a cancer research fund raiser. This year the BRC was able to raise over $9,000 for three different charities. Color me corny but there’s something about grinding out high mountain passes that serves as a genuine affirmation of life. There’s a certain mindset that helps keeps your legs spinning through the pain; for me it’s the notion that the burn I’m feeling is child’s play to anyone who has endured cancer treatments. Pain can be inspirational.
An unexpected aspect of long road rides is the time you get to yourself in your head. Once the pack disperses, I stop worrying about my cadence or impressing the foxy gal who is leaving me in her fragrant dust; I start to wrap my head about other things. Stare at the mountain tops piercing the sharp blue sky long enough and your mind reverts back to its native language, not one of words but of emotion. This spiritual aside combines with the sensations of speed or the throbbing ache of tough climbs, bringing one to an incredible simulation of enlightenment.
A good mountain high lingers into the real world, temporarily rendering the stressful trappings of the front country to mere weak whispers of doubt. On the last few cranks to the summit of Loveland Pass, my riding partner Kyle and I stood on our pedals and cried out in primal exuberance as we went all out to reach mile 101 at 11,990 ft. Though my throat felt like a balloon knot and my lungs were shrunken and sticky, it was delightful. The sights, sounds and sensations of the day were etched internally, written in that unspoken native language of the heart.
Another 100 miles I’ve traveled across the Earth.
