Bikethe14ers was born out of a desire to explore the world further on our mountain bikes; to get into wild places that might have never seen a bike. As ski mountaineers, our winter adventures usually start with studying a map, dreaming up potential routes, imagining and preparing. That sense of imagining an adventure with an uncertain outcome, forming a plan to increase the odds of achieving it, and then stepping out the door unsure if we’ll attain the goal but positive that we will find a new experience, is what makes us feel most alive. So we decided to try to be the first people ever to bike all the legal 14,000’ peaks in Colorado.
Though Whit Boucher and I are lucky enough to make a living doing what we love, our full-time jobs and life responsibilities make it difficult to find time for these kinds of ambitious personal projects. Often we’ll find ourselves finishing up some work/life obligation on a Friday afternoon and then scramble to get the cars packed, gear organized, and hit the road before dark. This almost always means meeting at a trailhead at 11 p.m., setting up the tent, and hitting the hay after midnight with a 5 a.m. alarm set and a huge day on the horizon.
Basecamp® changed the entire experience. Predictably, we rolled out from our respective homes far later than we would have liked. There was some hectic bike gear packing since this adventure would be slightly different and more gear intensive than the any previous mission. We were headed out on the second-to-last peak of the 14 legal peaks on our list and would be using both road and mountain bikes. But instead of the typical pre-adventure jitters and frantic rushed sensation when I pulled out of the driveway, I looked up at the bikes sitting stable on the Thule roof rack, back at my beautiful home-on-wheels towing steadily behind me, and felt a wash of relief. I can always feel a big day ahead in the pit of my stomach, but I also knew I wouldn’t be scrambling to find a legal place to pitch a tent near the trailhead, pacing for a flat spot, and hustling to set up camp in the dark, only to break it down hours later under the pale dawn light.
On the way to Mt. Evans, the tight curves of Squaw Pass Rd. were flanked by the ghost silhouettes of trees barely visible through the thick mist. Each faint rhythmic thud of the wiper blades revealed a monochromatic dreamscape. For nearly an hour I periodically turned on the high beams to see if they would buy me a few more feet of visibility, but it was always in vain. I reached the Wilderness boundary, where we would set up our Basecamp, at 11pm exhausted from the journey and beyond relieved that I had a comfortable bed behind me. I found a reasonably flat spot near the trailhead, crawled in back, ran through last-minute checklists, and read my book for a few minutes before fading out.
The alarm came as soon as it always does but felt far less oppressive knowing I had a heated room to arise in, a clean floor to stand on, and head space to put my pants on standing vertically – instead of the awkward horizontal sleeping bag shimmy in the tent. I allowed myself an extra snooze cycle since I didn’t have to break down a tent and my gear was already laid out. I took some yoghurt and fruit out of the fridge – instead of my usual dry food breakfast – put a pot of coffee on, and stepped outside into the crisp mountain air.
Whit and I shuffled through our quick morning checklist and began pedaling, leaving the Basecamp sitting by a mirror-calm mountain lake reflecting the first light on the high peaks. Instead of our usual push out the door and onto the dirt, we would be riding skinny tires up the road to the top of the peak. Mt. Evans is one of two 14,000’ peaks in Colorado with roads to the top. The rest of the terrain above tree line (~11,500’) is all Wilderness (which by law doesn’t allow “mechanized vehicles”) and is off limits to mountain bikes. We decided the best way to approach the mountain was to set up at the Wilderness line and road bike to the top and back down to the Basecamp. Then we would swap bikes and shred our mountain bikes down one of the trails through the forest and into Idaho Springs and back up another trail to finish the day with beers by the sparkling mountain lake at 10,700’.
Road riding is a hypnotic and meditative endeavor, especially this early in the morning. The pedals spin in steady rhythm and your mind can enter deep into though or thoughtlessness as you glide along. The Mt. Evans road is steady and relatively steep, but it’s nothing compared to what we’re used to on mountain bikes. So we let our minds wander into the massive spanning bowls of rock and tundra as we drift through them on a ribbon of asphalt. The summit was socked-in with miserable weather, so we didn’t linger long before descending. The descent was a mix of frozen fingers and sore saddles as we kur-thunked over crack after crack in the pavement. It was almost more difficult than the up, but there were brief respites of smooth road where we could marvel at the magic of floating at 40+ mph through such awe-inspiring terrain.
We pulled back up to the Basecamp, late morning sunlight bouncing and shimmering off Echo Lake, and raced for the heater. Our hands were stiff as lobster claws and our bodies not much better, and we cherished the cushy seats and blasting warm air. Cold smoothies, coconut water, and smoked salmon replenished our bodies while the gorgeous surroundings rebounded our spirits.
We soaked in the Basecamp’s amenities as long as we could before we began to worry that we might not be able to motivate ourselves for the second, more demanding half of our day. The Bose speaker kept us moving as we ran through mechanical checks on our mountain bikes and switched into off-road mode.
Our cartoonish trail map was difficult to reconcile with a more detailed, real topo map and it took us some time to find the slightly hidden trail. But before too long, we were smashing down a rowdy single track. The forest turned into a mottled blur in our peripheries as our focus narrowed into a flow state. Adrenaline and endorphins mixed, eyes dilated, and our faces pushed back into hearty smiles. THIS was more like it. A couple thousand feet below the hidden beginning of the trail, we hooted and high fived. I opened and closed my fist, pumping the lactic acid out of my hands and forearms and breathed for what felt like the first time since we dropped in.
The way back up was convoluted and difficult. We biked for miles up a steep double track, at times barely able to keep moving in granny gear, and eventually wandered into an abandoned ranch at the end of the road. After exploring drawers of Depression era maps and bizarre odds and ends in the half-burned barn building, we headed back out into the woods. The trail gradually got steeper and steeper and eventually led to 1500’ of hiking our bikes through forest that seemed too lush to be Colorado.
The woods gradually grew darker as the sun neared the horizon and thunder rumbled through the trees. We slowed with every step as the long day begun to wear on our bodies and spirits, but we had no choice but to push on. Beers from the Basecamp fridge called our names for the last hour of steep difficult near-bushwhacking, and we just kept putting one foot in front of the other.
Topping out and seeing that beautiful silver and black machine felt like a long-awaited homecoming. We left our bikes on the ground and ran inside for food and cold beers from the fridge. We sat on the ground, still warm from the late afternoon sun, and soaked in the day. Usually at this point in the adventure, we would finish our beers and part ways but, again, the Basecamp changed our plans.
We were beyond exhausted and each had a long drive home ahead of us. Instead, we decided to extend our adventure and camp for the night at Twin Lakes. Whit had to create some art for his upcoming wedding invitations and I had to edit some photos, but we both decided we could get all our work done in the comfort of the Basecamp at a beautiful campsite. We pulled in to our camp spot under a beaming milky way and toasted again to a life well lived.
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