Riding behind Oliver as we rode away from windy Rawlins, WY. We rode south towards the Colorado border on a freshly paved county road. The smoke made it difficult to see very far. August 9, 2021
Further down the road, smoke mostly behind and rain clouds forming over head. I climbed a hill with a little extra speed to face North and see Oliver in front of where we had come from. We stopped to put on our rain jackets as it started to drizzle and lighting flashed ahead — luckily that was the worst of it and had soon blown over. August 9, 2021
My bicycle set up. We rode about 50 miles south until we reached National Forest. We immediately began searching for water since we were both out. I carried 3 bottles — 2 on the smaller side which resided in my hip pack, along with my camera, and 1 large one pictured on my down tube. I later adjusted my handlebar roll to keep the weight lower. It was initially overpacked and I couldn’t use my shifter levers because it obstructed their shift motion. Olivers bike can be seen in the background, he darted off into the woods to look for a stream. August 9, 2021
Our first water supply of the trip. We camped just up the road from this creek. August 9, 2021
Oliver putting on his cycling shoes on the morning of the 2nd day of our trip. We made oatmeal and instant coffee for breakfast and then broke down camp and prepared to ride again. August 10, 2021
Aspen Alley on Sage Creek Rd, WY. August 10, 2021
An impressive roadside rock formation soon after we dipped into the Colorado portion of our ride. August 10, 2021
Oliver adjusting his shoelace while we stop for a snack. Northern Colorado Farmland behind. We each bought a pair of water shoes from Walmart to bring on the trip. They were extremely inexpensive and proved to be excellent shoes to have when we weren’t riding. They were lightweight, very easy to pack, and easy to take on and off. August 10, 2021
Curious roadside sheep. August 10, 2021
Oliver checking his map, me checking my shadow. August 10, 2021
We arrived at The Brush Mountain Lodge earlier than we anticipated. This is an off-season hunting lodge that welcomes touring and racing cyclists. A single woman, Kirsten, operates the show. She has fridges full of soda and beer and makes frozen pizzas in a wood fire oven. She even rolls and hands out large joints, which she calls baby doobies. She was away doing chores when we arrived, and the cyclists who had stayed the night prior had already departed. We idled around and drank soda until she showed up. August 10, 2021
Feet up, drinking a soda. August 10, 2021
Another pair of cyclists arrived with their deaf dog, Otto. He had a seat in a milk crate on the back of one of the bikes. August 10, 2021
Kirsten watching from the porch of the lodge as some cows and a bull wander onto the property. Most of the land we rode through the first 2 days was open rangeland. August 10, 2021
Evening at the lodge. Oliver and I rented a room with two beds. I felt spoiled having a shower and food prepared for me just 2 days into our bike-packing trip. August 10, 2021
Day 3 of our ride. We ate M&M pancakes and bacon and drank coffee at the lodge until we were absolutely stuffed. Kirsten instructed us to take some pancakes with peanut butter on them to go. She said, “300 calories every hour. Don’t forget.” We rode away from the lodge and once again entered National Forest. We approached the first mountain pass of the trip which would land us near the small town of Clark. August 11, 2021
Lone encampment with horses. August 11, 2021
Mountain flowers part of the way up the mountain pass. I don’t know the name of it but it took us by Diamond Peak and spat us out on the west side of Steamboat Lake Park. August 11, 2021
The top of the pass looking downward. While riding this pass I really wished I had chosen my mountain bike for the endeavor rather than my gravel bike. I picked my way slowly down the rough road while Oliver waited around at the bottom. We stopped in Clark for a quick snack at my request, and then burned our way down Road 129 from Clark to Steamboat Springs. I felt fast once we were on pavement again. Oliver and I swapped lead and draft positions and rode fast without talking much. August 11, 2021
Once we arrived in Steamboat we stopped at a Mexican restaurant and had a meal. Oliver opened his map and figured out where we would have to go to camp for evening. The Plan was to head up Buffalo Pass until we found a spot. August 11, 2021
We stopped at a gas station to restock on food and Oliver grabbed us some tallboys from the liquor store next door. We rode down to the river bank and drank them while chatting and tossing sticks into the cool water. A sign nearby said “NO CAMPING.” August 11, 2021
Buzzing on beer and full bellies we headed out of town up Buffalo Pass. We didn’t exactly know how far we needed to ride in order to camp. I was already fairly cracked from the riding we had done thus far in the day. I was excited to find a spot and pitch my tent again. August 11, 2021
Sunset slightly up the road on Buffalo Pass. August 11, 2021
We arrived the campground and trailhead parking lot on Buffalo pass as it got totally dark. We discovered it was a dry campground — no water. Both of has had run out of water again on the climb and we would need some more to rehydrate and make dinner. The climb was substantially larger than I thought it would be. Oliver acted surprised but I’m not so sure. Fortunately a mountain bike race had taken place that day and they were closing up shop as we arrived. I asked for water because I could see they have Gatorade containers. They enthusiastically began filling all our bottles, handing us snacks, sandwiches, sodas, and asking questions about our ride. They told us that there was water not much further up the road, but now that we were filled up again we just wanted to climb until we found a spot to camp. We powered on our lights and continued up the road. August 11, 2021
Setting up camp in the dark about halfway up Buffalo Pass after what felt like the longest day of my life. We were given ham sandwiches by the racers and eagerly at them for dinner — no cooking. August 11, 2021
Oliver filtering water in a creek near the top of Buffalo Pass. August 12, 2021
This lake sits on top of Buffalo Pass. We stopped for a swim. After discussion we decided to spend the night on top of the pass and take the remainder of the day to rest. We had been riding at such a pace that we were on track to complete the ride in 5 days if we kept going. We smoked the rest of a joint that Kirsten gave us and I took a nap in the sunlight after cooling off in the water. August 12, 2021
My campsite on top of Buffalo Pass. August 12, 2021
Dinner pot on the jet-boil stove. I made ramen and dumped in a can of sardines. A meal I would never choose to eat at home, but hits the spot on the trail. August 12, 2021
With Buffalo Pass behind us, we pedaling on gravel roads through the North Park Valley towards Walden, CO. August 13, 2021
A property on the edge of Walden. August 13, 2021
We stopped and ate barbecue for lunch and charged our phones on a wall socket inside. The restaurant was once a bank. August 13, 2021
My pink tires dusty from a few days of riding on them. Main street of Walden in front of a boarded up store front. August 13, 2021
A man named Hank telling us about Walden’s golden years when there was a coal mining plant that supported the town. He lived in Walden during the 70s and 80s. He was visiting that day for the first time in 10 years. August 13, 2021
Vast landscape northeast of Walden. We rode on a jeep trail that Oliver found on a map towards King’s Canyon. The sand got so deep I had to walk my bike for sections because my 38mm gravel tires cut right through it and sank. This was my favorite part of the trip in hindsight. August 13, 2021
The road we were on looked as if it hadn’t been traveled in years. We eventually came across an encampment, or hobo camp. The most modern products looked to be from the 40s or 50s. I was immensely intrigued and we dug around in the sandy dirt for a while. August 13, 2021
The auto carcasses are 1930s Dodge Brothers. I’m not sure what years exactly. August 13, 2021
Neglected National Forest sign at the base of King’s Canyon. August 13, 2021
The climate changed completely once we entered the canyon. It was humid and cool and little flowers and mushrooms were growing on the forest floor. August 13, 2021
Moths enjoying my light beam as I set up camp in the dark once again. August 13, 2021
Olivers tent and bike at our campsite in King’s Canyon. August 14, 2021
A close up of my rear hub and brake. August 14, 2021
We exited King’s Canyon and road towards Dead Man Pass. Dead Man would take us to the highest elevation point on our journey. When we started up the climb Oliver took a pause and told me he would catch up. I don’t know exactly what happened but I felt incredibly strong and found a cadence I could maintain. I put my head down and rode up the pass in a blur of pedal strokes and rhythmic breathing. Oliver caught up right at the top of the pass road. August 14, 2021
Deadman lookout. 10,700ft elevation. August 14, 2021
My tires legs. We stopped at the grocery store in Red Feather Lakes before searching for a campsite. We were both pretty cracked and ended up buying a lot of snacks and alcohol. We decided to eat dinner at a restaurant instead of eating camp food. August 14, 2021
A hummingbird moth outside the restaurant. We ate hamburgers and drank beer on tap and discussed the trip. It was not over yet, be we knew that this time tomorrow we would be back at my house in Fort Collins. Everything would be the same. Our trip may as well be a secret in the end. What was the point of this wandering and suffering up mountains with heavy bikes? We’d have to go back to work.
We sat around the fire and drank and made ourselves sad at the thought of returning back to civilization the next day. We have about 50 miles to ride from our campsite near Red Feather back down to Fort Collins. We would arrive in town with heroic feelings and no acknowledgment. I had this feeling that reaching new highs seems to make the lows harder to bear — or at least the mundane reality of everyday life. Our journey of secret suffering and amazement was untouchable by others — it was ours. As much as I try to capture it with my little silver camera and words, the true weight of the experience is reserved for those who seek it out themselves. These photos serve as an invitation to the possibility of adventure and the uncertainty, discomfort, and victory that go along with it. The next morning, slightly hungover and sort of reluctant to get back in the bikes, we ate Chef Boyardee for breakfast and hammered home at an unbelievable pace. We were aero-tucked and flying by the seat of our pants. We hammered high gears down Taft Rd. It was unnecessary and exhausting — the heat of town welcomed us as we glided across our imaginary finish line. I felt haggard and happy. After peeling off my filthy bib, I went to my fridge, pulled out a cold beer, and sat on the porch in a broken rocking chair. Oliver went right to work in the kitchen to make us a meal.