Triple Bypass (July 9, 2005)

The Triple Bypass is not a race, but a grueling one-day cycling event that covers 120 miles and three mountain passes. The website FAQ describes the ride with this flourish, “over 10,000 feet of lung-busting gain in elevation!” I don’t know what it was that first attracted me to challenges like this one, but when that bug bit, it bit hard. 2005 is my second annual Triple Bypass; I guess I’m just a sucker for pain.

Mick and I rode this event in 2004, so this year we’re no rookies. We’ve learned important lessons. Like how to shuttle cars on the night before the ride. And where to park on race morning. And that it really pays to get up and going when you have 120 miles to ride on the bike.

In 2004, the weather almost kept us from making the ride: it rained on us on the drive from Denver to Bergen Park, where the ride officially begins, and we talked about turning around and just going on down to the Eggshell in Lodo for breakfast. But we persevered, and by the time we summitted Vail Pass, the day had turned beautiful and sunny.

This year we have clear skies and sunshine at the start, and the ride up Squaw Pass – the first of the three passes we’ll climb today – is so much more pleasant. But one thing has not changed from 2004, and that’s the number of people who blow past me on this stretch of roadway. I feel, once again, like I’m standing still. It occurs to me that I really need to work on my climbing skills, since it seems that the only folks not passing me are the 80-year olds, and they’re not really riding that much more slowly than I. This happened big-time in 2004, and it’s happening big-time today. Mick is a sweetie and rides with me, even though he would otherwise be sprinting up the hill.

The event organizers have changed the location of the first aid station, and it’s an excellent change. Last year this aid station was on a narrow stretch of road where there was barely any shoulder, and it turned into a chaotic – and dangerous – mob scene. This year, the first station is up the road another mile or so, and it’s on a wide pull-out with lots of room to stay off the road. We’re a bit earlier this year, and there is a better selection of food, which makes me happy. While this aid station is not quite at the summit of the climb, we’re almost there, so soon we’re enjoying the incredibly fun descent down into Idaho Springs. I’ve lost (most of) my fear of going downhill fast on a bike, and this descent is one of the best around: long sweeping curves with good sight lines, only a few switchbacks, beautiful views, and a nice long run-out into Idaho Springs that gets flatter as you approach town. Just about perfect.

We reach Idaho Springs, and find that this year there is a detour around town because of road construction on the main thoroughfare through town. Instead of staying on the roadway, we have to dismount our bikes, carry them up an annoying little dirt path that has a steep pitch, and then ride on a bike path to the other end of Idaho Springs. At the other end, the bike path once again ends before connecting with paved road, so we have to do the hike-a-bike thing all over again. The event organizers – wise people, indeed – have anticipated that the hike-a-bike thing might get people into snarly moods, so they are well prepared to deal with cranky cyclists: they have volunteers posted on both ends of the bike path, armed with cases of Oreos, and they push the Oreos just as emphatically as drug dealers. And it works! How can you grumble when you’re stuffing your mouth with Oreos? Impossible. We survive the hike-a-bike/Oreo section, and are soon riding away again.

The next section is deceptive. It seems like a nice gentle climb from Idaho Springs to Georgetown, but we gain substantial altitude here. This is, surprisingly, one of my favorite parts of the ride, mostly because we’re on a road that parallels I-70, but we’re separated from the heavy traffic by Cherry Creek, which flows directly on our right.

We’re starting to pass people now, but I suspect that it has more to do with the fact that we’re catching up with the slowpokes who need to start really, really early in order to get to Avon while it’s still daylight. Because this is a ride and not a race, participants can start at any time of their choosing. Mick and I started a bit earlier this year than last, and by rights I perhaps should have had an even earlier start. Mick can ride this route easily in the time provided, but it’s more work for me. Starting a bit later just means that we can’t spend much time in any aid station, and, luckily, that’s okay with me. What I lack in speed I make up for in endurance.

We get some snacks at the Georgetown aid station before heading back out on the road. These early aid stations are well stocked with goodies: bagels and cream cheese and miniature muffins and bananas and oranges and cherries and trail mix – my favorite kind, the stuff with M&Ms. There is also water and Gatorade, and the all-so-important port-a-pottys. There seems to be more food available this year, and I’m grateful, since last year it always felt like we were hitting the tail end of the food at each aid.

The next section of roadway is my least favorite of the ride. After skirting around Georgetown, we are routed onto a bike path. There is a steep drop-off to the left, which makes me nervous. And the narrow bike path has some sections of pretty serious incline. But it’s a short stretch, and we’re back onto roads I like. After a short stretch on a side road, we are routed onto the shoulder of I-70. Last year, the thought of riding so close to the freeway traffic scared me, but the reality was really not bad at all. So it turns out to be a kind of fun stretch of road again this year, and we roll into the lunch aid station at Loveland Ski Area, at the base of Loveland Pass.

This is a lousy aid station. For starters, it’s in a dry, dusty, rocky parking lot with no soft places to sit. To make things worse, it seems that we’ve caught up to today’s food shortages. For lunch, they are serving PB&J sandwiches – on white Wonder bread!!! Whoever thought of such a thing? Upon my word, I do not understand the appeal of that anemic mushy stuff that passes for bread in this country. It seems like the planners forgot that the folks riding in this event are athletically inclined, and might actually prefer the much healthier wheat version of sandwich bread.

So, I grumble and grab a piece of stale bagel and try to look forward to the food at the next aid station. Since there is no place to sit, anyway, we make this a quick stop, and get ready to tackle our second pass of the day.

Loveland Pass is more intimidating than Squaw Pass, mostly because there are multiple switchbacks and you can see the top of the road – way up there – long before you’re anywhere close to it. Now I feel like we’re really riding strong. We’re passing lots and lots of people, and it’s restoring my pride that was so seriously wounded earlier in the day. Mick finally takes off to ride at his own pace, and we agree to meet on the other side of the pass. It’s getting colder and cloudier as the day wears on, and it’s downright frigid at the top of the pass, so I stop just long enough to zip up my jacket, and then it’s a long freewheeling descent.

Mick waits for me at a stop light somewhere around Keystone, and we hook up for the ride over Swan Mountain Road. This is the hidden climb of the day: not quite long enough to be a pass in its own right, it’s still a substantial if short climb, and everyone is clearly starting to hurt. The hardest part of this stretch of roadway is the traffic, both car and bike. The road is narrow two-lane for the most part, and it’s far more heavily traveled than the roads that have made up the rest of our journey. Still, we navigate these perils without any problems, and roll into the aid station at the Frisco High School.

This is by far the best aid station, if for no other reason than the spirit of the volunteers. The volunteers here give the aid station a Hawaiian theme, and they wear grass skirts and loud Hawaiian shirts and leis, and it’s all fun. For a special treat, we have watermelon here, and we find a bunch of energy bars – they have been gone already at the other aid stations. But there are dark clouds looming, so we decide to get back on our bikes again, and start riding towards our third and final pass of the day.

Last year, Vail Pass nearly killed me. I think the major problem was that everyone told me that of the three mountain passes of the Triple Bypass, Vail was by far the easiest. But coming at about mile 90 or so, it hardly felt “easy” to me at all last year. It seemed especially hard because it’s a bike path that winds its way up between the two branches of I-70, and engineers will build much steeper (albeit short) grades into a bike path than they will build into a roadway, and those quick little steep pitches just about did me in. This year, though, I’m prepared for the ride, and it doesn’t seem quite as hard.

And last year, when we got to the top of Vail Pass and reached the final aid station before Avon, the weather had just turned perfect, and we lingered and enjoyed the beautiful weather at 10,000 feet. But this year, the weather is going south on us real fast when we get to the summit, and the volunteers are pulling down the aid station. That’s no problem for us, since we really don’t’ want to get caught in a thunderstorm at this elevation anyway, so we barely slow down. And then we’re descending.

Last year, this was a fun descent. This year, it’s just gnarly. The weather is changing – before you know it, it’s sprinkling, and I can’t see very well with my dark sunglasses. The steep downhill on a bike path starts to freak me out as it gets wet, and I’m riding my brakes a lot harder than I want. This in itself creates a hazard, since faster guys are sprinting around me, and it’s really not a bike path built for this kind of traffic. When we reach a sharp right hand turn that will take us under the freeway and soon – not quite soon enough – onto a roadway, we are greeted by EMTs who direct us to dismount and walk our bikes. Seems that there has been an accident, and somebody went down hard enough to require an ambulance. There’s a little bit of grumbling from guys around me who are unhappy about needing to walk this section, but personally, I’m relieved. When it’s time to start riding again, we’re almost at the roadway, and it’s much safer riding from here.

But the weather is gone, and we hit rain and thunderstorms and just nasty weather. We haul ass down the rest of the mountain – as fast as we can safely go – and then breeze through Vail. I’ve lost Mick – he’s up ahead somewhere – and I’m just riding as fast as I can to beat the weather. This is one long downhill stretch, though, so it doesn’t’ take much pedal power to get the rest of the way to Avon. Soon, we’re out of the storm clouds and arriving at the park in Avon that signals the end of the ride.

I’ve completely lost Mick. I’m thrilled to be done, and I’m completely done in. We’re ridden the 120 miles in just under nine and a half hours, which is about 30 minutes faster than last year. I search the crowd for Mick, but I can’t find him. I find his bike, so I know that he arrived here safely, and that takes the worry away. After another lap around the post-ride picnic grounds, I decide that it’s time for a beer, and grab a Fat Tire for myself. It’s now, oddly enough, sunny and beautiful in Avon; the storm we rode through was moving east, and the weather behind it is perfect. I plant myself on the dewy grass, exhausted, and just sit and sip the Fat Tire; I don’t think another beer has ever tasted so good. Eventually Mick shows up and we get some dinner – whatever the Triple Bypass lacks in food at aid stations along the way, it makes up for with a wonderful catered dinner. We ride our bikes over to the parking lot where we left our shuttled car the other night, and we pack up for the drive home. It sure seems like a long drive, all 120+ miles of it.